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kingkat12 · 1 month ago

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hurt people hurt people (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: alcohol consumption, ANGST, throwing up, gore, jealousy schemes, Roman calling people uncouth mongoloids which is literally the same as in the book lol, and major risk of emotional damage (I warned you)

summary: this night would turn out to be the worst of your life-- of our lives. I hope you don't mind that I'm talking to you directly this time?

word count: 11,273

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°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･seven minutes in heaven masterlist

a/n: this is absolutely insane to me... I cannot believe I've FINISHED WRITING A BOOK?? thank you all SO so so much for being a part of this wild ride and for supporting my work, I couldn't have gotten here without all the love and all the comments, I couldn't have gotten this far without you all; therefore, I'm so so excited to give you the ultimate gift-- the last chapter of seven minutes in heaven!! ENJOY!!<333

... Alright.

We've gotten this far. It's Friday, and I need to give Roman an answer, so I'll be quick; after all the shit that has gone down these past months, after everything I've brought you along with me for, I only have one question for you...

Have you understood it yet?

Have you really?

I could sit on Jasmine's front porch for hours and tell you the story of Roman Godfrey over and over, but nothing would ever change. You'd still love him, you'd still ache for him, just as I've done since the moment I saw him. We're in the same boat, after all-- you and I.

Oh, and speaking of Jasmine; her party was the best I had attended in years. Catch the irony? The bass from the music inside thudded through the floor of the porch, vibrating up through my shoes, through my bones, syncing with the frantic rhythm of my heart, and I was therefore glad to be outside now; the ceilings had felt too low, the walls too close, and the crowd swelled like a living, breathing thing-- loud, erratic, suffocating. I couldn't think. I couldn't breathe.

But out on the porch, right now, I could. Even when I thought about the fact that one week had passed, that I was supposed to have an answer for Roman regarding whether we could get together again or not, I could at least breathe.

I let out a sharp laugh for no one but myself, clutching the bottle of rosé I had managed to steal from my parents' cupboard. It was almost empty now, which was a first for me; I wasn't the biggest drinker, initially. Or was I? I couldn't make up my mind.

Being drunk, alone, and vulnerable at a party wasn't the smartest thing I could be doing, I know. As if she would magically appear, I swayed a little where I sat on the porch step glancing around for Letha-- I remember her smiling at me when we walked in together, but... wait, had she actually? Maybe she hadn't? Maybe that was someone else? Or maybe I just wanted her to smile, so I made it up? You'd believe me, wouldn't you? You'd have no choice but to.

You have no choice but to see what's gonna unfold tonight through my eyes, actually. And maybe I'm finally talking directly to you because I can't deal with it all alone?

... Don't click away just yet, please.

Stay, just a little longer.

Yes, you.

I made sure to drink the last few drops left of my rosé before saying bye to the quietness of Jasmine's front porch. My steps were heavy as I dragged my feet back into the house, yet the soundwave that hit me when I opened the door nearly knocked me to the ground nonetheless-- it didn't take long before my head started pounding to the beat of the music again.

All I knew, was that I needed to look busy. I needed to not stay too long in one place, just in case I'd run into people I didn't want to run into; I was still a bit scarred from my hellish prom-night, where I hadn't managed to get away from Daniel when he dragged me down the hall. However, he wasn't here tonight, so my biggest evasions were Letha and Roman. Sometimes, you just have to be drunk and miserable in peace, no?

Instinctively, I toyed with the vial of Roman's blood around my neck for comfort, letting the chain slip through my fingers; I had missed the weight of it. Missed the feeling of having him so close to my heart. I twisted it in the light-- red, gleaming, sharp. It had felt right to wear it tonight, and I thought it would serve as a comfort (and it did), but at the end of it all, I was still at a party I didn't want to be at.

The music was too loud. The lights were too bright. Everything moved too fast, or maybe too slow?-- I couldn't tell. I wasn't even sure of anything anymore, except that this place smelled like beer and sweat and smoke, and I put away my rosé on a nearby table and switched it with an unopened cider a bit further away. As long as no one caught me stealing, I could get away with it, right? Now that I was at it, I also grabbed the jacket closest to me hanging on the rack in the hallway, wrapping it around me despite it not being mine-- the weight of it nearly made it stumble, yet I persisted.

The cider was cold in my hand, and shockingly so. Nonetheless, I slipped it into the pocket of my jacket as I choked back a drunk hiccup-- it was only when a couple stumbled past me, bumping into me rather harshly, that I realized I had to get away from the main event of the party, which was downstairs.

I felt so dead. So, so dead. My body was simply dead weight-- dead, dead, dead. Broken. I couldn't handle this feeling, so I climbed the stairs, clutching the banister like it was the only thing anchoring me to this earth. My legs felt heavy, but my brain felt heavier, and every step echoed through my skull. Thud. Thud. Thud. I stopped halfway up because-- I don't know? I forgot why I was going up in the first place. There was an empty spot at the top of the stairs, a place where the purple lights didn't reach, where the music was muffled, where I could pretend for a second that I wasn't completely falling apart. So I slumped down, pulling the jacket tighter around me as if it could protect me from the cold that had nothing to do with the air.

And that's when I felt it-- the pack of cigarettes in the pocket.

Not mine.

Roman's.

It took me a good few seconds before I realized I had picked his jacket out of all the people that had put them away on the rack, and I could only groan. Suppressing another hiccup, my fingers brushed against the familiar cardboard, the worn edges, and the faint scent of cinnamon that clung to the paper. With some further rummaging in the pockets, I found his blood-red lighter, yet the back of it felt rougher than before; I had held it out for him several times, you see.

I flipped it, holding my breath--

Only to realize that Roman had carved our initials into the back of it.

After all the times he had made fun of me for doing that exact thing to a tree a while back, I could only huff at the irony as some people stepped over my body to get up the stairs. The thumping of my head only worsened, because honestly? In this state? It felt like an invitation. Roman could've literally carved I-know-you-stole-my-jacket-so-take-a-smoke-you-pretty-little-fucker, and it would've been the same thing. Or did the carvings make it more private? Should I maybe not be touching this at all?

... Fuck it.

I took one out, hands trembling like a damn idiot, and lit it. The flame flickered, tiny and fragile, and I stared at it like I was seeing fire for the first time.

Then, I inhaled--

And holy fucking shit, you wouldn't believe how awful it was. Sharp and spicy and bitter, and it clawed at my throat like it wanted to kill me. Maybe that's what Roman secretly wanted? To kill me with these fucking cigarettes? I coughed, choking on the smoke, but I didn't stop. I took another drag, then another, until my head was spinning and my chest felt tight, and I didn't care. I wanted to feel it-- the pain of it all. I wanted it to be physical, wanted it to kill me. I wanted it to set my lungs ablaze, and I wanted it to burn me up from the inside with slow and tortuous flames.

Pained, I sat there, legs pulled up against my chest, with the cigarette between my fingers like it belonged there, and I let the smoke sting my eyes, sting my lungs. Over and over, I told myself it was just the smoke that made me want to cry... nothing else.

And then, of course, of fucking course, I saw him.

Appearing into the hallway with a careless laugh, I watched Roman through the banister of the stairs, standing there like some kind of vision, like the universe just wanted to punish me for giving in to a sinful cigarette. He hadn't seen me-- not yet. But I couldn't take my eyes off him, couldn't stop the way my heart leapt and sank all at once. He looked beautiful. Terrible. The kind of beauty that ruins you. Dark hair, unruly shirt, his eyes flickering with something I couldn't read from across the room; and then I saw who he was with.

Jessica was there, breathlessly clinging to Roman. My Roman. It was clear that she revelled in the arm he had lazily draped over her shoulders, and she giggled as her hand clutched at his shirt like he was the best thing that had ever happened to her, like she was blessed to be getting even a sliver of his attention.

But Roman wasn't looking at her, not really.

No-- he was scanning the room like he was waiting for something, someone.

And when his eyes found mine, everything stilled. The music, the voices, the haze of smoke and bodies; all of it faded when our eyes locked.

I froze on the stairs, the cigarette hanging between my fingers-- I inhaled, slow and deep, trying not to fall apart, and exhaled like it could push him out of my system as I refused to look away.

But Roman didn't move. Not yet.

It was subtle-- the way his mouth curved, not quite a smile, not quite a sneer. For a second, I thought he was proud to see me smoking, finally, until the glint in his eyes turned sharp, predatory. He glanced at Jessica like he had forgotten she was there, and in that split second, I knew.

And you know what's gonna happen now, too, don't you?

Roman shifted, turning toward her, and his hand came up-- fingertips tracing her jaw, slow, almost lazy, just like he used to touch me. Jessica leaned in, her eyes fluttering closed, hungry for him, oblivious to who, what, she was keening against.

And then he kissed her, right there, right in front of me.

Deeply. Lovingly.

Roman's plush lips moved against hers, his hand tangled in her hair, and the sight of it was absolutely brutal-- it was the kind of kiss meant to calm someone, to soothe them, to show them you love them, and it was exactly how he used to kiss me. The sight of it nearly made me throw myself down the stairs, my body aching with the pain and betrayal of it all, but the kiss wasn't about her; it would never be about her.

Because the whole time, Roman's eyes stayed locked on me.

I couldn't look away, not when he commanded my attention in this way. He kissed her like he was punishing me, like this was the type of psychological warfare-discipline I needed to properly understand that I wanted him just as much as he wanted me. And all I could do was sit there like the pathetic fucking loser I was, the cigarette burning down to the filter, smoke stinging my eyes, my throat, my heart. I felt myself grab at the vial of his blood tucked away under my shirt; I couldn't look away, but I couldn't stand to watch it, because I wasn't just watching him destroy me-- I was letting him.

When Roman finally pulled back (after a millennia passed, surely), Jessica looked dazed, like she'd just realized she was the luckiest girl in the world, her lips swollen and red. But Roman didn't even glance at her-- his thumb brushed his own bottom lip, that wicked smirk carved into his face, and he stared at me like he knew exactly what he had done.

He wanted me broken-- broken enough to come running right back.

But I wasn't going to break this quickly.

It took everything that I had in me to get up, yet I somehow managed. With a shaky breath, and with my heart actively falling apart, I slid up along the wall for support, hoping I wouldn't fall right down the stairs-- I wasn't exactly making it easier for myself, because I was simultaneously throwing away my used cigarette and lighting a new one.

Wrapping myself further up in Roman's jacket, I let the cigarette hang loosely from my lip as I hoisted my arm up to raise my middle finger at him.

Roman chuckled, clearly having expected it, before responding with draping his arms around Jessica, cupping her face as she continued talking up at him, oblivious that he was having a stare-off with me. Roman dragged his fingers through her golden locks like he loved her above anyone else in the world, urging me to come down and fight for his attention, for him, for us--

But God, he was insufferable. I could see it all the way from here; he was mouthing come on.

Come here.

I know you want to.

... And I really wanted to, believe me.

But instead, I snorted, rolled my eyes, and shook my head-- and this turned out to be one of the worst ideas of the night. Shaking my head in this state, full of nicotine and rosé, was certainly not one of my brightest moments. With quick steps, I turned around on my heel and marched up the stairs, away from Roman and his fucked up antics as the back of my throat filled with acid. I couldn't throw up on the stairs, now, could I?

The first bathroom I found ended up being occupied, hence why I stormed into the kitchen on the second floor-- how massive was this house? I had never seen a kitchen on any floor but the first. In retaliation of what Jasmine had done to me earlier this year, I stumped my new cigarette on the wall and dragged it along the tapestry, wasting it. My thoughts were racing with how infuriating Jasmine's stupid house was, and how pissed she'd be when she saw how I had trashed her wall, but I pushed my way to the sink, hunching over it just in case I was about to barf up my whole left lung.

The kitchen was loud, hot, too hot, and filled with the thump of the party music bleeding in from the living room. It pounded through the walls, muffled the laughter around me, and people shouting over the music blended into a hum that made my temples ache-- I was two seconds away from bursting into tears.

Thankfully, my only source of comfort appeared behind me with a soothing hand on my back, reaching for my hair as I leaned over the sink; Letha. Her touch gave me a major deja vu from the night Roman and I first kissed, when she had held my hair back when I felt sick.

Roman and I-- kissing.

Roman... kissing.

Roman kissing Jessica.

I let myself gag at the memory as tears welled in my eyes. "There, there," Letha cooed, bending down to catch the look on my face. I wondered whether she smelled the cigarettes on me, or whether she had noticed the fact that I was wearing Roman's jacket. "What's got you like this, hm? You just disappeared, and now..." She leaned in, sniffing me. "Girl, you smell like a bombed whorehouse! Who have you been hanging around? Jack?"

The memory of Jack Edwards almost made me laugh-- I caught myself, fighting back the acid in my throat as I made sure the vial of Roman's blood was safely tucked beneath my shirt and out of Letha's sight. "I drank the whole bottle of rosé," I confessed.

"What? You had barely touched it the last time I saw you, how on earth did you manage?" Letha's laugh was teasing, her voice laced with that soft concern she always wore like perfume. Heavy. Suffocating. I wondered whether this was how it felt like to live in East Germany after the Second World War-- watched.

"I don't know," I muttered, placing my hand over the vial again. If I really focused, I could imagine that it was beating, like Roman's caged blood was still pumping to his heart. "I don't feel good."

Letha hummed, patting my back over and over. "You can take it just a little more, though, right...? I told Jack you felt bad about what happened on the bleachers the other day, and he still wants to have a chat with you!--"

"No!" I sucked in a sharp breath, gagging on the vomit threatening its way up my throat. Grabbing the counter to steady myself, I rocked back and forth to keep myself grounded.

Yet Letha pressed on as she pushed people away from the sink; this party was way too damn crowded. "But Jack could be the perfect distraction for you!" she insisted. "He's cute, he's kind, he's nothing like Roman, he's!--"

"I said no!" Jack hadn't told Letha that Roman and I had fucked; that was all that mattered to me. Nonetheless, I somehow managed to not throw up when I straightened up, taking deep breaths as I turned to her. "You're really fucking insistent, do you know that?"

Letha raised an eyebrow, setting her drink down with a soft clink. "Christ, what's wrong now?"

I didn't answer right away, hoping my offence would sift through my fingers. The question hung heavy and loaded in the air, too simple, too dismissive. The noise of the party pressed in from all sides, but here, with her, it felt like we were in a vacuum, the tension building by the second, and just for a moment, I had the oddest thought-- Letha would've been a good KGB agent. Her interrogation techniques could be polished, sure, but somewhere in that blonde girl was an intense, manipulative Russian.

... God, I was way too drunk.

With a sigh, I leaned back over the sink, trying to keep myself steady. "Guess I'm just tired, Letha--"

"Tired from what, smoking?" Letha tilted her head, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "I can smell it on you, y'know? You smell like a Godfrey. Is this about Roman again?"

Something about her tone set my teeth on edge. I didn't answer, but my silence said enough; I was afraid I'd start barking if I opened my mouth.

"Are we really going back to this?" Letha huffed, softly, like she was doing me a favour, like she hadn't been the one dragging knives across my heart for weeks. "How many times do I have to tell you that you need to start taking active steps to get over him? It's like you never listen! My words go in one ear and out the other!"

I felt the first sparks of anger flare in my chest, hot and sudden; "You've told me a lot of things,"

"What's that supposed to mean?!--"

"It means," I hissed, gripping the counter so hard my knuckles were going white. "That I don't think you've ever really been honest with me. Not about him, not about anything."

Letha let out an offended laugh before her smile vanished-- the look on my face was unmistakeable, and it set her off. "I've always been honest with you, unlike what you have been with me!"

"Bullshit. Do you really not get it, or are you just pretending as always?"

Her brows knit together; "Pretending?"

"Yeah, pretending. Like how you pretended to support me, to be my friend, to have my back? I've let you do this for weeks!" My chest tightened, each word tumbling out sharper than the last. "God, Letha, you reacted like I murdered someone when I told you about Roman and I! I was honest with you, I fessed up, and you basically spat in my face!"

Every inch of Letha seemed to tighten. "You're drunk," she said through gritted teeth. "Calm down, please, before you throw up all over yourself!--"

"Oh, fuck you,"

"... What?!"

I had to suppress a grin; I had waited too long to say that.

Letha's mouth opened slightly, stunned. She glanced around the party, making sure no one was catching the verbal beating she was taking-- I knew she'd care if someone noticed. She'd care a lot. "You know why I reacted the way I did!" she hissed, lowering her voice as she got closer to my face. "He's been getting with my friends for ages, and you were getting yourself into something dangerous!--"

"No!" I cut her off, voice rising along with my nausea. "No, I told you about it because I trusted you! I didn't lie, I came clean to you, and fucking hell, Jesus treated Judas better than you treated me!--"

My yelling, along with the mix of rosé and cigarettes, finally pushed my body over the edge. Gagging, I threw myself over the sink to finally throw up; "O-Oh, fuck!--" The concoction that left me was beyond anything I had ever secreted. All my pain, all my anger, balled up into whatever the fuck it was that left my mouth.

Immediately, Letha's hands flew to my hair, holding it back as I threw up in Jasmine's sink. Despite our fight, despite the verbal abuse, she was still making sure I was alright-- it made my heart ache. Everything about this night was tearing at my heart, actually; images of Roman kissing Jessica flashed before my eyes as my body burned. Was I maybe about to have a heart attack? I was surely susceptible of one.

As I cried into the sink, sobbing with pain, Letha traced soothing patterns into my back, hushing me gently. "Shh... You'll be alright," she tried. "I know it feels like your world is ending, but you'll be alright. Someday, you won't even remember this."

My chest felt like it was caving in on itself. How could I ever forget any of this? How could I ever forget Roman?

"I'm sorry if I've been a bad friend," Letha continued, carefully stroking through my hair. "I hope you can forgive me... and I hope that we can someday forgive each other. Because at the end of all of this, through it all, all I ever wanted was for us to be friends again, and... for me to have someone in my court if everything goes down." Her words were small, fragile; "I just wanted my friend back."

I garnered the strength to look back at Letha, heart pounding, and before I could think it through, my drunken confession came tumbling out; "I slept with him,"

Letha's eyes rounded out as she slowly let go of my hair. "What?" she breathed.

"Yeah," My words were quiet as I pulled my shirt down to expose the hickey on the peak of my shoulder. "On the library floor, a week ago." I was sure she could spot the outline of the vial around my neck as I adjusted the jacket draped around me-- I could see in Letha's eyes that everything in her mind was actively falling apart.

And therefore, I delivered the final blow; "Can you forgive me now? Truly, Letha?"

The silence between us that followed was crushing, all-taking. It felt like I had been sucked into a plastic bag, with the air being drained with me stuck inside of it. Letha's lips parted, ready to speak, yet I saw that she couldn't find the right words to say.

But what followed would flip the narrative completely.

"Yeah... I can,"

My face ticked, and I felt my eye twitch as my words left me with my next breath; "What?" The music pounded through the walls, bass-heavy and relentless. Voices swelled, laughter spiked, but here, in the dim glow of the kitchen, everything felt suffocatingly small. My stomach was still twisting, nausea rolling in waves as I clutched the counter-- what was happening?

Letha's breath was unsteady, but when she spoke again, her voice was calm and unshaken. "I can forgive you," she repeated, like she was offering me the grandest admission of mercy.

I blinked at her, the words catching somewhere in my throat.

With a sigh, Letha brushed nonexistent dust off her dress before smoothing down her hair. "Because that's what friends do. We forgive, even when it hurts... And you're my best friend, so this time, I forgive you,"

Somewhere behind us, someone let out a shriek of laughter, bottles clinking in celebration. My head was spinning, my stomach churning from more than just the alcohol-- this felt wrong. Was this really happening?

Letha tilted her head slightly, watching me struggle. "I'm not going to pretend this doesn't hurt," she admitted, voice barely audible over the chaos outside the kitchen. "But I mean it. I just want you to be okay, and it's okay to... slip up, I guess. You're human, unlike a big part of him." She took a step back, giving me space-- she was the gracious one here, as always. "Because that's what friends do, right?" Her lips curved, not quite a smile. "We forgive. We put each other first."

The weight of her words settled in my chest in the most unpleasant way possible. "I'm supposed to tell him whether I want to give us another chance," I confessed. "Like... tonight. Right now."

Letha's hand found my back again, fingers light. I was scared she'd get mad, that she'd start cussing me out, but alas... nothing. "Okay, I see," she said, softer now. "I know you love him, but love doesn't change what he is. It doesn't change what he could do to you. Keep that in mind when you make your decision."

I swallowed hard, nausea curling tight inside me. Did I know? Did I really? My grip tightened around the counter; was I getting swayed?

Letha shook her head, her brows knitting together, like she hated to be the one saying this; "You don't have to prove anything. Not to him, not to me. You just... have to do what's right," She sighed, giving me one last careful look. "And I hope you know that I'll be here for you, no matter what."

... Fuck.

Roman's pack of cigarettes felt heavy in my pocket again, and I hated it. Hated the blood-red lighter in the other, next to the cold cider. Hated the way he had carved our initials into it like some twisted promise. But fate had a tight, deadly grip around me that I couldn't get out of-- I somehow managed to wry myself away from Letha and the kitchen with a red solo cup filled with water, downing it as I made my way down the stairs.

It was time to give Roman an answer-- the answer I didn't want to give him, the one I never thought I'd give him.

I shoved my way down through the crowd with my heart thumping in my chest. Was I gonna find Roman with Jessica? This was giving me an intense case of deja vu from all the times I had actually seen him with other girls, before we ever started dating. Was I gonna catch him making out with Jessica somewhere, even after he had sent me that excruciatingly long voice mail where he could only profess his love for me over and over?

But that wasn't love.

Him kissing Jessica in front of me like that-- that couldn't be love.

Letha had been right all along, hadn't she?

I pushed through the people dancing in the living room downstairs, trying to ignore the laughter and the small talk that surrounded me. It felt like a different world, one that had nothing to do with me right now. I was desperate for a moment of clarity, and the only person who could give me that was Roman... yet I didn't dare to find him. I didn't want to see him with Jessica. I couldn't bare the sight of it.

I shoved open the back door to the yard, and cold night air hit me like a slap. I welcomed it. The darkness out there was different from the party lights. It was real. Still. Empty.

I wasn't alone for long; I heard footsteps behind me, and the soft, deliberate crunching against the floor of the porch quickly become unmistakeable. The door closed shut as I leaned against the wood structure leading to the garden-- I knew who this was. Letting out a sigh, I reached for the cider in my pocket, cracking it open with a hiss despite knowing I shouldn't have any more drinks tonight.

The first sip was sharp, bitter, but it cut through the lump in my throat I got from knowing Roman was here with me, alone. I let my eyes follow him when he walked into sight, leaning against the wooden frame opposite me with that Godfrey nonchalance I was used to from him. His shirt had been tucked back in, his hair had been combed back into place-- something told me he had prepared to corner me since he watched me leave with his jacket.

Roman's eyes were so mesmerizing, so green. It was the most beautiful shade of green. It was such a shame to see them glossed over by that searching look in them, the exact look that gave away his hidden anxiety. Finally, he spoke, nodding to my drink with his usual charm; "I don't think you should be having more of those,"

It only made me clutch the cider harder, steading my footing on the porch so that I wouldn't tumble into the grass to my side. "Fuck off,"

"Oh, yeah? You wanna go there?"

"Yeah," After seeing him kissing Jessica like that? Sure.

Roman rolled his eyes, clenching his jaw to stop himself from arguing back right away. He looked so strict like this-- it was painfully arousing. He plucked the bottle from my grasp with ease, lifting it to his lips as if daring me to stop him; his smirk widened when I didn't.

Forfeiting my cider allowed me to dip my hand back into my pocket and fish out the lighter and the cigarettes. Roman's eyes widened as he watched me put two cigarettes in my mouth, about to light them both, before he snatched one of them from between my lips; "Careful, there," he said, throwing it away somewhere. "Don't get too excited. You'll go into nicotine shock."

"Don't care," I lit the one I had left, but not without glaring at him properly. "I already threw up tonight."

"You did?"

"Yeah,"

"Oh, you fragile thing," he cooed, amused. "You're going to ruin yourself like this."

I bet that some part of him would've loved to see that. I snorted; "Don't care,"

Roman's brows drew together when he realized I was completely serious, when he saw that my empty look wasn't wavering. "Yeah... I got that," He mumbled, shaking his head. "Jeez, you're dramatic tonight."

I let the silence stretch as I simply glared at him; if he thought this was me at my most dramatic, then he didn't know me at all.

Roman watched me, waiting for me to argue, to snap at him, to give him something to work with. When I didn't, his smirk faltered and his voice softened; "What is this, then, hm? You trying to prove a point?"

I inhaled deeply. "Nah, that's your way of doing this," The smoke burned, stung my throat, but I needed it, needed something to hold onto as my pulse pounded against my ribs; it made my pain about his kiss with Jessica physical. I needed it to be, so my brain wouldn't fry itself.

Roman sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Listen, I get it, alright? You're mad about Jessica. You wanna play hard to get, fine. But let's cut the bullshit, cause you're not going anywhere," He said it like it was a fact, like it was already decided-- "Not really."

He was so sure of it.

So sure of us.

I couldn't look at him anymore. I couldn't watch Roman fall apart all over again when he would realize what I had chosen, not when I was still so irrevocably angry with him. My gaze fell to the floor as I remained silent, waiting for it to dawn on him.

Roman's smirk wavered in the cold night air. He searched my face, waiting for the usual pattern-- for me to scoff, roll my eyes, shove him and say something biting but not final.

... I did none of those things.

His fingers twitched with nervous anticipation. "You're mad," he said, slower this time. "Say something. Humour me, yeah? Pretend that you actually love me, just for a second."

"Fuck you,"

"Baby, come on—"

"Don't say I don't love you. If I didn't, I wouldn't be standing here after you pulled that crap with Jessica just now! If I didn't love you, I would be inside running around to find Jack,"

Roman's green eyes widened— was it the shock of the threat, or the fact that he had made that threat a reality he had to fear? The party seemed so far away, and our life together felt even further away than that. "I'm sorry about Jessica," he breathed. "You know it's nothing personal, you know I can't stand her guts. I just thought you'd... I thought it would be good to show you what life's gonna be like if we don't end up together."

I almost chuckled-- did he really think that was a good plan? Did he really think that'd work? My eyes darted to the cigarette between my fingers while I wondered whether or not to torture myself with another drag. "You wanted to show me that you'll go back to sleeping with the cheerleaders while I become a chain-smoker?" I snarked. "Sounds like a wet dream of yours."

"That's not what I meant!—"

"What did you mean, then?!"

"I don't!— I don't want to keep talking about this!" Roman flailed his arms, frustrated; "It's not relevant, because we're not going to be apart, and because we're going to my place later and!-- and you're going to fall asleep next to me again, and your hair will be all over my pillow in the morning, and we're going to be okay!"

Oh, how I wanted us to be.

But the way he described it made me realize he might've not fully developed his consequential thinking. Did he really think that was a realistic end of this night after what he had done?

I felt tongue-tied by my shock, frozen like an icicle to Jasmine's stupid porch. What he had just described, was all I wanted. I wanted to go to Roman's place later, wanted to feel his arm around me as he pulled me closer in his slumber, and I wanted to lie around in bed while fighting sleep to get a few more minutes with him. Swallowing hard, I did my best to waft away the memories flashing before me, yet I soon realized it was an impossible task.

Roman's eyes rounded out with his next breath, his heart visibly breaking--

"Cause... you're choosing us, right?"

My mouth repeatedly opened and closed, stuck. How could I, after everything?

Meanwhile Roman's gaze flickered over my mine, searching for some confirmation, some reassurance that I was just being difficult, that I was still his-- it was a heartbreaking sight. It only made me grip the cigarette tighter, feeling the heat against my fingers. It was dying out, just as I was, just as we were.

Something cracked in Roman's expression. "You're serious," he breathed.

It broke me to realize that I was.

This had to end.

It had to.

Roman's face hardened as he took a step closer. The air between us thickened, turning heavy with something more than just tension-- something sharp, something raw. "You're seriously doing this?" he muttered, the disbelief in his tone prevailing. "After everything? After all of this time, you just-- we're done? Like that?"

My throat was too tight, and all the words got trapped inside. In a way, it felt like I was choking on everything said and unsaid.

Roman's hands were clenched, and the tension in his shoulders made him seem even taller, more imposing. A part of me was scared he'd pounce, that he'd be overcome by whatever upir instincts he had beneath his pretty appearance-- I didn't want to think about it. I was afraid I'd scream and run away if I did. To distract myself, I put my cigarette out on the ledge nearby; I didn't care about the state of Jasmine's house.

I wasn't sure whether my quiet motions read as nonchalance, but it seemed to shove Roman closer to the edge. "You're pushing me away, even after all my fucking reassurance? Even after your voicemail? I gave you everything, I showed you that I'm nothing to be scared of, and you're just... walking away like I'm nothing, over some kiss? Did you ever even love me?"

That question knocked the air out of me. "Some kiss?!"

"Yes!"

"Roman you've— you've proven yourself to be exactly who I feared you'd be all along!" I yelled. "Someone who hurts me!"

Desperate, Roman grabbed my arm, his grip tight, but not enough to hurt. His eyes searched mine, pleading-- "Come on," he begged, his voice shaking now. "I love you. I really fucking love you."

"No! Because you if truly did love me, you wouldn't be hurting me as a means to get back together with me! You're a child!" I snapped, finally giving in to my frustrations. Drunkenly trying to wry myself out of his grip, I felt my tears burn in my eyes, blurring my vision. "This has to end! You and I, it has to end! Letha's right, you will always want to fuck the cheerleaders, and you will always be a upir, and that will never change!--"

My breath stopped in my chest-- fuck.

Letha.

It was the first time I had verbally confirmed it, and I knew I had shot myself in the foot with it.

The name hung in the air like poison, and Roman looked like he'd been gutted by it.

He stared at me for a long, horrible moment, his eyes wide with disbelief. His grip loosened around my wrist; "You--" he started, his voice hoarse. "You're... serious? So that's it? You're throwing us away because of her? Because of the shit she's been feeding you to take revenge on me?!"

"It's not all because of her, Roman, but she's right! Letha is right that you'll always be dangerous, that you'll always have some underlying urges, and that you'll never be safe to be around!" My voice cracked as I said it; there it was, a cold, harsh truth I couldn't ignore anymore. "You said you'd never hurt me, but you're like a ticking fucking bomb in more aspects than I can count on my fingers!"

That was it; Roman snapped, his fist slamming into the wooden structure I was leaning against with a deafening crack, making it shake. "Bullshit!"

The boom of it made me flinch and squeak in terror, and instinctively, my hands shot out to push him away, shoving him with all the strength I could muster in my panicked state. "You're scaring me again!" I yelled, heaving for air. "Stop it! I beg you, just stop it!"

Stunned by his own outburst and its consequence, Roman allowed me to push him. He could've planted himself to his spot, could've resisted with no problem, but he took a step back for my comfort.

My heart was pounded against my ribs as tears filled my eyes. I couldn't have him barging at me like that, not when I was this hurt, scared, and drunk. A man that truly loved me wouldn't be doing this, right? My legs shook with the remnants of the heaviness of the conversation, and I heaved for air with terrified gasps as I decided to turn on my heel.

Immediately, Roman went into action-- "Wait, please!" His voice instinctively softened as he rummaged through his brain for the best course of action. "I'm sorry, okay?! I just don't want to lose you, I'm freaking out here!" He reached out for me, but it was too late.

I was already backing away, not looking back, not waiting for any more apologies— I knew I wouldn't believe them anymore.

Even the heaviness of Roman's jacket couldn't slow me down, not when I was this desperate to get away from my terrifying breakup-- the sound of music and chatter met me when I opened the door back to the house, but the pounding of my heart nearly drowned it all out.

Roman's voice followed me inside, each word an attempt to reel me back, but I wasn't turning around. I couldn't look at him; I couldn't do that to myself.

"Come on!" he yelled through the deafening noise. "Are we really doing this again?!"

I made my way through the living room, not looking for anything but an escape. The staircase loomed ahead, and without thinking, I shot up the stairs, taking them two at a time as my legs shook with adrenaline and fear. The air in the house felt suffocating now, the walls closing in as I reached the top of the stairs and darted down the hallway. This was not happening. This was not happening. I was too drunk for this-- were the walls actually moving? The more I looked at them, the more I had a feeling they were pulsing, inching closer to squeeze me to death.

Speaking of death-- Roman's footsteps grew closer, and his voice got louder; "Please, we can fix this! Just hear me out, please!—"

With my heart hammering in my chest, I glanced back to calculate how long I had until he caught up to me. Panicked, I grabbed at every room in the hallway, pushing past the people blocking my way as I desperately suppressed my tears from running down my cheeks.

This was not happening.

Roman dragged a hand through his hair, angry, desperate, as his long footsteps allowed him to chase me down with ease. "You're making a mistake!" he pleaded. "Let's talk it out, okay? Please, please, just listen, I love you, I'll calm down, I'm not going to hurt you, I promise!--"

With a scared squeak, I finally managed to force a door open; thank fuck. But before I could even step fully into the room, Roman's leg shot forward, forcing the door back, and in an instant, I realized there was no way I could keep him out-- I stumbled backward, eyes wide and frantic as I turned away from him to start planning my escape.

And then, my breath caught.

Because what I saw inside the room, was Letha half-naked on the bed--

With Peter beneath her.

My body froze for a split second before a scream ripped itself from my throat; I shrieked, mortified as I stumbled backwards.

What...

... The fuck?!

Letha and Peter scrambled to untangle themselves, their eyes widening with panic as they tried to hide the obvious. Peter's shirt was half undone, and Letha's hair was a mess, both of them completely caught off guard. The sight of them in that moment, exposed and guilty, made my chest tighten in a way I couldn't describe; I knew exactly what I had just walked in on.

And Roman, in a blur of motion, rushed forward-- his arms wrapped around me from behind, pulling me to his chest with surprising force. One hand covered my eyes, blocking my view of the chaos I had just walked in on to shield me. "What the fuck?!" he barked, kicking the door shut behind us. "What's this?!"

My mind was actively melting against Roman's chest. It didn't help the situation that I could smell his usual cologne better than ever— God, I'd miss that smell in the coming years, wouldn't I?

But Peter and Letha were still scrambling, wide-eyed, and before they could say anything, Roman continued; "Are you out of your fucking minds?!"

Was this maybe just a drunk hallucination of sorts? Was this really happening? Letha and Peter? I should've listened to Jack earlier this week-- I should've listened to myself, because I had suspected something for a while, hadn't I?

Peter was the first one to talk, visibly panicking; "Ro, calm down!--"

"Don't fucking tell me to calm down! What the fuck are you doing with my cousin, man?!"

"Letha and I were just!--"

"Yeah, I see what you were just doing, you filthy piece of shit!"

"Dude, I'm sorry, I tried to tell you! Over and over, I swear, I tried to!--"

"Tell me what?! Is this not a one time thing? Is that what all your bullshit has been about?!" Roman yelled. "You calling me at prom and then not saying shit? All the times you've said you were busy when I knew you were just at home?" I could feel his chest raise with the air he forced inside his lungs-- a part of me was scared he'd faint from the anger. "You've been fucking my cousin?!"

"And you've fucked all the friends I've ever had!" Letha yelled back, protecting Peter while struggling to straighten her dress. Then she pointed to me, eyes drilling into Romans'; "I begged you not to touch her all those months ago too, but you didn't listen either!"

A sick laugh ripped from Roman's throat, and when he finally pulled his hand away from my face, I saw it; the pure, unfiltered rage in his expression. "You have got to be fucking kidding me!" He stepped forward, eyes locking onto Letha. "You have been in her ear for weeks-- weeks!" He jabbed a finger toward me, his voice breaking slightly. "You've been telling her to stay away from me, telling her I'm dangerous, that I'll hurt her, while you've been making my life a living hell for the same thing that you have been doing too all along!"

"Roman, I!--"

"You sick fuck!" he barked, and the sheer volume of it made me flinch.

My head was spinning to the point where I thought I'd throw up again. It felt like a painful vibration in the front of my brain, and I squeezed my eyes shut as I pressed my palm to my forehead. Without thinking, I put my free hand on Roman's arm, silently telling him to give me a second. "How long has this been going on?" I tried.

Peter and Letha anxiously glanced at one another, looking like they were both ready for the world to swallow them whole. "I don't--" Letha started.

"-- Don't know," Peter mumbled, looking guilty as ever. "Three months? Maybe four?-- Ouch!"

Letha smacked his arm, visibly upset that he had admitted that. "Stop talking! You've already stressed me out with wanting to tell Roman about us, you've done enough!"

"He deserves to know!" Peter tried. His brown eyes were big with disgrace; "I told you I didn't want to hide this, I told you he might understand!"

This kicked Roman into the next gear. "Understand...? Understand?!" The boom of his voice made Peter turn white, and Letha grabbed the sheets of the bed as though they would somehow shield her. "Dude, you're fucking my cousin! I could rip your fucking head off right now if I wanted to, and you best believe that I do!--"

In timely manner, I suddenly gagged, clasping a hand over my mouth; that thankfully shut everyone up for second. This was too much for one night.

"She's gonna throw up," Letha mumbled. In true Godfrey fashion, she used this as an opportunity to start slowly scooting toward the edge of the bed, hoping for an easy escape. "We need to get her back to the kitchen sink, and then we can all talk about this when she feels better in a few days!--"

My hand shot up into the air, holding my pointer up as I recovered.

It was a very clear sign of shut up.

Shut.

Up.

I straightened my back, feeling my eye twitch with newfound anger. "Is that what you meant earlier, Letha?" I asked, my voice frail and quiet, yet steady. "When you said you wanted to have someone in your court if everything went down? Have you... been setting everything up for this?"

The silence in the room was deafening.

Letha swallowed hard; "Look, I just--"

"Have you been breaking Roman and I up so that I'd be on your side?" I continued, cutting her off. "You knew that Peter was going to tell Roman about you two eventually. And when he'd find out, you... needed me to be your friend again so that you wouldn't be alone. Because this will... this will cost you everything, Letha."

I gagged again at the realization-- Roman's arm shot forward to catch me from tumbling. I held onto him, feeling the tears press on in my eyes. "You didn't want to be friends with me," I breathed, my words coming out as clear whispers. "You just needed someone that was isolated. I was vulnerable, I was scared, and I was perfect for your plan, wasn't I?"

Letha's lips parted, but no words came out. She was staring at me, the usual sharpness in her eyes replaced with something I had never seen before-- guilt. Real guilt. Not the performative, self-righteous kind she always weaponized, but something raw, something vulnerable.

I could barely stand to look at her.

"Oh my God," I whispered, turning away from the scene. "You planned all of this."

Letha shook her head, frantic. "No!-- I mean, not like that, I!--"

"You what? What now?!" Roman snapped, stepping closer to the bed. His presence was suffocating, his fury burning through the room like wildfire. "You're always talking about morals, and you're always acting like you're so much better than me, but look at what you've done! So tell me, Letha, where's your moral high ground now?"

Letha's breathing was ragged, frozen in the most mortifying moment of her life. She looked back at Peter like he could somehow save her, but he just rubbed his face, looking more done than ever. "This is so fucked..." he muttered under his breath, almost like he was annoyed.

Roman's attention snapped back to him in an instant. "Oh, you think this is fucked?" He let out a humorless laugh; "You didn't even have the fucking balls to tell me yourself! You knew that Letha's been making my life hell while you've been doing God knows what with her behind my back!"

"It's not that simple!" Peter barked, scooting forward on the bed to shield Letha and give her space to breathe. "We've-- I've been into Letha for longer than I can remember!"

Letha immediately protested, and her face turned more and more red by the second; "Stop talking, stop talking, I swear to God! I'm going to die of a heart attack at this rate!"

