#but when it's an ingrained part of your person you have to take that into consideration too with things like that

[ja3yun]

On the Roof || S.JY

stranger!jake x fem!reader warnings: smut (mdni), unprotected sex, oral (f.rec), cream pie, fingering, marking and biting, sex with a stranger, weirdly fluffy, petnames (princess, baby), mentions of bad relationships with parents, alcohol, comforting, do not have sex with strangers you meet on a roof, not proofread, anything else lmk! w.c: 9.7k synopsis: when you stumble across a boy on your apartment rooftop, you can't help but invite him to stay. a/n: hi! it's me. this is my first work back and honestly, it's not great but i just needed to get back in the swing of things so please be kind. I missed you guys a lot and the time away was exactly what i needed. thank you all for understanding, and i love you unconditionally!

The winter air tickles your senses as you push open the large, unfairly heavy door to your complex’s rooftop. It might be bitter, but it’s welcomed - your body creating unnecessary heat from both the walk up the three flights of stairs and the discomfort of your day. 

Your shift was hard, too hard. Considering it’s a brand new year, you had stupidly thought that people would be a lot nicer to public service workers, yet you were proven wrong. With countless patients’ loved ones screaming down the phone to you, doctors barking demands at you because they see you as lesser than them, and not to mention the one man who decided that spitting in your face was a rational reaction to you politely telling him that he can’t see his grandmother who was in the middle of an operation.

Safe to say, you’ve had better shifts as a hospital receptionist. 

But there was always one place you could count on to take a deep breath and reset. The rooftop. It’s quiet, overlooks the city, and helps you put into perspective that murder is not the answer to your life problems. But sometimes, God, you wish it was…

Gravel crunches beneath your feet as you make your way to the chairs you so perfectly placed underneath the solar-charged fairy lights, which hang half-arsed off the unused 1990 aerials. It’s not really how you would like to decorate the place, if you had it your way, you would have it looking reminiscent of the rooftop from Wish You, the same one you committed to memory as Lee Sang kissed In Soo for the first time. But since you’re not even supposed to have access to this part of the building, you’ll count the pathetic attempt at creating sanctuary as a win. 

The lights guide you to your seat when you see a figure hunched over, one hand holding a beer and the other holding his head. This is not what you were expecting to see. No one comes up here, not past 10pm anyway. There is one neighbour who occupies the premises when he needs a smoke without his wife knowing, but he works the night shift. So this person is new.

“Um,” you begin, clearing your throat ever so softly to alert them of your presence without giving them an acute heart attack. “Hi?”

Their head jolts up from their hand, eyes wide and face shocked. Clearly, they didn’t expect to have company tonight either. 

You focus on the figure in front of you – a boy, no older than yourself – scrutinising his features with a careful eye. As a woman, being vigilant around unfamiliar men has become second nature, an unfortunately ingrained habit of self-preservation you have mastered since before you can remember. So, your mind ticks through the usual checklist: is there a need to run? Are your shoulders getting that deep tingle that crawls up to your jaw? Is your gut making you want to vomit? None of those alarm bells ring. Instead, you’re met with something else entirely - uncertainty, maybe even sympathy.

The boy seems…fine, at least on the surface. No initial gut-wrenching unease claws at your insides. Emboldened by the absence of any red flags, you take another ginger step closer, studying him in detail.

His large, tired brown eyes peer out from behind thick-rimmed glasses, the weight of exhaustion evident. The glasses sit securely on his pretty thick nose. His lips, naturally full and a muted pink, are set in a neutral line, though the light could be softening their actual colour - it’s hard to tell beneath the hood’s shadow. Greasy, near-black hair clings to his forehead, unkempt but thick. 

His outfit doesn’t fare much better to be honest; a mishmash of layers that hints at desperation more than deliberation. Faded grey jeans hang loose and crinkled, clearly worn more than once without a wash. Over a white t-shirt sits a black hoodie, topped off with a jacket far too big for him, the kind of size that suggests it doesn’t belong to him at all. The entire image strikes you in a way that leaves concern pricking all over your chest.

Steeling yourself, you step closer again, your voice soft but firm. “Are you okay?” The question is sincere, meant to come across as a kind gesture - like when you let a cat sniff around your hand before you just go in for the pet. Your eyes meet his, offering as much warmth as you can muster. There’s something about the way he sits, cold and crumpled, that pulls at your humanity.

At first, his expression flickers, betraying something fragile beneath the surface. But it doesn’t last. In an instant, his jaw sets, and his shoulders square in a defensive shift. His cheeks hollow as his tongue presses against them, words unspoken but clearly brewing. The moment hangs in the air, heavy and awkward. 

It’s as if your simple question has poked at a bruise, tender and raw. You’ve touched something buried, and for reasons you can’t yet work out, his reaction irks you. Of all things to take issue with, why this? What on earth had he expected - for you not to ask a very valid question? Perhaps it’s the day you’ve had that’s caused the unnecessary offence on your behalf.

He averts his gaze, the connection between you severed. Instead, he tips back the beer bottle in his hand, his focus shifting to the cityscape below. The quiet glug of liquid slipping down his throat is the only response you get, and it grates against the care you offered.

A flicker of irritation sparks within you. Perhaps it’s the brush-off, or maybe it’s the contradiction in his actions. He’s sitting here in your space, looking like the embodiment of a cry for help, yet recoils at the smallest act of kindness. Still, you don’t back down. Instead, you shift your weight and tilt your head, keeping your tone neutral but unwavering.

“Fine, If you don’t want to talk, that’s sound,” you say, folding your arms against the cold. “But sitting out here, looking like the world’s chewed you up and spat you out…people are going to ask questions like ‘are you okay’ or ‘what’s the matter’. Just saying.” You huff out and follow his gaze to the city. People are having a much better day than you out there, and envy jabs at you.

For a moment, you think he’ll continue ignoring you; his shoulders remain tense, his grip on the bottle firm. But then he sighs, the sound long and weary, like air escaping a deflating balloon, one being pinched and controlled. When he finally speaks, his voice is rough, a surprising Australian accent whistling through the wind.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, though the words lack conviction. His eyes remain fixed on the horizon, steadfastly avoiding yours.

“You’re a terrible liar,” you counter, letting a small, dry smile tug at your lips. “And you’re also not allowed up here.”

A tense silence follows, broken only by the chug of a train in the far distance. It’s not exactly comfortable, but neither is it unbearable. You find yourself wondering who he is and what’s brought him to this specific rooftop. 

“You can’t get up here unless you’re a tenant,” you blurt out, trying to get any morsel of information from him. You figure the quicker you find out what he’s doing here, the quicker you can find a solution for him to leave and then have your safe space back to yourself. You might have sympathy for him, clearly having a hard time of life, but so are you - and your comfort outweighs a total stranger who can’t even bother to look your way.

“Okay,” he says bored, sipping his beer again. 

“That’s your invitation to either tell me that you moved in recently, or, your queue to leave because you’re trespassing.” 

“Invitation declined.”

He is so rude, you think to yourself, though you wonder whether you should just call him out for it and at least gain some reaction for him. 

Instead, you park yourself in the seat next to him, huffing as you drop down. “Well I’m not leaving until you do,” you state matter-of-factly, attempting to not let his presence ruin your mood even further. You suppose, if he sits and shuts up, you can at least pretend he isn’t here invading your space.

Though technically, you’re invading his, but you get the idea.

The boy side-eyes you, a small, angry smirk etching onto his cold rosey face. “Yeah? Well, you’re gonna be here for a long fucking time.” He spits his words out, frustration laced within each syllable, though you can tell it’s not directed towards you. The boy is so far in his own head that you begin to realise that any discontentment he might have has less to do with you and your presence, and more to do with the reason he’s hibernating on your rooftop.