But her pleas didn't stop Peter. He was ready to fess up, just like he had been for a while, now. His shoulders slumped as his eyes locked with Roman's, getting ready to face his biggest secret. "Letha and I used to date, man. We used to be... together-together. She was my girlfriend for a while, but we broke up because we didn't want to hurt you, Ro, and because it was getting out of control. It was just too big of a secret to keep. But then you got together with her..." He nodded to me with a sigh. "And Letha said we were free to do whatever we pleased, and I gave in because..."

Peter turned to face Letha with a sweet shimmer in his eyes-- the type of look I recognized from all the times Roman had looked at me like that.

"Because I love her," Peter whispered.

I could only watch as Letha slowly dared to place her hand on top of his, and they exchanged a painfully sincere silent vow.

The cherry on top for this moment, was when I started loudly gagging-- not because of the sight of them all loved up, but because all the drama, the stress, the alcohol, and the new sensation of nicotine. Acid crawled up my throat as I buckled over, crouching down as I tried to keep my breaths deep and steady; my brain felt like it was shutting down, and probably because it was.

Roman immediately bent down, trying to get on my level, but I wafted him away. He wouldn't be able to comfort me no matter what he did, not after how I had seen him kiss Jessica to get back at me.

I couldn't believe that I hadn't seen the signs. I couldn't believe that I hadn't noticed them being together when it had been right in front of me, all this time. Gathering strength, I spoke; "You're not really going to study philosophy, are you?"

Peter's head darted down to my crouched-over body. "What?"

"When I met you at the library," I breathed. "All that time ago, when you were reading tons of books about guilt...and you said it was because you were going to study philosophy. You've been lying to Roman and I, just like we've been lying to you. After all this fucking time... Fucking hell. We're, like, the shittiest group of people ever."

Roman, who had frozen to his spot in a mixture of disgust and shock, couldn't watch it any longer. His silence was worse than shouting. His chest rose and fell in sharp bursts, his nails dug into his palm, he had bit his teeth together so hard that I feared they might crack. The air in the room had changed; it was suffocating, thick with tension that pressed into my skin.

Peter dared to break it. "Roman--"

"Shut up," he hissed. "Enough."

Peter snapped his mouth shut, looking like he had just walked into traffic. Letha was frozen, her hand still resting on Peter's like she was drawing strength from him.

It didn't matter anymore— I wanted to get out. I needed to get out. Now.

"Rome," I mumbled, voice thin. "I need--"

His head darted to me immediately, and his eyes; God, his eyes. They weren't just angry anymore... they were desperate. He was coming undone too.

Letha seized the opportunity once more. "She needs air," she said quickly, standing up like she could actually be of help. "Let's just-- let's all go back down and talk about this later, okay?"

"Later?" Roman let out a sharp, breathless huff. "You don't get to decide that! Do you really think I'm ever talking to any of you uncouth mongoloids again?"

Letha huffed at the names. "But we should really figure out everything later, because you're about to lose your shit!"

Roman took a threatening step forward, and Peter immediately shifted off the bed to step in front of Letha. It was so instinctive that I nearly threw up all over again-- he truly loved her, didn't he? After all this time?

"You're protecting her, dude?" Roman snarled, nodding to his cousin. "After everything?"

Peter's expression twisted with something I couldn't quite place. "I don't expect you to get it,"

"Oh, I get it, alright," With a smooth, final move, Roman bent down to help me stand up straight.

I swayed in my shoes, my breath catching in my throat to stop myself from immediately barfing all over the carpet. "I need air," I breathed. "This night has been too much. Too many lies, and one too many upirs-- because I assume he knows?"

Briefly, I glanced over at Peter after spilling the secret, but he only looked more guilty the longer my stare cut through into him. Of course he knew that Roman was a upir. Of course.

Everything blurred together, spinning too fast, and the weight of my decision pressed down on me so hard that I thought I'd collapse. The room was suffocating, the walls were closing in again, and the heat was unbearable-- I just needed to leave, I needed air, I needed space.

So I pushed away from Roman, staggering toward the door. "I can't-- I need to go,"

Enough was enough.

My whole life had fallen apart, and I couldn't do anything to save it. ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

I wrapped myself further up in Roman's heavy jacket as the world around me kept on swaying. I couldn't go home like this. I didn't even know how to get home.

How was I supposed to carry on after everything that had happened tonight?

But life is a tricky thing-- it doesn't let you go until it's your time. So my legs kept carrying me forward, down the driveway, past the parked cars, because I needed to go on. The streetlights above flickered, casting long shadows across the pavement; I barely registered where I was going, only that I needed to move. Somehow, my feet worked faster than my brain did-- I crossed streets without looking, stumbling over cracks in the sidewalk, the distant hum of the party fading behind me as I passed the houses in the neighbourhood.

All of this distracted from the heaviness of my heart.

I had lost everything.

But behind me, just far enough away that I couldn't hear his footsteps, Roman followed. My everything.

He didn't call out to me.

He didn't rush.

He just walked. With his hands tucked into the pocket of his pants, he walked like he was tethered to me by destiny.

And maybe he was? A big part of my believe it, but tonight? Tonight, I couldn't take it. I turned around to face him, my breath unsteady as all my emotions ravaged through my chest; "Could you please stop following me? I can't-- I can't think when you're near,"

Roman came to a slow halt. He swayed slightly, his shoulders slumped, his hair a mess over his face. He looked at me like he wasn't really seeing me at all, like he felt nothing and everything at the same time. Then, in a voice so quiet it barely carried, he muttered, "I just... I don't know what else to do,"

The admission hung between us, hollow and tired. He sounded so wrecked-- something cracked inside me at the sight of him, at the way his lips barely moved when he spoke, at the way he looked like he could fall apart with the wind. He had nothing left to give. Not to me, not to himself, nothing at all.

Looking at him any longer than this would kill me; I knew it. My heart trembled in my chest as my eyes welled with tears at the sight of him. "Me neither," I breathed, turning back around to continue my stride, too drunk to think clearly, too pained by the events of the night.

It didn't take Roman more than a beat to keep following me. What else could he do?

I didn't know where I was going, but a park came into view and seemed like the most peaceful option. The playground, the swings, the hollow quiet of a place meant for children, was abandoned at this hour-- my feet dragged through the wood chips as I made my way toward the middle of it, taking in the quiet of the landscape. Maybe this place would give us peace?

But Roman's steps came to an abrupt stop a few feet away. "Did you know?" he called out. "Are you sure you didn't know about Peter and Letha?"

I turned to look at him then, to really look at him. The streetlights cast shadows across his face— he was in the dark, where he certainly belonged. "I had no idea," I confessed. "I would've told you if I knew."

Roman let out a weak, bitter breath as he ran his fingers through his hair. "This is too much," he choked out. "This night-- I can't take any more of this. I feel like I just died."

A long silence stretched between us, thick with something neither of us could escape. There was no anger in his eyes now, no fire, just hollow emptiness, and I couldn't tell if that was worse. "I'm sorry about Peter," I tried, softening my eyes. "I always knew Letha was a bit of a cunt, but I would've never thought Peter would do something like this to you... I'm sorry."

Roman couldn't look at me anymore-- he raised his chin to look at the pair of crows sitting at the top of a nearby tree. It was at this moment that I saw the tears in his eyes, and the single one that rolled down his cheek. "I don't care about Peter," he breathed. "I don't care about him, I don't care about Letha, I-- I don't care about anything anymore."

My heart hammered in my chest— what?

"I feel at fault, because I should've known," Roman mumbled, his voice full of resignation as he rubbed away his tears with the back of his hand. "I should've known this would all fall apart... because it always does. People always leave. You always leave."

Fuck. "Roman," I whispered. "That's not—"

"I've been running after you, hoping that if I tried enough, if I did more, that you'd choose me... but you won't," he choked out, lower lip quivering. "Not even my best friend chose me. No one ever does, so... I'm done. I can't change what I am. I'll always be a upir, and if you can't trust that I'd rather die than hurt you, then there's nothing more I can do."

Roman turned away, and his shoulders slumped with the realization; at the end of the night, I wasn't the one who made the final decision about us-- it was him. His next breath seemed to be one of pained relief; "I can't keep doing this. Congratulations... You're free. I can't love you anymore. I won't love you anymore,"

He took a final, slow step back. "You're right... this has to end. It's over,"

And then, Roman Godfrey turned around to leave me drunk and alone in a park long past midnight.

... What?

Roman was done?

He couldn't love me anymore...?

I won't. I won't. I won't.

It echoed all over. It's over. I can't. I won't. But that's surely not how love works? Can someone just decide not to love someone?

My reaction to Roman leaving felt like a stolen breath-- painful, instant. It felt like my words clawed their way out of my mouth, forcing my jaw apart with one quick snap of bones, and exited with one quick, panicked yell; "Wait!"

It echoed through the park.

Over and over.

My hand laid over the vial of his blood which I kept around my neck, feeling it burn into my skin. "Roman, wait!"

... And it's around here that you'd assume this would end, right?

You're probably holding your breath, waiting for the moment when Roman's gonna turn around hear me out, tell me he loves me after all, that he's gonna forgive me and we'll live happily ever after, blah blah blah--

But this is not that kind of a story. I'm sorry that I made you believe it was.

Do you finally get why I've needed you along with me this time? Why I've been talking directly to you for once?

... No?

Fine. I'll be more clear. I'll show you the rest; I'll show you why.

My breath was stuck in my throat as I anticipated the sound of Roman's voice, the sound of his forgiveness coming out to soothe me. This was probably proper karmic retribution for me, sure, but could this really be the end?

Now that he was truly walking away, it hit me like a freight train; I didn't want it to end.

I didn't want to let him go, especially now that he was letting go of me.

It could work, right?

Every nerve in my body screamed at me to move, so I did. When I realized Roman wasn't turning back around, I choked down a brewing sob and hurried to keep up after him. "Rome, please!"

The nickname had him twitching; it was clear that he was upset about his choice, his forced resignation, and the doubt in his body was a consolation to my momentary panic. But in that moment, his head also turned to the side, and I saw something flicker in his eyes. In no time, completely out of the blue, Roman picked up his pace and started walking in a completely different direction like a dog in a fox-chase. His nose flared, his posture shifted-- he wasn't just walking away from me, he was sensing something.

What was happening?

"Wait!" My voice cracked, rising with panic. He wasn't stopping. He really wasn't stopping. "Stop it! Where are you going?!" Would we ever stop chasing each other? "Do you really expect me to be okay so easily after you kissed Jessica like that?! This is-- This is too much pressure, this is insane! Give me a minute to think at least, stop running!"

Roman's movements were so fast, so precise, that it felt like I was trying to catch up to a ghost. The distance between us seemed to stretch, and I could feel my limbs growing heavier with each step, the weight of my emotions and alcohol pulling me down. But I kept going, desperate, with my heart drumming in my ears.

And when Roman finally came to a halt in the outskirts of the park, I lunged forward; I tugged at the sleeve of his shirt, stumbling as I clung to him, forcing him to see me, to hear me. I let out a choked sob against him, desperate to not let go of the man that I loved. "Hear me out, okay?" I cried. "Just give me a second, I'm too drunk to think!"

But Roman didn't react.

Didn't look.

Because his gaze was frozen on something completely different.

There, tucked into one of the small, plastic playhouses, was a shape. A person.

Confused and broken, my gaze followed his. At first, it barely registered-- it was just someone that had passed out, curled up in the cramped space like a drunk trying to sleep it off. It was the kind of thing you might see after a party, someone who never made it home. That was normal; I didn't think much of it, confused by Roman's entrancement, until I recognized the pink clips in the person's hair.

That was Brooke Bluebell, wasn't it?

Fuck-- it was.

Then, I saw the way Roman's face shifted, the way his nostrils flared, the way he inhaled. It immediately made me step away from him and toward Brooke. Something cold crawled down my spine; "Roman?" I whispered, instantly feeling beyond nauseous once again. "Maybe we should?--"

His arm shot out, barring me from moving any closer. "Wait," he snapped, his voice coated with warning and concern.

The smell hit me a second later.

Coppery. Thick.

I gagged when I finally got a proper look, and I stumbled back as the truth crashed over me.

Brooke Bluebell wasn't sleeping.

She was laying in her own blood, her eyes wide open as her drained body looked frozen in a scream-- her intestines had been dragged out of her stomach, scattered along her torso, and her legs were gone, as though mauled from beneath.

Slowly, Roman turned to me, pupils dilated beyond normal; I knew his upir senses were screaming inside his head. "I thought the smell of blood was thicker because you were on your period or something," he breathed. "I thought-- fuck."

My mind was spinning beyond control, and only the sound of our heavy breathing filled the playground until the distant wail of sirens cut through the silence. I flinched, feeling my heart-rate spike; "Shit!-- Roman, we can't be here!" I grabbed his arm, trying to pull him away. "Please! You can't be exposed to this, we've gotta go!"

But Roman didn't move.

He wouldn't.

It was clear that he was trying to drown out whatever his upir senses were telling him to do, and I had no idea how I was supposed to reel him away from the edge.

The sirens howled closer, and the wind picked up, scattering the scent of blood into the cold night air.

... Brooke Bluebell was dead.

And we were about to be caught at the scene of her murder.

(a/n: AAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!! WELCOME TO THE PLOT OF BOOK 2! I WILL BE MAKING AN ANNOUNCEMENT THIS WEEKEND, BUT BEFORE THAT--- THANK YOU SO SO SO MUCH MY SWEETHEARTS FOR READING THIS FAR!!🥹🌸 I have been building towards the Letha and Peter reveal since the STARTTTT AHHHH FINALLY IT'S YOURS!!! FINALLY I CAN SHARE IT!!! MY HEART IS YOURS, AND SO IS MY WORK, SO THANK YOU<3333 AND I'M SORRY FOR THIS OH GOD???)

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@virgosapphire79 @star-girl-04 @veyzus @ddipotassium @pecxiebu

@mil88691 @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @katifefe @sn0wybowie-blog

@lilithskywalker @likecherriesinthespring @sadheartjellyfish @vadersangel

@shehangsbrightly @burningmiraclekingdom @dollforaswan @austinswhitewolf

@nico-velvet @shiiiii-okayyyy @theantagonistalwaysdies @blackbluerose666

@obexes @rosecoloureddudez @amoure020 @itsaeasykill

@succubustacy @carmillavalentine @scarledy @chaneloberlin62727

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@taintandviolent @sweatyconnoisseurstrawberry @amidthechaos

#roman godfrey #hemlock grove #roman godfrey x reader #x reader #bill skarsgård #fanfiction #oneshot #bill skarsgard #angst #fanfic #highschool!au #hemlock grove fanfiction #ready to be murdered for this chapter but EEK #SIUHIUHGIUHG PPL IN THIS STORY ARE SO SHITTY I CANNOT #this chapter was so damn experimental oh god #I hope y'all like it u have no idea

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snowballseal · 9 months ago

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Breathe

Zayne X Reader

Summary: Trying to cope with losing Caleb and your grandmother, you throw yourself into work and push yourself to the very limit, only to break at the end of a particularly bad day. Thankfully, Zayne is there to get you through it.

Word Count: 2953

Warnings: dealing poorly with grief, depression, anxiety, what could be considered a panic attack, this is all hurt comfort folks, Zayne calls you good girl cause it's CANON and I can't get over it

Enjoy

---

One person can only take so much before they break. And the harder they try not to, the worse it gets.

Your day sucked. First you were late to the team meeting because you spilled coffee - piping hot you might add - on yourself right before leaving. Then, you and Xavier got into a stupid fight - he thought you were pushing yourself too hard. A part of you knew he was just concerned, they all were, but as soon as those pitying eyes turned on you, you could feel yourself bristling like an angry street cat.

You were fine.

Was it that wrong that you just wanted to work? You hate being home alone, which happens often since Zayne has to work extra hours, what with the increase in wanderer attacks. Not seeing him has already made you a little grumpy. But even worse, is the deafening silence of that apartment. Every time you’re alone, every time it gets just a little to quiet, you can’t stop your thoughts from drifting to Caleb and Gran-

So you work. You take extra hours, cover shifts, field the reports nobody wants to do, even if it means you stay up all night, even if it means you skip a few meals. At least then you don’t have to think about it, you don’t have to deal with the nightmares. Maybe if you throw yourself into work, you might be able to outrun the storm creeping on your horizon.

And that’s how you ended up messing up on a mission. Pushed to your limits, your mind was foggy and your body just. wouldn’t. move.

You hadn’t gotten out of the way fast enough. A stray energy blast narrowly caught your shoulder, sending you careening into the nearest wall. The impact sent your head spinning, your vision going blurry for a second too long. You could hardly make out Xavier’s face when he kneeled beside you, telling you to stay down, that he could handle it.

A bitter taste had filled your mouth when he said those words.

You were utterly and completely useless. And that thought seeded itself somewhere in your chest, wrapping tight around your ribs until you couldn’t breathe.

Jenna sent you home after that, with a stern command to rest. You wanted to argue, tell them you’re fine, but your shoulder was screaming and the look she gave you when you opened your mouth was seering enough to shut down the most experienced hunter.

So you threw your jacket over your shoulders and stormed out of the office, trying to ignore the way your team’s gaze followed you, not even bothering to hide their concern. You could feel it burning on your skin all the way home. And that was only the beginning.

Now you find yourself laying on your couch, staring blankly at the television, the volume turned up too loud, just to drown out the thoughts swirling like a storm in your head.

You hate it. This feeling. Like you’re stuck underwater, trying so hard to reach the surface, but everything you do just drags you deeper and deeper. Your muscles are burning for any relief, but you can’t let yourself stop. You’re too scared to let yourself stop. Because if you do-

“Are you aware that listening to the television at this volume could cause damage to your hearing?”

You jump at the sudden calm voice that speaks behind you, flipping around to come face to face with a rather unamused Zayne. Quickly, you snatch the tv remote, turning it down until it’s barely a whisper in the background.

“Zayne! I thought you were working late tonight,” you chirp, the waver in your voice almost unnoticeable.

Almost.

Zayne’s eyes narrow, making you shift uncomfortably. Sometimes it feels like he can see right through you, right to the very core of your being.

“Things were not as busy as expected, so I decided to come home early and make sure you eat a full meal,” he explains, voice calm despite the way his gaze burns through you.

Skin prickling with unease, you jump from the couch, forcing a playful laugh, “What are you, my doctor?”

“Yes.”

Right. You awkwardly shift around him, heading towards the kitchen, “Well, then I guess we should start dinner, huh? What do you want?”

“You are also home early.” It’s not a question, merely an observation, but it makes your throat go dry.

Sometimes having such an observant boyfriend is amazing. You love Zayne more than anything, love how attentive he is, but in moments like this, you feel like a creature under a microscope. Every single flaw and action under his sharp scrutiny. There’s nowhere to hide, and all you want to do is run.

“We have some leftover moo shoo pork,” you hum shakily, hands unsteady as you pull it from the fridge. “And I could make some rice, I think it’s up he-”

Forgetting about your shoulder, you reach up to one of the cupboards. Pain shoots up to your fingers like electricity, searing back down your spine. You inhale sharply, momentarily paralyzed as you clutch it to your chest, eyes squeezing shut.

Zayne is there in an instant. His fingers ease over your taut jaw, his skin cool to the touch. He doesn’t say a word, but you can practically feel his concern in the way he barely touches you, like he’s scared you’ll break. It makes your chest tighten.

“I’m fine,” you breathe, gritting your teeth.

“You’re injured,” he counters, voice still irritatingly calm, “Why don’t you let me-”

“I said I’m fine,” you bite out again, this time with a little more force, “I’m perfectly capable of making dinner. I’m not useless.”

Zayne pauses, partially taken aback by your words. They feel out of place, and he can tell you didn’t mean to say them when you glance away, cheeks burning a vicious pink. His brow furrows, confusion flickering over his features.

“I wasn’t suggesting you are,” he says, each word measured carefully, like the wrong ones could set you off.

And now you feel guilty. God, you can’t do anything right today.

Biting your tongue, you grab the rice with your good arm, stepping around him to busy yourself at the counter. Not that setting up the rice cooker takes up much time. Soon enough you've nothing more to do, bracing yourself against the counter just to stay upright. The silence that creeps between you is unbearable, thick enough to cut, especially when you can still feel Zayne’s eyes following you so closely.

“God, this is so stupid,” you huff out, false bravado broken as your voice warbles, “I’m fine. I can handle it. I’m a hunter. I’m supposed to handle it. I’m supposed to- I’m supposed to help people. Not-”

You bite off the rest, fingers digging into the counter. The pain in your shoulder distracts you, keeps the tears at bay. You can’t cry. Not now. Not-

A hand traces lightly against your waist. You tremble at the gentle touch, a lump forming in your throat as his arm circles around you. Zayne pauses for only a moment before pulling you back into a rare embrace when you show no signs of moving away. He presses his face against your hair and holds you like you’re the most fragile thing in the world, like you’re made of the thinnest ice, which is how you feel.

Tears blur your vision. You take a deep, shuddering breath, trying to hold it all together. Until-

“It wasn’t your fault, (Y/n).”

His voice is so quiet, so certain.

And you break.

You don’t know what sound leaves your body at that moment, but you’re sure it’s ugly and broken. Your entire body trembles in his hold, but he doesn’t waver, simply holds you tighter as everything spills out.

It’s so much. So much weight, so much grief, your throat is raw in seconds from crying. Every breath is like knives, until suddenly, you can’t breathe.

It’s like your lungs are full of sand, your chest spasming as you fail to take in air. It hurts. It all hurts.

“Darling, I need you to breathe,” Zayne’s voice speaks urgently at your ear, and you want to, you need to, but all you can muster is a pathetic whimper and shake your head. Before you can blink, Zayne has you turned around and lifted onto the counter, slotting himself between your legs. He catches one of your hands, pressing it firmly against his chest as his green eyes bore into yours, a hint of desperation pulling at his features. “I know you can. Be a good girl and copy me, alright? Can you do that?”

You nod shakily, trying to focus on him and not the burning in your chest. Zayne takes a deep, exaggerated breath, his chest rising against your hand. You try to do the same, your body shaking with the effort.

“Now breathe out.”

His chest falls and you once again copy him, the breath leaving you shakily. It takes a few repetitions until your breathing comes to any normal pattern, and Zayne silently tracks the time in his head. He traces your wrist gently, subtly checking your pulse to see how your heart is doing. It’s racing, but still within a normal range, which is enough to ease his firing nerves a little.

Not that this is over.

“‘m sorry,” you hiccup softly, gasping down breathes, fresh tears spilling over your cheeks. “God I’m sorry, Zayne. I didn’t mean, I didn’t mean to snap at you, and I just, I-”

The doctor hums, tone stern, making you fall silent. He traces his fingers against your cheek, the cold of his touch welcome against your overheated skin. He carefully wipes your tears away.

“I accept your apology. It is very common for people dealing with grief to lash out at those closest to them. I am merely thankful you trusted me enough to let me help you through it.”

You sag into his touch, lips wobbling. To most, that wouldn’t be comforting. But for you, knowing Zayne, it’s like finally having a hand to hold you above the water. He’s unmoving, unyielding in the way he loves you, all of you. Even like this.

“I trust you with my life, Zayne,” you whisper and lean forward to press your forehead against his chest.

“Then I assume you’ll allow me to examine your shoulder.” It’s not really a question, but you nod anyway. Zayne leans down, pressing a chaste kiss to your hair. “I will go get the first aid kit. Please take off your shirt if you feel comfortable doing so. If not, I ask that you change into something that will give me access to do a thorough exam.”

“Yes, doctor.”

“That’s my good girl,” he hums approvingly, a ghost of a smile in his voice.

Your heart jumps a little at that and you’re thankful for the curtain of hair hiding your face. It’s not often Zayne indulges you with such soft praise and you can’t help but soak it in, especially now. Your eyes flicker shut when he presses another kiss to your head, the touch lingering before he disappears to go retrieve the kit.

Sighing softly, you set to work on trying to get your shirt off. The nerves have settled back in your chest, not sure what to expect. You haven’t looked at your shoulder once since the fight, dead set on ignoring it as long as you could. Which was stupid. If the pain tells you anything, it’s probably pretty bad.

Bad enough that you can’t actually get your shirt off. You’re able to slip one arm out, but wince when you try to lift your bad one. So you're stuck like that, half undressed. Which is how Zayne finds you when he comes back, medical kit in hand.

He glances at you, dark brow raising a fraction. If he’s amused, his face doesn’t give it away.

“Will you um, will you help me?” You ask, voice quiet, “I can’t…I can’t lift my arm.”

Zayne’s lips press into a thin line. He nods, setting the kit aside. You can’t help but hold your breath as his fingers brush against your knee, slowly tracing up your thigh, jumping to your waist and brushing against your ribs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. His touch is unbearably soft, and your heart squeezes as you watch his face, noticing the way his brows twitch as he works, and how focused his gaze is. Every movement is calm, self-assured. You hardly have to move as he lifts the shirt over your head, sliding it down your injured arm.

And once it’s off, his hand returns to your waist, thumb brushing tenderly over your ribs. His eyes stay focused on your shoulder, and yours stay glued to his expression, catching the smallest flicker of shock.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” You ask, biting your cheek.

Zayne carefully schools his expression, but you can still see his disapproval in the tight set of his jaw, “You should have gone to the hospital immediately. I am surprised your team let you walk away with such an injury.”

“They didn’t know,” you mumble, trying to defend them at least a little bit. It really was your fault.

“So you hid this injury from your team?” He doesn’t hide his disapproval this time. You flush, looking down at your lap again, though that’s hard with him settled right between your legs.

“I didn’t…” The words get caught in your mouth. It’s so silly now, you know that. Your team would never look down on you for being injured, but- “I didn’t want them to think I couldn’t handle it. I just, I didn’t want to seem…useless.”

Zayne clicks his tongue, but he doesn’t say anything else. His fingers graze lightly against your shoulder and you wince, a low hiss passing between your teeth. Murmuring an apology, he moves to grab a few things from the kit. The silence returns as he sets to work, though this time, it’s not so uncomfortable.

Your head feels a little clearer now. You’re not through it, that’s for sure, but the pain from losing Caleb and your grandmother lingers a little less sharply. Zayne’s words from before repeat like a mantra in your head, and for once, you can feel yourself almost accepting them.

It wasn’t your fault.

There’s nothing you could have done. You can’t change the outcome of that day in the same way that you can’t change the color of the sky. That doesn’t stop how deeply you feel their absence, though.

“I miss them so much,” you admit, mostly to yourself.

Zayne pauses, already wrapping your shoulder after applying some medicine and deciding that the hospital could wait until tomorrow. He finishes pinning the bandage down before shifting back, eyes trailing over your face. You look up at him, exhaustion gleaming in your wide, (e/c) eyes. It’s like looking at a sad, little puppy. He breathes out a low sigh, brushing a few rogue hairs from your face.

“Your grandmother and Caleb were kind, caring people,” he says slowly, thoughtful, “It is right that you should miss them. It is not a sign of weakness to feel grief.”

“I know.” You reach for his hand, desperate for some form of contact. He gives in without hesitation, fingers brushing against your jaw to hold your face. You turn, nuzzling into his palm with a sigh. His touch gives you the comfort to continue, “Sometimes it just feels like if I let myself sit with it too long, I’ll be swallowed whole. And that…scares me. A lot.”

A pause. You keep your face tucked against his palm, enjoying the way he pets you as he thinks. Zayne has never been the strongest when it comes to emotions. With everything else he likes to distance himself from them to stay objective, so you know he needs the time to figure out what he wants to say.

“I suppose…” he starts, and you glance back up at his face, catching the serious gleam in his eyes, “if it gives you any comfort, I would like to remind you that I will always be here to bring you back from whatever depths you fall to. Even if risking your life is your choice of coping mechanism.”

He pinches your cheek ever so lightly, and finally, finally, a smile pulls at your lips.

“I’ll work on it, I promise.”

He doesn’t look like he truly believes you, but Zayne nods.

“As your doctor, I would deeply appreciate it if you would.”

Eyes dancing with a bit of mirth, you lean forward, pressing a loving kiss to his cheek. Zayne catches you before you can pull back, fingers curling along your jaw as he draws you into a deeper kiss. It’s slow, his lips slanting perfectly over your own, like a well-rehearsed dance. When he pulls away, you can’t help but sigh, leaning your forehead against his chest again.

“What on earth would I do without you, Zayne?”

He presses another kiss to your hair, voice a low, teasing murmur, “You would likely die from an untreated wound.”

And just like that, you’re laughing. Zayne smiles, relief washing over him at the sound.

You’ll be alright. He knows that today was just the first step, that grief is complex and differs from person to person, and you might have another bad day like this, but he doesn’t mind that. Not now that he’s finally by your side and can take care of you.

Nothing could drive him away.

---

I literally started this game 11 days ago and I'm so down bad for these characters, it's shameful. Anyways! Hope y'all enjoyed!

Feel free to send requests!

#zayne x reader #zayne x you #lads zayne x reader #love and deepspace #love and deepspace zayne x reader #x reader #reader insert #love and deepspace reader insert #hurt/comfort #dealing with grief #panic attack #lads zayne #my beloved

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sohnric · 1 year ago

Text

plot twist – k. sunwoo

pairing: kim sunwoo x gn! reader

genre: coworkers au, enemies to lovers au. fluff, a poor attempt at comedy. movie theatre! worker sunwoo and reader. bitch boy sunwoo. the reader has anger issues. owner's son! sunwoo being annoying about everything. winter themes, sunwoo is a little kid about stuff but mostly the snow.

wc: 21k

warnings: swearing, a heated make out session. y/n's inner monologue is just my own feelings about this man im sorry. i watched too much of the office when writing this can you tell. also i made sunwoo's sister underage for plot reasons deal with it.

working with kim sunwoo has so far been the worst experience of your whole entire life. just his existence alone is enough to make your day completely miserable– though, one would think that working with movies on the daily would prepare you for the biggest plot twist of your life.

a/n: this took me SO LONG to write woah. i have a humble playlist for this fic if any of yall wanna listen to it while you read <3 a huge thank you goes to my best friend @csenke for being my biggest motivator and hype man when it came to this fic. thank u for being my first ever beta reader hihi i couldn't have done this without you i am forever grateful ily. also im tagging @heemingyu because whe told me to

ho ho ho! this fic is a part of the secret santa event by @deoboyznet ! @kimsohn maya, i was your secret santa this year, i hope you enjoy the fic i prepared for you

TONIGHT'S PREMIERE – UGLY TRUTH (2009)

If anyone ever asked you about your job in the movie theater, you wouldn’t really know what to say.

You see, what may had seemed like your dream job when you were little, acquiring the fairytale vision after going to the cinema for the first time to see the Horton movie when you were just 7, quickly turned into reality one ordinary day during your junior year of university. And it wasn’t even that hard; you just dropped off your CV at the movie theater on the corner of the town's square when you saw the sign that said ‘looking for part-timers’ in a messy, giant handwriting on the glass door– and soon enough, you found yourself in the depths of the vintage-looking cinema, wearing the red uniform the owner gave you, selling movie tickets to teenagers and taking out the trash. It’s hard to enjoy the job when you’re on bathroom cleaning duty, though, and the fact that this is what you once imagined to be the most exciting job in the whole entire world turns twice as boring when you realize just how mundane it really is.

Still, you can’t bring yourself to quit, well, because you need the money.

Do you hate working in the cinema? No. Not really. Sure, it’s kind of boring– especially on the nights when you’re selling tickets at the front and nobody comes in for hours– but it’s not that difficult. It’s not physically or mentally demanding, so you’d say that you’re still on the better end when it comes to work environment. Your boss isn’t a dick and you get paid on time– so really, if anyone asked you if you hated it, your answer would be no.

Until one fateful day, of course.

You’re met with a person that’s going to efficiently change this opinion around in one swift bat of their eyelashes and a drag of their hand through their messy hair.

“So… you’re the new part-timer?” a tall boy asks you one day when you arrive at work. You’re already wearing your uniform when you come through the front door– since you don’t really feel like changing in the toilets that are not staff-exclusive here– and frankly, his voice startles you on your way in.

“Yeah,” you nod, furrowing your brows at the stranger. “And you are…?”

“Sunwoo,” the boy says, matter-of-factly, as if you’re supposed to know who exactly he is now that he’s introduced himself to you. The look on your face may show that you’re still clueless, and see, that’s something that must have played with the boy’s ego. “Kim Sunwoo,” he snickers, “the owner’s son..?”

Blinking a few times, trying to remember if Mr Kim’s ever told you about having a son– he hasn’t– you gasp like a fish on the dry, nodding. “Oh… Hello..?” you mumble, not really knowing what to do with the information.

“Hi,” he says, face stone cold and motionless. Something’s wrong, but you can’t quite put your finger on it….

Well, you’ll have to deal with that later. “My shift starts in 5 minutes, so I gotta find Mr- your dad, and ask him what’s on my to-do list today, but it was nice meeting you,” you try to force out a polite (maybe even warm) smile before you turn on your heel and march towards the staff room, where Mr Kim usually resigns unless he is helping you out with something at the front. See, on not busy days, working at the cinema requires only one person. On Fridays, though, it can get tough. That’s when the owner makes the popcorn while you both sell and scan the tickets at the same time– sometimes you wonder why he doesn’t hire another person to help out with the job.

“Wait– newbie–”

The nickname startles you, again, as you turn around and squint at him. You have a name– and although he has no way of knowing it (other than his father telling him, but seeming that you didn’t even know about his son, Mr Kim isn’t big on sharing information)– but still, you’d love to be called by it. “It’s Y/N, actually.”

“Oh, right…” he hums, “well, Y/N, dad’s not here tonight, so… I’m… kind of in charge,” he says, nodding as he gets the words out, trying to prove his point, “he had other things to take care of, so he sent me down instead,” he explains, watching as your face morphs into one of quick understatement.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” he nods, sucking on his teeth.

Thick silence overtakes the atmosphere. You feel awkward and out of place.

“So…?” you hum, waiting for him to tell you what to do.

Because a guy your age ordering you around at work is already embarrassing enough for a university student just trying to pay for their groceries. You’re not gonna ask for the orders yourself. You still have some dignity.

“So… I could take the ticket booth and you can clean the screening room, since there are no movies on tonight?” he suggests, rocking on his heels. The boy seems a bit shaken with the new sense of responsibility, but you figure that even his undoubtful awkwardness still doesn't put you above his position.

You mentally sigh. Cleaning is your least favorite part of the job.

Still, you’re not gonna talk back to your boss’ son. You’d like to keep your job for a while longer. At least until you find something better.

“Alright,” you nod, turning on your heels once more and preparing to disappear into the depths of the cinema.

His voice stops you again, though, frustration flowing through your veins. “Don’t forget to mop the floors! Oh, and the bathroom could use a clean as well.”

“Alright,” you nod again, your back facing him.

“Also, you need to get the gum off the chairs, I know it’s kind of disgusting, but there’s a-”

“I know how to do my job, thank you,” you turn, smiling ironically over your shoulder.

You don’t know what it is about the man that makes you so, so incredibly irritated. Maybe it’s the fact that every bit of information coming out of his mouth sounds like he’s mansplaining everything to you. Maybe it’s the fact that you feel humiliated to be told what to do by a man that’s your age. Or maybe, it’s just the sheer fact that you hate cleaning– the one thing he just told you to do.

Still, you go and get the vacuum. You go and mop the floors, you go and take the gum off the chairs and scrape it into a bucket you keep in the pantry in the back. You go and clean the bathroom, even though it’s 10 minutes until the end of your shift (you only work 4 hours on Wednesdays) and you spent almost your whole day cleaning the whole screening room by yourself (the screening room that’s giant and Mr Kim helps you with on most days). You go and wipe the mirror in the bathroom, as well as the windows in the hall.

You say that your work in the cinema is not physically demanding, but by the time you’re out, your back hurts and your knees are all bruised up from getting on the ground so often.

What really sets you off, though, is the sight of the owner’s son sitting in the booth, both legs up on the table and chewing on something, his phone in his hands as he watches, what you presume from the language resonating from the speaker, a silly anime. At least someone had fun during their shift, you think as you leave without saying goodbye to him, slamming the door behind you with a loud bang on your way out.

Quite frankly, you didn’t know what set you off so bad this time. Maybe you just had a bad day. Maybe it could've been fixed with your next shared shift with the guy– you never know.

Little did you know that it was only going to get worse from now on, though.

TONIGHT'S PREMIERE – PALM SPRINGS (2020)

If you knew your boss’s son would play the role of your supervisor from time to time, you probably wouldn't have taken the job when it was offered to you.

Why?

The reason is quite simple– while you go to work to make money, Kim Sunwoo goes to work to make your whole life a living hell. Ranging from always giving you the more difficult task of the day to making unfunny jokes about your performance (he once asked if you ran a marathon after you mopped the whole hall, his grinning figure staring at you from inside of the ticket booth), you’re starting to think that Kim Sunwoo is mentally stuck with the brain of an 11-year old boy.

More so with his recent endeavors. You don’t really know what he’s trying to achieve with all of this, but you’re starting to despise going to work even when you know he’s not on the schedule– somehow, you’re afraid his silly pranks and jokes will follow you and surprise you even when he’s not present. Is this his way of asserting dominance? You really don’t know.

It all starts one day before a movie premiere when Sunwoo walks up to you and introduces you to a new concession item to sell in the snack booth. While you don’t really know why one would even think of new combinations to sell at a cinema, since everyone’s just gonna get popcorn or nachos, you don’t really question the idea much further– Sunwoo’s father owns this place, so he must know the best marketing strategies for his business. The reality only downs on you when you’re forced to promote the “Ultimate movie mix” to every customer– which wouldn’t even be that strange, if the mix didn’t include the weird combination of pickles and candy.

Running on two all nighters and half an energy drink, you didn’t realize the snack stand doesn’t even hold pickles. You were notified the day after by your boss, though, and that wasn’t your best experience.

The terror follows when Sunwoo’s father decides to run a Star Wars marathon one weekend. The flood of customers wouldn’t be as hard to manage when you run the snack stand, but it does get more difficult when your coworker running around with a lightsaber knocks over all the buckets of freshly-made popcorn you just put on the counter for the customers to take.

He doesn’t even say sorry. Or help clean the spilled popcorn up from the floor. Or help you make a new batch.

He just laughs.

Sunwoo just loves to laugh at you. Like that one time he made you wear a giant popcorn costume and stand in front of the cinema for the entirety of your 4 hour shift on Wednesday to promote the new movie airing on Friday. Hardly anyone took the fliers you were desperately trying to force into their hands and when you came back, you saw Sunwoo pointing his camera at you from the big glass window.

The next shift, his dad asked you how Sunwoo did when promoting the movie. You didn’t have the heart to tell him he forced you to do the dirty business instead.

Another time, Sunwoo informs you via text in the middle of your shift that you should clean the bathrooms. The fact itself already makes you furious, but you follow the order nonetheless– because, well, what else can you do? You’re used to cleaning the toilets, since it’s a part of your job. It’s just the fact that a guy your age told you to that’s making you rethink all your career decisions.

The trip to the bathrooms quickly turns traumatizing when you step inside of the tiled room and have the door behind you close with a loud bang, followed by the light switching off. Screeching, you jump and try to escape the room with fear making your heart run faster than Usain Bolt, however, you find the door seemingly locked– the sound of Sunwoo’s snarky laugh coming from the other side making you recognise what just happened and how he’s pulling another one of his childish pranks on you again.

When the door finally opens, you throw the toilet brush into his chest and scream out a “I’m going to fucking quit if I see your face one more time!”. You’re over all formalities.

That doesn’t mean you’re not scared every time you enter a room in the cinema when you work with Sunwoo, though. Your reaction was strengthened very abruptly, you see.

Sitting in the ticket booth, door ajar to monitor your surroundings, you plop your head on your hand and glare at Sunwoo, chewing on your gum. If anyone saw you right now, they’d think you were trying to kill him with your stare, but the opposite would actually be the truth tonight– you were quite enjoying the sight of him wiping the sweat off his forehead and scowling at the neverending flow of customers.

The beauty of having ticket booth duty on premiere night is that everyone bought the tickets beforehand already, meaning that it wasn’t usually busy. Scanning the tickets and running the snack booth were the more difficult parts of the shift, and since Mr Kim decided to show up to work today, Sunwoo was graced with the snack booth duty– something that warmed you up from the inside and made you want to kiss your boss’s feet in gratefulness.

There’s just something about seeing Kim Sunwoo in misery that makes your stomach turn and do cartwheels. You’re in love with his pathetic, tired face.

His eyes meet yours when he takes a moment to breathe– the look behind them is pleading, almost embarrassingly hopeless as he internally wishes he was in your place. You think this serves him right for the weeks of torture, and when he becomes you to come over with a motion of his hand, you just shrug at him and bat your eyelashes in faked innocence.

It’s not your fault he’s on duty tonight. What does he want with you?

His lips mouth “Come here,” which makes you battle a satisfied smile. Poor Kim Sunwoo is helpless in his task. The rush just won’t stop and he’s asked of more than he can handle. You kind of feel sadistic when you truly think about your sentiments, but you think you’re only valid for feeding on his misery.

“Help!” he mouths again, and now you truly can’t battle the laughter anymore. His hair is tousled and sticking to his forehead. His uniform is dirty. The tie around his neck is loose. The sight makes you utterly satisfied.

As he mouths “Please,” accompanied by clasped hands and a pleading look that would work on most women, you finally decide to stand up from the uncomfortable chair in the ticket booth and shake your head in disbelief. You can’t even count how many times Sunwoo left you alone in the rush before a premiere, but you can’t really risk his father finding out you didn’t come to rescue his beloved son, since however you might hate this job, you still can’t lose it in your current living conditions.

Sighing and closing the door to the ticket booth after you, your legs take you to the snack stand. Eyes of enthusiastic customers looking almost high on coca cola and the smell of salted popcorn are on you when you finally reach Sunwoo’s side.

“So I’m supposed to help you with your work whenever you ask, but when I’m left cleaning the whole theater completely alone, you can sit around and play on your phone?” you jab, annoyed with the turn of events. You find a spare apron and tie it around your waist, not really wanting to dirty your uniform as you pour caramel into some buckets of popcorn, hearing your companion chuckle next to you.

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Okay, so I’ll be back in the ticket booth after serving this customer-”

“My dad’s watching.”

“This is blackmailing,” you snap back, smiling ironically at your coworker.

Sunwoo grins at you when he hands two cokes to the teenage girls behind the counter, shrugging to himself. “Not my problem.”

You learned long ago that fighting with Kim Sunwoo is a battle you can never win. Logically, you know you’re always right, but the boy always thinks he should have the last word in everything, which makes ending an argument with him pretty much impossible. That’s why you stopped trying to prove your truth. In your heart, you know how it is, and no amount of snarky remarks from the feisty boy will change your opinion.

You two work alongside each other in silence for some time. You’d even say it’s efficient– you make the popcorn and he makes the nachos, both of you taking turns behind the coca cola machine, and after a few minutes in his proximity when he’s not being the butt of the Earth, your brain starts to question why you two can’t operate like this on a daily basis.

Oh, how foolish of you.

You’re quickly brought back to reality when you walk over with the grande size bucket of popcorn towards the counter, meeting halfway with Kim Sunwoo’s chest.

It takes everything in you not to scream, but the restraint is deleted as soon as you feel something cold dripping down the front of your uniform, your white button-up suddenly sticking towards your chest in a big, dark-brown pool around your waist area. One sharp look into his eyes is everything it takes you two to come to a mutual understanding of what your next action is gonna be– Sunwoo quickly puts the now empty cup of coca cola onto the counter and puts a hand towards his head in self-disappointment.

“Kim Sunwoo, are you fucking incompetent?!” you scream out, the sensation of your cold shirt sticking to your already sweaty skin making you want to crawl out of yourself and scratch your coworker’s eyes out with the claws of the demon he wakes up in you.

“Look, you don’t have to-”

“I just washed this yesterday, there’s a line of people waiting for their snacks up to the fucking front door, you just ruined the popcorn I made so now I have to redo it, and you just decide to spill this onto me?!” you continue with your rampage, not really caring about the eyes of everyone on you, just letting out all your built-up frustration that creeps inside of you every time you see his face.

“As if I did this on purpose…” he grunts as he turns around in his place and reaches for napkins, not really putting much thought into his actions as he presses the material into the damp place sticking to your skin.

The image startles you– Kim Sunwoo almost in physical contact with you, a paper napkin soaking up some of the coca cola flooding the surface of your skin– and as you watch his slender palms run over your front, your eyes falling to the fluffy hair at the crown of his head, you feel heat rushing to your insides, making you jump away from him.

“Sorry-” he mumbles out as you forcefully pry the napkin out of his hand, gritting your teeth.

“I’m starting to think you’re making me do everything just because you’re useless,” you spit at him.

Rolling his eyes, Sunwoo pokes his cheek with the tip of his tongue. “It was an accident.”

“Don’t care,” you grunt, walking away from the booth, “I’m going to change in the back, you better not burn the place down with the popcorn machine before I’m back,” you comment, sending him a sharp glare over your shoulder.

All that accompanies you to the staff room is Sunwoo’s loud sigh and a sugary-sweet tone he offers to one of the customers as he throws the ruined popcorn into the trash. “I’ll be right with you, miss!”

If anyone asked you if you hated your job now, you think you’d say yes.

Who are you kidding?

You’d definitely say yes.

TONIGHT’S PREMIERE – THE HATING GAME (2021)

You were quite pleased on your way to work today. It’s Wednesday, which usually means it’s not as busy. The weather is cloudy– good enough to not make you gloomy, but not quite sunny enough to make you wish you were outside instead of being stuck in the cinema the whole afternoon– and you packed a home-made sandwich with you to eat on your lunch break. Which is whenever, since you’re on ticket booth duty today– another great news.

The best thing about today, though? Kim Sunwoo isn’t working today.

That alone is good enough to make your whole entire day better. The sun shines brighter, your breathing is lighter, the air is clearer and the birds chirp louder when you know you don’t have to interact with the hellspawn that day. It’s like his absence alone is enough to heal all your wounds and delete all your worries– who cares about the fact that you’re barely getting through your Biology class when you know you won’t have to stare at Sunwoo’s face as you contemplate dropping out of university during your shift?

Maybe you should thank him, in a way.

And with all of this knowledge, a smile plastered on your face as you’re prepared to sit through your 5-hour shift in silence with an occasional swipe through your social media and a well deserved chicken-mayo sandwich towards the end of your shift, it’s quite natural for your smile to freeze and your spirit fall the moment you see the mop of dark brown hair walk through the doors of the cinema.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” you mourn as he walks by, only realizing you said the sentence out loud when the boy looks at you with a scowled face, a scoff escaping his throat.

“Didn’t know we were speaking to each other in third person now,” he says as he stops in his tracks and plops his head into the door to your booth, infesting your calm abode with his presence.

Deep breaths. In and out, Y/N. In and out…

“Hello to you too, Y/N,” he smiles, irony dripping off his tongue, “having a good day so far?”

“It was better without you here, thank you,” you snap back, rolling your eyes at him when his eyes flash with something akin to a victory– it seems you both take joy in making the other one absolutely miserable with your presence.

“Sweet,” he nods on his way out, grinning to himself. “Well, I won’t be long, so don’t let your mood drop too much.”

With that, he’s out of the ticket booth. All that’s left behind him is the smell of his cologne– the tingle of lemon and bergamot filling your nostrils in a way that makes the fine hair at the back of your neck stand up all alert– and silence. It makes you wonder about his whereabouts– you can never know… what if he’s setting up a trap for you somewhere? You wouldn’t be half surprised. You make a mental note to yourself to be twice as cautious when going to the bathroom next time. Just to make sure.

Before you’re able to think of any possible situations that Sunwoo could get himself caught in (while completely ignoring the fact that his father is somewhere in his office in the back– for all you know, he might just need to talk to your boss, like a son does sometimes), the woodworm of your thoughts appears in your view again, two rolled-up tubes under his shoulder as he walks over to the front door.

“Wait! What are those?” you ask, eyes zeroing on the very clear posters in his grip. The shiny white back of the big posters you have to sometimes put up in the front of the cinema are unmistakable to anything else.

“Posters,” Sunwoo replies, calling over his shoulder, already halfway out of the building.

“I know what those are–”

“Then why are you asking?” he huffs, shaking his head in disbelief as he takes a few steps towards the ticket booth, eyes meeting yours. His figure fills the door frame as he towers over you, still sitting on the chair. His eyes have a different kind of twinkle in them– you think, no, you know it’s mischief– making the blood in your veins boil at deadly temperatures.

“Because– well,” you huff, already frustrated, “we’re not allowed to take these,” you say, pointing to the two posters under his shoulder like a kid in the candy store. You try to ignore just how embarrassing you must look right in this moment.

“Oh,” he pouts, taking the posters from below his shoulder, unraveling one of them and resting the other one against the doorframe, “so you’re telling me… I can’t take those two amazingly big, shiny, cool posters of the latest Spiderman movie home for me and my friend Juyeon?”

You’re only half-aware of the fact that he’s teasing you right now, sighing at his innocent face. “No, Sunwoo. You can’t.”

“Hm,” he hums, looking at the poster from top to the bottom, seemingly sad about the news, “that’s terrible. Says who?”

“Your… your father, Sunwoo. He told me when I asked him the other day if I could take–”

“You wanted to take posters home from the cinema?” he gasps, looking at you with big eyes. He looks stupid. So, terribly stupid. Dumb. No thought behind his eyes. You want to smash his head against a concrete wall.

…He’s teasing you. It finally dawns on you.

Now, you want to smash your head against a concrete wall.

Still, you admit defeat with a solemn tone in your voice. “Well, I really wanted the Enola Holmes poster to put up in my bedroom…” you mumble.

“And my dad said no?” he asks, eyebrows quirking up towards his hairline.

“Yes, Sunwoo. Your father said it’s prohibited to take posters home from the cinema, that’s exactly why I’m stopping you right now,” you say, tone filled with annoyance. You know he’s enjoying your face full of misery. But still, if there’s one thing you’re good at, it’s following the rules and orders– if Mr Kim says you can’t take the posters home, you’ll go in the back and tear them into pieces before throwing them into the bin like you’re told to.

If things were going your way, you’d advise Sunwoo to do the same.

A day with Kim Sunwoo in it never goes your way, though. You should’ve been prepared.

“So I can’t take those posters home because my dad said no?” he clarifies, looking like a dummy. Like one of those kids that ask the most obvious questions during exams. Like one of those kids you want to sucker punch in the face.

“Sunwoo–”

“Well, Y/N-ie,” he purrs, the nickname making your hands curl up in fists, “that’s too bad… because I am the owner’s son, so… the rules don’t really apply to me, you see.”

And with that, he sends another sickeningly sweet smile your way before he turns on his heel and marches towards the front door again– not responding to any of your annoyed, infuriated calls of his name. He doesn’t stop at your warnings. He doesn’t care.

And just like that, he disappears just as fast as he appeared. The interaction didn’t last more than 10 minutes, but you consider your whole day ruined.

Fucking Sunwoo and his fucking privileges. And his fucking annoying face.

It’s not even that important. It’s just two posters that would get thrown out to the dumpster in the back at the end of your shift anyway. You don’t even care about those posters in particular– you just with equal rules applied to all workers in the workplace.

It’s not like Spiderman Homecoming is one of your favorite movies… not at all.

You could’ve had that poster. You deserved that poster. You sold tickets for it and served the snack booth when it premiered– not Kim Sunwoo and whatever his friend’s name was.

You kick the wall with your sneaker. It leaves a dirty mark.

You should’ve known the day felt too good to be true.

TONIGHT’S PREMIERE – MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING (1993)

There’s a new thing Mr Kim is trying to lure more customers into the cinema. He calls it ‘Rewind Thursdays’, where he picks a movie from the past and airs it in the theater again to bring out nostalgia in the whole town. You think it’s a good idea– you remember when the Harry Potter movies had a rerun back when you were little, ecstatic that you finally got to see them in the cinema because you missed out on the experience when they were coming out for the first time. You went even though you saw them all before, and you had a blast. So in your books, this was the best thing that could happen to the little, old movie theater on the corner of the town’s square.

You were overbeared with joy when Mr Kim went up to you during one of your slow Wednesday shifts in the ticket booth with a paper and a pen, requesting you to write down your favorite movies. He informed you that he’d prefer it if they were older, to, quote, really get the nostalgia going, and you were happy to have some say in the list of movies to play for multiple reasons. One, because it meant he valued your opinion, and two, you don’t usually work on Thursdays, so if your favorite movie is on that day, you can go and relax in the cinema while watching it.

This all happened a few weeks ago. You gave the list back to your boss at the end of your shift, smiling brightly just thinking about it, and he told you he’ll get through it and see what he can incorporate.

The plan gets to you on one uneventful Wednesday. You are stuck in the ticket booth again. Today is one of the Wednesdays where Sunwoo is in charge, because Mr Kim is out of town. You hate those days most of them all, but recently, he’s been giving you your freedom and letting you work in the ticket booth instead of cleaning the already clean cinema, saying he has stuff to do in the back. You suspect he just sits around in his father’s office with his legs on the table, chewing on his obnoxious strawberry mints. The image makes you furious only the tiniest bit, because the fact that he’s out of your sight and isn’t ordering you around is enough to calm your nerves. It could always be worse, you remind yourself. It could always be worse.

“I have the schedule of ‘Rerun Thursdays’ all done,” Sunwoo says as he walks up to the ticket booth close to the end of your shift. His eyes look a little tired when he holds up a thick card to you, the design of the poster making your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Did he do that?

“It’s ‘Rewind Thursdays’, actually,” you note, pointing towards the very obvious mistake on the top of the poster.

“Oh fuck– you know what, not anymore,” he scowls, taking the poster back from you and pointing glares at the title he mistyped, “I spent 3 hours on this, I’m not remaking it.”

“It looks like a kindergartener did it,” you note, eyes scanning the bubbly font and the orange-yellow combination used throughout the whole design when he offers the paper back to you. It looks like a Winnie the Pooh convention is taking place instead of an event full of nostalgic movies, and you would tell him that, but he beats you to it with a tired remark.

“Well, if my father wanted this to look professional, he should’ve hired someone to do it,” he mutters, obviously hurt by your harsh words, “I used Canva. I don’t know how Photoshop works and my dad can barely operate the computer, so this is what we’re going with, okay?” he says as he explains, big eyes suddenly bearing into yours. “Unless you wanna redo it yourself…?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then this is the final poster,” he says, “I’m gonna hang those outside when we close,” he notes, watching you scan the movie titles. The event will take place in 4 weeks from the middle of November to the middle of December (right in time for Christmas movies to air, since you’re certain Mr Kim has another Christmas-themed business tactic up his sleeve).

“Did any of your movies make it?” Sunwoo asks, surprisingly friendly. You can’t remember a single casual conversation with the male– all you two do it either give each other the silent treatment or scream at each other (more like you scream at him, but he always deserves it…), so you’re kind of surprised at the change. Not pleasantly surprised. Just surprised.

Eyes falling to the second movie on the list, you feel yourself nodding as you smile. It’s like a dream come true– you can finally see your favorite movie in the cinema for the first time. You don’t know who to thank for this miracle, but something in your insides feels very grateful.

“Yeah,” you say, trying to seem unaffected. You’d rather kill yourself than to show any signs of emotion in front of Kim Sunwoo. All he deserves to see is your stone cold face.

“Which one?” he asks, seemingly interested.

“National treasure,” you hum, pointing to the movie on the list, having Sunwoo nod to himself. You expect him to say something to you– perhaps engage in a conversation like a normal person would– but suddenly, he gasps and takes out a folded piece of paper from his back pocket, offering it to you and playing the role of the manager again.

“Oh, by the way,” he starts, watching as you unfold the paper, “I know we don’t usually work on Thursdays, but since my dad decided to do all of this, we kinda have to, since he wouldn’t be able to handle the premieres on his own, so… Here's your schedule for the next 4 weeks,” he says, clasping his hands together in front of him.

It takes everything in you to not correct the male and tell him that those are technically not premieres, but when your eyes land on the little Excel table Sunwoo printed out for you, the feeling is overpowered with one of deep disappointment.

“I work the second week?” you ask, as if the question might magically change the schedule.

“I mean, I think you can read…” Sunwoo hums, shrugging to himself.

A heartbeat passes by of you staring at the schedule, a pit opening in your stomach at the realization. You only work 2 Thursdays out of 4, noticing the fact that you rotate with Sunwoo (with him somehow taking the first week, much to your surprise), but for some reason, one of those days had to be the day when National treasure is on.

And sure, you might think this is good– you can just watch the movie while you work!

Wrong.

Working means either staying in the ticket booth the whole time in case a customer comes, working the snack booth the whole time in case a customer comes, or cleaning the bathrooms. Working means also standing in front of the screening room sometimes, making sure no one is going in without a ticket in the middle of the movie.

There is no time for you to watch National treasure if you’re working.

Sighing, you decide to do something you always prohibited yourself from doing– you ask Kim Sunwoo for a favor. “Listen… my favorite movie is airing the week I work, so I was… wondering if we could exchange shifts? So I could go and watch it?” you ask, looking at your coworker with what you presume are pleading eyes. You hope it works on the boy– he looks like the type to fold under a tender gaze.

“So you want to get out of work only to still come?” Sunwoo clarifies, snickering.

“Pretty much, yeah,” you nod, tapping your fingers on the table.

“Well, the schedule is set,” Sunwoo shrugs, “I can’t do anything about it.”

Eyes sending darts to the very middle of Kim Sunwoo’s forehead, you take a few calming breaths before you speak up again. You don’t want to blow up on him when you’re asking him for a favor– you don’t think this approach would help you much in the situation.

“Why?”

“Because,” he shrugs.

“Because?” you repeat. “That’s the reason?” you say, a weak laugh dragging out of your throat.

“Pretty much, yeah,” he mirrors your previous response, the blood in your veins already growing hot from the confrontation.

“Sunwoo, you– come on,” you say, “just this once, please? I’ll take the first week. We can just switch, what’s the difference?”

Sunwoo tongues the inside of his cheek, eyes pointing towards the paper. “Schedule is schedule, Y/N. You have to follow it,” he says, an innocent look glazing his big fuckass boba eyes. Oh how you despise that look. It’s the look that tells you he finds this all so, so amusing, but won’t laugh in your face in hopes of teasing you some more.

“Oh, amazing,” you say, throwing the schedule to the table, “I knew I could always count on you ruining my day, Kim Sunwoo. And I bet you did the schedule as well! You knew it was my favorite movie, so you made me work that week. Very nice of you, you dumbass. Thank you very much,” you grunt, annoyance flowing through your brain and making you truly merciless– you have no proof of Sunwoo even knowing which movie of yours made it in, or proof of him making the schedule– you don’t care, though. All you want at this moment is to claw his eyes out and pop them in between your fingers to ease the anger on your insides.

You can’t do that, though, so a screaming match will have to do the job.

“Stop being so dramatic,” he scoffs, eyebrows furrowing. “I didn’t even know which one your favorite movie was, so how could I do this on purpose? Plus, I didn’t even make the schedule, my dad did–”

“As if I would believe that,” you roll your eyes, huffing. “You’re all owner’s son privileges this, owner’s son privileges that, but when I ask you for one thing, one! Single! Fucking! Thing! You can’t do it,” you bite, words dripping in spite.

“Look, I really can’t-”

“You can’t do this one thing for me?” you cut him off, the question sounding like an ultimatum.

“No,” he shakes his head, seemingly unaffected by the conversation.

“Because…?” you demand a valid reason.

“Because I just can’t,” he shrugs, casual and cool.

The world stills for a moment. You calculate your next move. Blood rushes in your ears, you see red. Your eyes fall on the clock– it’s 4 minutes after your shift. That’s it.

You take your coat draped over the chair, stand up from the chair and dash towards the front door. You can’t stand being around this man any longer– all he does is bring misery into your otherwise, already boring life.

Speedwalking out of the place, you yell out a harsh “Go fuck yourself!” over your shoulder, leaving Sunwoo to close the cinema by himself. You don’t even change out of your uniform before you go– your head is too clouded with anger to remember to do so. Cursing out your coworker isn’t the best thing you could do in this situation, more so when he’s the owner’s son, but suddenly, you don’t really care about losing your job at the cinema anymore.

Maybe you should quit yourself, actually.

TONIGHT’S PREMIERE – HOW TO LOSE A GUY IN 10 DAYS (2003)

In your books, there aren’t many things worse than working three days in a row. You can only think of so many even when you try hard enough: like going to school in your pajamas, getting sick on the day of an important event, ripping your pants on the metro, standing outside of the cinema in a popcorn costume for 4 hours…

Yeah. Not too many.

So naturally, on the third day of your work week, putting one sweetened coffee into your stomach after another, barely keeping your head up from the lack of sleep you’re getting in between classes, work, and writing your essays until 3 in the morning, you beg god for a calm shift. It’s Wednesday, the first week of Mr Kim’s ‘Rewind Thursdays’ event, and it just so happened that you were set to work the first half of the week while Sunwoo got the other half.

The only thing keeping you going is the fact that you and Sunwoo will now basically not see each other’s face for the next four weeks– with the exception of Fridays and Saturdays, the premiere days. You’re getting a lot of shifts this month, but hey… Christmas is coming. At least you’ll have plenty of money to buy gifts for everyone this year. (Or not. You’re very underpaid.)

Entertaining yourself by watching the world outside of your window and mentally betting on the race of raindrops falling down the glass surface– because your phone battery almost ran out during class this morning and you forgot to bring your charger with you– you hope you don’t fall asleep right in this moment. Your boss is somewhere inside and if he oh just happens to check up on you (which he never normally does, but you can never be too sure), you’re certain you’d lose your job after taking a nap in the ticket booth. Some things just can’t be accepted.

Cat fights with his son? Perfectly acceptable. Sleeping on the clock? Not so much…

Eyes drooping when the third raindrop race doesn’t go the way you bet on in your head, you figure you can just rest for a second or two… Eyelids shielding your irises from the orange hues of the lights inside, your brain already turning off and preparing a happy dream for you, you think that taking a nap is not such a bad idea right now…

Wrong.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” the noise of a thunder– actually, no, that was just someone’s voice– wakes you up and makes you jump in your chair, your knee hitting the bottom of the table making you hiss in sharp pain.

“Fuck, man–”

“Didn’t know taking a nap was in the job description,” Sunwoo grins at you through the glass window of the booth. His eyes twinkle in amusement as you drag your hand through your hair, trying to smoothe it down after tousling it in your weird sleeping position.

“I wasn’t sleeping,” you mutter, not even meeting his eye.

“Oh?”

“Yeah… just had… my eyes closed…” you hum, scratching the back of your neck. Clearing your throat, you look back up at him with an disinterested look on your face. “Anyways, what do you want? You’re off today.”

Scanning his figure, fully taking in his appearance– the fabric of his dark gray hoodie a little stained with raindrops (you bet he ran from his car into the building without an umbrella. He seems like the type to be embarrassed about umbrellas.), the fabric of the garment enveloping his head and shading his face a little from the ugly yellow lights. His face is a little flushed– you presume it’s from the running– and his hair is falling into his face. You can barely see his eyes behind the curtain of chocolate locks– he really needs a trim.

“Damn, didn’t know you hated me so much that you can’t stand seeing me on my off days,” he jokes, leaning on the counter as if to stick his face as close as he can into yours. Thank god for the glass shielding you two– you think you’d give him a fist to the nose if you ever felt his breathing on your skin.

“I do,” you agree, impatiently drumming your fingers on the top of the table, “so tell me what you want so you can disappear again,” you say.

“I just went to check up on whether you were sleeping or not so I can tell my dad to fire you–”

“Kim Sunwoo–”

He puts his arms up defensively, eyebrows raising at your threatening tone. “Okay, not really. I don’t actually care that much. Besides, you promised to quit yourself anyway, so,” he explains, shrugging to himself, “believe it or not, I’m here to buy tickets for a movie.”

You shoot him a stare, the look in your eyes dead, stone cold as you ponder on his words. It’s cold outside, it’s raining, and Kim Sunwoo just happens to decide to buy tickets for a movie today. In a cinema that he works at. In a cinema that he works at tomorrow.

“You work tomorrow…?” you mirror your inner monologue, kind of confused at the turn of events.

“You know my schedule? I’m flattered–”

The irritation is slowly creeping into your bones again. Actually, it has been since he arrived, but the more he talks, the more agitating the whole encounter feels. Maybe you should tape his mouth shut the next time you see him– you bet the day would be so much better if you don’t have to listen to him talk.

“Why don’t you just buy the tickets tomorrow when you work? Didn’t have to walk here in the rain,” you explain, sighing to prove just how annoyed you are with his presence.

“Because I kinda need them today,” he says, clarifying to you with the tone you use when you explain mundane things to a child.

You don’t know what he did in his past life to get the ability to annoy you each and every time you meet him, but you’d like some of it to get back at him in your next life. Why you’re even thinking of past lives and the possibility of meeting Kim Sunwoo in your next one, you’re not really certain, but if it helps you to not smash the glass separating you two, you guess you can get behind the thought process.

“Okay,” you nod, painfully calm for the amount of screaming you’ve been doing internally, “what movie?” you ask, turning your body to the computer on your right and breaking eye contact with him. If he’s a customer, you’re going to treat him like one– no small talk and no arguments. You won’t ruin your day even more over a man that doesn’t know what chapstick is. (You don’t stare at his lips, just for the record. It’s just painfully obvious when he talks. Sometimes you want to reach over and pluck away the dead skin with your fingers– you won’t, though. That would be weird.)

Sunwoo straightens his back as he fishes for his wallet in the front pocket of his jeans. “National Treasure,” he smiles, making you break into cold sweat, “two tickets, please.”

Like a scene in a horror movie, your head turns without moving the rest of your body, eyes twitching when you see him standing at the other side of the booth, calm and collected. Suddenly, the scene makes sense– he bought the tickets to see your favorite movie on the day of your shift. Of course. He just has to rub it in your face.

Not only are you working that day. You will also most likely serve popcorn to him as he goes inside with whoever he is buying the second ticket for. And you will try not to trip him on his way inside the screening room.

It was a smart move for him to not go inside the ticket booth with you, even though he has all the right to. You bet he knows you’d claw his eyes out if you had the chance.

“You have to be kidding me.”

“What? I can’t buy tickets for a movie?” he asks, innocence dripping off his tongue.

Breathing deeply– while trying to contain the demon that’s begging to crawl out of your insides and tear him into 25 different pieces– you smile ironically at the male, gulping before you speak. “That would be 12 dollars, please,” you say, your customer service voice turning kind of eerie.

Not even letting the male choose his seats– he lost the privilege when he decided to come and buy the tickets for your favorite movie– you print out two tickets with the worst possible view (the ones in the first row, far right. If Sunwoo loses his neck because he has to look up at the screen for the entirety of the movie, well, who are you to hate that) and offer them to your coworker.

Like a mind game, the male slips them into his pocket without even looking at them, not breaking eye contact with you sitting behind the booth.

“Have a nice day,” he says as he takes two steps back before fully turning and escaping through the front door, figure dashing towards the old Prius parked in front of the building.

Bawling your hands into fists, you try the breathing exercises you found the other week. Calm your body and your mind, the title said. You knew you’d need those when you saved the post into one of your boards on Pinterest.

Still, you can’t help yourself. You simply cannot. You let it out– it’s not healthy to keep negativity inside.

He can’t hear you, but you still mutter a spiteful “I hope you choke,” under your breath as you settle back into the uncomfortable surface of the chair.

TONIGHT’S PREMIERE – YOU’VE GOT MAIL (1998)

Remember the time you said you didn’t really mind having more shifts in November, because it meant a bigger paycheck? Yeah… that was true. For a few days.

Until you got a phone call one day from none other than Kim Sunwoo– whose number you didn’t even want to save into your contacts, but after his insisting that it’s for work purposes, did so under the name ‘dumpster raccoon’– telling you that you have to get to work immediately, that his dad said so, and that it’s an emergency.

Do you believe him? No. Absolutely not.

His tone of voice was too calm to be in an emergency. If his dad wanted you to come to work today, he could’ve called you himself instead of making his son do it. And also, you really don’t know what’s so important to take care of on a Wednesday, since it’s the slow day of the week, but still– you angrily took off the facemask from your face before the timer even went off, shut your laptop with a half-watched episode of The office in your Netflix window, changed out of your comfy clothes and marched towards the cinema.

Because you never know. He might be saying the truth, after all. And if that was the case, you didn’t want to be caught disobeying your boss.

You get to the old movie theater on the corner of the town center at 4 in the afternoon. The sky is already getting dark and you feel the coldness of November seeping into your bones, and so you waste no time in getting inside and chasing the heat of the vintage-looking interior. Your boots make a thudding sound as you walk across the hall, seeing Sunwoo sitting in the ticket booth in his usual habitat: with his phone in his hands and his feet up on the table, chewing on his favorite strawberry mints. Now this sight screams emergency if you’ve ever seen one.

“What was so important for you to call me to work and then chill in the ticket booth all afternoon?” you ask, spite slipping off your tongue with every word you speak.

Sunwoo looks up at you from under his eyelashes, hair still slightly shielding his eyes. He doesn’t even have his uniform on– there’s a gray hoodie enveloping his torso (you swear he lives in this garment. You wonder if he even washes it sometimes) and black jeans hanging off his hips– and the more you stare at him, the more you feel like punching him in the face.

“Oh,” he hums, stretching out his limbs from the hours of sitting on the chair unmoving, “dad said to tell you to clean the screening room. Since it’s Thursday tomorrow, and all.”

The look on his face is innocent. He looks like he just told you the most casual piece of information– and truth be told, he kind of did. The whole thing is just not making any sense right now.

“I should clean the screening room today? You’re on the clock, though, why don’t you do it?” you ask, frustration clearly written all over your face. You were looking forward to having a self-care day today, so you can only imagine how tired of his endeavors you are right in this moment.

“Yeah, but I am on ticket booth duty, so I can’t,” he shrugs, frowning a little to prove his nonexistent point.

“It’s Wednesday. It’s not busy. You know you can do both.”

“Look, it’s not me, it’s my dad–”

“Is it? Is it, Sunwoo?” you huff, arms flying into the air. “Or are you just using me to do the work you don’t feel like doing? Because it really does seem like that right now,” you bite, running your hand through your hair in exasperation.

“Do you want me to call him?” Sunwoo asks, tone of voice suddenly threatening.

A heartbeat passes. You continue to have a staring contest with him. The fury inside of you rages like a storm. Still, you nod to the feeling of authority coming from your actual boss, and so you wordlessly turn on your heel and march towards the screening room, ready to clean the place in the least amount of time so you can go home and back to your selfcare endeavors. (You’re adding printing out Sunwoo’s face and throwing darts at it to the list of activities. You think you really need that right now.)

The screening room is dark when you come inside, and as you reach towards the lightswitch, you almost fear something jumping at you. See, the traumatic response from being locked up in the toilet from your coworker is still very present in your bones. When you stop working here, you’re going to ask for financial compensation for all the damage this boy did on your mental health.

You walk down the aisle of seats and try to inspect the damage. No movies air on Wednesday and there was only one kids movie going on Tuesday, so you can either expect it to be almost clean, or full of snacks that fell off the hands of grabby children during the cartoon. The more you inspect the place, though, the more it seems like… somebody already cleaned it before?

The floor is clean. The laminated surface under the seats has no smudge of dirt on it, like someone already mopped the place. And when you think back, the bins were empty as well.

The screening room was definitely cleaned before.

Which means that Sunwoo brought you here for absolutely nothing.

Suddenly, the lights go out. The whole room falls into darkness, and the anger inside of your veins very quickly mixes with panic as you try to climb up the stairs on the side of the screening room and escape. Your throat gets dry as you yell for your coworker, not really caring if your next outburst is going to get you fired or not.

“Kim Fucking Sunwoo, why the fuck did you call me to clean an already cleaned screening room?!” you yell, not really knowing if he hears you or not. Doesn’t matter– it feels cathartic to do so anyway.

Your feet stumble on the awkwardly-long stairs, your figure almost falling to the ground. Managing to hold yourself up and steady your body before your head hits the sharp corner of one of the stairs and makes you die, you continue on with your small tangent. “You really think this is funny? You’re having fun pranking me all the time? I hate your guts, Kim Sunwoo, and I hope you burn in hell!”

A bright light suddenly illuminates the screening room, coming from somewhere behind you. When you look over your shoulder, the screen is white for a few moments before the opening credits of a Jerry Buckheimer film flash on the big surface, halting you in your movements. The sound is a little too loud in the speakers, but it gets adjusted the moment you almost lose your hearing. The moment you see Nicolas Cage appear, it’s clear as day.

There’s a movie playing. And the movie playing is National treasure.

You think you’re hallucinating. This is surely a fata morgana.

Standing in the middle of the screening room, your mouth hangs agape and your eyes go wide as you watch the first few scenes of the movie. Ben Gates already learns about the hidden treasure passed down through American history when you feel a slight nudge to your shoulder, making you turn your head to see a tall figure staring you down with a bucket of popcorn in their hands.

You are confused. So utterly confused. The movie was on last week. You’d know– you worked the snack booth that day. The screening room is empty and it’s Wednesday– what’s going on?

“Can you sit? Or are you just going to watch the movie standing in the aisle,” Sunwoo grunts, balancing the big bucket of popcorn and two drinks in his large hands, the sight comical and almost making you want to watch him suffer some more.

Caught off guard, though, you let him back you into the aisle of seats, your figure slouching into one of the red cushions like a rag doll. Sunwoo takes place next to you, placing the big bucket of popcorn into your lap, before he settles into a seat as well and focuses his eyes and attention on the movie.

“What… what is this?” you ask, frozen in the seat.

“Hm?” Sunwoo frowns, looking at you. “National treasure,” he hums, “I thought you’d know, since you threw a scene about it that one time.”

“I- I know that, I just…” you trail off, still surprised at the turn of events, “what’s going on right now…?”

“We’re watching National treasure,” he notes, talking to you as if you were slow.

“What…?”

A sigh escapes Sunwoo’s lips at your utter confusion, his hand coming up to the bucket of popcorn in your lap and throwing a handful of the snack into his mouth before speaking. “Look, Y/N. You said you wanted to watch your favorite movie in the cinema, so that’s what you’re doing. Enjoy my owner’s son privileges for once,” he shrugs, watching as your face morphs into an unreadable expression.

That explanation satisfies you for a bit. The shock in your insides, though? Still present.

There’s something about the whole gesture that makes your stomach feel uneasy. Sunwoo did something nice for you– out of the kindness of his own heart– and you really don’t know why he would even think of something like this. You two aren’t on the best terms either, after all. Maybe he finally went crazy.

Or maybe you did and this was all the result of your imagination. Either or.

Yeah, you must be the one that’s gone batshit insane. Surely. You’re certain of the fact when you reach for the popcorn and accidentally touch his hand, the two of you deciding to get some at the same time, and your stomach does a flip and your brain makes a sign for you to quickly retract your hand– but the feeling of his slightly cold hand against your fingertips is now engraved into your memory and won’t leave and let you focus on the movie no matter how hard you try.

“You wouldn’t have to do this if you just let me switch schedules with you that time,” you note, “just saying.”

“I couldn’t,” he shrugs.

“Huh? But you bought two tickets..?”

“Yeah, but those were for my friends. I had to drive my mum down to grandmas that day, so I couldn’t go or take your shift that day,” he hums, not once breaking eye contact with the screen.

“If you would’ve just said so, I wouldn’t have made a scene about it–”

“Yeah… but I enjoy watching you make a scene,” he grins, shifting his attention towards you for a second with that lazy smirk playing with his lips. His hair is falling into his eyes and you have the urge to get it out of his face with a motion of your hand while also scolding him like a mother to finally get a haircut, just so you could see the twinkle in his mischievous orbs.

“You need to get serious help, then,” you grunt, pointing your gaze back towards the screen, unable to look at his face for any longer. He’s being annoying again. You’re annoyed.

“Probably,” he admits.

You two sit in silence for a while, the only sound accompanying you being the movie playing out on the big screen in front of you. You think this is the calmest you two have ever been around each other, and you’re starting to think that if Sunwoo just didn’t talk, you two could even get along.

Something touches the side of your thigh in the darkness of the room. Eyes darting to the source, you notice Sunwoo’s thigh pressing against yours, the cause of his obnoxious man-spreading, and something about the closeness of his body and the smell of his citrusy cologne makes you feel like your chest is heaving in on itself. You can’t stand him around you. You two can’t share this close of a space.

“Are you not leaving?” you ask.

“No,” he hums, “should I be?”

“Well, you’re on the clock…”

The man snickers, shaking his head in disbelief. “Y/N, you and I both know that the possibility of someone coming to buy a ticket on a Wednesday afternoon is close to zero. Me being there makes no difference in today’s sales.”

His hand knocks into yours again as you reach for more popcorn. You gulp, nodding. “Right…”

“And I wanted to see the movie to see if it’s really that good to make a scene about it,” he teases, another playful look sent your way from the corner of his eye.

You grunt, rolling your eyes. Oh how you hate his guts…

And even though you love the movie, you pray for it to end quickly. The more time you spend with Sunwoo forced into your zone of comfort, the more uncomfortable you feel– even the slightest movement of his body affects you and makes your brain turn on overdrive. It’s strange and it’s weird, and you don’t understand how hatred for a person could manifest in such reactions.

It’s better that you didn’t notice you two sitting in the love seat. God knows you wouldn’t handle that well. You’d rather die than to hold on to that knowledge.

TONIGHT’S PREMIERE – CLUELESS (1995)

They say that you only start realizing just how stupid people can be when you work in customer service. As one of the only three employees of the small, vintage cinema on the corner of the town’s square, you can only agree with the sentiment– you have a lot of stories to tell about the wonders of the human brain.

Like that one time you got screamed at because the movie tickets were ‘too expensive’ – because naturally, you should be able to change the price of them when asked. Or that one time you got screamed at because the movie tickets were sold out– because naturally, you should add more seats to the screening room just for the two middle-aged women to sit on during the premiere of the newest Orlando Bloom movie. Or when somebody yelled at you for the toilets being full after the movie– naturally, you are supposed to throw people out in the middle of them peeing. Or build new stalls. Either or.

They say that you only start realizing just how stupid people can be when you work in customer service, but truly, you also realize just how rude they can also be for no reason at all.

Much like today. It’s Friday, which means it’s premiere night. The tickets to all movies this week are sold out already, so no one is on ticket booth duty, and much to your relief, Mr Kim took the snack stand himself. Your responsibility for the day is scanning the tickets and then making sure no one is getting inside during the movie without a ticket.

It’s not a hard job. Not at all– you would even say nothing about working in the cinema is hard, when you don’t have an annoying coworker trying to make your whole life a living hell– but you see, customers love to make your job harder just by being unreasonably rude about things that are clearly out of your control.

“Sir, I really can’t let you in, I’m sorry,” you say, tone of voice polite despite screaming on the inside. In front of you is standing a tall man, maybe a few years older than you, the expression on his face full of anger and vexation. They say a customer is always right. You agree only when the customer looks like they could wait for you after work and beat you up in the bushes. Sadly, that still doesn’t mean you can let the man inside without a valid ticket.

“What do you mean? Little one, I’m telling you I bought the ticket here, so if you don’t let me in–”

“All tickets purchased for the screening should be able to scan through this, sir, and if it doesn’t work, I am not allowed to let you inside of the cinema,” you try to explain, getting kind of desperate. The line behind him was forming and the movie was supposed to play in a few minutes, so if you wanted to scan all the tickets in time, you had to be quick.