So, you sit back, and leave him be. To be honest, you’ve dealt with far worse and crabbier people today, in comparison, this boy is like rainbows and kittens.

Closing your eyes, you let the white noise of the night take over you, infiltrating all your tension and disdain towards the day, and settling you into a comfortable silence. The fairy lights above add a serene atmosphere that you crave after work, the faint lights providing some fake warmth. They were not easy to get up there, but a few falls and tangles later, you realised that all the scrapes and twirls were worth it.

The hooded boy beside you peaks over, finally taking you in as more than an inconvenience. He notices how you breathe in deep, exhaling with a sigh of relief and a cloud of warmth that combats the freezing air. 

It doesn’t take him a minute to realise that you’ve had a bad day too, and a pang of guilt hits him. He’s being unfair to you when you probably just want to relax under the night sky and here he is taking up space. 

He takes up too much space.

Reaching down at his feet, he picks up a bottle of beer from his case, the clinking not even disturbing your quest for serenity. He pokes your thigh with the bottom of the bottle, gaining your attention. When your eyes meet once again, there’s a sorrowful look on his face, the alcohol a form of apology for being an arsehole. It’s an apology you’ll gladly accept. 

“You look like you could use it,” he murmurs, offering a tight smile as he waits for you to take the brown glass bottle.

You wrap your hand around the base and lift it up in thanks. “I could use ten sambucas and a pint of tequila to wash them down,” you snort out a sarcastic chuckle, beginning to unscrew the cap. You need to thank whatever genius decided that bottle openers were too much hassle and gave people a much easier and more practical way to open a bottle of beer. You hope they’re having a good night.

The boy lets out a laugh, short but genuine, raising his own bottle to his lips. “That bad, huh?” he asks, voice muffled slightly by the glass.

“It gets like that,” you shrug, taking a long pull from the bottle, barely savouring the taste, routing around for the effects of calmness that it will bring rather than its pallet. “Comes with working in a hospital.”

He raises an eyebrow, curiosity momentarily overriding his gloom “Nurse?”

“Receptionist.” You correct him, hissing out as you absorb the alcohol. Beer is not your favourite taste, a Sex on the Beach is much more appealing, but you would down a tank of gasoline if it meant you could get rid of this stress.

He sucks in an empathetic breath, whistling low as he leans back against the seat. “Yeah, you need a gun, not alcohol.”

The comment catches you off guard, and for the first time in what feels like weeks, you laugh - really laugh. It bursts out of you, raw and unrestrained, carrying away the weight of the day. Life isn’t inherently awful, but it’s lonely sometimes. Working back shift in the hospital makes it hard to keep friends or any semblance of a social life. The most interaction you get that isn’t disgruntled patients or angry phone calls is on twitter with your online friends, but even then, it’s a rise-and-repeat conversation cycle of ‘for real’ and ‘same’ replies to posts you make about Jang Kyungho when no one is looking. 

Not exactly the deep human connection that people need.

So this, being able to laugh and have a bit of understanding for even a second, is comforting. It almost makes you feel bad for cursing the boy out in your head.

Smiling, you extend a hand to him, “Y/N.”

He hesitates for a fraction of a second before taking it. “Jaeyun,” he replies, offering you a smile in return. It’s faint but sincere, a crack in the armour he’s wearing so tightly.

As he grips your hand in his, you feel the ice-coldness on his skin, a clear indicator that he has been up here for quite some time. Or at least out in the open air. It only makes you more intrigued - and with him being a little slither more open with you, you decide to take the nugget and run with it.

So you talk, and talk, and talk. It feels like forever but it’s actually only two hours. Not a lot is said, but you learn some things about him; hobbies, interests, friends, his favourite TV shows and Films. All surface-level stuff, yet it feels like you’re speaking to an old friend. He learns about you too - the same stuff, with added anecdotes about working in a hospital.

But there is one thing that you are dying to know.

“So,” you begin, twisting your patio chair to face him fully, the legs scraping along the asphalt of the roof. “You can guess I’m here after a bad shift…why are you here?” Your face is expectant, waiting for an answer while you drink your beer.

But Jaeyun’s face is overcome with a flash of rage, partly due to your question, but more the fact that your question made him think about the reason he is here. Though, as quickly as his face shows agitation, it dissipates just as fast. Instead, he opts for an obtuse response. “Just wanted to enjoy the view. That’s all.”

“Couldn’t do that from your own building, no?” you tease lightly, humour softening the prodding tone. But your persistence nudges too close to something real. “Oh... did your girlfriend kick you out?” The words tumble out before you can stop them, too sharp and intrusive.

Unfortunately, it’s a habit of yours to be so nosey that it comes off inconsiderate or produces ill-timed questions. In this instance, it’s both.

His grip tightens on the neck of the bottle. The knuckles whiten, the tension visible. For a moment, he studies the label, reading the same ingredients over and over as if they hold the secret to life's greatest mystery - what happened on that fishing trip in Gavin and Stacey.

“My parents did. Yeah.” His confession is sharp, devoid of emotion

Your stomach drops. “Oh...” It’s all you manage, guilt prickling at the edges of your thoughts. You’re so stupid for poking Y/N! You inwardly scold yourself. Obviously, this issue is so much bigger than you can process. Still, your mouth will continue to flap around. 

“Yep.” He pops the p with bitter precision, his tone teetering on the edge of sarcasm. “Apparently, I need to ‘get my act together.’” He says with accompanying quotation marks from his fingers.

“As in?”

“As in I need to be their perfect little boy and follow in my brother’s footsteps - be a lawyer.” The words fall flat, heavy with resentment.

Nodding along, the pieces form enough for you to make your own solid conclusions. “And I guess you don’t want that?”

“Fuck no.” Jaeyun scoffs out a bitter laugh. “I’m more likely to need a lawyer than be one.”

“Ohhh a bad boy huh?” you wiggle your brows, trying to interject some semblance of humour into the moment while sussing him out, to lighten his load even just a smidge. You can’t begin to imagine what his parents said or did to him once he rejected their concept of a perfect life, and you don’t really want him to dwell on it right now either.

He laughs despite himself, a quiet sound that momentarily lightens his expression. “Maybe.” It’s a noncommittal answer, but he seems content to let you spin your own version of events.

Honestly, he is not bad in any shape or form. But when he says he would need a lawyer rather than being one, he means that that career is so absurd that even a goody too shoes like him is more likely to get in trouble before he stands in a suit.

He just wants to live his life without this great expectation, without people demanding he ‘do better’ when he knows he is doing just fine; he’s in a great University, studying music and production, and has a decent part-time job at the record store, which isn’t loads of money, but enough for him to pay his mum and dad digs and still have a life outside their constraints. He’s doing fine, or so he believes.

But fine isn’t enough for his parents. Their love towards their own son is tied to the weight of their expectations, ones he can’t - or won’t - carry.

“So they just…kicked you out?” you ask carefully, noting the sorrow in his features as he turns the events of the past few months in his head. Sympathy creeps back into your chest, any lingering annoyance dissipating along with the last sips of your beer.

“Yeah,” he confirms, sighing and shrugging. “It’s fine.”

“Are you staying with friends or…” You don’t finish the question because you’re scared of the answer; the dishevelled clothes and hair are enough to semi-confirm.

Jaeyun looks up, his gaze catching the glimmer of the fairy lights, their soft glow reflected in his dark irises. “I was, until a few days ago. You can only couch-hop for so long before people start to feel like you’re intruding.”

He holds no malice towards his friends, no bitterness in his tone, and honestly, his best friend Sunghoon said he could stay for as long as it took him to save up for an apartment of his own. But he doesn’t want to take advantage of his kindness, the boy already doing more for him than most would have. Even Jay, his other friend, offered to loan him the money for the first month's rent on a flat uptown. 

But Jaeyun’s pride wouldn’t allow him to take advantage of their kindness. He would manage on his own, no matter how hard it got.

Seeing the pity in your eyes, he waves his hand to brush off your concern. “It’s fine, I’ve scraped up enough money to get rent now. I just need to find a place,” he smiles softly, appreciative of your sympathy even if he doesn’t want it. “I’ll be fine. I’m going looking tomorrow.”

There’s a sense of relief that his words bring you. Although his predicament isn’t ideal right now, it looks like it could be on the turnaround, and for that, you’re thankful.

“If it’s only for one night, do you want my couch?” The offer spills out before you can stop it, surprising even yourself.

Jaeyun laughs heartedly, eyebrows knitting in disbelief and amusement. “You’re fucking stupid.”

“Huh?!” you exclaim in shock. It’s not really the response you were expecting. A yes? Sure. A no? Absolutely. But an insult to punctuate your act of kindness was a curveball.

Sitting up straight, he places his beer on the ground, an amused smile softening his features. “I’m a random man you’ve known for a couple of hours. I could do anything to you in your own home, and you don’t seem the slightest bit worried about that.”

Okay, maybe he has a massive point. You don’t know him and he could literally attack you at any moment. And considering earlier you had to assess him before approaching, it shows that you do have the common sense not to let him stay with you.

But he poses no threat, none whatsoever. He’s just a boy in a fucked up situation, and your kind heart can’t see him freeze; god knows how many nights he’s been out. He’s already reminiscent of Jack Dawson turning into a block of iced body parts.

“Well, you won’t right?” You throw the question back to him. “I mean, to be honest, I’ve let men in my bed for a lot less than a tiny conversation and a beer.” 

As soon as the words tumble out of your mouth, your cheeks flush to match his cold ones, neck tingling in embarrassment. You’ve just confessed that your standards are abysmally low - you’ve slept with men who didn’t even have the decency to buy you a drink nevermind learn your name.

Jaeyun stifles a laugh, rubbing at his eye. “For your pride, I’ll pretend you didn’t say that.” The smile on his face is so beautiful that you’re caught off guard a little. Now you wish he was one of the men you let roll around on top of you for a compliment and a ride home.

His expression shifts, returning to a more serious note, though the smile lingers. “Seriously, Y/N. Thank you for the offer, but I only have” - he glances at his watch - “six hours before sunrise anyway.”

“Seriously, it’s no trouble-”

“I’m serious too,” he interrupts gently, slouching back into his seat. “You should go in. It’s cold, and after the day you’ve had, you need sleep.”

“I-”

“Y/N.” His tone is firm but not unkind. “I’m fine. Go. I’ll see you around, yeah?”

His refusal stings in a strange way, the rejection of your kindness more personal than it should feel. But you know better than to argue with someone so resolute. It never ends well. So, with a resigned nod, you down the last of your beer and stand.

“Okay,” you reply, setting the empty bottle aside. “I’m in 4A if you change your mind. I can grab some blankets? Pillows?”

Jaeyun places a hand over his heart, a soft smile gracing his lips. “Thank you, Y/N. Truly. But I promise I’ll survive.”

And so, you leave him there, your heart tugging at you to insist, to argue, to make him take shelter in your tiny flat. But your feet keep moving, respecting his wishes.

As you reach the door, you glance back one last time, the words caught in your throat. You just hope he’ll be okay.

_____

The rain lashes, jolting you awake. It’s not the pretty white noise rain that you enjoy, it sounds like hundreds of tiny little pebbles being pelted at your window. Strange. It was forecast as clear skies until at least Tuesday. 

You blink groggily, groaning at the interruption. You can’t have been asleep for more than two hours - if that. Begrudged, you turn your back to the outside, shielding yourself from the rain that cannot attack you. Yet, an unsettling feeling stews in the bottom of your stomach, the kind that makes your heart beat faster and your mouth gain moisture.

It’s not uncommon for you to have random spouts of anxiety, all your life you’ve suffered from it, but this isn’t your typical ‘my brain is going to bring up that one time I peed myself in primary 2 and had to be sent home’ anxiety. This is something more.

Fuck.

Jaeyun.

The thought hits you like a bolt of lightning and your body moves before your mind can catch up. You fling off your pastel pink duvet, slide your feet into your beloved fuzzy slippers, and throw on a housecoat to cover your half-naked form. If you had the right mindset and not half asleep and half in panic, you would have grabbed a rain jacket and some trainers instead.

Thought, without thinking about your own state, the chilly air cuts at your skin as you make your way to the roof. The rain, now mixed with hail, pelts down hard, each sting enhancing your concern. Your eyes roam around near the seated area, one of your hands shielding your eyes from the brutal hailstones, each one nipping your hand in anger. 

"Jaeyun?" you shout, your voice cutting through the storm, only to be drowned out by the constant rain. You get closer to the seats and see nothing. Panic overwhelms you, hot and stifling. "Are you still here?"

As you spin around, your eyes finally land on him. He’s slumped up against the rooftop enclosure which acts as a headboard to an uncomfortable concrete bed. His jacket and hoodie are doing as much to protect him as a candyfloss blanket, each soaked through and clinging to his skin. How can he sleep like this? It makes you wonder if he lied about just how long he had stopped couch-crashing and living out in the open.

Quickly, you drop to your knees beside him, ignoring the puddle that entrenchs your legs, and place your hand on his shoulder as you shake him awake. “Jaeyun?” you bellow, loud enough for him to startle awake and instantly put a guard up.

“Huh?” he mumbles, voice thick with confusion.

“Come on, I’m not leaving you up here,” you inform. This time, it isn’t a question but a demand. You have too much compassion to willingly leave him up here any longer.

Jaeyun’s eyes squint through his water-splattered glasses as he takes in your figure. “Y/N? What the fuck are you doing? You’re soaked,” he states the obvious, yet oblivious to his own state. “Go back inside.”

“Not without you,” you fire back. “Grab your things.”

“But-”

“Either that or I stay up here with you,” you cut him off, voice firm though only kindness shines through.

You can see the conflict in his face, his concern for your drenched state outweighing his stubbornness. He sighs, defeated, and finally nods. “Fine.”

If there is one thing Jaeyun hates to be is a burden, but it seems no matter what happens, he will inconvenience you in some way - might as well choose the drier option.

Standing upright, you extend a hand, offering him some help up, but he refuses. Instead, he grabs the duffle beside him and clumsily gets up, following you down and into your apartment.

As soon as he walks into the warmth, his bones leap with excitement and his shoulders relax in contentment. You flick on the lights which allows him a better view of your personal space. And it is exactly how he imagined it.

Your walls are covered in art and photos of you and your friends, lyric posters from bands he has never even heard of, and a shrine to TO1 in the corner. It’s cosy, lived in, and he feels a massive pang of envy. 

“You can use my shower,” you say while subconsciously tidying up, removing the cups and wine glasses that have piled on the coffee table. “Luckily for you, I like wearing guy’s clothes on my period so I’ll see what I can find to fit you.”

“Seriously, Y/N. I’ll just, dry off with a towel or something, No Stress.” He doesn’t like the fuss but he can’t deny he doesn’t feel a little fuzzy as you make space for him. 

Scoffing, you turn around with a perplexed look on your face. “A towel? Jaeyun, you’re soaked to the bone. You need a shower and then you can have a towel, okay?” 