He wouldn’t budge, though. His eyebrows are furrowed and the guy behind him seems to be getting angry as well, making the hair on the back of your neck stand up alert, like a cat when it senses danger. You try your hardest to keep your tone firm, hands clasped politely behind your back. “I’m gonna have to ask you to leave, sir, or maybe check in with the owner about the issue? I don’t have the competence to–”

“Listen, I won’t be talking to anyone, because you will let me in, okay?”

“Sir, I can’t-”

Your sentence is cut off by the man again, his fury making you take a step backwards in fear. “And if you don’t, you will see the consequences.”

Gulping, you try to think of a way to get out of this situation. Mr Kim is too far away for you to call, and he is also busy– the line is long and Sunwoo isn’t working today. It’s just the two of you today, so your options are getting slimmer. You can’t let that man in without a working ticket– it seems like the one he’s showing you is either a fake one, or bought in another cinema– but it seems like if you don’t, he’ll have you dead before the next morning.

“So?”

Opening your mouth to answer (although your brain is still empty and you don’t even know what more to say), a low voice coming from behind you startles you in the middle of your crisis. “Is there a problem here?”

Turning your head to the source of the voice, you’ve never been more relieved to see Kim Sunwoo in your close proximity. You watch as he puts a rolled-up poster to the ground behind you before he takes another step closer towards your figure, his expression stone cold and glaring at the man in front of you.

“Your coworker here won’t let me in to watch the movie,” he complains, hand waving around in a threatening way.

Just having Sunwoo around makes you more confident. Clearing your throat, your eyes dart to your coworker, seeing his face morph into irritation. “It won’t scan his ticket, so…”

“If it won’t scan your ticket, it means it’s invalid and we’re not allowed to let you in,” Sunwoo says, tone of voice way less polite than the one you were using before.

“That’s ridiculous-”

“You are ridiculous,” Sunwoo grunts, annoyance clearly written all over his face. “You were asked to leave, so maybe you should.”

Truth be told, you’ve been in a couple of arguments with Sunwoo before. In none of them has he ever looked and sounded like this, though. You and Sunwoo argue with spite– sparks flying waiting to start a fire, curses and harsh words thrown around carelessly in moments of heated hatred. His tone is stern, but never threatening. Never mean. Not in the way he’s being right now.

It makes you stare at him wordlessly. He seems to be taking the lead in the situation, reacting territorially to the man in front of him. You can’t say you don’t feel safer with him around– you would be lying.

“Maybe you could just let me in and get this over with–”

“And maybe you could fuck off,” Sunwoo says back, something in his tone making your stomach feel all light. He looks serious, standing his ground, and the man finally seems to get the memo that he’s not watching the premiere tonight, because he backs off and grits his teeth at the male.

“Your boss will hear about this,” he threatens, making Sunwoo chuckle.

“I’m sure he will.”

Sympathetic looks are thrown your way from the women in the line behind that can finally come up to you so you scan their tickets. You smile at each one and try to seem unaffected by the exchange, but the memory of it still lingers in your brain and doesn’t make you rest easy as you greet the rest of the customers.

You didn’t even realize Sunwoo was still standing next to you, watching you work. He seems to recognise your shaken-up composure, tone of voice sympathetic and quiet as he asks: “You okay?”

“What?” you ask, surprised by the question, “oh. Yeah, I’m fine. He was just… being a bitch, the usual.”

“Yeah,” he snickers, “why didn’t you just scream at him like you do to me? I bet that would scare him away,” he notes, making you roll your eyes at the comment.

“Because he looked like he could beat me up, Sunwoo.”

“And I don’t?” he gasps, suddenly offended.

You scan the boy up and down, pretending to think it over for a few before you shake your head. “No,” you shrug, “I could beat you up.”

“Excuse you?” he gasps, crossing his arms at his chest in a defensive stance, the shock on his face mixing in with amusement.

“Don’t believe me? Wanna try?” you test, the conversation suddenly flowing freely, without you even noticing. You don’t pay it much thought, but you guess getting along with Sunwoo is easier when he’s on your side. Most of the time, he’s not, though– and maybe that’s the problem.

“Okay,” he nods, “meet me in the back when you’re off. No weapons allowed, we’ll do it the street style. This is a battle of fists,” he points a finger at you, the sentence making you sigh dreamily and point your eyes towards the ceiling.

“You can’t even imagine how long I’ve been waiting for this moment.”

Sunwoo smiles at that– that dumb, boyish smile you usually so despise– and shakes his head at your antics. The conversation dies down a bit after the exchange– with you scanning the tickets and trying your hardest to make it through the line before the movie starts, when your coworker, dressed in none other than his signature gray hoodie and black jeans, nudges you with his elbow. “Want me to stay for a bit, or are you good now?”

“I can take care of myself, Sunwoo,” you sigh, “you can go about your day.”

“Well, it didn’t seem like it a few minutes ago–”

“I can take care of myself when I’m not confronted with a tall muscled man that is threatening me, Sunwoo,” you repeat, looking at the rest of the line, “so with him gone now, you can go about your day. What are you even doing here, by the way? I thought you were off today.”

“I am,” he nods, rocking a little in his place, shifting weight from his heels towards his toes, “I was just… here to drop off something for you,” he says, clearing his throat and pointing towards the poster he was holding when he first approached you, the shiny tube now resting against the nearest wall.

You shoot the boy a curious look, eyebrows furrowed in question. You don’t get to ask for clarification about the character of the poster, because he abruptly cuts off your train of thought, speaking fast as if to avoid making any more conversation with you. “I’ll see you in the back after you’re done for that fist fight, then. Bye!”

And before you get a chance to say anything back, Sunwoo swiftly turns on his heel and awkwardly marches towards the front door. You don’t have much time to inspect the thing he dropped off for you, but after you’re done with scanning the tickets and have time to breathe when the movie starts, you allow yourself to peek inside–

only to see a National treasure poster staring back at you, surface glossy and glimmering, as if you just opened a chest full of gold.

As you take the poster to the staff room with you (while also wearing a huge, embarrassing grin on your face for someone staring at the face of Nicolas Cage), making sure it’s safe and sound until you can bring it home with you, you wonder why you haven’t been civil with Kim Sunwoo before.

It’s good to have a taste of his owner’s son privileges sometimes.

TONIGHT’S PREMIERE – ME BEFORE YOU (2016)

The day is Friday, the 1st of December. Mr Kim’s ‘Rewind Thursdays' event is over and while Fridays are always the premiere days, meaning you usually have to work the evenings either in the snack booth or in the ticket booth, your boss told you you can have the night off under one condition– you come in the morning (since you told him your classes are done for the semester, he’s been keen on making you work at random times of the day) and help Sunwoo with Christmas decorations in the cinema.

And, well, who are you to say no to a free evening? Maybe you can finally have that self-care time you’ve been needing before your exam season starts.

“Can you get the ladder from the back?” Sunwoo asks, tone of voice not at all interested. You don’t know what the reasoning behind his mood is, but you figure it’s either the fact that he had to get up before 12, or the fact that he doesn’t really seem like the type to like decorating.

“Why don’t you get it?” you huff, wiping your forehead off the sweat that’s cumulated on it over the time you spent bringing out all the boxes full of decorations out of the staff room. “I brought everything in, maybe you can do some work for once.”

One would think your dynamics with Kim Sunwoo would shift after he’s been nice to you on multiple occasions. And sure, you don’t really fight with him as often and he hasn’t pulled a prank on you in a while, but some days, his whole presence is still just as annoying to you as it’s been for the past couple of months. There’s not really much you can do about it– especially not when he’s bossing you around and not doing any actual work himself.

“I built the christmas tree,” he grunts, opening one of the boxes full of ornaments, squinting at the contains with disgust on his face. “And I put up all the other useless stuff before you got here too,” he says, pointing a glare at you.

Looking around the theater, you notice various types of decorations all over the place. There’s some mistletoe hanging off the ceiling (which has you wondering how he even got it there in the first place) and garlands framing all the doorways– the greenery making the whole place decorated in a very vintage tone. It’s fitting to the theme of the cinema, though, and you can tell that Sunwoo really can’t be arsed to do any better, so you don’t mention it out loud in favor of avoiding another one of your petty cat fights.

Admitting your defeat, you storm back into the staff room and carry out the tall ladder, struggling to fit through the doorways and to cross the corners, praying to all higher forces that you don’t accidentally scratch off pieces of the wall on your way to Sunwoo.

You put down the metal construction with a loud thud, making the boy look up at you from beneath his bangs, the silent curse evident in his eyes. You don’t know what’s up with him, but again, you won’t ask. You try to tell yourself that you don’t really care either, but with every glance towards his direction, the question keeps bugging you and dancing around your brain.

You force yourself not to care.

Watching as he tries to untangle the Christmas lights, struggle evident in the frustration written all over his face, you sigh and walk over to him, taking the bundle of wire out of his hands and threading your skilled fingers through the lengthy cable. You’re an expert in untangling– you don’t own bluetooth headphones, so you do this pretty much every day before listening to some music. Your headphones love to tangle in your pocket no matter how neatly you try to keep them in your pants– it’s a mystery. Almost like the Bermuda triangle.

“I can do it myself,” Sunwoo huffs, eyebrows furrowing when he watches you work your magic.

“You seemed like it too,” you ironically note, letting the spiteful side of you win, enjoying yourself when you’re rewarded by the snarky roll of Sunwoo’s eyes– everything is back to normal. You two aren’t friends, you don’t like to be in each other’s presence, and no number of shiny stolen posters and private sessions in the screening room will ever change that.

“Hold this,” you say, thrusting the end of the cord into his hand, walking a few meters away from him as you detangle the lights, watching as he impatiently stomps the floor with his heel, reminding you of Snowball from The secret life of pets movie.

When you’re done and the Christmas lights are now a straight line of wire, you slowly walk over to the tall tree in the middle of the room, wrapping the lights around the fake forest-green needles. You’re glad that the lights are long enough to cover the whole thing and you don’t have to untangle another ones, and when you’re done, you watch your coworker plug them in, examining the small, colorful light bulbs.

“Okay, now the ornaments,” you say, more to yourself than to anybody in the room, as you waltz over to the boxes and take out the decorations varying in shapes and sizes. You don’t really know what color scheme Mr Kim wants you to go for– and you doubt Sunwoo is aware either, so you just take out the ornaments you find the most pretty and hang them all over the tree, making sure each branch is covered.

Sunwoo stands around for a while, unmoving as he watches you, before he sighs to himself and finally decides to help. You leave him be, thinking that it’s for the best if you two don’t speak today when he’s in such a bad mood, but you break that promise almost immediately when you stare back at the tree after retrieving some more ornaments from the box to your right and notice the almost painful clash of colors.

You should’ve known you can’t trust a man with decorating. The beautiful contrast of the baby pink and brown ornaments you put on the tree is now ruined by the green ones you intentionally left on the bottom of the box. The colors don’t go together at all and you want to claw your eyes out every second you have to stare at it.

“Sunwoo, those colors don’t go together at all,” you say, point and blank– no sugarcoating, no offensive words, just straight facts.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, that tree looks terrifying, and it’s all because you ruined it,” you say.

Okay, maybe you are overreacting just the slightest. But isn’t there fun in making your coworker completely out of his mind? Is this your roles being reversed for the first time? Are you finally winning this little game?

Nevertheless, you are enjoying the outburst that follows from Sunwoo. Mainly because he looks like a child throwing a tantrum as he huffs and takes off the green ornaments he put on to the tree and throws the handful back into the cardboard box, not really caring if they break or not. You’ll be replaying this scene in your head forever before you go to sleep, for the absolute frustration and annoyance on his face is one of your biggest trophies. Right now, though, you’re battling the urge to laugh.

“Fine, do it yourself, then,” Sunwoo says as he walks away from the tree, choosing to sit on the floor cross-legged, taking out his phone and scrolling through social media.

Again, you don’t know what’s gotten into him today, but you force yourself not to care. You have a job to finish here so you can go home and enjoy your day, and that’s why exactly you just shrug and finish putting on the pretty ornaments, admiring your work every once in a while when you take a break and stare on the tall tree, kind of breathless from the beauty.

You’re not really big on Christmas, but you must admit that this is fun.

The sound of Sunwoo swiping through Instagram reels is the only thing accompanying your actions, and as you look over your shoulder and see his almost sad face, you bite your lip just to not ask him what’s the matter. You’re not supposed to care. And you don’t.

“Can’t you put some festive music on?” you ask instead, your lips just begging to have a conversation with the male, despite your best judgment.

“No,” Sunwoo barks back, not even taking his eyes off the phone as the sound of the reel changes into another one, a swipe of his thumb across the screen showing him another video.

Nodding to yourself, you carefully try to pick out your next words. Not really sure how to address the male, you choose to approach him with a hint of humor you’re not sure he’ll appreciate. “What’s up with you? You’re bitchier than usual,” you say, scanning the male with cautious eyes.

Sunwoo stops for a while– a millisecond of him halting his scrolling, an action you wouldn’t notice if you weren’t trying to see any shift in his composure– before he speaks up again. “Nothing,” he shrugs.

“Okay,” you say, a tone of voice full of doubt.

When you conclude that you’re not getting more answers out of him, you nod to yourself and dart back towards the Christmas tree, making sure you make more eye contact with the glossy ornaments than with your coworker sitting behind you on the ground. Not much time passes by before he speaks up again, though, tone of voice quiet and hesitant.

“I’m just not in the mood today,” he sighs, “I have a final next week and it’s stressing me out, I haven’t slept well in quite a few days, my dad’s making me work more than usual and on top of that, I absolutely hate winter.”

“You hate winter?” you choose to focus on the least serious topic of the little rant, not really knowing when your boundaries lay in discussing the more serious ones.

“Yeah,” Sunwoo chuckles, “it’s like a shittier fall. It’s cold and dark all the time. It would be different if it snowed, though. I love it when it snows.”

Snickering at his sudden confession, you shake your head. “You’re like a little kid.”

“I remember you calling me a child once,” Sunwoo hums in agreement.

“That was different,” you say, hoping to cheer the male up at least a bit with your usual quarrel.

“I figured by the way you threw the toilet brush to my chest,” Sunwoo laughs, the memory of torturing you fond in his brain. The poster he gave you almost made you forget about the fact that he managed to make your life a living hell for quite some time– maybe you should consider this a wake-up call.

The conversation quiets down for a bit, even the sound of Sunwoo’s Instagram reels discontinued as you two marvel in the now much more comfortable silence. Testing the waters, you clear your throat before speaking up again. “Don’t worry about that exam, by the way. I’m sure you’ll do well.”

“How would you know?”

“You’re clever. You need to be clever to come up with all various ways to make my life more miserable,” you say, smiling when you hear him let out a breath of air through his nose, signaling a silent laugh.

“Any advice on the sleepless nights?” he asks, tone of voice light and humorous.

“Less things in your head,” you hum, putting the last ornament onto one of the branches, satisfied with your work. “Or melatonin.”

“Noted,” he nods, sharing a smile with you.

Walking over to the boxes stored a few feet away from the male, you open up the slim one thrown on the side, holding up the star. Your eyes meet his, a carefree twinkle in your orbs when you try to cheer up the boy’s inner child by doing a child's favorite activity. “Do you want to put the star on?”

He fails you, though. “No.”

“Why not?”

“You decorated it all yourself, so you can do the star,” he shrugs, not really into your idea.

“Oh come on–”

“I don’t feel like standing up,” Sunwoo grunts, the joy on your insides finally dying down when you get a taste of his usual composure– the one that really can’t be arsed with anything.

Sighing to yourself, you waltz over to the tall ladder, and despite your biggest worries, you continue climbing up the metal construction even when it wobbles and makes you fear you’re gonna fall. The whole thing is kind of unsteady and makes your heart thump in your throat, but you choose to get it over with and finally climb to the very top, outstretching your arm and putting the star on top of the tree, the decoration process now done and freeing you off your today’s work responsibilities.

Something akin to satisfaction beams in your insides as you climb down the ladder, and now, you’ll write this off to you being a little too excited with the vision of a face mask and popcorn at home– but your leg slips on one of the steps and despite the ladder being now magically steady, your body comes crashing down to the floor.

A yelp fights out of your throat, hands go flying in a desperate need to steady yourself or hold on to something that would make you not fall hard against the marble floor, when a miracle straight down from heaven comes to rescue in a form of flesh holding you up and shielding you from the fall, a grunt landing in your ears when your body settles into soft fabric of dark gray.

Head snapping to the source of the arms around your waist, surprised at the person’s strength used to balance you two on your feet as you fell (well, your knees buckled, but still, they haven’t yet hit the ground), you notice a pair of chocolate orbs staring down at you through a curtain of dark hair, wide eyes scanning your face and breathing out a puff of air.

“Look where you’re stepping next time, for fuck’s sake,” Sunwoo huffs, watching as your brain tries to process the near-death experience.

Registering his arms firmly placed around your waist (now realizing the soft fabric was the hoodie he’s been living in for the past few months), the citrusy scent of his cologne makes your head spin, eyes scanning his face in quick motions, as if not aware of who was your savior. You wonder how he even got to you on time (not really noticing him walking over to the ladder as soon as he saw it wobbling under you, holding it down to keep you from toppling over), and when your eyes curiously gaze at his chapped, yet plush lips, the warmth in your stomach makes you finally snap out of it.

Untangling yourself out of his limbs, much like you did with the Christmas lights a few minutes ago, you clear your throat and try to get your breathing back to normal. Your knees are a little weak, but you write that off to the shock of falling.

“This wouldn’t have happened if you just agreed to put the star on,” you complain, straightening your clothes as you walk over to the empty boxes nearby, stacking them into one another and avoiding all possible eye contact with the male.

It’s working– at least that’s what you keep telling yourself– up until you hear him chuckle and see a pair of hands taking the tower of boxes out of your hold, a charming grin sent your way as he walks away from you to the staff room. “If you say so.”

Okay, so it’s not working.

You’re fucked.

TONIGHT’S PREMIERE – THE PROPOSAL (2009)

“So… I was thinking,” Sunwoo starts one day, a bundle of rolled-up posters stacked up in his arms like a pyramid, puffs of cold air making clouds appear in front of his face as he speaks, “would you want to go see a movie with me?” he asks, tone of voice casual, as if he was asking you about the weather.

The poster you’re currently putting up into one of the glass holders outside of the cinema almost slips out of your frozen fingers out of shock, your heart skipping a beat. “Huh?” you hum, taking out a container full of pins out of your coat pocket and securing the poster to its designated place. “You want to bring money to your father’s competitor?” you joke.

“What? No,” he quickly replies, furrowing his brows as he shakes his head. “I meant, like, here,” he says, nodding towards the building to prove his point, taking a step aside when you close the glass door of the poster holder and move towards the next one, 3 more movie banners left to put up outside of the cinema.

The wires in your brain work on full force, trying to clear out any confusion caused by his sudden invitation. Sure, you two have gotten closer ever since you talked with him at the Christmas tree a week ago, but still, you didn’t know it was enough to hang out outside of work hours.

Instead of focusing the conversation on this unpredictable development, you turn towards clearing out the logistics instead. “How would we even do that? We either work at the same time or you work when I don’t and the other way around,” you say, taking the next poster from him and putting it up.

All of the movies airing the next two weeks are Christmas movies. Some of them are old, some of them are premieres, but still– you can’t really imagine watching a festive movie with your coworker. Up until last week, you thought of him as the next reincarnation of Grinch.

“I could get my sister to switch with me on a day you don’t work,” he hums, sheepish about his preposition. There’s something bashful in his tone, something shy in his gaze as he watches you put up the movie poster, but you try your hardest to ignore it for the sake of your sanity. You’re already having a hard time dealing with the fact that he appeared in your dreams twice since he caught you in his arms last week. You don’t need to add the switch in dynamic to the mix.

“Isn’t she underage?” you ask, snickering.

“Yeah, and?” he shrugs. “It’s a family business, Y/N. Everyone has to be included, underage or not.”

A laugh erupts out of your throat at the comment, shaking your head at the boy in disbelief.

“What would you even wanna see? Those are all Christmas movies,” you say, moving along and focusing your attention to the glossy material in your fingers.

“I don’t see how that’s a problem,” he says.

“Oh, it is,” you mutter, “I don’t like Christmas movies.”

Sunwoo grunts. “Well, I don’t really care. I saw your favorite movie with you, so you can return the favor and see my favorite movie with me,” he speaks up, making you roll your eyes at his words.

“There’s no way any of those movies is your favorite,” you note, doubtful tone haunting the boy.

“You wouldn’t know,” he laughs, making your heart do cartwheels at the sound, his teasing making you feel warmth despite the cold breeze trying to make your bones freeze into blocks of ice.

“I won’t go unless I believe you,” you say, grinning as you close the glass box and take the last poster out of Sunwoo’s hands, watching as the boy puts his frozen fingers into the comfort of his warm jacket, shielding them from the cold.

“Not fair.”

“Very fair, actually.”

“Oh come on,” he sighs, shaking his head in disagreement, “I thought we could watch a Christmas movie as a celebration to the end of semester,” he says, tone of voice almost pleading.

Securing the last banner into its designated place, you turn towards Sunwoo with an examining look on your face. He seems to be completely serious, eyes big pools of honey as he watches your face morph as you think. Something in your stomach makes it feel like it’s flying, making you clear your throat as you avert your gaze towards the line of Christmas movie posters on the brick wall. “Fine,” you gulp, “so what do you wanna watch?”

“The Polar Express,” he says, pointing towards the A3 scale you put up last, showing one of the movies that were older, but Mr Kim decided to air anyway– as if he was aware.

Fuck, you think. That’s my favorite.

“Absolutely not,” you cough, “I hate that movie.”

“Huh? How?” he sighs, face full of disappointment.

“Just because. It’s too long.”

“It’s not even two hours?”

Eyes quickly darting towards the poster, pupils shaking as you look towards the airing dates at the very bottom, you chew on your bottom lip, trying to find a way out. “You’re working on the 18th.”

“Okay, then we can go on the 19th,” Sunwoo says, determined to make you watch the movie with him. Why? You don’t even want to know at this point.

“I go home for Christmas break on the 19th,” you say, shrugging. “See? It wasn’t meant to be.”

“Y/N, come on–”

“Listen, can’t we just go back to hating each other instead of you annoying me about this stupid movie?” you sigh. In the whirlpool of events, you forgot just how insistent Sunwoo could be– who knows, maybe this was the real reason why you were so irritated with him in the first place.

Slowly walking back towards your workplace, hearing Sunwoo’s sneakers hit the ground behind you as he trails after you like a lost puppy, a sense of momentarily victory flows through your veins when you recognise that you found your way out. There was no way Mr Kim would let his underage daughter work instead of Sunwoo, and you truly were leaving home the evening of 19th. You already had a train ticket– you’re not gonna change your plans because of a man you despised just a few days ago.

“I never really hated you, by the way. Besides, you’re only saying that because you hate the movie,” Sunwoo grunts, chiming in front of you– making you think he’s being petty and doesn’t want to talk to you anymore, surprising you when he opens the door for you and offers you a solemn gaze, waiting for you to walk through the entryway and go back to work. (For you, it’s sitting in the ticket booth in silence. For Sunwoo, it’s pretending to work in the back, since his dad is absent today again)

Reciprocating his gaze, noticing the disappointment behind your coworker’s eyes, you feel something in your stomach drop, the weight of it so heavy you quickly avert your look.

“Maybe,” you shrug.

And maybe, the true reason is something completely else.

The words resonate through your brain– ‘I never really hated you, by the way’. Funny. Then what were all those months of torture all about?

You decide you no longer want answers.

TONIGHT’S PREMIERE – WHEN HARRY MET SALLY (1989)

You can’t believe you’re doing something nice for Kim Sunwoo.

Shoes hitting the gravel, your scarf pulled up so it covers your nose from the ice cold air, a hat hugging your head in warmth and shielding you from the aggressive weather, you start to contemplate your choices and your next moves. A sigh escapes your throat when your eyes land on the marquee above the entrance of the movie theater, teeth chewing on the inside of your cheek as you shift your weight from one foot to another.

Pulling out your phone to check the time, a shiny 7:24PM stares back at you, pushing you to walk up to the door of your workplace on your day off, 24 minutes after the beginning of The polar express.

You feel silly. You feel oh so stupid when you push the door open and your body is immediately engulfed in warmth, the yellow dim lights of the cinema making your eyes slowly adjust to the brightness contrasting the darkness of the outside world. You feel like you must have gone crazy, especially when your insides start to get all light and bubbly, hints of nerves tingling at the tips of your fingertips and the deepest corners of your stomach. There’s no turning back now, you tell yourself– and when your feet automatically take you to the ticket booth, gaze landing on the boy with his bangs in his eyes and an expression worthy of a kicked puppy on his face, you suddenly feel like your trip to the cinema was all worth it.

Clearing your throat, you notify your coworker of your presence, his big, doe eyes staring at you in surprise. Sunwoo’s mouth goes agape, shock overtaking his features when he takes in your appearance. (You bet he thinks you look laughable– your eyes teary from the cold and your figure stoic, numb limbs hanging by your side.)

“What are you doing here?” he asks, the question not as aggressive as it sounded out of your lips every time he paid a visit to the cinema on his days off for all these months.

“Uh… I forgot some things in the back and I wanted to take them home tomorrow, so I came back for them,” you hum, the practiced excuse slipping out of your lips with ease, “can you come help me?”

Sunwoo looks even more surprised at your question– although there is now a hint of confusion in the mix. What could you possibly have in the back to need his help with? For as far as he knows, you only ever kept your work uniform in your locker. “What? Can’t you get it yourself…?” he asks, noticing as you shake your head in disapproval.

“It’s… it’s on the top of the lockers and I can’t reach it, so-”

“Grab a chair…?”

You didn’t really expect to have Sunwoo question your half-assed excuse. Truly, you thought this was going to go smoothly– but knowing Kim Sunwoo, you should’ve known it was never going to go the way you planned. You’re determined to win, though.

And so it’s the time to bring out the big guns– men never say no when you praise them and make yourself look incompetent.

“Please? I don’t feel like bringing a chair and you’re tall enough. It will only take a second…” you pout, watching as the male in front of you sighs and stands up from his seat, nodding at your humble request.

Sunwoo follows you as you walk down the corridor, your heart thumping with the start of your little plan. Your steps are calculated and your movements carefully programmed, the nervousness in your stomach making you even more giddy with every meter of distance you two cross.

Before you two get a chance to make it to the back, you make a swift turn and open the doors to one of the rooms on the left of the hall, dragging Sunwoo by his hand and tugging him inside. His body stumbles against yours, but the door closes behind him faster than he can react to the impact. Steadying the boy back to his feet, you watch him with anticipation, awaiting his reaction.

The truth is, you haven’t thought the plan out this far. The depiction of it in your brain always ended with you sneaking him into the projecting room and his curious eyes peering into yours. Something about the image of the events always made you feel too overwhelmed– you never dared to imagine the situation further. (That would mean admitting some hidden desires to yourself, so you never even tried. That all makes this situation twice as nerve-wrecking, though.)

“What… are we doing here?” he asks, eyes darting around the darkness of the projection room, the only light illuminating his pretty features being the movie playing behind the glass of the small booth.

“Didn’t you say you wanted to watch The polar express with me?” you ask, voice a few octaves higher than usual.

“I… did…” he mumbles, confusion making him stumble over his own words.

“Well, you are working and I leave tomorrow, so I figured I had to find a way…” you shrug, watching as Sunwoo looks at you a little frozen, big eyes staring you down, gears turning in his head. You can’t really read him– you don’t really know if he’s going to laugh at you or send you home for ruining his shift. You don’t know if he appreciates the gesture, or if he thinks you’re being embarrassing. You don’t know if he registers the slight tremble of your hands and the lightness of your breathing, you don’t know if he realizes how much his reaction could make your day or completely ruin it (just like always), and so, you panic– and when you panic, you ramble. “I know we are technically not supposed to be here– well, me, at least– but I think that being with the owner’s son could make my boss let me off even if he somehow finds out, which I doubt he will, but–”

Sunwoo’s face starts slowly morphing, the slightest of shifts slowly adding up to a change of expression, having the male break out into the biggest, happiest grin you’ve ever seen him sport. His eyes light up and glaze your features in the softest of touches, his head shaking in disbelief. “Oh, you’re adorable.”

“What?” you ask, your heart doing seven somersaults and five cartwheels, eyes a big pool of surprise.

“You did this for me?” he beams, his grin so big and pretty it takes your breath away. Butterfly wings tickle in your stomach at the sight, having you mentally curse yourself– hold it together, Y/N.

“I- I mean, I didn’t really do anything, we just sneaked in–”

“This is the sweetest thing you’ve ever done for me,” Sunwoo hums, the teasing tone making its comeback in his voice, “actually, this might be the first sweet thing you’ve ever done for me–”

“Well, okay,” you roll your eyes, an embarrassed laugh dragging out of your throat as you turn on your heel and walk closer to the little table in the opposite end of the room, needing to avert your gaze from the boy for at least a second. The air is suddenly too heavy and it’s hard for you to breathe, heat rushing to your cheeks.

Eyes focusing on the screen in front of you, your brain tries hard to focus on your favorite Christmas movie. Failing, your head running thoughts full of conflicting emotions and erratic exclamation marks screaming the name of the boy behind you, you ask yourself how and when exactly you’ve gotten yourself into this mess.

Maybe you shouldn’t have gotten this job in the first place.

Ears painfully alert, listening to each sound heard in the small projecting room– the shuffling of Sunwoo’s feet as he nears your figure, the muffled noise of the movie playing in the screening room in front of you, the resonance of your own heartbeat in your ears as Sunwoo’s hands suddenly sneak around your middle, your jacket squeaking from the contact of his limbs as he hugs you.

“What–”

“Don’t fight me, Y/N. Just this once,” he hums, voice deep, but still a bit hesitant. It’s like he’s walking on unsteady land, cautious of his movements in fear of making you run away. He’s in a new territory, in your personal space– the scent of his cologne fills your nostrils again as his head settles itself on your shoulder, the two of you silently watching the movie for a few seconds, not really knowing how to proceed.

There’s something intimate in the way he holds you, in the way the movie is a mere background noise to the marathon of your thoughts, the blue light illuminating your faces as you both try your hardest to keep your cool.

A flashing thought of just how much you from a few months ago would hate the position it’s in right now passes by your brain, making you instantly feel foolish. Oh how much you’d love it if you stood here unaffected right now– there’s no way to battle the warmth flooding your insides right at this moment, though.

“This is nice,” he mumbles, voice barely louder than a whisper. “Thank you,” he says, your insides squeezing at the sincerity. It’s not often you get to see this side of Sunwoo– the sweet, patient one, the side of him that makes you feel safe in his arms and appreciated with the soft tone in his words. And while you realize you don’t hate the playful side of him just as much as you thought you did, you must admit the novelty of the situation makes you feel a bit more joyful than you’d like to admit.

The weight of his head disappears from your shoulder, making you feel momentarily disappointed by the action. You expect him to pull away and take a seat on the chair, to finally focus on the movie playing in front of your eyes, the thought alone making your spirit fall. The fire in your inside lights up like a match thrown into a pool of gasoline just as fast again, though, when you feel soft lips come in contact with your cheek.

They stay only for a second before they disappear, an airy laugh landing in your ear a second later. “Please don’t run away now,” he says, tone of voice uncertain, telling you that now the ball is in your court– your next actions could either make him the happiest man on Earth, or completely break him.

The choice is yours.

Your head turns his way, eyes instantly locking with his brown orbs searching for any signs of discomfort in your face. Slowly, as if still processing the events of before, your eyes trail over his features– the awfully handsome way his face was sculpted, the softness of his eyes and the sharpness of his jaw, the slope of his nose and the plushness of his lips. They’re not as chapped today, making you wonder if he started wearing vaseline, and before you get a chance to stop yourself, you start wondering of the way his lips would feel on yours, imagination running wild.

He heaves out a shaky breath, your eyes darting back into his– as if to ask for approval, see if he’s okay with it. There’s a dazy look in them, gaze pressed to your lips, then to your eyes, then your lips again– a look you take as an invitation as you act against all your best judgment and lean towards him, pressing your mouth against his.

As if testing the waters, you make the kiss short. It was long enough to engrave it into your brain, though– to remember the way his perfectly shaped lips pressed against yours, the way the world stopped just for a moment, the way he tasted of the strawberry mints he always eats at work whenever he has nothing to do.

Sunwoo seems to find liking in the action– lips glazing yours again, pressing another peck to them before he deepens the kiss, the tingling in your fingertips intensifying and the excitement bubbling in your frame making you turn in your position, front facing him and pressing up against his chest. His hands quickly adjust, slipping under your opened jacket and settling on your clothed waist, the slightest contact making your knees weak and settle your bottom against the table behind you, hands grabbing the fabric of his sweatshirt.

He pulls back to catch some air, a boyish grin breaking out on his face, forehead knocking against yours in a sweet, giddy manner. “I’ve wanted to do this for months,” he huffs.

The sentiment makes a thousand question marks appear in your head– why did he make your life a living hell, then? Why did he pull pranks on you and make you hate every second spent with him? Why did he make you so furious each time and argued with you about the smallest things? How could Sunwoo possibly have wanted this for months, when you just only started noticing his attractiveness a few weeks ago?

“Why–”

“I’ll tell you later,” he says, cutting you off as he presses his lips against yours again, your mouth automatically welcoming his presence. Brain erased of all previous questions, his kisses working like a spell, you focus all your senses on the man in front of you.

Having your hands feeling up his abdomen, Sunwoo hesitantly asks for entrance with his tongue, running it along your lower lip until you welcome him in. You like this type of power battle much more than the one you had going on until now, and with each new movement, you feel yourself falling apart under him.

His fingers tug down on the sides of your jacket, pulling it down. You don’t need it anymore– with how heated you’ve gotten, you are actually kind of happy that it is gone. One of his cold hands sneaks under the hem of your jumper, fingertips trailing up and down your side, the other one tugs down the hat from your head, discarding it somewhere on the table behind you before it finds its place on the side of your jaw, angling your head in a way that allows him to deepen the kiss even more, the contact of your lips growing firmer as seconds go by.

Your scarf is swiftly untangled off your neck, Sunwoo’s skilled lips blindly trailing down the side of your mouth towards your jaw, feathery kisses ticking you before he gets more bold and sucks on the side of your throat, a shaky breath shyly escaping your lips.

“Sunwoo…” you say, tone of voice not really present, no real intention behind the call of his name.

The boy hums against your neck, having you gasp again when he lightly bites the softness of your skin, your hands shooting up to tangle in his hair when he licks the spot to soothe it after. Threading your fingers through his locks to ground yourself, you can’t believe you ever hoped for him to get a trim.

His hands firmly hold the underside of your thighs before he hoists you up on the table, continuing his confident attack on your neck when you’re sitting comfortably on the hard surface. It’s not like you didn’t feel excited, the tiniest bit thrilled at the mental image of his possessive marks all over your throat, but you were glad it was freezing outside and you could wear a turtleneck to hide the bruises from your family tomorrow. He nuzzles his nose into the hot skin of your neck, the action making you grin in ecstasy and endearment.

Getting lost in the way he was handling you, his touches firm, yet delicate, acted out in a way that makes you feel safe and comfortable with his passionate ministrations, you almost don’t notice the door swinging open, the figure of your boss like striking like the lightning in the doorway of the screening room.

“Sunwoo!”

The boy jumps, his body quickly ungluing itself off yours, as he listens to his father scolding him. “I don’t care what you two have going on over here, but you’re on clock! There’s a line waiting for the tickets for tomorrow’s movie and someone has to sell them right now.”

The boy clears his throat, voice a little hoarse. “Coming,” he says, trying to keep his composure. His hair’s a little tousled, cheeks rosy and lips puffed– the image that will haunt you in your sweetest nightmares now– and before you get a chance to say anything or let your brain process the events of the last few minutes, your panic works faster, making you act.

Quickly scattering for your things, you run out of the projecting room without saying goodbye to either Sunwoo or your boss, never once looking back.

You think of what you’ve done on your way home, bones freezing now that they weren’t in his presence. You try hard to regret your actions, but you don’t find it in you to do so– it’s kind of hard with the feeling of his lips still playing with yours.

Even though you’d hate to admit it just a few weeks ago, you must do it now.

Kim Sunwoo does make a really good kisser.

TONIGHT’S PREMIERE – PRIDE AND PREJUDICE (2005)

There are many thoughts swimming around your brain as you walk through the coldness of the town the next day, your duffel bag hanging off your shoulder. There’s a conflict between the actions of your body and your thoughts – feet on their journey to the train station, but head stuck in the small projection room of your workplace, your coworker’s kisses occupying your every sober thought.

It’s not surprising, but you haven't heard from Sunwoo since you left the cinema last night. Not a single text or a call– but you figure that this is just your dynamic. Sunwoo’s never been much of a texter when it came to you. He’s never had the reason to text or call you, unless it was work-related, and you think it will stay that way, even though you did make out with him just last night.

Maybe he regretted it. Maybe he just didn’t feel like pondering on the events any longer– maybe it was just a one-time thing for him and he didn’t put much significance to it. You wouldn’t know– it’s not like you’re suddenly an expert on the way he feels and operates.

You, though? How do you feel about the turn of events? Despite not wanting to admit it to yourself, the answer came to you the second you tried to fall asleep last night, every soaring thought in your brain showing you the reflection of his dazed look, desires of wanting him to look at you that way all the time oh so skilfully infesting themselves into every crevice of your neocortex. You want Sunwoo to like you. You want Sunwoo to want you. You want Sunwoo to be so enchanted with your existence that he thinks about you before he goes to sleep at night– just like you have done for the past few weeks.

The answer comes to you again when you feel something wet fall on the top of your cheek, making you turn your eyes towards the sky. Your breathing comes out in puffs of air as you watch the magic happen right in front of you– and as you watch the snowflakes scatter all around the place, you are in another inner argument. While the rational side of your brain is screaming at you to keep walking to the station so you don’t miss your train home, the delirious side is cooperating with your feet for once, your figure crossing to the other side of the street and walking over to the place you could get to even with your eyes closed at this point; all because you suddenly remember the conversation you had with Sunwoo when you were putting on ornaments to the Christmas tree.

It’s the first snow of the season.

Kim Sunwoo loves it when it snows.

Speed-walking towards the vintage movie theater at the corner of the town’s square, you feel something akin to childish excitement bubbling in your insides, a hint of nervousness inviting itself into your insides when you push the door open and aim straight towards the ticket booth, where you know Sunwoo will be sitting, wasting another shift away.

He’s there– eyes pressed towards the window, gaze following the snowflakes kissing the cold ground. You expected more excitement in his character, more childlike joy in his figure– and after taking in his composure: shoulders slouching and fingers picking at the skin of his cuticles, you suddenly feel silly for coming.

Well, here goes nothing, you think.

“Sunwoo,” you call, making the boy snap his head towards you in surprise, big eyes meeting yours the moment he recognises your voice.

You don’t receive a verbal response for a while. The boy just stares at you, a bit hesitant and clueless. His face reminds you of a small puppy trying to take in the new situation in front of it. His lips are formed into a small pout, gears in his brain turning and trying to process the reality of having you standing there, face beaten from the cold.

Clearing your throat, you try to take charge of the situation. “It’s snowing outside,” you say, eyes peering out of the window, all thoughts suddenly escaping your brain, words blanking off your tongue, “and, well… you said you like the snow, so…”

The boy’s mouth hangs agape, a twinkle in his eyes slowly appearing once again when he stares at you, your nervousness doing wonders to your conversation skills. “I- I don’t even know what I wanted to say with that, it’s just- I don’t know… I saw it was snowing and I automatically came here, so-” you stutter, the sentence cutting off as Sunwoo jumps to his feet and grins, wordlessly taking your hand into his and dragging you outside.