A grateful grin adorns the boy’s face as he takes his shoes off. “Okay. Thank you, Y/N. Seriously.” Jaeyun nods, clutching his damp duffle as he trudges towards the bathroom. 

You point out the way, adding a quick, “Towels are on the rack, and there’s shampoo, soap, and more in there. Just use whatever you need, okay?” 

With another muttered thank you, he waddles to your bathroom, suddenly enthralled with how the night has panned out. It’s been a while since he had a decent shower, and the ones in the Uni’s lockeroom are made more for a quick wash down than a deep cleanse.

As he disappears into the bathroom, you let out a sigh, glancing around your apartment. It isn’t a mess by your standards, but you suddenly feel self-conscious about the clutter. Usually, when people are up, it’s those who are either only making their way to your bedroom or those who do not care and have known you long enough to understand that you like a bit of mess.

A messy home is a home loved.

The sound of running water echoes from the bathroom, and you take the moment to rummage through your wardrobe. You pull out a pair of joggies and an oversized hoodie that has seen you coming every cycle for the past three years. You can’t get much more comfort than these. They’ll be a bit loose on his slim frame, but they’re warm and dry.

Speaking of which, you glance down at your own rain-soaked state, grimacing. The slippers squelch faintly with each step, and the damp housecoat clings unpleasantly to your skin. Without hesitation, you pull out a baggy t-shirt and some old pyjama shorts, slipping into them after quickly drying off your hair with a towel that’s close by. It’s not inherently clean, but it serves its purpose, so that’s good for now.

Satisfied, you place the clothes Jaeyun will borrow on the sofa before heading to the kitchen. The kettle hums to life as the storm outside continues its symphony, the hail getting more dangerous and cutthroat. A hot cup of tea feels like just the thing to chase away the chill, after all, there’s little problems in life that a good cuppa can’t fix.

Just as you reach for the tea bags, the creak of the bathroom door pulls your attention.

Jaeyun steps out, his damp hair falling messily over his forehead, droplets of water glistening on his skin. A towel sits promiscuously low on his hips, and despite yourself, your gaze trails downward. The delicate silver chain around his neck catches the light, the cross pendant resting at eye level with his pretty brown nipples. Your eyes wander further, taking in the faint definition of his toned abs, the subtle dip hinting at a v-line. And his cock is outlined perfectly to give you an idea of his size and width but you can tell it still doesn’t do him justice. 

You realise with a jolt that your mouth is slightly open, and the train of your thoughts is taking a decidedly inappropriate detour. Heat rushes to your cheeks as your mind conjures up scenarios you’d never admit aloud. A pang of guilt follows swiftly - this boy has been through hell, and he’s come to you for solace, not to be gawked at.

“Sorry,” Jaeyun says, breaking the spell. His voice is soft, a mix of embarrassment and strange pride, as he catches your lingering stare. “I’ll get dressed. I just…didn’t know where the clothes were.”

“Oh!” You clear your throat and nod toward the sofa, purposefully keeping your gaze above his shoulders. “Yep, just there. Help yourself. I think they’ll fit.”

As he moves to retrieve the clothes, you busy yourself with literally anything else - studying the ceiling, adjusting the kettle, anything to avoid the moment and stop trying to catch glimpses of his cock. 

You don’t hear the rustling of clothes though, instead, you just hear yourself breathing, which piques your interest. Why isn’t he changing?

Subtly, your eyes glance over to him and then you see it, the look on his face as he stares at the clothes. You’ve had that look before too, the one that comes with the mixed feelings of disbelief, shame, sadness, hope, and every other conflicting emotion that arises when you’re down and out.

“Thanks,” he whispers, “For all of this.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” you reply, taking a few small steps forward. But Jaeyun shakes his head, his eyes fixed on the floor.

“No, really,” he insists. “I…I don’t think I’ve met someone as kind as you in a long time.” His voice breaks on the last word, and he quickly looks away, ashamed of the vulnerability slipping through. 

He has his friends, they are kind and generous much like yourself, but being kicked out of his own family has also shown him the darkest parts of humanity, the ones that he doesn’t let others know that he’s experienced. Truthfully, he’s just a scared boy who needs his family. 

The admission punches through your chest, leaving no room for hesitation. You glide over to him as your arms wrap gently around his shoulders. 

If a cuppa can fix most things, a hug can fix them all.

At first, he stiffens, unsure how to respond, but then he relaxes, his head lowering slightly against you.

“It’s okay,” you murmur softly. “You’re going to be okay. Maybe not right now, but soon.”

Jaeyun’s arms tentatively come up to return the embrace, and for a moment, the storm outside fades into irrelevance. His eyes close and for a change, he believes that it will be fine. This moment isn’t going to last forever, once the morning blooms, he’ll be out of your life and trying to get back on his feet, but he’s thankful for the reassurance and hope right now.

Pulling back slightly, his arms still lingering around you. His eyes, uncertain and yearning, flicker between your face and your lips. Then, without a second thought, he leans in and presses his lips to yours - a fleeting, hesitant kiss that seems to catch even him off guard. 

His lips retract from yours as he draws back, his face flushed with embarrassment and horror. “Sorry,” he mumbles, his voice barely above a whisper. Why the fuck would he kiss you without consent when you’ve been so kind towards him? He thinks. His hand twitches at his side, as though unsure whether to retreat or reach out again. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Would it make you feel better?” you interrupt gently, your voice soft but steady.

His brows furrow, confusion flickering across his features. “What?”

“Would it make you feel better?” you repeat, tilting your head slightly. There’s no judgment in your tone, no hesitation. “To kiss me?”

“Really, no, it’s okay-”

This time, you close the distance, your lips capturing his before he can finish the sentence. It’s slow, deliberate, a kiss that tells him you’re here for him despite still being strangers. His initial surprise melts into something deeper, something warmer, as he responds cautiously at first, then with more certainty.

It actually is making him feel better, the human connection, it’s nature's balm.

So he follows your lead, his arms tightening around your waist, holding you impossibly close as his hands splay over your back, covering most of the surface. The way his plump lips move against yours is magnetic, sucking and pulling you into his world. You’ve been kissed more times than you can count - shamelessly to say - but his mouth feels a little different; a little less icky than the others and a lot more like they’re meant to be on yours.

With that feeling charging your bloodstream, your hands fly up to his damp hair, craving to have him on each of your senses. You can’t get enough of him, his taste of beer from the numerous bottles he downed on the roof, the touch of his silky locks that are in need of a haircut, his scent of your strawberry milk body wash mixing in with his own musk, how he sounds when he growls into your mouth, showcasing that he’s just as desperate as you are for this. 

You need him…

Swiftly, your hands trail from his head, down his neck, your nails lightly scratching down his collarbones until you reach the veins just above where you were unabashedly looking not 10 minutes ago. 

Jaeyun pushes your ass against the sofa, bucking up into you, hips deliciously working to place your hand on his cock. God, it feels beautiful, even with the fluffy barrier. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” he moans deeply into your mouth, passing the need from himself into you. Your hand grips his covered shaft as you palm him teasingly. “Don’t do this if you don’t want to.” 

Honestly, he doesn’t want to say anything that will make this stop, his body pulsing with the desire to have you wrapped around him. But he also believes in consent, and while you both might be horny-induced 22-year-olds, you’re also strangers. 

Shaking your head adamantly, you grip his dick harder, smiling at the whimper it draws from him. “I want this, Jaeyun.”

“I suppose, men have been in your bed for a lot less, right?” he chuckles into your mouth. And while it could come across as an insult to some -  that he’s essentially throwing back your own slut-shaming dialogue from earlier -  you feel no degradation or malice behind his words. You can tell he’s playful, under all the dreary circumstances. He’s a boy who has light and laughter built into his DNA. 

Maybe it’s delusion, maybe it’s a soul connection, or maybe it’s the fact that you need to bounce on his cock within the next five minutes or you’ll perish that’s clouding your judgment. 

Either one, you let it slide.

So, playfully, you slap his chest and break the kiss. “Keep talking and you won’t get the chance to see my bedroom.”

“That’s okay, I can fuck you here,” he replies quick-witted, suddenly hoisting you up on the back of the couch, the wood and material digging into your ass not uncomfortably. 

You laugh and so does he, looking into each other’s eyes, and it all feels so right. 

Bringing your hand up to his face, you push his hair off of his forehead and reveal his eyes - the light from your living room dancing in his pupils, much like how they had been on the rooftop, but this time, there is an abundance of happiness that adds to the shine. 

“You’re so pretty,” you confess, that no-filter brain coming into full effect once again. Granted, a much better consequence of it. 

A faint, rose blush crawls across the apples of his cheeks and the tip of his nose, a bashful grin on his mouth. “Thank you. Personally, I think you’re prettier so…”

“Guess we can be pretty together, huh?”

“Pretty good together you mean?” 

Another laugh jumps out of you and you cup both his cheeks, the warmth of them comforting and worth cherishing. You peck his nose. “I should have known a pretty boy like you would be a charmer.”

He shrugs, kissing your nose back, not bothering to rebut. Instead, his hands guide your legs to wrap around him, hands finding your ass, and he lifts you up. You can’t ignore his cock now semi-hard pressing into you as he bounces you into a comfortable position.

Securing yourself, you circle your arms across his shoulders and kiss him once again, letting him lead you down your hallway, anticipation and greed passing through your breaths and tongues. 

“Which one?” he pants out, squeezing your ass as he does so.

“This one on the right,” you point half-arsed, too lost in the moment to give it a full thought. 

Awkwardly due to your wriggling body, Jaeyun opens the door, trying to view a path to which he can reach your bed without falling over your clutter. Shoes and more lay abandoned over your carpet, creating an obstacle, but one he refuses to lose. 

Jaeyun finally reaches your queen-sized bed and gently places you down, his cock pressing into you even more. 

It’s only then that he realises that along the way from your living room to your bedroom, his towel has fallen down, leaving his exposed cock rubbing against the fabric of shorts. “Jesus fucking christ.”

You look at him and see the pleasure on his face, biting his lips as his eyebrows knit together, rubbing against you again. It makes you giggle, you don’t know why, but he just brings it out of you.

The sound from your lips draws his attention back. “What?” he breathes out heavily, cock thumping with need as he humps you again.

“Maybe you should be inside of me while you thrust - kinda how this whole sex thing works,” you playfully jab, biting your lips together to stop from laughing. But he laughs for you, resting his forehead on your chest and shaking his head in amusement.

“Shut up, I’m just excited.”

“I can see that, yeah.”

It’s easy with him, you’re noticing, like you’ve somehow been in a relationship for years and you’ve just come home from a couples date with your married friends, two bottles of red wine consumed, and adoration palpable in the air. You have two dogs, maybe three if you can get your way, and you are the annoying pair that people hate to hang out with because your love for one another never dwindled, not even after all those years.

Maybe you shouldn’t be fantasising about a life with this random man you met on a roof, but that’s where your brain immediately goes each time you banter or giggle with one another.

He’s different.

Jaeyun stands up, letting you see his cock as he pumps it gently, getting it to full mass. The fact that it’s standing at 5 inches already and still growing causes an ache in your stomach. Fuck, it’s going to feel so good inside of you, your walls are already leaking out for it, staining your pyjama shorts. 

His hands grip your shorts and peel them off, hurriedly throwing them on the floor, only adding to the chaos. Your legs instinctively spread and the juices from your excitement gleam in the moonlight, looking like a ripe fruit just ready to be devoured.

And devoured it will be.

Hoisting you down, Jaeyun positions you at the end of the bed until your ass is almost hanging off, kneeling down between your thighs. Not exactly how you thought the turn of events was going, but you are the furthest from mad at it.

“You look so fucking delicious, Y/N.” Jaeyun’s comment makes you feel exposed but not in a bad way, yet, you still want to hide from him. As your legs try to close, he places his large hands on your thighs, shaking his head. “No, princess, the only way you're shutting your legs right now is if you’re clamping my head between them.”

“Jaeyun…” you whine, both at the petname and his breath ghosting over your hardened clit, making it weep again - much to Jaeyun’s delight.

“I know, princess. You need it, huh?” Jaeyun whispers, kissing up your inner thigh and around the area you crave him most. 

The heat in the room is electric, any cold you both felt from the rain now disappeared from your bones and replaced with scorching intensity. Your hips follow the blow of his breath in search of connection but he simply places a chaste kiss on your clit before pulling away, a smirk on his face as he sees you whimper and squeak.

“You make the prettiest noises when you’re desperate, Y/N,” he gloats, though it’s prideful and not arrogant. He means it, and that’s why he keeps teasing you softly, puckering at your folds and giving you just enough to have you humping the air and arching into him.

“I’m never letting you use my shower again,” you laugh in discontentment, your arm flying across your face as you hide in the comfort of your bicep. 

Jaeyun huffs a laugh, echoing your own amusement before he speaks. “I know, I’m being so mean considering you’ve been so kind, huh? You’re just so cute when you’re like this.”

“I’m about to become a bitch if you don’t do something,” you warn lightly, peaking down to look at him under your arm.

“Well, I better get to it then right?”

And with that, his thick tongue stripes up your folds, gathering and savouring your wetness. Your back arches off the bed and pushes just enough onto him that his nose catches your clit. “Fuck!” you bellow. 

The tip of his tongue searches for your nub, and once it hits the spot and your hands fly to his hair, his lips suction around it, almost making out with it. 

He’s not real you think to yourself. You can’t help the jealousy that rises inside of you as your brain works overtime to imagine just how many girls he has had to go down on for him to be this good at eating you out. If there was ever such a thing as a pussy eating contest, you know he would win hands down because he’s already got you chanting his name, punctuated by profanities. 

“Right there, Jaeyun…fuck…” 

His pride swells and he grows more confident, tongue flicking quickly over your button as he drools over your cunt. It’s safe to say that Jaeyun loves pussy. If he could have it morning, noon, and night, and elevensies, he would without hesitation. Especially yours. The taste of your tang and sweetness is enough to put him in a frenzy, long forgetting about his aching cock and focusing solely on drinking you up.  

He humps the air though, as he always does, resembling a dog in heat as he slabbers and grunts into your cunt. He nibbles at your clit and soothes it with his wet muscle, a smile plastered on his face with each movement - your noises urging him on.

He brings his middle and ring finger to your pulsating hole as it clenches around nothing, deciding to give you some more relief. As he plunges in, you scream out in joy, an open-mouthed smile on your face as coherent words get lost in your throat. You clearly don’t get eaten out as often as you deserve, and that just spurs Jaeyun on more to be the best you’ve ever had.

“So wet for me, princess. Taste so fucking good I want to be here for hours.”

And while that sounds nice in theory, you need him inside of you now. His fingers, thick and beautiful, are nice for now, but that 6-inch, throbbing cock is calling your name. So, you pull him away much to your pussy’s weeping plea for him to keep going, his mouth covered in your slick which is perhaps the most beautiful sight you have ever seen -  and you’ve seen the Northern Lights on a crisp autumn morning. 

His fingers never stop though, just curling inside of you slowly, beckoning your climax still. “What’s wrong?” he asks, concern weaving in his tone.