The duffel bag falls off your shoulder somewhere in the middle of the hall, discarded to the floor, before Sunwoo sharply halts in his steps and runs back towards the ticket booth, still dragging you with him by the hand. The boy grabs something off the table, the item not visible in your rear point of view, and before you have a chance to register what’s happening, you’re outside of the building again, coldness instantly slapping you in the face.

It’s dark out, but the heaviness of the snow provides enough light in the silent evening for you to see where you’re going under the yellow lampposts on the street. Instantly noticing the lack of Sunwoo’s warm hand in yours when he suddenly lets go, you turn your head to look at the male.

Terror fills your veins when you notice him gathering snow from the ground and pressing it into a tight ball, a screech escaping your throat when you watch him swing it at you, a playful, boyish grin playing with his features. The male chases you around and most of the snowballs don't even hit your running figure (he does have an awful aim), but you still duck anyway and try your hardest to win your snowball fight.

Numb fingers creating snowballs and halting them at his tall frame, but missing most of the time due to his fast reflexes, you laugh and let go of all the worries and questions clouding your judgment. Sunwoo looks enthusiastic, so much more lively than when you found him in the ticket booth just a few minutes ago– but that’s still not enough for you to let him win.

Gathering the icy texture into your hands, you run towards him, taking advantage of his inattention as he’s bent over and taking more snow into his hold, and halt the whiteness into his face just as he straightens his back and wants to prepare for his attack.

More laughter bubbles out of your chest when you watch him drop his snowball to the ground, admitting defeat. The snow is all over his face– slowly running down his cheeks like teardrops, redness tinting his nose and the sides of his face.

The male shudders from the cold, and you instantly start feeling bad. Only now you realize that he ran out without a coat, a gasp escaping your throat. “Oh god,” you mourn, hands flying towards his frozen face to wipe off the snow from his cheeks, fingers carefully tracing over his cold skin. His eyes open as he watches you, something in his gaze so tender you feel yourself melting even in the middle of the snowstorm.

The male shuffles his hands into the front pocket of his gray hoodie, taking out the item you now recognise to be the hat you accidentally forgot in the projecting room yesterday (and already mentally paid goodbye to), his frozen fingers tugging the fabric onto your head.

“Why are you putting this on me? You’re the one that’s freezing over here!” you scold him, shaking your head at the male.

He rewards you with an amused grin, watching your next moves. Acting on auto-pilot, not really putting much thought into your actions, you unzip your jacket and step impossibly near to the male. Holding the jacket open, you hug him around his middle, making sure you are sharing the warmth with him and keeping him as close as possible, shielding him from the cold with both the fabric of your puffer jacket and the heat radiating off your body.

Faces just inches away from each other, you peer at his face. He wears a warm expression, eyes peeking out from behind his dark bangs. Clouds of breath escape his mouth when he speaks, voice quiet, as if to not ruin the atmosphere. “I thought you would regret it,” he says, making you break out into a foolish smile.

“I thought so too,” you nod.

“And you don’t?”

Shrugging, you reply. “Not really.”

“Why?” he asks, suddenly doubtful. “You said you hated me. Which was odd to hear, honestly, since I did all this to get your attention anyway and I thought it was just how our dynamic works, but… I could see how it could be annoying to you…”

Chuckling, you roll your eyes at the sudden revelation. It’s sickeningly sweet how endearing he looks when he doubts himself, explaining himself to you in a nervous blabber. “I don’t hate you. At least not anymore.”

“You don’t?”

“No,” you shake your head, a tender gaze shared between the two of you, “I actually quite like you, I think…” you mumble, a little bashful to admit it out loud.

“You do?” he asks, the twinkle in his eye glimmering twice as much as ever before, tone of voice playful, yet laced with honest joy and surprise at your confession.

“I do,” you nod, voice barely louder than a whisper as you watch him lean closer towards your face, cold nose bumping into yours before he angles his head, breath mixing in with yours in the few seconds before he dares to kiss you again, capturing your lips with his.

The kiss is sweet. The kiss tastes of strawberry mints and the first snow, of unsaid confessions and longing looks sent your way every time you weren’t looking. The kiss makes your stomach fill with a thousand little butterflies, it melts away the ice around you, the two of you like a spark of a fire in the middle of a snowy land.

His actions have your composure faltering, hands untangling from behind him and moving up to cradle his face. He melts under your touch, leaning into you as your fingers trail over his cheekbones. Holding on to him, thumbs padding his soft skin, you’re reminded of the cold only when he breaks off you and shudders again, teeth clattering from the freezing temperature.

“Let’s get you inside,” you say, planting a short peck to his lips, “before you turn into an icicle,” you giggle, watching as he scrunches up his face.

“I won’t,” he shakes his head, “love warms me up,” he grins, making you roll your eyes at his bold statement.

“You’re so cheesy.”

“But you quite like me anyways, no?”

Sighing, moving away from him and tugging him back inside the cinema, you shake your head at the boy. “I’ll think about it on my train home,” you bite back, opening the door to the theater and aiming towards the duffel bag you dropped on your way out.

Sunwoo watches you with a warm gaze, an adorable smile playing with his lips. His figure seems to be visibly taking in the heat again, his face adorning a flush, pink color.

“So I take it as you’re not quitting anymore, then?” he teases as you walk back to the door, both of you ignoring the customers waiting for their tickets in the line in front of the forgotten booth.

“We’ll see,” you shrug.

“I’ll text you the schedule for January?”

“You better text me about something else too, Kim Sunwoo,” you bark back, opening the door towards the cold landscape, “or you’re gonna have a very uncomfortable return back to work in January!”

The boy laughs, the noise like a Christmas carol to your ears. “Noted.”

Slipping outside, you watch as he waves at you goodbye, your feet dragging through the snow towards the train station having more pep to their step now. You don’t even know if you can make it to the train on time, but you surprisingly have no regrets– you can always catch the next one, right?

Mentally wanting to slap yourself for the lovesick grin playing with your lips, you sigh.

The male that once made your life a living hell is now the one you look forward to seeing the most once you come back after Christmas break. It’s kind of strange, really.

One would think that working with movies on the daily would prepare you better for the biggest plot twist of your life.

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eph3merall · 6 months ago

Note

CAN WE PLEASEE GET A FAN FIC FOR THE LAST PARAGRAPH OF

https://www.tumblr.com/eph3merall/765460599306174464/dealerchris-x-innocentbffreader-hcs

THANK YOU I LOVE YOU PRETTY

not gonna lie i forgot what i wrote here at first. love u, hope u enjoy my works <3

it was another one of those nights. you'd asked to tag along with chris to some random house party he was planning to deal at, and how could he ever say no to you? with those pretty, pleading eyes n clasped hands in hope he'd agree.

so, yeah, chris did agree. the trap music blaring from multiple speakers are loud and rattling your bones as you trail behind chris like a lost puppy. a happy one, but you basically resemble a lost lil' pup right now who's relying on their mother for directions.

chris hadn't exactly desired to bring you along tonight. he'd been more horny lately—the way you're always around him and looking at him like he was some god hadn't helped at all. he found time to jerk off alone at night, but it barely helped. so he guessed going to some random party to find some random girls' throat to stick his dick down would work, right?

yeah, it would work. and that was chris' whole entire plan. until you had asked so sweetly to come with him at the mention of him being away for the night. you were sort of like the plague, horribly hard to shake away and clinging to him.

so, it's why you're settling next to chris with a little grin on your face. you even managed to put on a cute lil' dress—just wanting to look better than you usually did. when you showed up for chris to pick you up, you missed the way his eyes widened and his jaw ticked. you also managed to miss the way his cock hardened slightly in his jeans.

you sit next to your best friend, crossing one of your legs over the other. you watch silently as chris does his deals with multiple people—some in groups, some coming up to him solely. one guy even paid extra just for a little more product. and you assumed he must've paid a lot more extra due to the way chris grinned after he turned n left.

you didn't seem to spend much time at the party until chris is dragging you up and patting your lower back towards the door. "c'mon. time to go," he's behind you, talking into your ear over the loud music yet quiet enough for only you to hear his words.

and then, when chris is dropping you back off at your dorm, you notice he's quick to speed off after a lil hug and his usual "bye kid, ill see y'tomorrow."

chris is barely making it back to his place without pulling over just to jerk off, his dick so hard in his pants it was bordering on painful. his hands gripped the steering wheel tight, muscles tense.

the second chris is in the privacy of his own room, he's sinking into a chair and sighing out deeply. a hand runs through his hair as he rolls his head back, clicking his tongue against his teeth as he shifts his hips up to pull his belt from the loop and letting it clatter to the floor. his hand unbuttons n unzips his jeans, pulling the waistband along with his boxers down to free his cock.

his thumb rubs over the tip leaking pre, wincing and exhaling out sharply. a short curse is said under his breath, spreading his pre down the length of his cock and wrapping a hand around it. a shudder runs through him when he starts slowly stroking up n down, teeth gnawing down on his lower lip.

sharp pants and curses are said between grunts and the occasional groan of your name. soon enough, chris' pace increases as his hips twitch a few times. a few beads of sweat have gathered around his eyebrows, furrowed and face scrunched in pleasure.

strands of curly brown hair stick to his forehead n skin, disheveled from the way he ran his hand through it just earlier. his muscles are tense and biceps are bulging, the black 'pirate girl' tank sticking gently to his skin.

and a few moments later, chris is cumming. ropes of white paint his fists as his chest heaves up and down from the release, eyes drifting shut because the whole time he was working his cock, his mind was on you. and it shouldn't have been, because god, you were his best friend.

hey, at least he got the release he craved.

—

@conspiracy-ash @sturniolosfavkayleigh @lvrsturniolo @st7rnioioss @meatballlover10 @ashlishes @ferdzom @55sturn @chriseatingmeoutin4k @unknvhx @mattslolita @chaossturns

©eph3merall 2024

#ᶻz eph3merall #ᶻz asks #ᶻz anons #ೀ dealer!chris #ೀ innocent!bff!reader #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo blurb #chris sturniolo drabble #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader #the sturniolo triplets #the sturniolos #sturniolos #sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo smut

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theemporium · 2 years ago

Text

[4k] you made a deal with your boyfriend to do whatever he wanted to celebrate his podium and you were going to do exactly that, even if the rest of the world was determined to get in the way. (smut)

part one

Much to his dismay, he couldn’t get you alone after he had finished his round in the media pen.

Lando stumbled into his driver’s room, buzzing and eager to get his hands on you, only to have a team member knock on his door and inform him that Zak wanted to take a massive group photo outside of the garage.

You shot him a sympathetic look before he left the room.

Then, when he tried to return, he was being pulled up by different team members and colleagues who wanted to congratulate him on the podium at his home race.

And just when Lando thought he was in the clear, he was being pulled into conversation by none other than Max Verstappen and Daniel Ricciardo—two boys he usually would’ve been happy to see—and somehow found himself roped into going out and celebrating the night.

It didn’t take a genius to work out Lando was getting angsty.

He had been all but pawing at you before you even left the hotel room, his hands on your waist and his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck as you tried to add the finishing touches on your makeup in the bathroom mirror.

“We could just stay in,” he murmured between soft, open-mouthed kisses he pressed along your neck. “Say fuck it and stay here.”

You raised your brows. “What are you gonna tell Max and Daniel?”

“Sorry guys, I would rather fuck my pretty girlfriend all night than get piss drunk!” Lando answered with a cheeky grin on his face, lifting his head enough to catch your gaze in the mirror.

Your cheeks burned. “Asshole.”

“We made a deal,” he mumbled, and was all but pouting as he flashed his puppy dog eyes. “You are cutting back on your end of the deal.”

“I’m not,” you said and turned in his arms so you were now facing him. “The night is young, who knows what will happen?”

What could happen was that Lando was about two minutes away from blowing a load in his trousers in public.

You had shooed him out of the bathroom so you could slip on your dress and heels just before the taxi with the other boys arrived. When you stepped out, clad in heels that made your legs look miles long and a dress that barely covered anything, Lando was fighting for his life to find a way to convince you to stay in the hotel room.

But his phone rang and the excited voice of Daniel came through the speaker as he announced they were outside and Lando didn’t even get a chance before you were grabbing his hand and dragging him out the room.

He had been on edge the whole ride to the club, his thigh pressed against yours and the sweet scent of your vanilla perfume driving him mad. He told himself he needed to reel it in, that he just got a podium at his home race, that he deserved to be carefree and celebrate with his friends like everyone else was doing.

But two sips into the beer in his hand and Lando wanted to be anywhere but the club at that moment. He watched as you made your way towards the bar, leaning over the counter and sticking out that pretty ass of yours as you ordered some fruity cocktail that would probably have him scrunching his nose.

He watched the way the hem of your dress clung to your upper thighs, the way your lips wrapped around your straw and the way your eyes fell shut as you danced to the beat of whatever song blasting through the speakers. He watched as you smiled and laughed with all of your shared friends, as you threw your arms over Max’s shoulder and laughed at whatever the dutchman had said.

Lando never considered himself a jealous man and he knew there was nothing more to your interactions than platonic nature, but the fact your attention was everyone but him was starting to get to him.

He was promised to have you all to himself tonight. He was promised free reign and a night of just the two of you, tangled between the hotel room sheets until the sun rose and you would have to rush to the airport for a flight back to Monaco.

He was supposed to be the only one listening to your laughs or watching you smile.

He was supposed to be the only one you cared about too.

With his mind made up and his body itching to have you in his vicinity again, he slammed his half-drunk beer down and ignored the joking comment Daniel said to him before he began pushing through a throng of dancing partygoers until he got to you.

“We gotta go,” Lando said as his arm wound around your waist and pulled you into his front, though his eyes remained on his friend. “We have an early flight in the morning.

Max scoffed. “Boo! You’re no fun!”

“Maybe next time,” Lando smiled, and to anyone else, it may have seemed genuine. But you could see it was slightly strained.

Your body felt like it was stuck in a trance as you followed Lando out of the bustling club, the chill of the summer night hitting you the second you left the club. You looked at him, taking in the sheer layer of sweat on his skin that made him glow. The way his chest peaked out from the open buttons of his black silk shirt and the chain around his neck. You took in how pretty your boy truly was.

His arm around your waist tightened as he pulled you closer, his other hand working his phone as his thumb tapped away before sliding back into his pocket.

You raised your hand, your thumb smoothing over the crease between his brows. “What’s wrong?”

Lando turned his head to look at you, his gaze unamused. “You really gonna play like that?”

You flashed him an innocent smile. “Like what?”

His eyes darkened. “Don’t play these games, baby. We had a deal.”

“We did,” you nodded as you placed your hands on his chest, letting yourself slowly stroke the material of his shirt and play with the buttons as you looked up at him. “The deal still stands.”

“Does it?” he questioned, his grip on your waist tightening. “Because to me, you were all too eager to get dressed up and head out tonight.”

You just smiled, leaning up on your tiptoes so your lips were brushing against his. Your voice dropped, the bouncers and other people loitering around the outside of the club not even a second thought as you whispered against his lips.

“And if I told you I’m not wearing any panties?”

His hands on your waist tightened its grip, but this time it was almost out of protectiveness. His hands dropped to the hem of your dress, pulling it further down your legs like it would help the fact you were wearing nothing underneath.

“Baby,” Lando groaned, his hands firmly planted on your ass to stop your dress from riding up.

“I wanted to be ready for you,” you murmured with your red painted lips pouting. “I said anything you want, Lando, that included any time and any place.”

You were goading him. You knew it. He knew it. Everyone and their fucking nan knew it but it didn’t stop you from doing so.

He let out a string of curse words muttered under his breath before slamming his lips against yours. He probably should’ve cared that there were people around, that anyone could record you both or take a photo and have it plastered on tomorrow’s paper. He probably should’ve waited until you were back in your hotel room.

But he had waited long enough and he didn’t have the patience to wait a second longer.

You let out a whiny noise from the back of your throat when he pulled away, your cheeks flushed and your lipstick smudged as you tried to pull him back down to you but a squeeze of your ass warned you to stop.

“Get in the car,” he grunted, his voice raspy and a little gruff and he pretended not to notice the way your thighs clenched in response.

He stood directly behind you as you clambered into the back of the car, his eyes fixated on your ass before he followed suit. The driver gave them a polite smile and nod of his head before he turned the radio up, confirming the hotel before he pulled away from the side of the street.

You looked towards your boyfriend, still a little dazed as you reached over to wipe away the red lipstick smudged across his lips but his hand on your wrist stopped you.

“Lando,” you murmured quietly as his hand moved down your arm, down your side until you shivered against him.

“No bra either,” he mused, a muscle in his jaw jumping as he moved his hand down until it rested on your bare thigh. “You said anything.”

“I did,” you murmured.

His eyes found yours. “Did you really mean it?”

You nodded.

“Anything I want?” he asked one more time because you both knew if you said the word, he would stop. But you didn’t want him to stop. Not at all.

“Anything,” you breathed out.

“Stay quiet for me, baby.”

Your bottom lip was tucked between your teeth as you felt his hand slide under the hem of your dress. Your eyes widened as you glanced at your boyfriend, questioning if he was really going to do this. But the way his lips twitched upwards into a soft smirk told you more than enough.

You tore your eyes away from him and looked at the front of the car, where the driver was oblivious to what was happening in the back of his car. Some Taylor Swift song was playing on the radio, filling the silence but you were far too lost in the feeling of Lando’s palm cupping your bare cunt to try and remember the title of the song.

“Lando—”

“Shh,” he ducked his head to press a lingering kiss on the crown of your head. “I told you to stay quiet, didn’t I?”

You nodded.

“So be a good girl f’me,” he mumbled as his fingers slowly slid along your slit, a low groaning noise escaping the back of his throat when he felt how wet you were. “Fuck, this all for me?”

You nodded again, not trusting yourself to even try and talk right now.

“You’re a fucking tease, baby,” he grumbled as his finger lightly caressed your needy cunt, brushing against your clit with the lightest of touches that made you bite back your own whimpers. He pressed his thumb against your clit, rubbing slow circles until you felt like every nerve in your body was going to explode. “Gonna give you a taste of your own medicine.”

You could have cried when he finally slid one finger inside you but it wasn’t enough, and Lando knew that. He watched in delight as you leaned back against the car seat, eager and desperate eyes glaring into the side of his face as he looked down at your lap, as though he was able to watch the way your walls squeezed around him as he added another finger.

Your body was on fire. Every inch of you felt like you had lava coursing through your veins, your stomach coiling and twisting with desire and your heart pounding in your chest as your boyfriend had his way with you in the back of the Uber. You reached out to grip his wrist, your breathing shaky as you flashed him a warning look.

“I can’t,” you whispered, shaking your head as you turned to glance at the driver, but Lando’s fingers dug into your cheeks as he turned you back to him.

“You can and you will,” he muttered, his eyes darkening in desire as he watched you fight the urge to moan his name. His voice dropped, so low that you barely heard him over the radio. “You said whatever I want, baby. This is what I want. C’mon, make a mess for me.”

Your face was pressed against his shoulder as you came, your teeth digging into his shoulder as he only chuckled in your ear. Your legs were shaking, your body was shaking and your brain could barely string a coherent sentence together, let alone even care at the fact the poor driver just had his backseat vandialised.

You were panting softly as you finally lifted your head, a whimpering noise leaving your lips as Lando pulled his fingers out of you and made a point of sliding them into his own mouth. You watched as he licked and sucked the arousal that soaked his fingers.

The little shit even had the audacity to wink at you when your lips parted slightly at the sight.

He leaned down, pressing a chaste kiss on your lips with a grin. “That’s one, baby.”

You didn’t even get a chance to process what he said before the car pulled outside the hotel. Lando thanked the driver (leaving him a hefty tip on top of the payment) and slid out the car, extending his hand to help you out before he wrapped an arm around your waist to keep you on your feet.

You gripped his shirt in tight fists and the boy’s grin only widened as you headed inside, dipping his head to greet the doorman and any other workers you met along the way to your hotel room.

Your brain still felt a little fuzzy from your orgasm when the hotel room door locked with a click behind you. You felt his hands on your waist, turning your body to face him and you felt your heart stop a little when you saw the smile on his face.

“Have I told you how fucking beautiful you look tonight?” he asked, slow steps guiding you further into the room as he kept his hold on you.

“I don’t think you have, Norris, you’re slacking,” you murmured, letting out a small squeal when he pinched your hip. “There’s still time for you to make up for it.”

He raised his brows. “Is that so?”

You pressed your lips together to hold back your smile.

“Well, as gorgeous as you look,” Lando murmured as he ducked his head down, his eyes never leaving yours. “I can’t wait to take this fucking dress off you. You are wearing far too much for what I wanna do.”

You gulped a little. “And what do you wanna do, Mr Norris?”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it,” he smiled and both of his hands cupped your cheeks before he brought his lips down on yours. “Just need you to sit there and look all pretty for me.”

Lando Norris’ kisses were all-consuming. They were overwhelming and they made your head spin and you didn’t ever want the sensation to stop. He was a good fucking kisser and sometimes that alone could make you feel fuzzy and needy and eager for more.

However, that was far from the case tonight.

Lando’s patience lasted all of five minutes before he stayed true to his word, tugging the zipper on the back of your dress and pulling it off your body, only to throw it somewhere else in the room. He didn’t even give you a chance to unclasp your heels before he was nudging you onto the bed, crawling over you and his lips never once leaving your body.

His shirt was long gone but when you tried to unbutton his trousers, he slapped your hands away and muttered for you to keep them on the bed before he began to kiss lower and lower down your body.

Some nights, Lando could have the patience of a saint. And some nights, he just wanted to nuzzle his head between your thighs and never leave.

“Lando!”

His arms were wound around your thighs to keep you locked in place, one hand cupping your tits whilst laid on your stomach. The noises echoing through the room were debauched and scandalous and he had never heard anything so pretty. The way you moaned his name in between strings of curses, accompanied with the sound of his tongue lapping and licking and sucking your needy cunt like he was a starved man.

He never wanted to leave this moment.

Your thighs squeezed around his ears and he groaned against you, his eyes falling shut as his lips wrapped around your clit. He watched as you arched at the sensation, as you gripped the sheets between your fingers, as you lamely attempted to buck your hips against him only for the hand on your stomach to push you back down.

“Taste so fucking good,” he moaned, his words muffled and mumbled. “This is what I fucking wanted after my race, not some stupid party.”

“Shit,” you cried out, your heels scratching down his back as you felt the coil in your stomach tighten. “Please, please!”

Lando let out a whimper as your fingers tangled between his curls, tugging and pulling as you ground your cunt against his face. His hands squeezed your hips, tight enough that they would probably bruise in the morning but neither of you cared.

He pinned you down to the bed, one hand pushing your leg closer to your chest and the other keeping your leg locked in place as his tongue eagerly lapped your needy cunt. You were soaking, practically gushing down your thighs and onto the bed but Lando didn’t think he had ever seen a prettier sight.

There was a dull pain with each tug of his hair as you came, a dull pain that went straight down to his cock as he watched you squirm and wiggle underneath him as you screamed his name. He couldn’t get enough of you, the taste of you and the way you feel in his hands with your thighs wrapped around him and—

“Please,” you sobbed, your body shaking as you tried to come down from your high, only to feel Lando eagerly still lapping the mess you made between your legs. “Please, baby, I-I need you inside of me.”

And fuck, if there was one thing he loved more than eating you out until your pretty little head couldn’t handle it, it was seeing you beg for his cock.

“Yeah? Need me to fill you up?” he murmured, his warm breath fanning over your inner thighs as he placed sloppy kisses along your skin, up your stomach and chest until your nose was brushing against his. “Need me to fuck you, baby?”

“Please,” you whined, your hands gripping his biceps like you were scared he was going to pull away again. “Please.”

“Don’t need to cry, baby, gonna give my girl what she wants,” he murmured before leaning down to kiss you. “Plus, we are only on two.”

You frowned a little, opening your mouth to ask him what he meant but a sharp slap against your thigh cut you off.

“On all fours, baby, let me see that pretty ass you have been teasing me with all night,” Lando muttered and you didn’t have the heart to tease him anymore, not when you wanted him inside you so desperately.

He was so careful when he first slid inside you, letting out a guttural noise as he felt the walls of your cunt clench around his cock as you took him inch by inch. His hands were constantly on you, squeezing and caressing you as he whispered praised reassurances. He waited until he was completely sheathed inside you, his pelvis pressed against your ass and his cock so deep inside you, you could have sworn you felt him in your stomach.

He waited until you were nice and stretched out and ready for him.

And then, it was like a flip had switched inside the boy’s head.

The sound of skin slapping against skin bounced off the walls of the room, the noises leaving your lips were borderline pornographic and Lando wished he could remember every single detail of this night for the rest of his life.

His hands gripped your hips, guiding your hips back into him to match his hard, fast-paced thrusts. His eyes were glued on the way your cunt greedily took his cock, the way he disappeared with each thrust, only to pull out covered in more of your arousal. He wanted the image burned into the back of his eyelids.

“Atta girl,” Lando groaned, the quick slap against your ass followed by the needy whine you let out making his head spin. “Taking my cock so well, like you were fucking made for me.”

“Shit, please,” you moaned, your head fuzzy and your body tired and all you could think about was Lando hitting that spot again and again and again and again. “Lando, please!”

“So fucking desperate,” he laughed, bordering the line of mocking and it shouldn’t have made you clench around his cock, but it did. And it only encouraged him further. “That’s right, all fucking dumb for my cock, right, baby? Just mine.”

You were too far lost in the pleasure when you came for a third time that night, your arms losing the strength to hold your body up any longer. Your cheek was pressed against the cool sheets, your fingers gripping the fabric as pleasure washed over you like crashing waves. You whined, feeling the bulge of him deep inside you as he thrusted again and again, and you waited for him to spill inside you.

But he didn’t.

He kept fucking you.

“L-Lando,” you choked out, your body jerking with each of his thrusts as you pressed your face against the sheets. Your lips parted, a pathetic noise leaving your lips and tears welled along your lash line. “Too much, please, I-I can’t—”

“You can, baby,” he groaned out, his hand reaching out to take one of yours in his. “One more f’me, pretty girl, need to feel you come on my cock one more time.”

“Lando–”

“Please, baby,” he moaned, his head falling back as your walls clenched around him.

This time when you came, he followed right behind you. Neither one of you spoke, your bodies covered in a layer of sweat and your chests panting to try and catch your breath. Lando squeezed your hips, leaning down to press an affectionate kiss to your ass cheek before he slowly slid out, watching the mess you both created.

You whined, your body slumping against the mattress and Lando couldn’t help but giggle as he crawled back up the bed, taking your body in his arms as you became a lump of tangled limbs.

“That’s three and four,” he murmured against your temple and you lifted your head as realisation finally dawned on you.

“You wanted me to come four times,” you commented and he only grinned in response.

“It is my number after all,” he said like it was obvious. “And you’re my girl. It makes sense.”

You snorted. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah, but I’m yours,” Lando murmured, watching as your eyes fell shut as you leaned your head against his chest. He lightly shook you. “Hey, pretty girl, need you to stay awake so we can take a shower.”

“We can have one in the morning,” you said, your words muffled as you nuzzled your face further into his chest.

“Yeah, right,” Lando snorted before patting your ass. “C’mon, I’ll wash your hair. And we need to take your makeup off, baby, I wanna see my gremlin.”

“You are so doting,” you deadpanned.

“I just don’t wanna deal with a grumpy girlfriend in the morning—ouch!” Lando hissed, glaring down at you. “Geez, tough crowd, I was joking.”

You lifted your head, flashing him a lazy smile. “Carry me?”

He playfully rolled his eyes. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I love you too, my podium boy,” you murmured teasingly, leaning up to kiss him and Lando didn’t have it within him to not smile into the kiss.

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sentientcave · 1 year ago

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Fuck-ass Mohawk

Contains: Alcohol, smoking (cigarettes and cannabis), Soap being Soap, Ghost being Ghost, uninvited touching, tall fem reader

Short little thing about Johnny liking it a bit when you're a bitch to him (And Ghost likes it too)

868 Words ~ MDNI

You’d rather stay home and play board games, but Laurie had convinced everyone that it was a good night for clubbing. You hated clubs— The noise, the crowds, the smell of sweat and alcohol and hormones— and spent the better part of club nights standing outside chain-smoking, or crammed into a dirty bathroom stall holding back a friend’s hair as she threw up blue curacao because she didn’t listen to you when you told her to eat dinner before going out. Tonight didn’t look like it was going to end up with anyone puking their guts up, at least. Laurie’s flirting with a gorgeous hunk with a devastating smile, and Alex and Hannah are dancing, so you go out the side door into the alley for some fresh air. Or air, anyway, since the alley’s where folks go to smoke. You light a joint, because at least that will dull the effect that the sound is having on your head. It’s getting close to midnight, which at least means the night is almost over, so long as someone doesn’t drag you along to some weirdo’s house. “Hey, wha’s a bonnie thing like ye doin’ out here all alone?” A voice purrs in your ear. You jump, surprised that he could get so close with out you noticing him, especially once you turn and really look at him. He’s huge, not that tall, probably your height when you’re not wearing boots (You have about an inch and a half on him in your shit-kickers), but broad and way more muscled than anyone has any reason to be, wrapped in a too-tight shirt, and smiling at you, bright blue eyes fixed on yours with unnerving intensity. He pats your shoulder. “Didnae mean to scare ye, lass, just wanted to say hello.” You take a big step to the side, establishing a new bubble of personal space without him in it. “Well, hello,” you say dismissively. “Goodbye.” There’s a snort from a few meters away, a big fellow with a kn95 mask dangling on one ear, his hand up in front of his face, a cigarette clamped between his fingers. “Och, dinnae be like tha’, hen.” “Don’t like it?” you ask, glaring at him. “Go away. Plenty of girls in there’ll go for whatever all this is.” A sweeping, unimpressed glance from his boots and ripped jeans up to his stupid mohawk would usually do the trick, but it only made this fellow smile wider. “No’ enough fer ya? I can sweeten tha deal some. The big fella doesnae mind sharin’ a sweet lass with me noo and again. There’s plenty of ye ta go around.” “Johnny,” the big fellow in question says sternly. His mask is back in place, covering the lower half of his face. “Dun’t look like she’s interested.”

“Tha’s where you’re wrong, LT. She just doesna want to admit it. Hen’s got pride. Wants to make me work for it, right lass?” He winks at you. “No. Don’t like your fuck-ass mohawk.” You puff on your joint, keeping your face still while he splutters, indignant. “Fuck-ass mohawk?” he asks. “What do ye mean by tha’?” “I mean it looks like you have a contentious relationship with your father,” you say. Maybe you’re being a bit mean, but it’s always fun to take a cocky fucker down a peg or two. “I don’t fuck with men with daddy issues. Most of ‘em are cops or military lads.” The big guy— LT?— laughs aloud at that while Johnny’s still looking at you with his mouth hanging open. The side door opens, and your friends pile out, Laurie arm in arm with her hunk, and Hannah and Alex clinging to handsome fellows of their own. “There you are,” Laurie says. “We’re going back to Hannah’s. Are you coming?” “Uh. I guess.” Laurie beams at you, and looks up at her hunk. “Kyle, do you need to find your friends?” “Nah. These lads right here.” He gestures at Johnny and LT. with a grin. “Knew Ghost would be out here, and Soap’s always followin’ him around like the big puppy he is.” “Ah’m no’!” You fall into step at the rear of the group. You’ll probably head home rather than join them, but Hannah’s flat is on the way to your own. Johnny and his handler flank you, matching your stride when you slow down or speed up. Annoying. “So what, is the big guy your replacement daddy?” you ask. “Wha— No!” Johnny says hotly. “He’s just my lieutenant.” “Could be your daddy, if you like,” Ghost says, putting a heavy hand on the back of your neck. “Got a thing for caustic little cunts.” “Oh fuck off,” you say, trying to shove his hand off. His grip squeezes a little tighter, and you try to ignore the way that core clenches around nothing. You channel the heat into anger, and dig your nails into his wrist hard. “Don’t fucking touch me.” He grunts, but doesn’t seem all that affected by your claws. “Look at you, ‘issin’ and spittin’ like a puffed up alley cat. S’cute. But save it for later, eh? Don’t want you to tire yourself out too early.”

#cave writing #Ghoap x reader #x reader #MW fic #just a short thing but I'm not sure I'll get around to writing more so I'm posting as is #Maybe someday I will write the second half of this where reader gets sandwiched between two hot military men and has a really good time #But yanno how it is

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bradleysass · 2 months ago

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Vibe - @rosekillermicrofic - wc: 672

Evan only ever gets texts from Barty in the middle of the night, and they’re never normal.

Tonight, it’s:

Barty: Vibex is in the air tonight.

Evan: What the fuck does that mean?

Barty: U have to feel it.

Evan: Feel what?

Barty: The energy. The thrill. The moment before it happens.

Evan groans, tossing his phone onto his nightstand. He could just ignore Barty, let him spiral into whatever manic episode he’s working through, but experience has taught him that’s a terrible idea. If he doesn’t respond, Barty will show up at his flat, probably bleeding or laughing or both, and Evan is too tired to deal with either of those possibilities.

So, he throws on a jacket and heads out.

He finds Barty standing in the middle of an empty parking lot, arms outstretched, head tilted back like he’s waiting for divine intervention. The streetlights flicker around him, casting him in sharp relief, like the world can’t decide whether to illuminate him or let him disappear into the dark.

“I should’ve ignored you,” Evan says by way of greeting.

Barty grins, wild and unrepentant. “You’d miss me too much.”

Evan snorts but doesn’t argue. “What the hell does ‘vibex’ mean?”

Barty spins on his heel, like the motion alone will explain everything. “It’s the rush. The chaos. The moment before everything snaps.” He stops suddenly, staring at Evan with an intensity that makes his skin prickle. “It’s the feeling of being alive, Ev.”

Evan sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. “So you dragged me out here in the middle of the night to have an existential crisis?”

Barty laughs, bright and unhinged. “No, I dragged you out here because I want to set something on fire.”

And that’s how Evan finds himself standing outside a condemned building, watching Barty flick his lighter open and closed like he’s debating whether to let the whole world burn.

“This is stupid,” Evan mutters, but he doesn’t leave.

Barty tilts his head at him, considering. “Why’d you come, then?”

Evan hesitates. It’s a good question. He could’ve stayed in bed, ignored the text, let Barty do whatever self-destructive thing he had planned. But he didn’t. He’s here, in the middle of the night, staring at his best friend like he’s a live wire just waiting for a touch to spark.

“Because I knew you’d do something reckless.”

Barty grins like that’s the best thing he’s ever heard. “You love it.”

Evan doesn’t respond, but they both know he doesn’t deny it either.

Barty takes a step closer, the firelight casting strange shadows across his face. “You ever think about it, Ev?”

Evan raises an eyebrow. “Think about what?”

Barty gestures vaguely. “Just... giving in. Letting it all go. Doing something insane, just for the hell of it.”

Evan exhales sharply. “You do that enough for both of us.”

“But you want to.” Barty’s voice is low, coaxing, hypnotic. “I see it in you. You want to stop thinking so much. You want to feel it.”

Evan swallows, throat dry. The thing is—Barty isn’t wrong. There’s a part of him, buried deep, that craves the chaos. That wants to stop calculating every risk, stop holding back. It’s why he’s here. It’s why he always answers when Barty calls.

Barty flicks the lighter open again, the flame dancing between them. He doesn’t break eye contact as he tosses it forward, the small fire catching on the abandoned building’s broken window frame. For a second, nothing happens.

Then, the flames begin to spread.

Evan should feel panic. He should be dragging Barty away, making a plan, thinking logically. Instead, he just watches, heart pounding, pulse in sync with the crackling fire.

Barty turns to him, eyes gleaming. “Do you feel it now?”

Evan exhales, watching the flame dance in the reflection of Barty’s eyes. The chaos, the thrill, the moment before it happens.

Yeah. He feels it.

“Vibex,” he murmurs, and Barty grins like he’s just won a game Evan didn’t know they were playing.

#rosekillermicrofic #rosekiller microfic #rosekiller #marauders #barty crouch jr #evan rosier #microfic #lmao this was so stupid

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biblical-chronicles · 4 months ago

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Cheer up

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where Liam makes sure the reader doesn't spend NYE alone and sick

__________________________________________

The knock at the door wasn’t just unexpected—it was downright odd. You frowned, tugging your blanket tighter around yourself as you shuffled to answer it. You weren’t expecting anyone, and definitely not on New Year’s Eve. Everyone else had plans that didn’t involve sitting at home nursing a rubbish cold.

When you cracked the door open, there he was, Liam standing on your doorstep with a plastic shopping bag dangling from one hand. His grin was as cheeky as ever, and he looked quite lively, even in the bitter cold.

“Alright, love?” he said casually, like this was a completely normal thing to do.

“Liam?” you blinked, utterly baffled. “What the hell are you doing here? I told you I wasn’t coming tonight—I’m sick, remember? And shouldn’t you be at the party? Pretty sure that’s more your thing than… this.”

He didn’t wait for an invite, just strolled in like he owned the place, plonking the bag onto your counter. “Yeah, yeah, heard all that,” he said, rooting around in the bag. “But I figured you might cheer up when you see this.”

With a flourish, he pulled out a bottle of wine, holding it up like a trophy.

You stared at him, unimpressed. “You brought wine? Liam, I’ve been sneezing me head off all day, and you want me to drink wine?”

“Exactly,” he said, completely serious. “Kills the germs, don’t it? Wine’s medicinal.”

You snorted, despite yourself. “I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.”

“Course it is,” he shot back, leaning on the counter with that insufferable smirk that always made it hard to stay annoyed at him. “Besides, I didn’t come here to drag you out. Just wanted to check on you, make sure you weren’t sat here wallowin’ or summat.”

You folded your arms, though the warmth in your chest was harder to ignore now. “So, what? You decided to ditch a perfectly good party to babysit me?”

“Babysit?” he echoed, mock offended. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just makin’ sure you’re alright, that’s all. You know I can’t leave you hangin’ love.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the small smile creeping onto your face. “You’re ridiculous. Fine, stay in here. But if you catch this cough and start whingin’ tomorrow, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Deal,” he said, already kicking off his boots and making himself at home on your couch.

A little while later, you were both settled in. The wine was open, glasses poured, and somehow, the mood had shifted into something easy and light. Liam had a way of doing that—making you forget yourself, forget the rubbish day you’d had, just by being his usual self. He was full of stories tonight, half of them ridiculous, the other half even more ridiculous. You found yourself laughing, your cheeks hurting from it, and for the first time all day, you felt properly warm.

“Thanks for this, by the way,” you said, swirling the wine in your glass. “For coming over, I mean. Sorry if I’ve ruined your night, though.”

“Ruin it?” he said, eyebrows raised. “Are you daft? This is bang on, this. Couldn’t think of a better way to spend it, to be honest.”

You looked at him, taken aback by how genuine he sounded. For all his attitude, there were moments like this when Liam’s softer side slipped through, catching you completely off guard.

“Oi,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence and jolting you out of your thoughts. “You know there’s only twenty minutes left till midnight, right? If we’re watchin’ them fireworks, you’d better get your arse in gear. Can’t have you standin’ out there in a blanket, can we?”

You blinked, momentarily thrown by the change in topic. “Wait, you actually want to go outside? In the cold?”

He grinned, already grabbing his coat. “Damn right I do. Fireworks aren’t gonna watch themselves, are they? Now, get a move on, woman, or we’ll miss the lot.”

His grin was infectious, and despite everything you couldn’t help but laugh. “Alright, alright, I’m going,” you said, tossing the blanket aside and grabbing your jacket.

Once you were bundled up, Liam gave you a quick once-over, frowning. “Oi, where’s your scarf?”

You waved him off. “It’s fine, Liam. We’re just stepping out for a bit. I’ll survive.”

“Nah, nah,” he said, already unwrapping his own from around his neck. “No way you’re goin’ out there without one. You’re already ill—you’ll end up worse, and I’ll be stuck listenin’ to you complain for a week.”

“I wouldn’t—”

“Shut it,” he interrupted, stepping closer and looping the scarf around your neck. His hands lingered a little too long while adjusting the fabric, his knuckles brushing against your skin.

“There,” he murmured, stepping back slightly but still close enough to look into your eyes. His expression softened, his gaze searching yours as if he’d only just realized how close you were.

You couldn’t help it—your cheeks flushed, the moment growing heavier. The air between you shifted, and before you knew it, his eyes flicked down to your lips. His touch still lingered on the scarf, and your breath hitched, wondering if he was about to close the distance.

Then, suddenly, a loud bang cut through the silence, a firework going off prematurely somewhere in the neighborhood. You both jolted apart, startled, the tension dissolving as you laughed nervously.

“Bloody knobheads, settin’ ‘em off early,” Liam muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yeah,” you agreed, not trusting yourself to say more. Without addressing what had almost happened, you opened the door and led the way outside.

You both found a bench in the garden with a clear view of the skyline. Liam pulled out a pack of cigarettes, tapping one out and holding it up in offering.

“Fancy one?” he asked.

You hesitated a second before taking it. “Why not? New Year’s Eve, after all.”

He lit his with a practiced flick of his lighter, inhaling deeply before leaning toward you. You brought your cigarette to meet his, the glowing tips touching as he helped you light it. For a brief moment, your eyes locked again, his face illuminated by the ember’s soft glow.

This time, it was harder to look away, but you forced yourself to lean back and take a drag, exhaling slowly into the cold night air. The silence between you felt companionable, as you both smoked and stared out at the lively city.

After a moment, you turned toward him, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug.

“Sorry,” you murmured against his shoulder, “for being such a broken record about this. But thank you, Liam. Really. You have no idea how much this means to me. You mean so much to me.”

When you pulled back, his face was flushed, his expression uncharacteristically shy. “It’s no problem,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. “Like I said, I'd always choose you over some daft party I can throw any week.”

The words made your heart stutter, but before you could reply, he shifted slightly, meeting your eyes.

“You know I will, right?” he said, his voice steadier now. “Always choose you, no matter what. I’ve always cared about you, more than I probably should’ve as a friend.” He paused, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t want this to sound too clichè or whatever, but… you’re the one person I’d drop everything for. Always have been.”

You stared at him, a wide, disbelieving smile spreading across your face as his words sank in.

“God, you idiot,” you said softly, shaking your head in wonder.

He opened his mouth to reply, but the sound of fireworks starting to explode in the distance made you both glance toward the skyline.

The colors lit up the sky, and without thinking, you turned back to him, grabbing his jacket and pulling him close. Before he could say anything else, you pressed your lips to his in a kiss so full of passion and relief it made your head spin.

The fireworks grew louder, the explosions echoing across the city, but all you could focus on was him—his warmth, his hands on your waist, the way he kissed you back like it was the only thing he wanted in the world.

__________________________________________

I hope it's good enough for all of you loves

cutesy request curtesy of @avxoxo1 I hope you enjoy it x

and, sorry if it’s a bit shite this time, but swear down that New Year’s bender proper did me in. Promise I’ll be back to rights and writin’ better stuff tomorrow, me loves xx

sorry again x

#oasis x reader #oasis one shots #oasis band #britpop x f!reader #britpop x reader #britpop fanfiction #liam gallagher x reader #liam gallagher x f!reader #liam gallagher x you #liam gallagher fanfiction #liam gallagher one shots

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thisapplepielife · 1 year ago

Text

Written for @subeddieweek, day five.

Today Is Not Tomorrow

Prompt: Omegaverse/Posessive | Word Count: 2043 | Rating: E | CW: Role Playing Hints of DubCon | Tags: Long-Term Relationship, Older Steddie, Role Playing in Public, Omegaverse, Heat, Teasing, Alpha Steve, Omega Eddie, A Look at Aging, Light Hurt/Comfort, Lasting Love

Eddie sits on the barstool, and he's not wearing blockers of any kind tonight. An act of defiance. He's throwing his scent all over the place, right as he's rushing headlong into his heat, and he knows it's sweet as fuck. Cloying. He knows how he smells, even if it's hard to smell something you're around everyday. He's nearly noseblind to it after all these years, but he's not totally unaware of his own scent.

And neither are the alphas in the bar, apparently, because they're circling like sharks smelling fresh blood in the water. No, that's just a little bit of slick and pheromones. Everybody's got 'em, what's the big fucking deal? Honestly.

Tonight, here in this bar, he's been touched, brushed against, and groped half a dozen times already. Is he asking for it, being here as his heat is ramping up? Maybe. But he still says no to each of them. And some take no for an answer. Some others growl at him, at each other.

Eddie is tired of this. He's just trying to have a beer, but he's surrounded by alpha bullshit this, alpha bullshit that. He's truly, and well over it by his age. He's not a young omega, hasn't been for a long fucking time, and he's definitely not in need of a savior, never has been. They're all knotheads, and while that sounds great, in theory, he remembers being young. Remembers how it was never what he actually wanted, once he got them between his thighs. Not really. He could never trust them enough to enjoy the act of submission that he's always longed for, so he learned to do without. He'd take care of himself on his own, before he'd drag home some random asshole alpha.

He wants to get held down and fucked, but not by any of these dickheads. He'll wind up bitten and bred, and no fucking thanks.

Not for the first time, he thinks if he were an alpha instead of an omega, he'd never have to put up with this.

He doesn't give a fuck, he can handle himself, he thinks, just a second before he's scruffed by the back of the neck, and he tenses just for a moment, before he goes limp in the alpha's grasp. Submitting, instantly.

Fucking godammit. He kind of hates himself for it. Maybe he can't handle it all on his own.

"You're coming home with me," the alpha commands, and Eddie's whole body melts into the alpha's voice, hand. It shouldn't work on him, it wouldn't, not usually, but it has in this instance. Jesus H. Christ.

Then he's tugged off his barstool, the alpha throwing a handful of bills on the bar, as he leads Eddie off, like he's a pup that needs to be manhandled into submission.

Maybe he's exactly that.

Maybe he wants to be.

Eddie tries to get a whiff of this alpha, to see if he even likes the smell of him, but the bar is full of alphas, and they're all mixed together in an overwhelming stench.

"What makes you think you're so goddamn special?" Eddie asks, and the alpha tightens his grip on Eddie's neck, not allowing him to move, let alone run. Not that it would matter if he did try to flee, he'd be chased, he knows he would, and easily caught, he's certain.

This alpha is bigger, stronger, and adamant. Eddie can't win against any of those things.

The alpha pushes him up against the alleyway wall, face-first, shoving his knee between Eddie's legs. Pressing upwards.

"You soaking wet for me?" he asks, close to Eddie's ear.

"I think you know the answer to that, unless your nose is busted," Eddie answers, laying his head against the filthy bricks. The knee is pressed harder, higher, and Eddie's body betrays him, releasing more slick, getting ready. Sending out a blatant invitation.

His biology, overtaking his brain.

Then the alpha spins him around, and sinks to his knees, burying his face right in Eddie's crotch, sucking in a deep breath.

It's the filthiest thing Eddie's ever experienced, and now he's even wetter than before. Throbbing with need. Want.

"It's not broken," the alpha says, and presses his face right up against him, even harder. Breathing deep and greedy.

"Do I even get a name, if you're gonna shove your nose in my crotch like a bad dog?" Eddie asks, reaching down and running his fingers through thick hair, pulling, just a little.

The alpha looks up, with big, expressive eyes.

"Alpha," he says, and Eddie glowers down at him.

"Yeah, no," Eddie snaps. "Not happening. You're not my alpha. And even if you were, I'm not into that bullshit."

He gets growled at for his trouble, and Eddie growls back. It doesn't have the bark, and definitely none of the bite, and the alpha throws his head back and laughs.

"That's cute," he finally says, and Eddie seethes.

"You're going home with me. And I'm gonna take what you desperately want me to have."

Eddie can't even argue, he's floating away at the idea. His heat finally hitting in full force, making its feelings on the situation known.

The betrayal of his own goddamn body.

He's suddenly flushed, and so fucking hot, burning up, and he needs to be out of these clothes, so he nods, and the alpha smiles, caressing his hips, before rising back up onto his feet.

"Take me home," Eddie says, and the alpha does just that.

Eddie is writhing under the alpha, flushed with desire, rolling along with his heat. Feeling drunk on it. Needing the release. Crazy with want, panting, begging, needing. Needing more. Needing everything.

Relishing the feel of the alpha's big hands pressing his wrists to the bed, holding him down, taking. And Eddie gives. Gives this alpha everything he has. All the control, all the power.

He closes his eyes and just feels. Feels his own body, feels the alpha's cock sliding in and out, feels the knot that's forming, threatening to catch and lock them together, at any minute.

And it does.

The knot catches, and the teeth sink in, biting him hard, and Eddie comes. Clenches down on the knot he's now locked to, and comes all over his own belly at the feeling of the teeth in his neck. When the alpha finally lets go, Eddie puts his hand to his neck, pressing against the wound.

"You just go around biting everyone you meet in a bar?" Eddie snaps, but he smiles.

"Only when they belong to me," Steve says, and Eddie laughs.

"You think I'm your property?" Eddie asks, raising his eyebrow, a question. A challenge.

"Oh no, I'm not that stupid. I'm not new here," Steve says, nuzzling his face against Eddie's neck. Licking at the wound.

And it makes Eddie smile. Because he does belong to Steve. Has, for a very long time. And Steve belongs to him, too. Steve's definitely not new here, so he's definitely not gonna let Steve get by with just saying that. It's just not how things work in their house.

Eddie will submit, wants to, loves to, but he damn well doesn't want that commented upon like it's a goddamn given. It's his choice to make, always has been.

Even as his body makes demands.

And now that his body has finally given in, gotten what it wanted, the foggy feeling has been snatched away. Too fast. Too abrupt. It never used to be this way.

Before, he could ride the wave of his heat for hours, for days, lost. Adrift. Steve taking care of him, such good care, being inside him, day and night. Holding him down, fucking him, loving him, and keeping his omega desires beyond sated.

Because he trusts Steve. His husband. His mate. His alpha.

His body would be filled, and loved, and fucking worshipped. And he could float off into space, indefinitely, while it was happening.

And now his body is betraying him.

These days, after he comes one fucking time, it's like the dial on his heat is turned from eleven down to zero. From blaring heavy metal, to complete radio silence in an instance. No pleasant buzzing in his brain to be found anywhere, only the ringing in his ears, left behind with the sudden absence of it. Like he'd hadn't been lost in his heat, just minutes ago.

It sucks.

It'll start buzzing again later, slowly picking up for round two, probably, hopefully, but the harsh change right now threatens to drag him low.

He misses what once was.

He clutches at Steve's back.

"Watching all those alphas approaching you, thinking they had a chance," Steve says, giving the barest roll of his hips, all he can manage while they're locked together in this way. It probably hurts Steve, but he does it anyway, and Eddie moans at the tugging sensation at his opening.

It brings him back to Steve.

He's so full. So taken care of. So loved.

And has been for years, decades.

"You got jealous?" Eddie asks.

"Always," Steve says, "they don't get to touch you. Scent you. That's mine. You're all mine."

And Steve's cock must agree, because it gives another spurt, filling Eddie even further with come.

"Easy there, hot shot, you're old. You'll dehydrate yourself," Eddie says, and Steve laughs.

But then Eddie tells him, voice serious, "I'm all yours."

And Steve growls, low in his chest, possessive.

"You better not be growling at me, sweetheart," Eddie teases, and Steve rolls it over into a purr, smiling. "That's better."

He'll submit to Steve in bed any day of the week, wants to, and feels fucking amazing when he does. But he's still Eddie, and that will never change. He's an omega, but he's his own goddamn man, out of this bed.

Luckily, Steve seems to love that about him. Has always loved that about him.

Eddie thought he was a bad omega in his youth, and was sure he didn't give a fuck about any of it. Then, along came Steve.

He's not a bad omega, because he's Steve's perfect one. He's been told that enough, to believe it to be true.

Steve's knot eventually goes down, and then he slides out of Eddie. He's immediately down between Eddie's legs, fussing, "You okay?"

Eddie's okay, he's just getting old, and he can't take what he could at twenty or even thirty or forty. He's sure his days of getting heats are coming to an end any day now, as sporadic as they are anymore, and in some respects, he feels like, good fucking riddance.

In others, he'll miss it. Miss what it is, what it might mean, for them as a pair.

Steve's ruts still come like clockwork, and biology isn't fair.

Eddie worries that he might not even get to submit to Steve if there's no heady undercurrent telling him to, guiding him.

He worries he won't be as attractive, as alluring to Steve, once he's no longer throwing down the major pheromones.

"Where'd you go?" Steve asks, taking a break from running his tongue all around Eddie's opening, cleaning him up. Soothing any hurts.

"Worrying that maybe this was the last time," Eddie whispers, and squeezes his eyes shut.

"Honey," Steve says, crawling up Eddie's body, laying on top of him, heavy and protective. Giving him the feeling of security that comes in no other way, can't.

"I'm good," he tells Steve, then smiles into Steve's neck, "You're a good alpha."

And Steve purrs at the praise, at the love, and it rattles against Eddie's chest, soothing him. Making all his worries slip away. Eddie knows that's what Steve gets off on the most. Their love, their bond.

And that's going nowhere. Heat, no heat.

Nothing can change their love, their connection, and Eddie melts into the sheets, and just relaxes under Steve's body.

"Do you want me to stay on top of you?" Steve asks, and Eddie does.

"Please," Eddie answers. Wrapping his arms around Steve's middle, squeezing him tight.

Today is not tomorrow, and it's not yesterday either, and submitting to that fact means he's just gonna stay right here. In the present.

With Steve.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @subeddieweek and follow along with the fun! 🖤

Notes: This was my first foray into writing omegaverse, ever. I enjoyed the new challenge, but it quickly turned into a bit of a character study on aging without my permission, lol. I don't even know if the menopause equivalent has a counterpart in omegaverse lore. Welp, it does here, I guess.

My other fics for this challenge week:

Day One Day Two Day Three Day Four Day Six Day Seven

#subeddieweek #steddie fic #omegaverse #sub eddie munson #thisapplepielife: subeddieweek #thisapplepielife: short fic #omega eddie munson #alpha steve harrington

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naughtyneganjdm · 4 months ago

Text

Love's Second Chance: A Holiday Reunion - Chapter 20

Summary: After denying Negan's proposal, Y/N is miserable alone. Negan shows up in attempts to fix things and later Joel shows up hoping to stop her from considering marrying Negan.

Characters: Joel Miller, the reader (OC), Negan Smith, etc.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60501985/chapters/158662978 Warnings: Swearing, Angst, etc.

Notes: I've had this story done, I just haven't taken the time to edit it. I'm sorry about that. I'll work to get it up as soon as I can edit the chapters.

Standing before her bathroom mirror, Y/N realized she looked terrible. Last night she couldn’t sleep after what she had done to Negan. Instead of talking to him, she took off on him and had someone else pick her up at the skating rink. Hell, she wouldn’t even answer any of his texts or his phone calls. At one point during the night, she was pretty sure that he showed up at her door knocking, but she didn’t answer. Honestly? She didn’t know why she was avoiding him. Maybe it was because she was embarrassed? Or she felt guilty. Regardless, she felt weird about the whole thing. She loved Negan and she knew that Negan loved her. Most people would have loved getting a proposal like she did with Negan. It was romantic, it was sweet and it was a story that people would have loved to tell their friends because they would have been jealous. Yet she denied him. It made her feel like a horrible person.

By now? She was sure that her daughter knew that she had turned Negan down. It seemed like her and Negan were closer than she expected them to be. Especially since Elizabeth was so willing to go and help Negan set up his proposal. Elizabeth loved her father and she knew deep down that Elizabeth had always expected her parents to get back together. So to accept Negan into her life? That was a pretty big deal.

All night she thought about the things that Negan offered her. A job, a life of travel. Something she always wanted. A source for her to get her word out there. A way to finally live after not being able to for years. Yet, she immediately told him no because of the other factors in her life. Her children and Joel. There was no way for her to do what Negan wanted because she had Elizabeth, Peter and Joel in her life.

Dragging her hand down over her face, she realized that she felt miserable about everything. All she could think about was Negan. About the face that he made when she turned him down and the way he just about begged her to get married to him. She wouldn’t blame him if he hated her now for that. After everything, she threw away their relationship like it was nothing.

Getting ready this morning was hard. Depression was eating away at her and she knew that. Everything hurt, especially her head and her chest. She regretted the way that she ran off on Negan last night. They should have at least talked about things, but she was emotional. Both about him and mad at herself for having the reaction that she did.

Tonight the children were supposed to be with Joel for something with Tommy so she would be left alone to herself. That meant she got up late, even though she didn’t sleep. It meant that she was walking around in comfortable clothes and she looked like shit. This was supposed to be the happiest time of the year. It was Christmas Eve after all. Yet, she wasn’t happy.

Today was just going to be spent watching Christmas movies on the television alone. Because that’s what she felt like she deserved today. To be left alone.

Not even thirty minutes into the watch, she noticed her phone starting to vibrate on the coffee table. Looking to it, she saw that it was Negan and exhaled loudly. Ignoring the call, she kept watching television, but she should have expected Negan to be more stubborn. There was no way that Negan would just give up. That wasn’t who Negan was. It never was.

After a few more calls, things went silent. That was until there were knocks at her door. No question that was Negan. And she was left to wonder how long she would let it keep going. This time he didn’t seem to be giving up.

Lazily getting up from the couch, she headed across the living room and opened the door. Standing before her with a bouquet of her favorite flowers was Negan. Hell, he looked as bad as she did. Sad with dark circles under his eyes. His hair was messy and it looked like he hadn’t slept either.

“I didn’t think you were going to answer,” Negan admitted, his voice raspier than normal. It had her looking down at the ground and he could tell that she wasn’t comfortable with him.

“Well, at least you’re better than Joel. When he wants to come in, he just grabs the spare key and comes in,” she informed Negan with an extended sigh, appreciating that he wasn’t like Joel in that aspect. “So I appreciate you waiting.”

Nodding, they both went quiet. Neither one of them was really looking at the other and it was awkward. Swallowing down hard, Negan shrugged his shoulders and held the flowers out to her, “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” she blurt out, her heart hammering away in her chest with Negan apologizing to her. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I just…” Negan stuttered, his hazel eyes incredibly confused with her response to his apology. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. I thought you were upset with me so I came here with this big apology and you’re telling me that you aren’t mad at me?”

“It’s complicated,” she accepted the flowers from Negan, pushing the door open far enough for Negan to join her in the house. Going into the kitchen she added the flowers that Negan had given her to the previous ones that were already in a vase. By the time she came back in, Negan was sitting down on the couch. He was at the edge of it showing that he wasn’t exactly relaxed in the moment. “I’m the one that needs to apologize. What you did last night? It was beautiful and I made it seem like I hated it.”

His lips parted, his hands waving about, but he reconsidered talking and he simply just dropped his head down in a moment of defeat, “I should have talked things out with you instead of running off on you. That was wrong and I’m sorry.”

There was that muscle in Negan’s jaw that would flex every time that he was upset and it broke her heart, “I imagine you hate me now.”

“Come on,” Negan’s broken breath filled the air, his hazel eyes lifting to show they were burning over with tears. Shrugging his shoulders, Negan lifted his hand to swipe at his eyes with his thumbs to collect the dampness. “I could never hate you. I fucking love you. You mean everything to me.”

Hearing those words had an involuntary whimper falling from her throat. Moving in beside Negan, she sat down slowly having his breathing growing louder, “I just wish you would have talked to me. You running off made me think that you were angry with me and I didn’t know what to do with myself. And then you wouldn’t answer me.”

“I’m a terrible person,” she suggested eliciting an eye roll from Negan who scoffed. That wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

“Yeah, I’m hurt, but I would appreciate if you could stop attacking the woman that I love the most,” Negan snorted, still trying to avoid showing her that he was so upset with things because he didn’t want to guilt her into feeling a certain way. “Something just happened yesterday and you were very emotional about it. Which I understand. I just don’t know why.”

By now she should have been unloading to him all of her thoughts, but she hated seeing him so upset, “Please don’t do that to me again Y/N. I want the two of us to be close. If something is going on, please just talk to me. I want us to be close and open with one another.”

“Okay,” she outstretched her hand to place it in over Negan’s. Caressing her thumb over the back of Negan’s hand, she was thankful that his fingers hooked with hers.

“Can I take you somewhere to show you something?” Negan sniffled, his thick eyebrows bouncing up with him turning to her.

“I look like shit,” she pointed out with his nose wrinkling in disappointment since she was attacking herself again. “I haven’t taken care of myself yet.”

“You’re beautiful, always,” Negan corrected her, hooking his fingers tighter with hers. Bringing her hand up, he deposited a kiss over the back of her hand. “Where we’re going, I don’t think it matters how you are dressed. I’ve just been thinking about things all night and I did something this morning that I want you to see.”

“Alright. Let me get my shoes on,” she agreed to going with him. She at least owed him that. Gathering her things, she followed Negan out of her home. Like before, Negan still helped her into the car and was as sweet to her as he normally would be. Wherever Negan was driving her, she had no idea. What surprised her was how short the drive actually was. By the time that Negan pulled into the driveway of a massive home on the outskirts of town, she didn’t know what to say. Staring out at the home, it made her smirk when she realized what it was. “What are we doing here Negan?”

“Do you remember this place?” Negan leaned back in his seat after turning off the car. Rubbing his hands on his thighs, Negan waited for her answer.

“Of course I do,” she looked up at the home seeing that it was a little bit more worn down than from what she remembered. “We used to ride our bikes by here all the time when we were children. Talk about how one day when we were older and famous, we’d come back, buy this house and live here. So that way we could remember where we started, but still know that we succeeded. Make people jealous.”

“Right,” Negan winked, getting out of the car. Moving around the car, Negan opened the door and she gave him an odd expression. Helping her out, Negan led her up to the house. Looking around, Negan kicked aside the welcome mat where there was a key underneath it. Picking up the key, Negan opened the door and it had her panicked. “Come on.”

“What are you doing?” she was appalled with Negan just walking into the home, turning to face her. Waving his hands at her, Negan urged her to follow him, but she was still nervous. “Are you breaking into this home?”

“Follow me,” Negan outstretched his hand to curl his fingers around her wrist to pull her into the home. Once they were inside, she let out a surprised breath at how nice it actually was. When they were younger and they chose this house, they picked it based on how it looked on the outside. They never knew what the inside looked like. Yet it was just as nice, if not nicer. It surprised her that someone who could afford something like this actually lived in their town. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re insane for breaking into this home,” she noted following Negan throughout the place. It was like they were in a museum getting to look at everything. It looked like something out of a magazine, but one thing she noticed is that it didn’t look like someone was living there. “Your celebrity status won’t stop us from getting arrested, you know that right?”

“I’m not going to get arrested,” Negan stopped in front of a pair of large doors that led outside. It brought in a hefty amount of light that brought attention to how impressive the home actually was. “This house is mine now.”

“It’s yours?” she stammered, still not sure what was going on. “How?”

“When you didn’t answer the door last night or the phone I went for a drive. And I drove past this place,” Negan kept one of her hands in his, waving his free hand about in the air. “It brought back so many memories for me and I realized that you were right. Your home is here. You need a place where you belong. And we always wanted this home when we were kids. I got in contact with some people and all I have to do is sign some paperwork and this house is ours.”

“So you’re saying that you bought yourself another home?” she was shocked to hear that and Negan cleared his throat.

“I’m probably going to get rid of the farm or the beach house because I don’t need those. The farm brings back too many Lucille memories for me…” Negan explained, his thick brows full of emotion talking about how he wanted to give up some of the places he owned. “It doesn’t matter to me. I can get rid of both of them. Because at the end of the day? You’re my home. You are what is home for me. I want to be with you. And I remembered our dreams of having this home one day.”

Surprise flooded her veins with Negan shrugging his shoulders, “I don’t think you realize, I don’t care about money or jobs, I just care about you. I want to make your dreams come true and I realize that I made a mistake with what I did.”

“I just wish we would have talked about it,” she stressed to Negan, using her free hand to place it in over the center of her chest to defend herself. “It was a lot of things to put in front of me without thinking about it.”

“You could have said no about the contract. Work means nothing to me. I just want to marry you,” Negan declared, his big hazel eyes hooked on hers. “I thought you wanted that life still when I heard you talking to Joel in New York. When both of you were standing in front of that window. So I made this deal thinking that’s where you wanted to be. I should have talked to you about it first. I heard what you said and I misunderstood what it was you wanted. I just more than anything want you to be happy. I want to be with you.”

Should she have said something here? Yes. She should have, but she didn’t. Rather she just felt her eyes tearing over and her chest aching, “Here, you’ll never be too far away from the children or Joel. You can start your life here with me and still be with them. Instead of having you travel, maybe I can help you start a local newspaper or site to focus on this part of town. Whatever subject you want to focus on. I just want you to be so fucking happy.”

Lowering her head, she knew that this was the most that someone had ever worked to make her happy, “I still want to marry you. I want you to be my wife more than anything. I want to share the rest of my life with you. I’ll finish off my year with the team and then I will retire all together. I’ll turn the coaching job down so we can live here. Start our life together in this town.”

“You shouldn’t give up this job opportunity in order to make me content,” she stressed to Negan, her eyes tearing over when Negan started to get very emotional. “I don’t want you to give up this incredible opportunity so you can just be with me.”

“You don’t understand, I don’t want this job more than I want to be with you,” Negan claimed with a whimper, his Adam’s apple bouncing in this throat. “I would easily give up the opportunity of being the coach if it means that I get to be with you. Because you are more important than any money or baseball team for me. When I look at my future, the thing I want to see more than anything is you. Not this job. It’s just something fun to have on the side. It’s something I’m used to. But I don’t care about baseball, I care about you because I love you.”

“I don’t want you to give up your life for me,” she felt her tears burning at her cheeks when Negan expressively shook his head. “Please, Negan…I don’t want to be known as the woman that forced you to give up your life. A life that so many people love you for.”

“But I don’t care about those people, I care about you,” Negan interrupted her, his bottom lip quivering as he spoke. “I already bought this home. Regardless of things with us, I will make sure that I’m here so that way we’ll never be far apart. I love you Y/N. You’re all I think about. You’re all I see when I close my eyes. Every breath, every thought…my heart…” reaching for her hand, he placed it in over the center of his chest and tipped his head to the side. “It belongs to you. I love you so fucking much.”

A moment later, Negan was lowering down to capture her lips in a tender sweep that took her breath away. The one thing about Negan? Every word he said, she believed it. She didn’t have to question it because she saw it in the way he talked to her. He was willing to give up everything for her.

“I love you,” she breathed against his lips, stroking her fingers through Negan’s dark hair. Cuddling her face in next to his, she knew that when she was with Negan, she was joyful. After last night? She knew that she was a miserable mess. There was no doubting how she felt about Negan and what he meant to her, but it still confused her why Joel was one of the first things that came to her mind when Negan asked her to marry him.

She should have recognized that she could have told him yes about the marriage and no about the contract, but she didn’t. And that bothered her. It confused her. Negan made her happier than anything, so she didn’t understand why she was still having these feelings.

Tipping back, she swept her thumb in over Negan’s bottom lip and gave him a nod, “I just need some time to think over things. This is amazing and I know you so desperately want to do everything in your power to make my life better, but I can’t even understand the feelings I’m having right now. So I can’t give you an official answer. Not right now.”

“Okay,” Negan responded, disappointment flooding his features, but he didn’t fight her on it. That wasn’t the answer he wanted. She knew that, but this was the best thing she could give him right now. It was a lot to think about. There was a lot on the line for him and her. More so him and she had to make a choice that would affect them for many years to come.

Trying to ignore the uneasiness that lingered between them both, Negan continued to show her around the home. It was a short trip before they were both headed back to her home. They had something quick to eat together and some hot chocolate. They talked about random things, but it wasn’t like before. They both still had everything hovering in their minds, but they were trying to make the most out of the day.

By the end of the night, Negan was laying in her lap fast asleep. Since he hadn’t slept, he was exhausted. For a long time he tried to fight falling asleep while they watched Christmas movies together with the fire on in the background. But by the time she had him resting in her lap and she was stroking at his scalp, there was no way he couldn’t have fallen asleep. Heavy breaths were surrounding her and she looked down to watch Negan while he slept.

Love did flood her veins when she looked at him and there was an undeniable happiness too. This felt good and that should have been a good thing. Tracing over Negan’s features, she didn’t know how to respond to all of this. She should have eagerly accepted Negan’s proposal. She was an idiot in her mind that she didn’t. Negan was perfect. And even if he wasn’t perfect in general, he was perfect for her. No one had ever gone above and beyond for her like this. It was hard not to love him with how much he truly loved her.

So her doubts didn’t make sense to her. Not one bit.

A rustling filled the room and she lifted her head to see that the front door was pushing open. Once her eyes fell upon the familiar brown eyed expression, a sense of frustration overwhelmed her, “Joel, you’re supposed to call or knock.”

“You haven’t been answering to me or your daughter. She got scared,” Joel expressed his worry, carefully tip toeing into the house and closing the door behind him. That was his way of trying not to wake up Negan because he noticed that Negan was sleeping in her lap. “I was worried what I might find here since you never do that to us.”

“It’s been a hard day,” she whispered, looking down to see that Negan was still deep in sleep breathing heavily. Adjusting her position carefully, she managed to slide out from underneath Negan and helped him lower his head down onto the couch. Being quiet, she motioned Joel to follow her into the kitchen so Negan could continue to sleep.

“I guess this is where I should congratulate you,” Joel stammered and by the expression over his face she knew that he wasn’t happy. Pointing toward the living room, Joel had a hard time looking at her with his face scrunching up. “Your daughter told me what happened last night. I assume that you two were celebrating about being engaged.”

“Your daughter?” she repeated, her head tipping to the side. Curiosity flooded her veins with jealousy becoming fairly obvious in Joel’s dark eyes.

“Our daughter,” Joel fixed what he had said, dramatically shaking his head as if what he had said was no big deal.

“I told him no,” she alerted Joel with a loud swallow. Almost immediately his head bounced about and he was visibly shocked. Instead of saying anything, he just nodded, but his dramatic expression said everything. “Nice reaction.”

“I just can’t believe you said no,” Joel looked toward the living room knowing that Negan was sleeping on the couch still and he didn’t want to wake him. Even though it was wrong, Joel was excited to hear that. “Why?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she was quick to shut down his question. It wasn’t his business. Truth be told? She really didn’t know why either. She told herself it was because of the children, but she honestly just panicked.

“It kind of matters,” Joel retorted, snorting as she turned away from him. It looked like she was trying to distract herself which led to her getting a drink. “I’d like to know.”

“It’s none of your business,” she stressed feeling overwhelmed with him just asking her.

“Is it no forever or…?” Joel continued on still finding himself wanting to know more. It was involuntary and he knew that she didn’t want to talk about it, but he needed her to. His heart was racing when she downed her drink incredibly fast.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, stroking her thumb over the glass. “It’s complicated.”

“Well, you can talk to me,” Joel offered and she made an amused sound that almost offended him. Stepping in closer to her, Joel braced his hands on the counter and stared out at her. Lowering his head, he tried to get her to lock eyes with him, but she was definitely avoiding doing that.

“Negan is in there,” she reminded him looking beyond him toward the living room where they left Negan sleeping on the couch.

“So he’s okay with you saying no?” Joel’s eyebrow arched in curiosity, biting at his bottom lip.

“No,” she responded, guilt eating away at her with what Negan had done today alone. Offering to quit his job and buying their childhood dream home was his way of proving how much she meant to him. “He wants me to reconsider because of…things.”

“Why are you being stingy with the information?” Joel grumbled irritated with her lack of being open with him.

“You’ve been weird about this whole Negan thing,” she blurt out, finally looking at him after pouring herself another drink. “Half the time you like him and then the other half of the time it seems like you hate him. I don’t know what to think anymore.”

“It’s hard to explain,” Joel huffed, shrugging his shoulders at the thought of his feelings on Negan. “I like him, I just don’t know if I like the idea of him being married to you. If you were engaged to him, I was going to ask you to think about it first before you do it.”

“That’s a lot to ask,” she shot back, her eyes narrowing when she downed the second drink faster than the first. “You really have no right to ask me to do anything. Especially after the things I found the other day. You haven’t even bothered to show up and talk to me since. So…”

“You say that you know I’m a different man, yet you’re upset about it still,” Joel expressed that he was uneasy with what she was saying. “Plus, you did say you wanted some space from me. I just was trying to prove that I could give you that.”

“Yeah, and you went right to Negan and fucked him, so…” she pointed out what he had done and it made Joel tense up. “And you even told him about the thing I told you to keep your mouth shut about. You’re lucky he handled it so well.”

“He broke my nose,” Joel retorted, pointing toward his face to show that there was some bruising under his eyes.

“You deserved it,” she voiced her opinion on the matter, knowing that she desperately wanted to hit him herself that night. By Joel’s face she knew that what she said irritated him, but she didn’t care. “I wanted to kick you in the balls, so I’d say you got off easy.”

“You want to kick me in the balls for something I did over four years ago?” Joel sneered folding his arms in front of his chest. There was color pressing in over her face and he knew that she was trying to keep her temper from growing. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“I never hit you our entire marriage. Or after. When you certainly deserved a few slaps,” she declared getting a scoff from Joel. “Let’s see…you kept sex videos without my consent. You trash talked me to Lucille and said horrible things. You cheated on me.”

“I didn’t cheat on you,” Joel interrupted her, his face scrunching up in anger. “Cheating on you means I stuck my dick into someone else and I never did. I was loyal our entire marriage. I never slept with another person until we were separated.”

“We were still married when we were separated,” she reminded him how he was incorrect with what he had said in defense of himself.

“You know what I mean,” Joel rolled his eyes and leaned back against the counter having a fire flood her veins at how stubborn he was being. “I never cheated on you when we were together.”

“You would have been furious if I was having an online relationship with another man where I was sharing nude photos with him and role playing sex scenarios with him” she claimed, her throat tensing up and her eyes narrowing showing just how pissed off she really was at him. Joel’s face softened and he dropped his head to stare down at the ground. “You were mine when you were doing that. I was yours. And you would have been so angry with me if you thought I was doing that. And the things you said about me…”

“Those were personal,” Joel cleared his throat, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck. Really Joel was right. And the other night Negan proved to her that this was not something that she should have been holding against Joel. But she was emotional in the moment. “You went looking for trouble when you read my e-mails. What you did in reading them was wrong. They weren’t yours to go through. You hurt yourself doing that because those were just me venting my feelings. Which I’ve already told you a million times that I was wrong. As I’ve stressed many times, the man I was then, I’m not now.”

“So I’m just supposed to forgive you?” she wondered, her eyes burning over at the thought of what she saw. “Suddenly, I’m just supposed to say you’re right Joel? You are a different man and you’re the man I want to be with? You’re the man that I want to re-marry?”

Instead of answering, Joel swallowed down hard and his brown eyes lifted to meet her stare, “That’s what I thought. You don’t want me getting married to Negan because you think I still belong to you. Even after everything.”

Stroking at the side of his face, Joel didn’t know what to say when she laughed and shook her head, “Negan never talked about me the way that you did.”

“Yeah, I know Negan is fucking perfect,” Joel growled in frustration, rolling his eyes again that it was going to this. “Even if I wanted you to marry me again, you would always be comparing me to Negan. Then again, you always did.”

“In your head I did,” she whispered, looking down in disappointment. “You always forget how much you meant to me. Let’s see…I was so fucking annoying with how clingy I was. With how I constantly needed attention. It wasn’t enough that you were paying the bills or working hard, I needed you to bend over backwards to show you loved me. You didn’t want to show me the affection I wanted because it was overwhelming you that I wanted you to be someone that you weren’t.”

“How many times have you read those e-mails?” Joel questioned, his head tipping to the side and his eyes narrowing. These were things that he assumed that he told Lucille in the e-mails. Hell, he didn’t even know, but since she seemed to be quoting them off, he assumed she read them a lot. “You can quote them now?”

“Once,” she answered, reaching up to try to wipe at her eyes because the last thing she wanted was to cry in front of him again. Yet, she knew that she was failing. “All I needed was once.”

“You still had no right to read those,” Joel countered, his voice growing deeper with his southern drawl filling the air. “It was wrong.”

“You’re right. It was wrong,” she agreed with him, which surprised him that she gave in so easily. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done it. Watching your videos, reading your e-mails…it was wrong. I just got emotional and what I did was immoral.”

Nodding, Joel just lowered his head and sighed loudly, “At least I know what you think of me. It’s better to know than have some kind of twisted, warped thought of us in my head.”

“Jesus,” Joel growled, rolling his eyes even more dramatically this time. “I think you’re being mature and then you go and say something like that.”

“You’re going to judge me on maturity?” she snapped back at him with a frown.

“I don’t think those things about you,” Joel reasoned with her, throwing his hands about while he spoke trying to get her focused on him when a single tear slid down her face. “What are you doing to Negan, Y/N?”

“Excuse me?” she didn’t get what he was hinting.

“You are so visibly still in love with me,” Joel suggested with a firm shake of his head. It made her scoff and look down toward the ground. “You cry all the time when you think about the thought of me not loving you. If you didn’t love me, it wouldn’t hurt you so fucking much. So why are you dragging Negan along when it’s obvious that it should be the two of us together? Yeah, we have a fucked up history, but the two of us are meant to be together and you know it.”

“I love Negan,” she corrected Joel who snickered. “I do.”

“Of course you do, I didn’t say you didn’t,” Joel countered, stepping in closer to her to get her to tip her head back to look up at him. Even though she was crying, there was still anger that resigned behind her eyes. “We’re the soulmates. Not you and him. Yes, you love him. But you love me more.”

“Don’t…” she warned with him stepping forward, pressing her hand into the center of his broad chest. Right now there were tears sliding down her face with Joel staring down at her. “Don’t!”

“Tell me I’m wrong,” Joel begged of her, nodding over toward the living room where Negan was. “Tell me that I’m not the one you long to be with. It’s the reason you told Negan no. There was no logical reason for you to tell him no.”

“It wasn’t about you,” she claimed, her eyes getting angrier with him going off about the two of them. “You don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Bullshit,” Joel snarled, closing the distance between the two of them and it had her breathing loudly. “You’re enamored with Negan. He makes you feel good. He’s everything you wanted me to be. But he’s not what you want. It’s me that you want. You want me to be like him. That’s why you told him no. That’s why you gave me that chance in New York. That’s why you are open to me having a poly relationship with you two. You can’t let me go.”

“You’re very arrogant,” she huffed, her body visibly shaking with Joel so close to her. Hovering his lips in over hers had her sucking in a sharp breath of air. “Just because I still love you doesn’t mean that I love you more than Negan nor does it mean that I want to be married to you.”

“My arrogance was something you were originally very attracted to,” Joel reminded her of their youth, his eyelids heavy with want. The urge to kiss her was there, but he didn’t know how she would handle it with Negan in the other room. “Does Negan know that you gave me the opportunity to win you back in New York?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she responded with a long exhale dropping her head down to break the idea that they could kiss in that moment. “I knew that you wouldn’t say the right thing. That’s why I made the offer. And I was right. How you think you are better for me than Negan is mind blowing because all you do is hurt me.”