Sitting up on your elbows, you smile and pant, trying to maintain a steady voice while the tip of his fingers presses against your soft spot inside, jaw slacking each time he holds it for a little longer. “I need your cock so back, Jaeyun. I’m so serious.” The words are desperate and real, shamelessly desperate. 

“You sure you don’t want to cum right now? I can do it.” It’s not like he can’t make you cum over and over again anyway. 

Shaking your head, you sit up, hunching over to cup his face. “Please. I really need you to fuck me.”

A primal desire flickers past Jaeyun’s eyes and a quick nod tells you that he needs it too. His cock jumping for joy at the thought of being enveloped in your tight cunt. So, he withdraws his fingers and licks them clean, pulling on a show as his tongue weaves through his digits, wide eyes looking up at you with sheer longing. It stirs something inside of you, something that suddenly makes you want to grow a cock and have him choke on it. 

But you quickly shake those thoughts, pulling him up by his hair and kissing him deeply. His tongue now tastes of you and you are so glad you love sweet juices and decided that for the past three weeks, cranberry spritz has been your favourite. 

Jaeyun makes quick hands of stripping you of your t-shirt, leaving you both naked and clawing at one another. 

“You got condoms?” he asks between kisses, trailing down your neck as his hands grip your hips so tightly that the skin turns white. 

But you don’t want that. You want to feel him. Raw and unfiltered. Is it stupid? Of course, it is. But some would say letting him inside your home never mind inside your body is already wreckless, so, what’s another reckless abandonment on your list tonight?

“No. No condom, please,” you mumble against his hair as you kiss the top of his head, your conditioner filling your senses.

Jaeyun freezes his mouth and darts up, eyes seeking yours to make sure he heard you right. “Huh?”

“No condom. I’m on the pill,” you stroke his cheek tenderly, “Please, Jaeyun. Do this with me just once, yeah?”

For some reason, that ‘just once’ pangs in the boy’s chest and he hates the feeling more than anything. He doesn’t want this to be once, he wants this to be again, and again, and then some more. Jaeyun isn’t one to believe in fate but considering he chose your flat complex rooftop out of all the others in the city, and it decided to pour down - even though it’s been dry for the past two weeks - which led to you coming to get him and practically drag him into your home; he would say that doesn’t happen by chance. 

Although, instead of getting in his head, he agrees, lust overpowering his responsibility to be safe. “I want it too, so fucking badly,” he leans down, rubbing his leaking cock on your slit, mouth moving to your ear. “I can’t wait to cum inside you, fill you up and make you suck me in.”

Does he know where this confidence came from? Perhaps it was the way you whispered into the air his name over and over again how good you felt while he ate your pretty little cunt, or maybe it's the fact that if this is your only time under him, he will damn make sure you’re thinking about him for the rest of your life.

The heels of your feet move with his ass as he gyrates his hips, allowing his cock to snag on your clit and elicit a hiss from both of you. Your lips messily leave open-mouth kisses over any skin that you can reach; his neck, cheek, lips, forehead, all of it, the feeling of his glistening skin on your lips addicting.

“Please, Jaeyun. Fuck me. Right. Now.”

Your pleading snaps him into full throttle, his hand guiding his cock to your entrance, his bell expanding and contracting as he slips inside of you. Your groans of pleasure harmonise in the winter night, both your bodies connecting fully as he bottoms out slowly, balls meeting your ass as he pushes in to the hilt.

“Holy shit,” he whispers, burying his face in your neck, and you lock him in there, fisting his hair and bucking your hips for friction. He fills you up so good you wonder why humans are born empty and not with a permanent cock up their pussy. 

You never want him to leave.

“Move, Yunnie, please.” The tone of your voice doesn’t carry much conviction but portrays your desperation for him. The nickname falling off your cock-drunk tongue much to his happiness. If anyone ever calls him Yunnie again, and it overtakes the way you whimper it out, he will commit murder. Only you can call him that, call him whatever you want, call him by his name, ever again.

Obeying your wishes, he begins to pull back his hips and move them painfully slow back into you, feeling each bump of your walls and how they meld perfectly with the veins of his fat cock. 

While he loves savouring the moment of you taking him in, feeling how your hole adapts to his girth and length, creating way just for him. “Faster, Yunnie. God, please.”

“Asking God to help get what you want is crazy considering it’s me you should be begging,” he chuckles, never increasing his pace. 

“Shut up, please,” you whine out, grabbing his ass and trying to physically move him to speed up.  

“You can ask me to shut up but not beg me to move faster?” he tuts, going even slower, “C’mon, princess. Ask me nicely.”

You want to slap him, a dry laugh coming from your throat as you fight between your pride - telling you never to do as a man says - and your need for him to start jackhammering into you. 

Well, you suppose you can let your pride have a night off for a chance.

“Jaeyun, please, move faster. I’m begging you. Fuck me faster and harder.”

Those sweet yet filthy words send Jaeyun into orbit, and he grants your prayers. With his hands pushing down your hips, he begins to thrust with ferocity, the tip of his cock not punching into your cervix. It’s much more delicious than you ever could have imagined, the way he snaps into your cunt with no restraint, your pussy taking a beating in the best way possible. 

This is heaven.

“Yes, Jaeyun! Yes! Don’t fucking stop, please.” 

And stop he does not. In fact, he lifts your legs over his shoulders and folds you in half, the new angle somehow reaching so deep you can feel him poking your stomach. You have never felt this good in your life. A cock has never made your brain turn to mush or made your hands literally peel the skin from your partner’s back before, yet here you are, chanting incoherent words into his ear and clawing up his shoulder blades.

“Fuck, you feel so fucking good, princess. Taking my cock so well.” Jaeyun breathes into your neck, nipping at your skin and he marks you right back. His praise makes you smile, kissing all over his face in appreciation for the pleasure he is giving you right now. “Such a good girl, Y/N.”

You could cum that minute, and he feels how you clench around him, sucking him in further, making him tip his head back and move even faster. He wants you to cum together, and with how good your pussy feels, he isn’t far from it.

“You sure you want me to cum inside?” he asks again, trying to gauge whether you could have changed your mind. But you grip his hair and stare into his eyes. 

“If you don’t, I’ll kick you out back into the rain.”

Jaeyun laughs. Hard. Your threat is meaningless because you clearly would never leave him out there again to drown in the winter hail, but it does get your point across. You don’t just want his cum, you need it. And luckily for you, he is happy to oblige. 

So, with your consent, he works on getting you both to the edge, his right hand coming down to your clit and rubbing it in smooth circles, a juxtaposition to his harsh thrusts. And you begin to see stars, constellations, as you arch your back and wriggle under him. The coil in your tummy burns with the insatiable pull. 

“I’m cumming! Yunnie, I’m cumming,” you warn, happiness filtering the air as you buck your hips and match the rhythm of his shaft penetrating you. “Cum with me. Please, baby.”

Baby

His balls tighten at the petname and groans loudly. “Call me that again.”

“Baby, cum inside me,” you repeat within a moan, forcing your eyes open to lock onto his. “Cum with me.”

And just like that, with the final clench of your walls around him, he spurts his white seed inside of you, a primal roar escaping his lips as each rope coats your canal. You cum with him, his name falling from your lips over and over again as you chant out in hymn. 

“Squeeze it, princess. Take it all like you want.” He validates you without ridicule, a grin of glee etching onto his face as his body shakes with the euphoria he feels. You were right, cumming inside of you is much better than a condom.

After a while, both your hearts begin to slow down and his body collapses onto yours. His lips lazily kiss your sweaty skin on the top of your breast, your fingers threading through his now dry hair, the only wetness coming from persperation. Its intimate, despite the newness of the situation, and you can’t help but plaster a smile on your face.

It feels so right.