“You know,” Joel reached for her wrist to stop her from walking away from him. “You think that you want me to be a certain way, but the truth is that you don’t. You love me the way I am. I can try to be a little more like Negan. Be honest. Be more open and truthful. But you have always been wildly attracted to me. You like that I’m less affectionate because when I do give you affection, it makes you feel special. You like the rough sex because you’re a freak. And you like fighting because it proves that we’re passionate. That’s what this is right now. What you and Negan have? It’s nice, but it’s unrealistic. No one is perfect. And you don’t want perfect. You want me.”

Lowering down, Joel’s lips hovered in over hers just enough so that his bottom lip dragged across hers. Going to bring their lips together, Joel felt the pressure of her fingers pressing in over the center of his chest to stop him, “I deserve perfect.”

A sharp exhale fell from his throat, surprise flooding his handsome features that she turned him down, “Even talking to you, I realize just how much we don’t belong together. All we do is fight. And you just confirmed to me that you have no intentions of changing.”

There was a sense of disappointment in her eyes after he said what he did, “I don’t want to feel lonely again, hoping that tonight is the night that you think I’m deserving of you holding me in your arms. I deserve someone who tells me how much they love me all the time. I deserve to be made love to sometimes and feel like the center of someone’s universe. I shouldn’t be made to feel like I’m overwhelming just because I want to touch you, hold your hand or cuddle with you. You’re right Joel, I wish you were a little more like Negan, but most of all? I wish you were the Joel that I married at eighteen years old. I wish you were the man that made me fall in love with him every single day. The man that was so proud of his children and me. The man that made the rest of the town jealous because they knew that our relationship was perfect. The man that would sing to me all the time not because he was in trouble or trying to win my heart, but just because he wanted to. The man that told me every single day how lucky he was to have me. The man that wrapped me up in his arms at night and made me feel safer than I ever have in my life because I knew that no matter what, in his arms I would be taken care of and loved. We could have nothing and it would be okay because we loved each other and that’s all that mattered.”

By now she was sobbing and there was red flooding into Joel’s cheeks at her breaking down about the way things used to be, “I know that you thought you drove me crazy because you didn’t do the dishes or you left your dirty clothes all over the room instead of putting them in the hamper, but those were little things Joel. They were worth it because I never once questioned your love. That man was the love of my life. And that Joel? He’ll never exist again.”

“Why not?” Joel stammered, trying to reach for her again but she made it clear that she didn’t want him to touch her. “You won’t even give me a chance to try.”

“You just told me that you wouldn’t,” she recalled what he had said to her not long before. “And we may have passion Joel, but I can’t take this fighting all the time. And truth be told…”

There was a silence between them when she let out a whimper, “You ruined that Joel for me. Over and over again. You can only break a plate so many times before you can no longer glue the pieces back together.”

“Then let me be a different Joel,” he grabbed her hands to stop her from leaving because he wouldn’t take that answer. “Let me be a Joel that you learn to fall in love with again. I don’t care if we have Negan in our relationship. I like him, you like him, he makes us better. I want him around and I think you know that. I may have not told you how I feel about him, but you know how I feel. He knows how I feel. We can have Negan. But if you’re going to marry one of us while you’re with both of us, then marry me. Yes you deserve both me and him. He gives you what I can’t and I give you what he can’t. But marry me, not him.”

“Stop it,” she reached for his arms to pull him up when he went to lower down to his knee. Frustration flooded her body when Joel scoffed. “You don’t even have a ring.”

“We didn’t have a ring when I asked you to marry me the first time either. Well…it was my class ring, but…” Joel stuttered through, his eyebrows furrowing with her shaking her head. “Come on, Y/N. Anyone in their right mind would have told Negan yes, but you didn’t. Because you know you’re meant to be with me.”

“Knock it off,” she warned Joel who rolled his eyes, but wouldn’t let go of her wrists. “You don’t want to be married to me Joel. You divorced me.”

“I was wrong,” Joel repeated what he had so many times. “I wish I never did it. And I think it happened so we could bring Negan into our relationship. But you shouldn’t be married to him. You should be married to me.”

Capturing her lips in a forceful kiss had her hitting at the center of his chest at first, but the longer he kissed her, the softer the hits were until she finally started kissing him back. Cupping her face in his palms, Joel’s tongue brushed out against hers leading her to fall in against his chest. Their breathing grew louder until Joel picked her up and led her over toward the table. Dropping her carefully on top of it, he urged her back to lay down. Working open his belt, Joel’s fingers fumbled to get it open. Once he did, he was quick to get his pants apart. Pushing his pants down to the bottom of his hips, he reached for her and pulled her down to the edge of the table. Turning her over roughly had her gasping out. Firmly pushing at her pants, Joel got them down to her thighs before pulling her to him.

“Joel,” she stammered his name, her hand reaching out to press in over his naked hip. Stroking firmly at his body, Joel pushed her legs apart with one of his feet. Lining himself up, he went to press forward, but felt the firm shove of her hand with her pulling up and away from him. “Stop!”

“I just…” Joel was breathless with her sliding out from under him and working her pants back over her hips. Realizing that she was upset, Joel unhurriedly pulled his pants back up over his hips with a disappointed breath. “I’m sorry. I got caught up in the moment.”

“You make loving you hard,” she confessed to him with a broken sound, her eyes lifting to his in a moment of sadness. “The fact you think I want to be face down on the table with you fucking me after everything…”

“Then I will take you upstairs and we’ll do it the right way,” Joel offered pointing his hand toward the stair area. “We’ll be quiet, go to the attic. We can have sex under the stars on the nook area that I made. Turn the lights on…”

“I don’t want to have sex with you Joel,” she announced eliciting a frown from him. “All you’ve done is confused me more tonight. Please just go home.”

“It’s Christmas Eve,” Joel reminded her and she gave him a shrug like she didn’t know what he was hinting. “We should be together.”

“Tomorrow I’m still having everyone over. So just bring the children, Tommy and Maria,” she responded, not even looking at him and he felt guilty. He hated it. “Negan and his mom will be here. Rosita and her family too. I’ll just pretend this never happened.”

Trying to strum up the strength to say something just to get her to see him in a positive light, Joel cleared his throat and she shook her head, “Just leave. Please.”

“Listen,” Joel tried to stammer, his eyelids growing heavy. “I got too heated at the idea of you telling Negan no. I thought that meant you still wanted to be with me and only me. You have to understand where I’m coming from here. I love you, very fucking much.”

“Joel,” she looked like she was going to yell at him, but then stopped and nodded her head about. “I love you too. And I know you love me. But I know that you care about him too. I don’t know why either one of you want to be married to me. Being married makes things complicated. Do you understand that?”

“Why wouldn’t we want to be married to you?” Joel reasoned with her, stepping forward trying to get her to focus on him and what he was saying. “You’re the thing that makes us the happiest in the world. Yeah, we don’t mind sharing, but having you? Being married to you? That means that you love that one more.”

“You were the one pushing for the poly relationship the hardest,” she reminded him, getting Joel’s Adam’s apple to bounce in this throat. “You know that, right?”

“Because I like Negan more than I should,” Joel explained, having a warmth flooding into his face. “I like being around Negan. He makes me feel good. I mean he makes me also feel like a piece of shit, but I reckon I understand how he can make someone feel like the most important person in the world. So I understand why you feel the way you do about him.”

“I feel like the two of you just want me to marry you over the other so you can have one up over the other one,” she thought aloud, the lump growing in her throat when she rest against the corner of the cabinets. “Can’t I just love you both equally? Why does one need to be better than the other?”

“It’s complicated,” Joel admitted, not sure if he understood it himself when he folded his arms out in front of his chest. “You’re everything right in the world Y/N. And being married to you? That proves that something is right in our lives.”

“But I’m not. I’m not everything right in the world. I’m not perfect and hearing you two say that all the time? I’ve never felt more imperfect in my life. I’m a fucking mess. I break your heart, I break his heart,” she threw her hand about in the air showing that she was getting emotional. “I love the both of you so fucking much, but I hate hurting you both. You both accept that I love both of you. But you both want me to marry you. And when I say no to both of you? I hurt you both. It’s destroying me because I love you both so fucking much. And for vastly different reasons. But I do. I can’t lie about it. Yes. I’m head over heels in love with you, but I am him too. And I feel fucking stupid for telling him no. But I also feel stupid for telling you no too. But being married to either one of you? It just makes things hard. You understand that, right?”

“I get that we’re both putting you in a hard spot,” Joel admitted, a frown tugging at his tired features. “But you have to realize it’s just because the two of us love you so much. We like each other and we’re getting more relaxed with one another. And I’ll admit the reason that we were ill at ease at first is because of me. It’s just I was going through some things. I was angry because the last time…”

Biting down on his cheek, Joel sighed loudly and moved over toward the table to sit down. Dropping down into the seat, he didn’t want to look at Y/N when he spoke, “I’m uneasy being attracted to Negan or doing things with Negan because my father…”

Joel lifted his hands hearing the sound of Y/N pulling the chair that was beside him out so she could sit near him and give him her attention, “Before you and I were together, before I realized how I felt about you…I liked Negan. A lot.”

“I assumed so originally,” she knew that she was upset, but she could tell that he was working himself up to something by talking to her. “And I don’t care that you liked him. I’m okay with it.”

“But I wasn’t okay with it because…Negan and I used to do things together before he started doing…sexual things with you. Just touching. Never anything really extensive. He’d come over and we’d watch some porn and jerk off together. Occasionally we’d start to jerk each other off. One day my dad came home early and he found us doing that. Kicked Negan out and then he beat the shit out of me for it. I’m sorry I’m not telling this story well, but I’ve had to think about it several times and talk about it a few which never gets easier,” Joel admitted to her, his dark eyes locking with hers when he opened up about his past long before she had ever gotten with him or Negan. “My dad was a lot of things that were positive, I guess, but he was homophobic. And he beat it into me that I couldn’t have those feelings.”

“When did he do that?” she seemed upset hearing Joel tell her that story and it had Joel shrugging his shoulders.

“When I lied and said the person from our rival team attacked me when I had my back turned,” Joel was honest with her causing her lips to part. A disappointed breath escaped her with learning about Joel’s father. It was a big deal to her back then so he knew that she would remember the time he was talking about. “He beat me so bad that I probably should have gone to the hospital, but he wouldn’t let me. My mom never knew. My mom died thinking my dad was a fucking saint, but he beat the hell out of me for being attracted to another guy. So anytime I felt something positive about Negan? Or something happened with Negan? I was hearing my dad. So you’ll have to excuse me when I get tense about things because twenty plus years of listening to that man’s voice inside my head is hard.”

Joel swallowed down hard with her dropping her hand to squeezed her fingers around his, “You were and remain to be the only person that I have more feelings for than I do Negan. No one else ever made me feel normal or so in love like I do when I’m with you.”

“Joel, I love you,” she grabbed his hands squeezing them firmly. “But you are normal. You were normal. Don’t say that. I wish you would have told me.”

“What would it have done?” Joel slurred, pain visible in his face. “You were just a kid. You were a hot head but you weren’t about to take down my father.”

“But I could have been telling you all along that you were, you are perfect just the way you are,” she muttered, lifting her hand up to press it in over the side of his face. Slowly his eyes fluttered to a close with him leaning into the warmth of her touch. “Both of us didn’t win the lottery with our parents. We’re both broken because of what they did to us. What they continue to do to us, even if they aren’t here anymore.”

Closing the distance between them she pressed a loving kiss against his cheek and brushed her fingers throughout his hair, “Regardless of what you think Joel, I wouldn’t have picked someone else to be the father of my children. I think because we both went through what we did, we knew what it took to be loving parents. I don’t regret one bit having the life that I did with you. You’re a good father and your children will always know what unconditional love is because you’re an amazing father. That’s what you have to think about. How what happened to you impacted you in a positive way. Stop beating yourself up over something that you can’t control.”

A broken breath fell from his throat and he turned toward her palm to place a loving kiss against the center of her hand, “Come with me.”

“Where?” Joel muttered with her standing up holding her hand out for him. Accepting it, she led him toward the living room causing him to panic when they stepped before Negan. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to include Negan in any of their discussions. Especially since he just tried to convince her to marry him and not Negan.

“Honey,” she lowered down, still holding onto Joel’s hand while the other caressed over the side of Negan’s face. Stirring on the couch, Negan’s long eyelashes fluttered to an open and it took a minute for him to realize where he was. Exhaustion had set in and when he pushed himself up into a seated position, he seemed confused to see Joel there. Holding her hand out for Negan, he tipped his head to the side and took her hand in his. “Follow me.”

Instead of questioning things, Negan got up from the couch with a wince. Neither of them said anything as she led them up the stairs stopping at the attic. Getting the ladder down, she pointed up getting confused expressions from both of them.

“Up,” she spoke with Negan licking his lips and giving her a nod. Moving up the ladder to the attic, she had followed him up with him helping her up. When Joel reached the top of the ladder, Negan helped him up into the attic as well. Moving over toward the nook area, she took a seat on the edge of it and motioned them to follow her. There was tension between both Negan and Joel as they did as she asked of them. “We need to talk or we’re never going to be okay.”

“What does that mean?” Joel stammered with Negan sitting at one side of her and him at the other. Reaching for both of their hands, she held onto them and she looked deep in contemplation. “Y/N?”

“Joel,” she looked to Joel, her throat tensing up when she gazed upon her first love. “I love you. I will always love you. And nothing will ever change that. But I need you to stop overthinking things. I need to forgive you for the things that happened, but most of all you need to forgive yourself. Because you’ve been hurting yourself for far too long. And that’s kept you from truly being happy.”

A tremoring breath escaped his lips, with his brown eyes locked on hers. Giving him a nod, she then turned her attention to Negan who looked upon her with his big hazel eyes, “Negan, I love you so fucking much. You’re fun, you make me smile and every moment I spend with you is special. But with you? You have to realize that you just being in my life is enough. You don’t have to give me the world because I have it. With you. With Joel. And with my children.”

“I’m confused,” Negan was the first to say something, his Adam’s apple bouncing in his throat. “What is this?”

“I need to hear this from both of you,” she began, looking between the both of them. “Do you or do you not want to have this poly relationship? Because if we are going to do this, I need to know that you both want it. If you do, we have to work together and include each other in things. Make sure that it’s something we really want because otherwise, it will never work.”

“Are you okay with it?” Joel was the first to speak up, his southern drawl raspy with his free hand reaching up to urge her to look at him. “I need to know that it’s something you want because sometimes I feel like you’re going above and beyond to make us happy. Because you don’t want to hurt either one of us.”

“I love the both of you,” she was honest, gazing back at Negan who was still seemingly confused with where this was going. “And that’s the thing. I love both of you so much that my heart can’t choose who it wants to be with. Which makes me greedy, but I know I love the both of you so much. But I can’t have you just accepting this because you want to be with me.”

“I love you so fucking much,” Negan finally spoke, palming in over the side of her face. Sliding in closer to her, he gave her a weak smile and nodded his head. “And you know I care very much about Joel.”

“I think I care about you more than you care about me,” Joel surprised both of them when they looked to him and he shrugged his shoulders. “I’m okay with the poly relationship because you were the first person I think I felt anything for and she’s the love of my life. She’s okay with the poly relationship because she loves the both of us and can’t decide. I think even though it feels like I’m the odd one out, it’s actually you.”

“That’s not true,” Negan tried to defend himself having her tip her head back to look him over. “I’ve always been very supportive of both of you. I want the both of you happy and more than anything I’ve been trying to make you both happy.”

“This is what I mean,” she pointed between the both of them, “We have to know that the feelings are real and this is something you both want.”

“I am okay with this poly relationship,” Negan insisted with a shake of his head, “but if you want me to be honest, no, I don’t love you Joel like I do her. And I know you don’t love me like you do her either. But that doesn’t mean that I’m not willing to learn to love you too. We obviously both like each other. We’re both attracted to each other and I know that maybe you do feel stronger feelings for me than I do you, but it doesn’t negate that I care about you. I’ve just been in love with her from the moment I laid eyes on her. It takes time to build that kind of fucking love. Y’know?”

Something in Joel’s face showed that he didn’t exactly believe that, but he just nodded because he didn’t want to be the one to push it any further, “We’re just going to have to tell Ellie and Peter in a way that makes sense because I don’t want to hide anything from them.”

“That’s something to worry about when we figure everything out here first,” she agreed with Joel, swallowing down hard. Dropping back dramatically on the oversized cushion that Joel put in the nook area of the attic had both men looking to her. “I could really just use a night of relaxing. Especially with it being Christmas tomorrow.”

“Yes ma’am,” Negan slurred, leaning back to lay down onto the cushion with her. Sliding in beside her, his nose nuzzled in against the side of her neck and his hand pressed in over her abdomen. Realizing what she was asking for, Joel was careful in the way that he lowered down beside her as well. Mirroring what Negan had done, Joel pressed a kiss over her cheek. “You mean everything to me.”

Knowing that she wanted silence, Joel knew that it was going to take a whole lot more than just this simple talk, but he was going to give her what she asked for right now and hold her close. For him? Sharing her with Negan and getting to explore what he felt for Negan when he was younger was the best option. One he hoped that they could figure out altogether.

----

Tags: @chainsawsangel @fancypeacepersona @violent-darkness @negansbestie @elegantfanficluv

@sanctuaryforthelost @dead-of-niight @dilfsandmartinis @jennydehavilland

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unlimitedlust · 1 year ago

Text

Good Girl Gone Bad (Javier Peña x Reader)

A/N: Heyyy, another Javier Peña thristy fanfiction for you!!! Now heads up for initial details I noted people appreciate:

Word count: 4.3K

Disclaimers: it’s a female Reader x Javier story, +18 (very explicit scenes ahead guys) 🌶️🔥👄💦, unprotected p in v, tinges of sub Javi and breeding kink!!!

When you see this “-0-”, I recommend you to put “Ride or Die, Pt. 2” by Sevdaliza, Villano Antillano and Tokischa for ambiance purpose!!!

Please let me know if you enjoyed it, likes and reblogs are very much appreciated and also encourage me to keep writing (if you like my writing ofc 😅)

Enough said: Enjoy your reading!!!

Javier seized the burning sensation from the freshly brewed coffee down his throat as he took a big gulp from his mug, as if the bitter liquid was going to turn off his mind from all the work he had to do for at least a few seconds. His eyes scanned the big piles of files around him, the full ashtray almost falling off the front border of his table and next to the telephone he’d left off the receiver on purpose.

DEA staff ran up and down their office talking on the phone, receiving and printing new information from loud fax machines, typewriters keys clicking annoyingly loud, both English and Spanish being spoken all the time. For an ordinary person who wasn’t used to such a busy dynamic it was a maddening environment itself, not to mention the main part of their job, which was chasing after narcos.

Javier knew all their faces and names, but he was under such stress he just didn’t care to engage in any kind of small talk conversations with his coworkers anymore, and day after day he understood the wallflower that sat in the farthest corner of the office, just doing her job like a horse on a winker.

He knew she worked there for a while now, but all the knowledge he had about her was her name and that she was a great investigator. She was so quiet the only times he’d heard her voice was when someone greeted her and she greeted them back. At first Javier thought she was a weirdo, but now not only he admired her invisibility and discretion, but also understood why she wanted to be left in peace in a corner just doing her job.

The fact that she was a beautiful woman didn’t go unnoticed by him of course, even without ever seeing her smile, but she kept herself shut to any contact with anyone in that place he just didn’t dare to bother the peace she seemed to hold and he envied so much.

Sadly his position in the DEA didn’t allow him to have that luxury, after all, he was The Javier Peña.

Hours flew by and by the time Javier broke his attention away from the files in front of him, he realized it was dark outside and he was alone in the building again.

He knew he still had endless work to do for the day, but he’d had enough, his head would explode if he spent another night in that office, he needed to leave and blow off some steam.

“Fuck this shit”

-0-

Grabbing his car keys, Javier left the empty DEA office and drove mindlessly around the city looking for the first place that would grab his attention enough to drag him inside.

Tonight he wasn’t looking for a hooker to spend a few hours by his side, if he wanted that he’d just head home and call one of his contacts and get it over with.

He wanted something different, something cheerful and with heavy drinks, he desperately needed to forget his job and all the shit he had to deal with everyday just for a few hours.

A club with big pink neon lights adorning its name caught his attention as he parked his vehicle on the side of the street, the loud reggaeton beats coming from the inside drawing him in as he made his way to the entrance.

Just as he stepped inside he was swallowed by a sea of sweaty and drunken people dancing, twerking, grinding on each other, hands all over the place, allowing the sensual and captivating beat to take over their bodies and desires.

It was perfect for what Javier needed at that moment.

He made his way through the crowd to one of the bars, checking out a few asses on his way there, feeling more comfortable and confident as he received some flirtatious glances in his direction.

With an ice cold beer in hand he checked out the dance floor in front of him once again, but this time a woman in a dark pink skin tight dress caught his attention. He hadn’t seen her face yet as she had her back turned in his direction, but the way she swayed her hips and how that tantalizingly short dress hugged her body in all the right places made his mouth water at the sight. He couldn’t help but wonder how she would look like moving like that on his dick, riding him in a reverse cowgirl position with that juicy ass and bouncy hips. The thought alone made his jeans feel tighter on himself.

Javier took a larger gulp of his beer as he got ready to approach her, ready to use all of his charm and unfailing game with women in hopes to be the one to take her home tonight.

But as soon as she turned in his direction, his jaw dropped when he realized the woman he was lusting on was the wallflower from the DEA, the one that no one knew nothing about other than her name and the info on her files, held a naughty smile on her face as she danced in the most provocative way possible, dragging not only Javier’s but many other men’s attention, and she knew it, she meant it.

Every now and then men tried to approach her to dance with her and maybe get a little taste, but she ditched them all gracefully. She didn’t want them. She wanted to feel desired and lusted on, but for her the real fun was in taking the candy out of their mouths, which was drawing them in like a mermaid, to then ditch them off like nothing.

The new discovery only encouraged Javier to take his shot with her. He was well aware that working with her could be both a leverage or a weakness, and there was only way he could find out.

She hadn’t seen him yet, the dim and colorful flickering lights over her didn’t allow her to see faces clearly from a certain distance, so he used that to watch her, waiting for the perfect window to go after her.

And just as she left the dance floor to the bar at the other side of the club the window was open.

“Good girl only during business hours?” Javier purred in her right ear just as she rested her forearms on the counter.

He didn’t miss the way his low voice caused goosebumps on her skin, the thin hairs on her arms standing immediately as he got by her side on the counter, waiting for her answer as she displayed a sly smirk on her plush lips.

“What makes you think I’m not a good girl full time?” She batted her eyelashes, a challenging glimmer in her orbs as her eyes traveled from his brown ones to his mouth, watching him lick his lips for a second as he seemed to get lost in his sinful thoughts for a moment.

Taking him off guard, she rested her right hand on his chest and slid her index finger over the first sets of buttons of his cream shirt, opening the them skillfully in a swift motion, revelaving part of his tanned and smooth chest, the light touch of her fingertip being enough to make his heart race.

“I like you better that way” The playful smirk never leaving her lips “Charming”

“Charming enough to buy you a drink?”

“I like shots better”

Javier was now by her side, right elbow propped on the counter as he signaled the bartender for two shots of tequila. He put two shot glasses in front of them along with a salt cellar and served them a small plate with pieces of lime, producing the bottle containing the golden liquid for last.

“Leave the bottle” He demanded just as the bartender finished filling the glasses.

They put salt on their hands, licked it and downed their first shot, the section of lime coming right after to soothe the bitter oaky punch, the alcohol instantly warming up their bodies.

“How did you find me here?” She asked, running her thumb in the corner of her lips to clean off the excess of lime juice.

“Are you upset about that, cariño?”

He faked a pout.

“Well…” She paused, pretending to be thinking deeply about the answer “I’m actually glad you found me”

“Is that so? Mind telling me why?”

“If you play my cards right, might as well show you” She teased him, pouring them another round of tequila.

“Then teach me how to play them”

They took their second round of tequila, but this time their eyes never broke their contact, a silent dispute of power between them, hunters hunting one another, testing each other to see how far their teasing would go, who would lose the battle and give in first.

Javier was both amused and tempted.

Amused because he still couldn’t believe that in front of him, challenging him, was the shy reserved woman from the DEA, claws out and ready to attack.

Tempted because she was the temptation herself. But Javier was a competitive man and he wasn’t going down without a fight.

“Do you dance, Mr. Peña?”

“Javi” He corrected “You’ll have to find out by yourself”

“I’ll take my chances”

She winked and handed him another shot, both of them sinking it fast, the spicy-woody liquid didn’t even burn their throats anymore as their bodies already felt like in flames, not only from the alcohol, but also from the heated exchange between them as every second, every word, every glance felt like electric shocks, like adding fuel to the fire.

Javier waited for her to give the next move as she sized him up, the smug look on her face making clear she had nothing but bad intentions in her mind, and oh boy how he wanted to get into her trouble.

“Come on”

She hooked her index finger in one of his pant’s belt loops and pulled him, the sudden move making Javier jolt forward, his body halting less than an inch away from hers, a dangerously short distance separating them as she watched amused his surprised reaction over her small stunt.

Colorful lights beamed over them as they were now in the middle of the dance floor, a loud song with heavily provocative beats and lyrics guiding their bodies, her arms resting loosely around his neck and one of his hands keeping her close by the end of her back as they danced together, their hips moving in sync, up close, almost intimate, but never brushing against each other, one of his legs strategically positioned between hers as they swayed sensually.

She slid one of her hands down his chest seductively, but this time, he was the one in control.

The hand on her back slid to her waist and spun her around, his hands now keeping her in place and practically locked against his body by her lower belly and waist, her ass now rolling irresistibly close to his crotch.

Javier loved how her skin reacted to the way he manhandled her, goosebumps all over as she bit her bottom lip and threw her head back, leaning against his shoulder as she let herself get lost in her own lustful thoughts for a moment, the suggestive lyrics only adding to her imagination.

Taking advantage of her exposed neck, Javier got intoxicated by her smell, the jasmine and warm notes of cocoa overpowered his senses as his lips traced the sensitive skin towards her ear, the light touch of his lips along with his mustache intensifying the goosebumps she still hadn’t recovered from yet.

“Am I up to your expectations?” He whispered in her ear, his lips moving just above her lobe. His teasing affected her more than she’d like to admit.

They lost track of the time they spent dancing together, teasingly of course, but also having a great time singing, laughing and smiling at each other.

Javier, who'd never seen her smile before that night, couldn’t take his eyes off her lips every time they curved upwards, revealing not only her beautiful lined teeth, but also the dimples on her glowing cheeks, lighting up her already cheerful face.

And again he caught himself admiring her, as they were now outside of the club. Javier stood leaning his back on his truck’s passenger door while she stood on his opposite side, leaning herself on the wall behind her.

A comfortable silence hung between them as he lit up a cigarette and she drank the last bottle of beer she got on their way out. Javier inhaled the smoke, enjoying the feel of the nicotine kicking in his system as he watched her take a gulp from the bottle, her lips wrapping around it softly as she reciprocated his gaze.

He wondered what her lips felt like, not only against his lips, but all over his body, plump and soft kissing him, caressing him, marking him, sucking him, the thought alone making his pants feel tight once again.

The sound of her heels clicking on the pavement took him out of his reverie as he now realized she was coming to him, slow and steady steps. She left the half empty bottle on his truck’s roof behind his head and then took the cigarette from his hands, bringing it to her own lips as she held it between her manicured nails.

And just as she leant on his vehicle by his side, he took his cue to leave his position and imprison her between his body and the truck, his arms hovering on each side of her head, the smug smile indicating she had him right where she wanted him to be: his body inches away from hers, the muscles on his arms twitching with the force he held onto the truck’s roof ledge, trying not to lose the last bit of restraint he still had.

She puffed the smoke out of her lips towards his, the simple yet enticing gesture making him snap and take the cigarette off her hands in a swift motion, throwing it away just as he crashed his lips against hers.

Their tongues met right away initiating an erotic dance, devouring each other, euphoria rushing through their veins as their teasing had finally reached its goal.

Javier cupped her jaw and pressed his body against hers urgently, the jolt against the truck making the beer bottle fall and shatter on the ground, the loud noise and green glass on the pavement not bothering them at all as she pulled the soft curls on his nape and grazed her teeth against his lower lip.

His big hands slid down her waist behind her and grabbed her ass cheeks, pulling her up and making her wrap her legs around him for support, her short dress rolling up to her hips leaving her almost half naked on the street.

Using the leverage he had with the position, Javier ground his raging erection trapped inside his jeans against her core, covered only by already drenched black lace panties, earning a strangled whimper from her.

Part of him wanted to just pull her panties aside and take her right there on the street against his truck, raw and rough. But the other part wanted to take his time with her, after all it would be a shame to just resume the last few hours of teasing in just a few minutes. And also, he didn’t know if he’d had another shot with her after they got back to their professional facades.

“Are we getting inside your truck or you want to give our audience explicit content?” She tilted her head, indicating the group of people next to the club’s door, a few curious eyes lingering, waiting for their next step “Either way I’m in”

“You’re mine only, at least for tonight” His teeth dug on the soft flesh of her neck as he fished the car keys in his back pocket “But as long as I can fuck you I’m into anything you want, bonita”

Javier put her down and opened the truck’s back door, revealing the brown leather cushion dimly illuminated by the street lights.

He let her in first and watched with hungry eyes the way she crawled inside the vehicle and then rolled her body upwards, resting her back on the other door only to then slide her panties down and off her legs, spreading them open in a seductive way, offering herself to Javier, who hurriedly got inside the truck and closed the door behind him.

He pulled her by her ankle and hovered over her, his gaze connecting deeply to hers as he fished the panties she’d dropped on the car floor and put them in his back pocket, the simple yet unexpected action arousing her even more.

Javier’s hand made its way to her nape, bringing her head up for a breathtaking and passionate kiss, their hungry tongues invading and exploring each other's mouth as her fingers slid down the buttons of his shirt, undoing them without breaking their kiss.

As they devoured each other frantically, her hands explored his broad chest and abs, enjoying the feeling of his soft golden skin under her digits and the way his muscles flexed with the thrusting movements he made every now and then, purposely grinding his clothed erection against her exposed core.

Their kiss got sloppy as Javier’s hand found its way down her body, feeling her soft breasts, the curve of her hips then down the smooth skin of her thigh and leg, hooking it on his back before his hand slid up her body again but this time, skipping no beat towards her intimacy.

Javier growled when he finally felt how wet she really was for him, her arousal coating his fingers sliding up and down her pussy in feather-like touches just to tease her.

Whimpering, she rolled her eyes and clawed his back under his shirt when he increased the pressure with his digits and traced tight circles against her needy clit, her whole body melting under him as it got overpowered by shameless waves of pleasure.

Drinking in her sexed expression, Javier slid a finger inside her wanting a bigger dose of satisfaction out of the intoxicating woman under him. The unexpected invasion of his thick

finger made her moan louder and arch her back against his body, which only encouraged him to add another one right after, stretching her further, her slick pussy clenching around his fingers in response.

She bit his shoulder as he finger fucked her, his fingers massaging the magic spongy spot inside her as his thumb roled lazy circles on her clit, making her nails drag angry scratch marks down his back while her other hand pressed hard on the leather backrest, nails desperately digging in it.

Javier trailed small nips and kisses along her collarbone and neck while his fingers kepting working on her, all of it adding to the building pleasure in her lower stomach, getting her closer and closer to bursting at each expert rub of his rough digits against her clit and g-spot.

But she didn’t want to come yet, much less in that submissive condition.

Fighting against her own urges, she pulled his hand out of her, bringing it to her lips to lick her own juices off his fingers, her dark orbs drawing him in as she sucked his fingers suggestively, swirling her tongue around them.

“Now sit” She commanded, cheeks still red and heart racing from his finger fucking “And take of your shirt”

She didn’t need to ask Javier twice for him to comply, he knew she was close on his fingers, and now he wanted to see and feel what she had in mind.

Just as he took his shirt off and straightened his back against the seat, she straddled him and pulled down the top half of her dress, exposing her breasts, hard perky nipples at his mouth’s level and he couldn’t help but to dive in.

Javier fondled and squeezed them hard with both hands before he took a mouthful of one of them, teeth grazing the hard bundle of nerves, then rolling and sucking in with his flat tongue, and then repeated the same stimulation on the other one, feasting on the soft mounds before him as she unfastened his belt and unbuttoned his jeans.

Catching up with her intentions, Javier lifted his hips from the seat, enough to take both pieces of clothes off, allowing her to undress him completely, all while he still delved into her breasts.

With his thick and hard manhood free, she spread his leaking precum over his tip with her thumb, tantalizing him before she finally took it and held it against her clit, rocking her hips back and forth, arching her back towards the front seat behind her and getting herself off against his shaft, her slick blending with his precum.

Javier broke apart from her chest to gaze down between them, his cock sliding easy against her drenched folds, teasing him shamelessly.

“Condom?” He asked, but only out of politeness.

“No” She leaned in, foreheads touching as she whispered against his lips “I wanna feel all of you”

Her answer got his cock impossibly harder and dying to feel her, and for his luck, she was also getting impatient.

Javier held his breath the moment she stopped her motions right when his tip was lined to her entrance, the thrill of anticipation of finally having her making his heart race faster as his hands flattened on her thighs.

“Tell me what you want” She demanded seductively, teasing his tip pressed against her opening, torturing him with slow rolls of her hips, threatening to slide down on him at any second.

“I want you, cariño” He gasped, chest heaving up and down.

“Yeah? And what do you want me to do with you?” One of her hands cupped his jaw and brought his lips close to hers, close enough to feel his ragged breath against hers.

“Ride me, bonita, I’m yours”

She placed a soft kiss against his lips before she leaned back between the front seats and placed her hand over her mound, fingers spreading her folds apart allowing him to have a full view of where his tip met her pussy, until she finally sank on his cock, her opening slowly welcoming and swallowing him in, his thickness stretching her walls each inch as his name came out of her lips in the sexiest moan he’d ever heard, and he swore that that scene alone was enough to make him cum.

But he needed to last, he needed to feel more of her, see her, have her, every detail in front of and on him, getting him terribly pussy drunk on her at each second as he felt their bodies merging and watched his cock disappear inside of her, her walls tightening around him in a slippery and warm embrace.

He threw his head back and rolled his eyes as she started to ride him at a deeply addictive pace, his fingertips digging in the flesh of her hips, pulling her harder down on him at each thrust forward.

“Eyes on me, Javi” Her command came out as a needy whine as her hand slid down his neck towards his shoulder, the skin slapping sounds getting louder as her bounces got harder.

Javier moved one of his hands to the back of her head, fingers tangling in the roots of her hair as he now thrusted his hips up to meet hers, the new and unexpected angle made her cry out his name again and dig her nails onto his shoulders, looking for an extra leverage.

He hooked his other arm on her lower back keeping her body against his, and the way she melted in his arms only made him keep on, thrusting harder and faster against her while she held onto him for her dear life.

Without disconnecting their bodies, Javier laid her on the backseat, eager to be the one fully in charge, especially because holding his release back was being a lot harder than usual.

One of his hands took support in the car’s windows, which was completely humid and foggy and entrentched with sex as he fucked her hard, her back arching and her walls tightening around him with her climax right around the corner.

She closed her eyes and moaned even louder as he put one of her legs over his shoulder, the new angle allowing him to go even further, deeper and drive her into oblivion in record speed.

“Look at me when I’m fucking you” He demanded, bossy as the Javier Peña she was used to watch on duty, and that was the line for her to feel the knot on her lower belly snap hard, strong waves of white hot pleasure through her veins, making her cum hard and milk his cock looking deeply in his dark eyes.

The mesmerizing scene together with the clenching from her climax on his shaft also made him cum seconds after her, exploding inside her, his hot seed filling her in long spurts, the feeling of his dick throbbing inside her riding her high for a few extra seconds before they collapsed, the hand on the car window leaving a wet trail as it lazily slid down.

She moaned when he finally pulled out, instantly missing him inside her as he carefully took her in his arms and laid next to her, nestling her body against his, both their breathings and heart beats still racing fast.

“We have a problem now” He muttered looking at the car’s ceiling.

“What?” Her answer was low and unconcerned, too fucked out to care about anything at that moment.

“Office hours are gonna be challenging from now on.”

#fanfic #fanfiction #smut #romance #self insert #javier pena x you #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena narcos #javier pena x reader #javier peña #javier pena smut #pedropascal #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal #pedrostories #narcos #thirsty thursday #thirsty as fuck #Spotify

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from-the-clouds · 2 years ago

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texas sun - joel miller x f!reader - vol. xiv

series masterlist | series playlist | writing masterlist | previous chapter | chapter summary: The final chapter pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 9.2k (I love being insane) chapter warnings: SMUT (18+only) - unprotected sex. Insecurity/Jealousy. Angst/arguments. Discussions of death, blood and injuries. Alcohol & Marijuana use. Fluff. Bisexual reader (happy pride ya'll!). As always please dm for more specifics. a/n: This could probs use another round of proofreading but it would've delayed this even longer sooooo.... Here we go! I feel pretty emo right now and I might make a more in-depth post about my thoughts at a later date bc I just finished writing this in a hot daze so I can't put all my thoughts coherently together. But I just wanna say thank you to everyone who supported and gave love to this story. This is by far the most popular fic I've ever written, and I don't really know how? Or what I did to deserve all the love but I just want you to know how much I appreciate it. Thank you for sticking with me through all the angst and delayed updates and everything. I'll never forget you and I'll never forget Joel x Reader!! Thank you so much, I hope the finale lives up to your expectations! ❤️

**I DO NOT HAVE A TAGLIST. Please follow @ftcwriting and turn on notifs if you would like to be notified when I update my works :) **

I’m not the kind of man who tends to socialize I seem to lean on old familiar ways….

-May 16, 2024-

“Are you sure you’re okay if I leave you here alone?”

Ethan’s voice jolts you out of a daze, and you blink your eyes open, realizing that you’d dozed off while sitting upright in a patio chair, the cheesy romance novel you’d been reading still lying open on your lap. Turning to look over your shoulder, you find him standing with one foot on the deck, and one foot still inside, cut in half by the sliding glass door.

Clearing your throat, you straighten up and nod. “Of course. I’ll be fine.”

Ethan studies you carefully, like he’s not entirely convinced. He’s been hesitant to leave you alone unless it’s absolutely necessary – only stepping away from the house to go on patrol shifts and to bring home meals from the mess hall. Recovery has made you feel like a burden to him – to all your friends in the community, really. Everyone….well, almost everyone, has been supportive, but you’ve never been comfortable being openly vulnerable.

Unfortunately, it’s too hard to deny the pain that you’ve been in since the accident, the trouble you have getting around, the exhaustion that clings no matter how many long naps and twelve-hour nights of sleep you get. According to the doctors, being so tired is just part of recovery – rest is important, but the concoction of pain medication you’ve been prescribed only makes your drowsiness and confusion worse. It had been a big deal that tonight you’d mustered the energy to drag yourself outside to sit in the fresh air.

“I’m fine,” you assure Ethan, once again. “Have fun on your date.”

“It’s not really a date,” he says, almost a little too quickly. “We’re just hanging out.”

“Right,” you say, matter-of-factly. “Do I know who this person is?”

Ethan looks at his feet. “You remember the day this shit happened?” he asks, gesturing towards you. “Before you left on patrol, the girl that said hi to me? It’s her. Her name is Alex.”

“Oh?” you tilt your head, give him a small smile. “She was cute. How’d you ask her out?”

“Well,” he begins, scratching the back of his neck. “I may have…uh, gotten some advice.”

“You didn’t think to ask me?” you’re able to muster up a small smile.

“I would’ve, I just…..” he shakes his head. “It seemed stupid…with everything you have going on.”

“It’s not stupid,” you say, feeling a wave of guilt. Even though he’s the one looking after you, you haven’t spoken to him much about anything going on in his life. In fact, you haven’t really spoken to anyone in a long time, beyond thank you’s and blanket statements like I’m doing better. You feel disconnected, and more lonely than ever. If you ever get enough energy to leave your house, you expect most of the people in the community to have forgotten you exist. “Who’d you ask?”

“Uhm….” Ethan runs a hand through his long dark hair, shifts his weight. “….I’ve been assigned on patrol with Joel Miller a lot lately….so….”

You almost laugh when he uses Joel’s full name. Joel has been such a huge part of your life – sometimes the hero, sometimes the villain – that you don’t need to hear his last name to know who Ethan’s talking about. You could know a thousand Joel’s, and he’d still be the first person that came to mind. But Joel is still a sore subject, and Ethan knows it, which is why you suspect he’s avoided telling you this in the first place. You feel your eyebrows knit together, only able to let out an unenthused. “Oh.”

“I just, you know….he’s a guy. And it sounds like you even liked him at one point so….he must know something, right?”

“That was a long time ago,” you say quickly, regardless of the fact that he’s right.

It’s probably not fair to blame Joel for everything that has happened to you. You know this, deep down. But you’ve been so helpless and isolated since you’ve woken up in that hospital bed that you’re desperate to find someone to hold accountable. And Joel hadn’t visited you in the hospital once. By this point, he’s abandoned you so many times that your resentment feels justified, even if your current state is not directly his fault. Because it was you, after all, who had walked into the path of those men, too angry to think clearly, too weak to take them down alone. The only person you can blame is yourself, and you really don’t want to.

“Did he tell you to take her out on patrol, make her cry, and almost get her killed?”

Ethan clicks his tongue, looks down, almost ashamed. “No. He did not.”

“You should be careful with Joel,” you warn.

“I was…” Ethan says. “But I don’t think it’s that simple. I think he’s actually alright.”

“So you’re friends with him now,” you state, hoping he refutes. But instead, he looks up at you, frowns, and lifts his chin.

“What happened to you was horrible. It shouldn’t have happened. And yeah, maybe you think he’s the reason you almost died…. I don’t know the specifics so you can believe whatever you want. But I know that he’s the reason you’re still alive.” Ethan’s voice breaks, and you feel tears brimming your eyes before he continues. “He brought you back here, he donated his blood, he-”

“What?” you cut him off.

“What do you mean, what?” Ethan asks. “He was the only person there who had your blood type. You would’ve died if he didn’t. They didn’t tell you this?”

“Whatever it took to make him feel less guilty, sounds like,” you say, dismissively.

Something hot burns in your veins, something that must have always been there since you woke up, but you’re only feeling it now. It’s unsettling, Joel being a part of you that way. Your lives had already seemed intertwined enough already. But now, he’s inescapable.

“Well, he stayed by your side every night while you were asleep. Fuck, I mean, he was probably there just as often as I was. He made sure I ate, and slept and showered and… and he never once asked for anything in return. He cares about you as much as I do, clearly, so I don’t think it’s wrong to think he’s a good guy….”

You must not care about me that much, you want to say, but you stop yourself. Because it’s not true, and you’d only be saying it to hurt him. You have nothing to defend yourself with, no way to convince him otherwise, and so you just stare at him until he shakes his head and slips back inside.

Ethan is stubborn, he always has been. And it’s a special kind of stubbornness, fueled by anger – so common in most of the young people you meet these days. You understand why they’re all like this. When you’re robbed of your childhood – you get stuck there….waiting….. Like someday you’ll have a chance to do it all over again, regardless of how obvious it is that you won’t.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-May 25, 2024-

Things get better, albeit slowly. You begin to wean off the pain medication, which makes you more alert. It’s still difficult to leave your house, but you can move around it more easily, and you don’t spend all your days sleeping. Luckily, you aren’t as stir-crazy as you’d been expecting.

One afternoon, Ellie Williams shows up on your doorstep with a bag full of groceries.

“Maria wanted me to bring these to you,” she says when you open the door. “She told me to tell you she’ll be over tomorrow, but she wanted me to give you these to tide you over.”

“That’s very nice. Thank you for bringing them to me,” you try to take the bag from her hands, but she steps back just a little, like she’s unsure if you should be carrying anything. You let your hands drop to your sides. “Would you like to come in?”

Ellie hesitates for a split second, adjusting the bag in her arms, and then nods. “Sure.”

Stepping to the side, you allow her into the home. Because of how warm it is outside, you’ve opened all the windows to let the breeze through.

“Sorry for the mess,” you say, Ellie following you into the living room. There are stacks of books and pill bottles with instructions scattered on your countertop. You haven’t swept the floors in awhile and all the hard surfaces are covered in a thin layer of dust. It’s not really that bad, but you don’t have the energy or strength to be on your feet for long – let alone to clean the house.

“I don’t mind,” Ellie says. “It’s not even that bad. I don’t know why older people worry about leaving your house messy and shit….no offense.”

“There was a time it used to matter,” you tell her. “And I see where you’re coming from, but my thing is – if you’re going to live somewhere, you should do what you can to make yourself feel comfortable.”

Ellie purses her lips, as if you’ve made a good point but she doesn’t know how to answer. Instead, you continue. “Can I get you anything? Water?”

“No, I’m okay,” she puts the bag on your kitchen counter.

“You can sit if you’d like,” you tell her. “I just need a moment to put these away.”

When you walk into your living room a few minutes later, she’s hovering near your record player, looking through the vinyls. The turntable was already in the house when you’d arrived years ago, but it was buried in the closet and broken. Ethan had managed to fix it after a little troubleshooting and scavenging for parts. Now, you both were always looking for records to bring home, and had amassed quite the eclectic collection – jazz, funk, hip-hop, and everything in between.

“Wow,” Ellie says, running her fingers along the shelved records. “You found all these?”

“Some of them were already here. But yeah. Ethan and I are always on the lookout on patrol. I can play you something. What do you like?”

“Eighties, I think,” she says. “But…I also haven’t heard as much.”

“Well here,” you thumb through the records, pull out a worn copy of Speaking In Tongues. “How about some Talking Heads?”

You pass the record over to her, and she stares at you blankly. It’s only then that you realize — she’s never used a record player before. There’s a familiar pang of sadness before you show her how.

“Are you feeling better?” Ellie eyes you wearily once the music starts, and you settle onto the couch, feeling a little worn out after being on your feet.

“Yes,” you say. “I’m older now, so it seems like healing takes a lot more time.”

Ellie nods, then bobs her head to the music a little. “This is better than most of the stuff Joel likes.”

“Oh yeah,” you smirk, and instinctually, you recall his enthusiasm for all things old-school country. “I remember that,” you say softly.

With so much time on your hands lately, you’ve found yourself thinking of Joel a lot, reminiscing on the time you’d spent with him and Sarah. What Ethan had told you about him staying by your side was definitely making you reconsider your assessment of him, even if you were still hesitant. It was probably a trap to think you’d ever be able to feel those things with him again, but if remembering them brought you comfort, you weren’t going to resist it.

“You’re more than welcome to come over to listen anytime,” you offer, and she nods excitedly.

Ellie stays for longer than you expect. You talk a fair bit. She tells you about what she’s learning in school – but mostly how ‘fucking useless’ it is. She wanders around your living room and pokes through your stuff without asking, but you don’t think to stop her – you just answer her questions and let her be curious.

Eventually, the sun dips below the horizon, and she excuses herself to go home, insisting that Joel will ‘fucking kill her’ if she’s out too late. Even though you’re exhausted after entertaining her for a few hours, you find it feels nice. Being on house arrest, essentially, had left your starved for connection outside Maria and Ethan.

You see her out the door before returning to your refrigerator to look for something to eat. Ethan will be back from patrol any minute, so it may be nice to make him something even if you have almost no energy.

But when there’s another knock on your front door, you’re shocked to see who you find staring on your porch.

Joel.

You almost forget to speak at the sight of him. It’s been weeks since your accident and he might as well have moved away from Jackson since you hadn’t seen him at all.

“Hey,” you say, tentatively, taking him in. He seems preoccupied – cheeks flushed, hair rumpled, and out of breath, like he had run all the way to get here.

“Have you seen Ellie?” he asks, not even greeting you in return. “I’ve looked everywhere and I-

“You just missed her,” you cut him off, not because you’re trying to dismiss him, but because he's clearly distressed. “I’m surprised you didn’t see her on your way over.”

Joel sighs, eyes closing in relief. “Thank God.” For a second, you glimpse the frazzled and overworked father you used to know. “She stayed out too late, had me worried sick.”

“She’s fine,” you say. “Although she did say you might kill her if she didn’t get home soon.”

Joel gives you an almost imperceptible smile, but seems mostly irritated by Ellie’s suggestion. “I would do no such thing.” He shakes his head and takes two steps backwards. “Thank you. Didn’t mean to be a bother.”

Your mind floats to a memory of Joel on your front porch, late getting home from work and looking for Sarah, and you can’t help but feel a bit of sadness and longing for a simpler time, a surge of affection.

Joel is halfway down your front porch steps when you speak again. “You aren’t bothering me.”

He pauses, turns to look over his shoulder. There’s something he wants to say, you can feel it, and you step outside, letting the door fall shut behind you and remaining huddled against the siding, and he turns to face you fully, sighing. “I’ve been meaning to stop by, actually….”

“Oh…really?” you can’t keep the surprise from your voice, and he notices.

“Yeah,” Joel rubs his fingers together, a nervous habit of his you know all too well. “Yeah. I- well, I wanted to apologize to you.”

You’re so startled by the words you can’t answer right away. But the split second of hesitation causes Joel to continue, looking to fill the empty space.

“I’ve been waiting to find the right thing to say….but it doesn’t seem like that’ll ever happen. I’m not even sure I know where to start.”

“Oh,” is all you can manage, still taken aback. The only thing that doesn’t surprise you about his admission is the sincerity. You could say a lot of things about Joel, but he isn’t a liar. He always tells the truth. Maybe it’s why he pulled away from you to begin with. It’s easier than the alternative – spending time with you, which would force him to be honest. For how much you’ve changed, you’d probably do the same.

But the thing with Joel is that you’re exhausted. You’re tired of the back and forth, of the push and pull, of the constant struggle to hold your care over each other's head, hoping the other will break first. Maybe this is a fresh start.

You step closer to him, and you see him study the way you move. Of course, you’re trying to look strong, but he can surely sense the weakness. He’d always been good at that, better than any of the others. Your hand comes to rest on the porch railing for support.

But…..

There’s that voice in the back of your head, the one that tells you this is a mistake. The one that reminds of the pain you’ve often earned through vulnerability. It likes to think it’s served you, protected you, and it has. But it’s not always right.

“I suppose I owe you an apology, too,” you say. “At the very least I should thank you for what you did.”

Joel shakes his head, dismissively, but looks to where your hand rests on the porch railing, looks back up to you as he reaches out. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

His hand clasps over yours, and to anyone else, this might be nothing. It’s so innocent, unassuming. But the effect it has on you is palpable. He squeezes once, and you flip your hand over, squeezing his back, giving him a gentle smile. “I am too.”

Joel’s eyes fill with a warmth you haven’t seen in twenty years, and your stomach flutters, your heart races. A part of yourself that you’d considered long dead seems to rouse.“Would you like to stay for dinner?”

“I told Ellie we’d go to the mess hall together,” Joel says. “Otherwise I would.”

You blink once, and Joel sees it, immediately continuing on. “But maybe Ellie and I can come another time, join you and Ethan?”

“Yeah. He’d like that,” you say. “That might be nice.” ─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-June 20, 2024-

You think that at the end of a long winter, bears must hate coming out of hibernation.

It must suck. They spend months sleeping, doing almost nothing, and then suddenly they’re forced to function again – to hunt, to eat, to roam, to survive and socialize. You imagine there has to be a learning curve, a desire to crawl back into their den and never leave again.

Or maybe you could be wrong, and they love it. And you’re just a wimp who hates feeling uncomfortable.

All you know is that you’re huddled in the back corner of the Tipsy Bison, nursing a whiskey – and it’s the last place you want to be.

You’re overwhelmed.

And despite the fact that you regularly used to attend community events, it’s been so long since you've been out in Jackson that you feel like you don’t belong. To some extent, you’ve always felt this – too hardened by the outside world to fully assimilate, especially when the town throws dances. But in the past, you at least attempted to convince yourself otherwise.

Two weeks back, the doctors had cleared you to go about your daily activities as normal – within reason, of course – but you hadn’t exactly jumped at the opportunity. Tonight, Ethan had accused you of becoming ‘antisocial’ and ‘reclusive’. You had agreed to attend – but only to beat those allegations. So far, you are definitely not.

You scan the crowd, taking in the people spinning around the dance floor. Some of the women are wearing dresses. You can’t help but feel a little envious of how easily they’re able to perform femininity, which is something you’d given up on a while ago. It hadn’t exactly served you before arriving in Jackson, and you predict it would be humiliating to start trying now. After all the things you’d experienced, you were left marred with scars and wrinkles, stretch marks and loose skin. Since then, you’ve remained loyal to the combination of men’s denim and tank tops with flannel-button downs overtop.

It doesn’t always stop the men in the community from descending like vultures. You might be the last pick – there are plenty others who are younger and prettier – but you’re still an option. Bea, your old partner, had always theorized that some men were particularly drawn to sapphic women, that it was ‘the ultimate challenge’. Maybe there is some truth to her theory, but you like men….sometimes. So there is always a part of you that yearns for their validation, for as many times as you tell yourself you don’t want it. But it never feels good to get it after you’ve watched them exhaust all their other options.

It’s pathetic, but it makes you think of Joel. He and Ellie had been over to yours and Ethans last week for a nice dinner, and you had tried to gauge whether there was any romantic connection between you still. Occasionally, you’d caught him looking at you with a wistful smile, but he could have been lost in thought. It’s not like you needed that from him or anything, but it might be useful information. After all this time, Joel is still so handsome, and probably has an impressive selection of potential partners here in Jackson – women of all ages. You hope he’s not here tonight – you can’t see much besides the dance floor at this point – because the thought of him cozied up to anyone here, combined with the acrid taste of the drink in your hand, makes you want to gag.

You take another look around the room. Eugene, your partner in crime – quite literally – is walking towards you, which helps quell your spiraling mind . If you talk to him, say hello to Tommy and Maria, maybe Ethan will see the effort you’re making and you can sneak out without having to deal with anyone. It’s wishful thinking, but it’s worth a shot. The sooner you can get home tonight, the better.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Joel can’t stop staring.

He knows it’s impolite. He knows that he’s not being subtle. He knows that if any other person in this bar followed his eyeline, they’d pick up on what he was doing in an instant. But every minute he doesn’t get called out for it, he becomes more and more emboldened.

It’s the first dance he’s ever been to in Jackson, and the only reason he’s here is to placate Ellie and Tommy. But even they have abandoned him in favor of better companions – his brother is deep in conversation with Maria, sitting across from him in a booth, and Ellie is out on the dance floor dancing with one of her new friends, Dina.

Joel just can’t help himself. He still feels guilty for what he’s done, but he can’t shake the feeling of a soft hand clasped within his own – the first time he’d felt any semblance of hope since arriving here. Tommy and Maria had already slyly let him know about all the women who were interested, but he couldn’t bring himself to entertain their advances. There’s only one he wants, and she won’t even look in his direction.

When he’d first noticed you, you were whispering with Eugene on the opposite side of the dance floor. According to Tommy, you spend a fair bit of your time with the old man, which Joel initially thought to mean that you had some sort of entanglement. At first, Joel thought that couldn’t be possible. But you were deep in focus as you listened to Eugene’s words, nodding and leaning in closer and closer, and Joel thinks Tommy might be right. He wants to understand what you see in this man – tall and unkempt, covered in tattoos with long, graying hair and a beard to match. But Joel catches himself in his judgment, he’s probably just as unappealing – not just because of how he’s aged, but because of how horrible he’s been to you in general.

The next time Joel sees you, you’re at the bar, chatting with a man who Maria had introduced him to not long ago, a resident who is new in town. Joel had been too busy focusing on the fact that he’d been in Jackson long enough to not be its newest resident that he couldn’t remember his name. He wishes he had, so he could keep tabs on him. Of course, he can’t blame the man for being drawn to you – Joel knows very well that you’re hard to miss in a crowd.

Still, Joel bristles when you both step away from the bar, and the man’s hand lands just above your sacrum. He actually finds himself tensing up, resisting the urge to intervene, because it’d likely only make you angry. Plus, maybe you are interested. That question is answered quickly when you reach behind your to clasp the man's hand and place it back at his side. Where it belongs, he thinks.

“Joel!”

He snaps his attention to what’s in front of him – interrupted, and probably for good measure, lest he get himself too worked up. Ethan approaches with a girl his age, her arm linked through his. Joel stands to greet them.

The terse understanding between himself and Ethan while you were still in the hospital had somehow turned into a friendship, especially after they’d begun getting paired up on patrol. Ethan reaches out for Joel’s hand to dap him up, slinging an arm briefly over his shoulder.

“How’s it going, kid?”

“Good, good,” Ethan nods, pulling back, and gestures to the girl next to him. “Joel, this is Alex.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” she says. “Ethan’s told me all about you.”

“Really?” Joel asks, feeling a little bewildered.

“Only good things,” Alex says quickly, as if she senses his apprehension. Ethan puts his arm around her waist. Joel recalls a few weeks back when he’d asked for advice on how to ask out a girl. Joel hadn’t pried at the time, but now he seems to understand, and is surprised by the swell of pride he feels. “Ethan says you’re a fucking badass,”she giggles after she swears.

Joel looks over at Ethan. “I don’t know about that.”

He shrugs, changes the subject. “Since when do you come to these things?” Ethan asks.

“Ellie dragged me out,” Joel answers.

“I did the same with my aunt,” Ethan chuckles. “But now I can’t find her, and I’m pretty sure she’s escaped.”

“Oh, is she here?” Joel plays dumb, like he hasn’t been aware of exactly where you have been all night. “I haven’t seen her.”

“I think she was with Eugene earlier,” Alex has to stand on her toes to speak into Ethan’s ear. Joel watches Ethan’s nose wrinkle.

“Do you know Eugene at all?” Ethan turns to Joel. “I’m trying to figure out what’s going on there, but she won’t say anything.”

Joel wishes that he had more information. “Tommy says they seem close.”

“I know that,” Ethan says. “I wish she would just be honest with me. It’s not like I would be mad. Whatever,” he shakes his head. “We can talk about it another time. I just want to find her so I can introduce her to Alex.”

“We should say hi to Tommy and Maria first,” Alex says, and Ethan nods in agreement before saying goodbye to him. Joel claps a hand on Ethan’s shoulder as he moves past him, and Alex gives him a shy smile in acknowledgement.

Focusing back on the crowd, Joel realizes that you’ve vanished in the short span of his last interaction. Maybe you’d rejected that guy, and then he’d retaliated. Maybe you’d gone home with Eugene. Joel shakes his hand. It’s none of his business. He doesn’t need to get involved. It’s not his job to look after you, regardless of how much better he feels when he does. Old instincts. He can’t help himself.

He settles on watching Ellie and Dina spin each other around on the dance floor. Eventually, Tommy and Maria, then Ethan and Alex all trickle out of the booth to go get another round or head to dance. Joel stands to release the booth to someone who actually needs it – and is left in the corner, nursing a nearly empty beer that’s now flat and warm. He looks towards his family and friends, but for some reason, he still feels alone.

Joel isn’t sure how long he stands sulking, but he starts when someone approaches from behind.

“Having fun?”

You’re a pace or two back, one thumb hooked through a belt loop, a whiskey in your opposite hand. Joel looks back at the crowd a moment, then at the ground. “No.”

“Neither am I,” you commiserate, stepping alongside him.

Joel considers offering that Ethan was looking for you, but selfishly does not want to give you a reason to leave, so he stays quiet. You observe the dance floor like he is, smiling slightly at the sight of Ethan and Alex dancing. The flannel you’re wearing over a gray tank hangs loosely off one shoulder, and Joel wants to reach out and touch the exposed skin. You take your last sip of whiskey, bring a finger to swipe under your bottom lip, and Joel wishes he knew what you might taste like right now. He scolds himself for fantasizing.

You don’t speak either, and you stand in silence for a while, until you eventually pop your hip, shifting closer to him. Maybe you don’t realize it, but you’re already standing so close that your arm gets pressed up against his. Neither of you acknowledge the contact, but Joel is acutely aware of how your skin burns hot against his own. He feels comforted by the affection, even if it’s unintentional.

“Want to leave?” Joel asks, and can hardly believe that the words came out of his mouth, even if he wanted them to.

You look over at him, not bothering to hide your surprise, but your expression evens out quickly, and you give him a single nod. “Yeah.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Joel’s still not convinced this is real. It feels too much like a dream, the weather outside is so pleasantly warm it feels like he’s floating as you walk down the street. He had never expected you to agree to leave with him, and now he doesn’t know what to do, or what to say.

The greater distance you put between yourselves and the bar, the quieter the town is. Most of Jackson’s residents are at the dance, save for the guards at the front gate and the handful of people that had been mingling just outside.

He heads in the general direction of the neighborhood, even though he lives on a different street.

“What are we supposed to do now?” you wonder out loud, and you sound a little incredulous, like you’re equally as shocked to find yourself beside him. The question carries a bit more weight than it would have coming from anyone else.

Joel contemplates. He’s not sure what he wants from you – there are a lot of things, actually – but he doesn’t know if he really deserves any of them. For now, your companionship is more than enough.

“You’re welcome to come back to mine,” he offers. “But if you’re looking to keep drinking, all the booze is back at the bar.”

“I’m good.” You shake your head like you’re uninterested, but look over at him with a sparkle in your eye. “I have something better….”

You reach into the pocket of your flannel and produce a rolled joint between two fingers, looking over your shoulder. “Those dances are usually terrible, so I always come prepared.”

Joel can’t help the chuckle that escapes him, and the sheepish grin he gets in return makes his cheeks feel warm. “Where’d you even get that?”

“You’ve never been on patrol with Eugene, have you?” you ask. “He has a place just out of town where he grows it. I’ve been helping him since we first got paired up, and in exchange, I get to sample the supply.”

Of course. Joel would’ve never imagined that was the reason you were so close with Eugene, but it suddenly makes incredible sense. He shakes his head in a combination of relief and amusement. “You really haven’t changed.”

“Oh, I’m sure I have,” you answer, smiling to yourself and looking at the ground. “But of course I haven’t shaken all my bad habits.”

“That’s not true,” Joel mutters.

“Well, you haven’t changed either, for as much as you’ve tried to convince me,” you nudge him gently, offering him the joint. “What do you think?”

Joel plucks it from between your fingers and puts it between his lips. “I think I have a lighter at home.”

“Sounds perfect.”

In the front hallway of his house, you slip out of your tennis shoes, shuffling behind him in your socks, pausing occasionally to study some of the doodles that Ellie had drawn and hung on the walls – it wasn’t exactly a priority to decorate these days, but they certainly livened up the place. He knows how much Ellie likes you, despite the fact that she doesn’t gush, but the odd comment here and there says as much. Joel remembers how difficult it had been to keep Sarah away, and Ellie now is no different. He doesn’t seem to be able to help himself, either.

You sit next to Joel on his wicker couch, curling your feet up under you as he lights the joint and study him while he takes the first few puffs. He does it without thinking. That’s how soft Jackson has made him. Normally, he’d be too stressed about being out of his wits. But he can’t see how hypervigilance has served him since settling down. He feels safe here, and somehow especially because he’s with you.

When he passes the joint your way, you look at him wistfully. “Old times,” you say with a grin.

Joel nods as he exhales, coughing. “Old times.”

“Oh yeah,” you say, as if you just remembered something. “You can’t tell Ethan about this. He doesn’t know, and he will give me shit about it. I need him to take me seriously.”

Joel shakes his head. “Well, you know, it sounds like he and Tommy both think you and Eugene are together.”

“What?” your head jerks forward in shock, eyes going wide. “Oh my god, no. Do people think that?”

“I’m just sayin’,” Joel wants to mention how he had seen you whispering to each other at the bar earlier, but then realizes it’d give a bit too much away. “That’s what they think.”

“Well....historically speaking I might’ve liked older men…. but not that old.”

Joel purses his lips. “You’ve lived here awhile, huh?” When you nod, he continues. “Has no one caught your eye?”

“Uhm….not really. But….” you trail off, looking into Joel’s backyard. “To be completely honest, I don't think about that much these days. I guess I feel like I have a lot to be grateful for. I don’t want to push it.”

Joel understands, and nods pensively.

“What about you?” you ask.

“I guess I feel the same.”

That causes you to smile a little bit, look over at him. “I bet you already know this. But the women here would line up down the block for you.”

Joel can’t help but roll his eyes, though he wonders if you would, too. Even if you did like him, that didn’t seem like your style.

“I’m serious. I’ve heard the things they whisper behind your back. All their fantasies about you are pretty creative...”

“Fantasies?” He grimaces. He imagines none of them know anything about who he really is. You’re the closest thing, and all he’s done is hurt you. “I’m sure you were quick to set them straight.”

“I don’t say anything,” you say, then continue on, a little quieter, looking at him from under your lashes. “I like to keep you to myself.”

Joel isn’t sure how to respond to that. You have every right to tell all of them that you were once together, and all the ways he’s hurt you since. Yet for some reason, you’ve chosen to protect him.

“So….all this time….” you wonder. “You had to have been with other people, right?”

Joel doesn’t think to hold back. “I had a partner for a long time. Tess. First, it was all business, I helped her smuggle things in and out of the Boston QZ…and then, I don’t know….we got along, we trusted each other and…” Joel trails off, hoping you’d put together the rest before he has to go into too much detail. “She was real fuckin’ tough. Scared me a little at first. You would’ve liked her.”

“Well, we already have one thing in common. What happened?”

“She’s the whole reason I ended up out here….with Ellie,” Joel explains. “But I lost her a little over a year ago.”

He hopes you don’t ask how. Maybe someday he’d be willing to go into detail, but talking about it generally is hard enough as it is. But fortunately, you seem to pick up on his hesitance. “I’m sorry, Joel,” you say softly.

He shakes his head. “I was an asshole. To her. I should've....after Sarah died I didn’t want to get attached, so I kept her at arms length and I... I wished I hadn’t in the end. It only made things worse.”

“Yeah,” you nod, look down. “I’ve made that mistake before.”

Joel doesn’t want to linger any longer on the memory. “What about you? Were you with anyone?”

“Uhm, yeah,” you fidget, looking uncomfortable. “I had a partner….for like ten years."

Ten years? He had been with Tess for more, but something about that information feels jarring. He’s shocked Tommy never told him this. Did Tommy even know? Suddenly, it dawns on Joel everything that could’ve happened to you since you’ve been apart. Entire lifetimes. And he’d said such horrible things when you’d fought. He remembers your face when he’d told you that you didn’t know what it was like to lose a child. Maybe you had. He’d been so cruel and inconsiderate just because he was uncomfortable.

His throat feels tight, almost scared to learn anymore. “What…what was his name?”

“Well, Bea….was her name.”

Joel is sure he doesn't hide the shock well. “Sorry, I didn’t know…”

“Yeah,” you say. “I don’t think I did either. Well, I sort of did, but I was too young I think when I first realized to make any sense of it, but…. I met her and…yeah,” then, you smirk. “I mean, I went to an all-girls school and I had a really bad relationship with my dad so…it definitely makes sense. ”

Joel considers this, smiles along with you. “But anyways. Her and I met shortly after my brother died and it was kind of the same. We kept each other alive, things developed from there. We ended up getting involved with this group who lived in the middle of nowhere. That’s a whole other story, but…” you wave your hand. “I loved her, and I lost her right before Ethan and I got here.”

Joel sees all the pain in your eyes, and wishes he could say something to take it all away. He knows he can’t. You look back out into the woods in his backyard, take a deep breath, and reach back towards the joint that you had put out not long before, lighting it again. Joel gets the sense that both of you had done the most amount of sharing possible for the time being.

“Look at us,” you take another drag before passing it over. “Old times.”

“Old times,” he repeats, a smile working its way onto his face.

“This used to be my favorite thing to do with you.”

“It was nice,” Joel agrees….hesitates before continuing. “But I can think of some things I liked better.” He gives you a knowing look, and you roll your eyes, laughing easily at his joke. It feels so good to make you laugh, to see you smile. Why had he spent so much time resisting?

“Touche.”

What happens next spills out of Joel so quickly he doesn’t think to stop it. “I tried to look for you….after all this happened. I didn’t have Sarah anymore, and I thought maybe….I don’t know. It was the only thing that kept me going for a while.”

“I did too,” you confess. “But…I was with Vincent and Ethan, and I felt like I couldn’t leave them alone for something that might just be…. I always hoped you both made it. And I’m so sorry she’s gone. I really did love her.”

“I know you did,” Joel reaches out to take your hand. “I know. And I shouldn’t have said those things I did. I’m still not sure why you’ve been so patient with me.”

“Hmm,” you shift so that you’re closer to him. “You waited around for me back then. It’s only fair that I’d wait around for you now. I want you in my life. I don’t care what that looks like. But it’s too hard to forget about a person that you loved.”

Joel wants as much from you as you’re willing to give, and he can’t tear his gaze away from you. But he wants you to see him, all of him, before he takes it.

“I’ve let a lot of people down. I’ve done a lot of h-horrible things,” his voice cracks, and tears well in his eyes.

“I have, too, you know? Those things still live with me. But I think what matters is who we are now,” you reach out, fingertips brushing the scar on his temple, and Joel swears that even if you don’t know the story behind it, you can see right through him. “And I know who you are.”

“I don’t want to hurt you anymore than I already have.”

“You won’t,” you say. “No more than anyone else has. And if it makes you feel better…when people hurt me, I’ve gotten pretty good at hurting them back.”

“If I do, I’d hope you would.”

“I will. I promise,” your thumb strokes his cheek, marveling at him. “I would suggest a blood oath or something but….I heard we kind of already did that…”

He’s given you every warning, every barrier, and you’re still here. He can’t believe it, and he doesn’t think he can hold back any longer. “Come here.”

He kisses you. He wishes that he could be slow and tender and gentle like he used to be – and certainly he’s still capable, but he realizes that he’s been depriving himself of something he wanted for so long, and can’t seem to control himself.

Your hands land on the side of his face, and he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you onto his lap. Maybe you’re somewhat taken aback by his urgency, you hum against his lips, but you don’t resist at all. Joel maneuvers you so you’re straddling his thighs, and he grips your hips, your ass, coasts his hands up your side. Your lips part in a moan, and he slips his tongue into your mouth.

For a while, he stays there, savors the taste of you, whiskey and smoke still lingering on your lips. His hands cup your jaw, feel your body, grip and squeeze and stroke and you let him, continue to let him. He tries everything, wondering if you’ll tell him to stop, if you’ll decide you’ve had too much, but you don’t. Then again, he should know by now that you’re a woman who knows what she wants. He just finds it’s hard to believe that he’s the thing you want.

You break away from him, just a little, and Joel presses his nose to your neck, kisses your pulse point.

“Should we go upstairs?” your voice is raspy and breathless. “Will Ellie be home soon?”

“Probably not for a while. We can be quick.”

“Hopefully not too quick,” you raise your eyebrows. Joel can’t help but laugh a little. He relishes in the way your hands rake up and down his arms, exploring him, touching him. Of course he wants you, but even just this would be enough. He’d be content with less, he hadn’t realized how starved of affection he’d been.

You’re able to pry yourselves off one another to make it up the stairs, and Joel guides you with a hand to the small of your back. When you get to his bedroom, he opens the door, but stops you before you go inside.

“Hold on,” Joel mutters, winding one arm around your waist, the other behind your knee.

“Joel, what-no, you’ll–” he pulls you into his arms.

“Do you really think I’m not strong enough?”

“I didn’t say that,” you chuckle as he carries you over the threshold and into the bedroom, breath puffing against him before he lays you down on the bed.

When he hovers over you, your fingers wind into his hair, nails raking against his scalp. He savors every sweet sigh he’s able to pull from you, hands cupping your breasts and squeezing your hips. You’re so pliant and open beneath his body, it makes it easier to not feel guilty about what he’s doing. He knows he shouldn’t feel guilty, you’ve said as much, but it might take some time before the feeling will die completely. Hopefully, he has enough time with you to see it off completely.

Clothes are removed quickly, intentionally, as you both bare more and more of yourself to each other. And while he wishes he could’ve been there to see the ways in which your body has changed, you’re still as beautiful as ever.

Joel, however, is hesitant to give himself away completely. When you tug at the hem of his shirt, he hesitates.

“I don’t know if-” he pauses. “If you want to see all that.”

“Joel,” you stare at him knowingly, kneeling across from him as he stands at the edge of the bed. “I do.”

So he releases your hand, and lets you pull it over his head. Carefully, you study him, his body littered with scars. He knows he’s not as in shape as you remember. These days, he hardly can look at himself in the mirror after a shower. He expects you to be disgusted, or at least see it flit across your face before you compose yourself, but you don’t. Your fingertips drag through the smattering of hair on his chest and down his torso, tracing several prominent scars – each one with a story – but you linger on the one at his abdomen, frowning.

He sees the question on your face, but you don’t ask it. Instead, you return to press yourself against him. “I’m so glad you’re still here….”

You kiss him, then, and Joel can only kiss you back.

Joel isn’t the only one with battle scars. Some of them he feels are his fault, but you seem less self-concious about them, which gives him a surprising amount of confidence. Maybe it’s just a reality of what happens when you make it this long.

When you’re finally bare beneath him, he admires how you look, stretched out and waiting, chest heaving and shivering with anticipation. He slides his hand between your legs – feels you already wet and warm, sinking two fingers inside. Your walls flutter around the intrusion, back arcing off the bed when you sigh out his name. Joel.

He’d forgotten how nice it felt to hear that.

Joel is already thinking about what he’d like to do to you next time. He’d be more careful, more patient. He’d bury his face between your thighs to see if you tasted as good as he remembers, he’d let your fingers curl into his hair. But right now you both seem desperate for the same thing.

He pumps his cock a few times with his hand, he can’t remember the last time he’d been this hard – the last time he’s wanted anyone this badly. Even with Tess, it had always felt like the both of them were hurrying to scratch an itch, her eyes would wander like she was thinking of other people, and maybe he was, too.

Joel lines himself up with your slick cunt, teases you a little, and you roll your body down to meet him, gasping when his blunt head slides in – just a little.

He can’t hold back. You practically suck him in, so tight and hot around him he finds it immediately overwhelming, but he doesn’t even think to pull out. Only when he’s fully seated inside you, and given you a chance to adjust, does he start to move.

It’s euphoric. You’re both older now, more mature, but he still remembers all the things you liked, even if it takes a moment for him to find the spot inside you that makes you cry out, legs wrapping around his hips.

Unlike before, you don’t bother trying to hide from him. You kiss him, hold him, touch him, look him in the eyes, tell him how good he feels – you don’t hold back. Joel relishes every word you say, clings to the praise and gives it back. Your lashes flutter when he tells you how pretty you look.

He can think of nothing else other than bringing you pleasure, can tell you’re getting close when you begin to rut against him, and he reaches down to let the pads of his fingers slide over your clit.

When you come, you whine his name, lock your lips with his own and he swallows your moans. The feeling of you so impossibly tight and wet and pulsing and squeezing him so tightly has him following closely after.

His head is still buried in the crook of your neck when you speak again. “God, I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too.”

The second Joel pulls out, he starts missing how close he felt to you. But you fix that by rolling over onto your stomach, curling up at his side, head on his chest, and arm across his stomach.

“Joel. Fuck, you’re so perfect.”

He’s far from it. But he’s starting to think if you say it enough, maybe he’ll start to believe it. He turns his head to kiss you gently, slowly. “So are you.”

“We can do this again, right?” you ask.

“Yes,” he says. “Yes, we can.”

“Good,” you settle back against him, and very slowly, he dozes off with you right beside him. He doesn’t want to sleep alone again, and luckily, he doesn’t have to.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-December 4th, 2026-

When you return home from patrol, you find Joel in his living room – boots off and socked feet propped on the arm of the couch. You don’t notice his eyes are closed, that he’s asleep, until you get closer, see the book he’d been reading resting on his chest as he snores lightly. You can’t help but feel for him – he’s probably exhausted from constant patrols, so he must be tired.

But mostly, you’re just overwhelmed by the love you feel for him, catching him in a quiet moment of vulnerability. Hesitantly, you reach out and squeeze his foot. It’s gentle and tender enough that he blinks his eyes open and looks around, taking in his surroundings, rather than jolting awake like he often does. When he sees you on the opposite end of the couch, he melts back into the pillow he’s propped against.

“Hey, stud,” you lean against the arm of the couch.

“Hey,” Joel answers, voice still gruff with sleep. “How long was I out?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “I just got in.”

“Hmm,” Joel closes his eyes again, folds his hands across his stomach.

“You’re wearing the glasses I got you,” you point out. They’re simple. Rectangular black frames. You’d found them on patrol, and brought them home after Joel had been complaining that he could barely see when he read before bed. But he’d tried them on and insisted he hated the way they looked, so you’d ended up using them most of the time.

“They do work,” he grumbles, like he’s ashamed to admit it. “But I still think they look stupid.”

“You look like a sexy librarian,” Joel rolls his eyes, but you can tell he’s suppressing a grin. There’s always a bit of defiance about him, he can’t fully admit how you get him so flustered even after you’ve spent so much time together. You press your thumb into the arch of his foot and he groans. “That feel good?” you ask.

“Yes.”

“Whatcha reading?” You gesture towards the book.

“Some book about the moon landing,” Joel lifts it off of his chest, where it lay face down and open, looks at the back cover. “For Ellie.”

“How sweet.”

“It’s a little dry,” he deadpans. “But she likes this stuff.”

You shift your massage to his other foot. Joel stretches, his arms lifting above his head, the shirt he’s wearing rides up just so, so you see a sliver of his lower belly before it disappears again, throwing an arm over his eyes.

“Are you tired?” you ask.

“Always,” he says through a yawn.

“Me too,” you yawn along with him, since they’re contagious. He pulls the glasses from their perch on the bridge of his nose and shuts the book, placing them both on the coffee table in front of him. You take your hands off his feet and he sits up a little straighter, holding out his hand.

“Come ‘ere,” he says, and you do.

He grunts as you settle into his arms, head nestled against his chest, sprawling out almost on top of him, the only way you both can fit like this on the couch.

“You’re so warm,” you say softly, letting him wrap his arms around you.

“You’re cold. Your hands are freezing,” he holds them in his own.

“It’s cold out.”

“Don’t know why you left today.”

“Obligations. Patrol.”

“Fuck that.”

You laugh into his chest, pausing for a moment before speaking again. “You know, I think we might be boring.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, we don’t really leave the house. We spend all day reading. And we’re old.”

“We’re not that old.”

“But we’re getting up there.”

“Sure, but…” Joel trails off.

“Everything’s so quiet, so calm.”

“I think that’s what most people would describe as content.”

“Are you content?” you ask, lifting your head to look him in the eyes.

“I’m happy,” he says softly, tucking a piece of hair behind your ears. “Are you?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Then don’t worry about the rest.”

“Okay,” you settle back against your husband's chest, feel his lips brush your forehead.

His fingers search absentmindedly for the ring on your finger he’d found while clearing out a pawn shop not too long ago. The one he wore looked nothing like your own. But the marriage had been long overdue, and neither of you cared what the rings actually looked like.

Nowadays, you split your time between his place with Ellie, and your own with Ethan, but end up in his bed every night. At this point, you don’t think you could sleep without him.

Years ago, another lifetime, you’d had a conversation underneath a sky full of stars. You’d told him that for you, good things had never lasted. Joel had made a promise.

This will.

It took time. There was a lot of pain. But in the end, he had told you the truth.

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