And you’re not the only one who believes so.

Jaeyun gathers some strength to lean on his arm, cupping your face as he strokes your cheek. “Can I be honest?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t want this to be a one-time thing.” His voice is wavering due to exhaustion, but it’s overshadowed by sincerity. 

Placing your hand over his, you titter slightly, the sound making Jaeyun’s stomach knot and cock pulse inside you once again. “You mean having sex or staying in my house and abusing my shower privileges?”

“Both.” He murmurs earnestly, pinching your cheek. “I also want you to abuse my shower…when I get one.” The last part of that sentence falters slightly, his voice dipping as if suddenly comping back into his reality.

But you won’t let him dwell in it. Instead, you reach up to kiss him gently, lips expressing the reassurance you worry your words might not. And it seems to do the trick because, in an instant, he’s kissing you back with passion, taking each swipe of your tongue against his as confirmation that you want to have this again and see where it goes. 

It could lead to nothing but it could lead to everything.

And he needs to find out.

[simpxxstan]

Hi! Been reading your fics svt as you best friend’s brother and im hooked, my favorite would be vernon’s!!! Idk if you still accept request but if you do, can i request Joshua + as your brother’s bestfriend?

P.S. i really like your writing style! 🥰

this is a part of my 550 followers event, but requests are now CLOSED.

thank you for enjoying my work <3 and thanks for the request, it was wonderful to work on it!! altho i wrote like 4 versions because i so unsatisfied but finally settled on this, really hoping that you'll like it1 and again, i'm so sorry for being late, i hope you still enjoy this :)

thinking about brother's best friend!joshua who you certainly don't approve of at all

"i don't like this new friend you have." you tell your brother straight up when joshua leaves your house after dinner. it's the first time he's visited your house since your brother and he became inseparable. you've heard a lot about him and to be fair, you'd expected him to be .... not like what you realise he is.

it's nothing tangible, though. joshua is all politeness and manners, but there's an air about him which constantly reminds you that he belongs to old money, an air of superiority that seems to be ingrained in his manner of walking and talking.

and the worst bit is that everyone is so taken with him. ever since he's joined your high school, it's become amply clear that everyone loves joshua hong. some because of his wealth, others because of his looks.

"sis, he didn't even bother you. how the hell do you not like him?" your brother's low grumble annoys you, as if he has a right to ask you this although he freely drops his opinions about all your new college friends. "i don't know, really. but the vibes are... vibes are bad."

vernon rolls his eyes. "you're just mad because he's not into you, isn't it?" the words don't leave his mouth before he gets a very subtle kick in his shin that dumps him on the floor.

thinking about brother's best friend!joshua who rarely ever gets curious about people, but somehow he just cannot understand you

he's seen enough people already and now he can flag each person by their type. but you don't seem to fit into any of the boxes he can so easily segregate humans into. for one, you're very lowkey, just like vernon. but unlike your brother, you're not laidback nor are you cool, at all, really. you're very tight-wound, always on your guard, your wide eyes taking in everything around you.

"okay you're scaring me now," joshua spins around and meets your gaze, squinting to try and understand what thoughts lurk beneath those judgy little eyes.

"what have i done?" "you can't be judgmental during a creative process!" "i have literally not spoken a word and yet you think i'm judging you." "that's cause you are," joshua stands up and walks to you, hands on his hips, desperately trying to keep a cool face as he tries to read your mind. you cock your head to one side, meeting his stare, "oh yeah? how's that so?" "your eyes are boring holes into my back, i can feel them, you know." you stand up, your height nowhere close to joshua's but the strength of your gaze strong enough to pin his attention, "that's just the voice in your head, nuthead. you know your song is trash and you're dumping it on me now."

"hey!" vernon protests, and joshua smirks, "see i told you she was judging us! well, you can keep your judgement to yourself, miss chwe-" "yeah, i was gonna-" "and maybe leave the room while the artists are busy creating art your silly brain cannot understand."

you gasp, "you can't kick me out of my own room, you nobody!" "but he can," he says, pointing to vernon, "he's your brother." "not really, i'm gonna tell mom-" joshua loves seeing you get riled up, loves to see at least some emotion on your face. "okay, my whiney lil girl, go tell mommy," he bends down to your level and winks, his breath catching at the very audible sound of your gasp.

and it works, somehow. did he just intimidate you? or irritate you? whatever he's done, now you do leave the room, but not before flipping off him and vernon. that hurts his ego a little bit, but at least he won't have to feel your judgy eyes stare at his back while he's composing the masterpiece he and vernon are going to perform at the next party. that's a win in his books.

thinking about brother's best friend!joshua whose somehow everywhere you go, almost like a shadow

of course, some of it is thanks to your brother. and the rest of it is because he has a lot of common classes with you. and although he's a new student, he's quickly become the apple of the eye of many teachers too.

"if you're really so good at creative literature, why can't you write your lyrics yourself!" you huff at him when he shoves the notebook towards you across the table once again. "that's because i've got writer's block, you idiot. why can't you just be nice to me for once, i'm just asking for some help!"

joshua's looking at you with the most helpless puppy eyes he can manage, but you're not falling for his tricks. "you're getting me distracted with this, i know what you're doing." your hand stretches across the table, pushing the notebook back to him. "distracting you? it's one damn verse-" "joshua, you're trying to distract me from working on the essay due this week, aren't you?"

joshua's eyes bulge. "what? woman, now you're overdoing this. i don't even know why you have these kinds of illusions about me. i haven't done anything to you." "but i know your type of guy," you eye him seriously, and he cocks an eyebrow. "whatever it is, you've got me wrong, y/n." for a second, you're almost convinced, but then you look at the rolex resting casually on his wrist.

"no i'm not, joshua. there are hundreds of other people, eager to write your song lyrics, but no, you come to me. why? you're an attention whore, you only pester me because i push you away. the day that i give in, you'll be gone, and -"

joshua leans in until he's almost breathing the same air as yours. "and what, y/n?" you pause for a second to frame your words correctly, but joshua takes up the chance, "then you'll realize that you've got me all wrong, because i never left you at all?"

there's some rawness in his voice, a rugged angle that's new in his usually sugary sweet voice, and it leaves you disoriented for a long minute, your thoughts scattered, your heart racing and your intuition anxious. have you really got him all wrong? but he's already gone by then, gone before you've predicted, and you have no second chance to call him back to tell him that you'd already thought of lines for the verse last night when you'd heard your brother sing the rest of the song.

thinking about brother's best friend!joshua who's looking for you in the crowd when he performs at the party tonight, but it's a search in vain

he wants to ask vernon if he knows where you are, but he doesn't want to sound desperate. doesn't want to sound like an attention whore, doesn't want you the pleasure to think that maybe you're right. because no. you're not. he's not thirsting for your attention. he's not yearning for one soft look from your eyes because he can never understand what's going on behind them. he's not going insane every night wondering what you really think of him. he's not longing to see your fake guard fold in two so that he can tell you that he-

Hope you listen to this song 'cause I, I, I... 'Cause I'm doing right just fine. I'm doing alright, doing alright. he sings, but he really hopes no one sees it on his face that he's not, in fact, doing alright. no one has affected him to this extent, to the extent that it's plaguing his thoughts all day and all night whether they hate him or not. and the fact that even this is occurring is concerning enough for joshua to feel his stomach twist in anger and anxiety, although he can see the crowd happily sway to their song.

and then vernon sings, I can't get you out of my head, yeah, Gotta get you out of my head, yeah. How can you be so fine when ... and joshua remembers how he wrote this verse thinking about your icy eyes when you stare at him when he's standing in front of the class, giving a presentation that the teacher's asked him to deliver, staring at him like he's not good enough.

I'm doing great myself, Hope you know I am... and how joshua wrote these lives in a feverish whisper in the middle of the night when your words from last afternoon had come rushing to his mind and he'd lost all sleep. because he is doing great, isn't he? he is. he doesn't need your attention. he doesn't need your approval. he doesn't even need your affirmation.

except the voice in his head knows he does. he knows it because it's at this moment that he sees you in the crowd, standing far away from the stage so he hopes you don't know he's staring right at you, but he can feel the burn of your gaze even through the blinding lights.

and the song ends with a final strum of his guitar, vernon singing, I'm super fine, I don't need you anymore... and joshua can't help but whisper out, into his microphone

i need you

thinking about brother's best friend!joshua who's looking too good for even you to resist tonight, with the signature black jacket and a single vein popping out on his neck

you don't even know why you came tonight. something something about your mother asking you to check on vernon and make sure he's not getting high. something something about this being the last weekend before you get into study mode for finals. something something about you being curious about what joshua finally wrote in that verse.

and while you've seen your brother perform quite a few times, seeing joshua on stage gives you a different kind of goosebumps. the kind of goosebumps that leave you wondering what is wrong with you that you're so mean to him on an every day basis when he's so beautiful and so talented.

i'll give him a chance, you think, when you walk towards backstage. you confidently enter the tiny room that's labelled as backstage, but you find your brother making out desperately with someone in a corner so you jump out of the room immediately...

"looking for someone?" and bump into the person you've actually been looking for. when you turn around, his eyes leave you breathless, and you think that he is right. you have got him all wrong.

thinking about brother's best friend!joshua who can finally read your eyes because he's taken you by surprise and you can't mask your feelings so quickly

and now he's got you in his arms, and he knows that vernon is up to something inside the room, so he slowly slides you away from the room and against the wall next to it. "did you watch me?" not us. me. because joshua wants to know desperately what you think about him.

"i did." "and? what did you think?" your pretty eyes flitter about, trying to avoid his gaze avidly, but his hand slips under your chin so that you do look at him. "don't make me lose my mind, y/n. tell me, please."

so you finally look at him. really look at him. no shields, no guards, no distances. "i thought you were damn good, joshua hong. that's what i thought."

joshua's hand slips from under your chin and falls to his side. "and? what did you think of the song?" there's a hint of a smile in your eyes, and he can see them crinkle into a smile before your mouth can. "i thought it was very emotional. i didn't think you to be capable of such raw emotion. was it for someone?"

and he knows this is the moment. he knows it is because all the voices in his head are ringing like sirens with only one answer. "yes, you."

and you gasp and joshua leans in to press a kiss to your mouth. it's a soft kiss, barely a peck, a request for permission, a test to check the tides. so when you lean into him, chasing his lips, he loses all control.

"y/n chwe, you're driving me insane," he mutters, as he slowly tastes all of your lips, feeling the plush and the warmth of the one thing he's craved for months now. "pl- please, don't fight this feeling," he knows he's begging, but he doesn't care. all he wants is your softness against his hands and your warmth spreading to his body and your lips smashing again and again against his own lips.

thinking about brother's best friend!joshua who's eyes bulge out of their sockets, his lipstick smudged against the corner of his mouth, a pathetic whine leaving his throat as you push him away

there's an emergency siren ringing in your head right now, and all you want to do is fall back into his arms, but you can't. you simply cannot. because that would mean you've fallen for his games, become prey to his tactics and he'd win again.

you have to fight the feeling because you know tomorrow morning he'll be gone, and never come back, because he's got you under his grasp now. so you do the first thing the rush of adrenaline tells you to do- run.

you run all the way home, locking yourself into your room, biting down on the rough edges of your t-shirt to stop yourself from screaming because your mind is still reeling from the taste of the forbidden fruit. you know deep down, that you have lost to joshua. you've given yourself up to him, let your guard down, and if you see him right now, you may just fold.

thinking about brother's best friend!joshua who doesn't give up looking for you, and finally finds you in the corner of the library the next afternoon, skipping lunch in favour of revising biology

thankfully, you're too engrossed in your notes to realise when he's taken the seat next to you, it's only after he softly calls out your name that you jerk up with surprise, "oh it's you."

and then a second later, when joshua's hand is halfway across the gap between you two, you whisper out louder, "oh it's you." he pauses. "yeah, y/n, it is me. what's wrong?"

you don't respond immediately. you stare at his outstretched hand, at the confusion etched on his features and the way your knees are touching under the desk. "you came looking for me?" joshua doesn't understand why you look so dazed, but he replies softly, leaning in, "of course. why wouldn't i?"

and then you lean into him and kiss him. wow that was simple, joshua's mind still confused at what just happened, but he doesn't miss the opportunity. his hand finds your arm, and he pulls you closer to kiss you, to taste you in every way he couldn't last evening. "i want you, y/n. why do you run away from me?"

and joshua doesn't know why, but you laugh. it's the sound of rain falling on leaves, the sound of tinkling beads, the sound of piano keys played on a midsummer night. "i promise i won't anymore, joshua. because i admit, i want you too." and you kiss him again, and somehow, his curiosity becomes the last thing on his mind. not when you're busy rearranging his brain chemicals to make sure he's addicted to your scent, your taste and your touch and he can never live without you now.

[musubiki]

lately ive been thinking about the contrast going on in Early Lime where hes like "tbh im pretty sure i could have any girl i wanted including mochi i mean i guess if she wanted we could give it a shot one day but i dont really care lol" and then very easily becoming completely unhinged for her the second he gets a tinge of romantic affection

[soaps-mohawk]

Have you ever thought about what Omega's personality type is? I kind of peg her as an INFP but I'd love to know your thoughts since you created her. I really can't place a type on any of the guys because their characters are so open to interpretation but I do think Gaz would probably be the closest personality type to her.

Okay, okay I finally took the test and answered things in the way I imagined the reader would as I characterize her (though I think this will vary depending on you the reader's perception of her) but you were very close, I got INFJ - T for her. Which I do agree with to a point. Of course, I did take into consideration that she's an omega and the way that affects her way of thinking when it comes to certain things.

Very much introverted, but most omegas are unless they're around people they know and are comfortable with. Part of that is just their natural wariness around others, especially alphas. I do think the reader in general though, aside from her being an omega, is more naturally introverted. We know she doesn't mind being alone and probably does appreciate time to herself to unwind, especially after being around the guys lol.

I could call her intuitive, since she does learn very quickly and picks up on patterns very easily, outside of her instincts helping her. She's good at piercing things together and noticing details on her own, and her instincts heighten that ability greatly in regards to things like noticing shifts in emotions due to subtle changes in scents. So again, influenced by her being an omega, but also her personality outside of her status.

Feeling very much so. Omegas are very sensitive to emotions and thrive in balanced and calm environments. They do get overwhelmed easily and they're naturally empathetic (which is why they're so easily overwhelmed and so sensitive to turmoil). The reader also is very sensitive and very much makes decisions based on her emotions. We see that with the cameras, while logically she should have told the guys immediately, hell she should have gone to Dr. Keller as soon as she noticed the door open and should not have entered the room alone in the first place. But she was so worried about how the pack would react and what might happen, so she acted on her emotions (and her trauma) and hid everything, despite her later realizing it was the wrong decision.

Judging I could see more based on omegas and their need for structure and stability. We know the reader is a bit chaotic herself, but omegas need stability in their packs and in their lives because they often get overwhelmed if there's any unpredictability in situations. This kind of plays back to the feeling part as well, as the empathy can cause instability and then their whole world can come crashing down.

The turbulent part definitely is mostly related to the omega status. Omegas, again, are very sensitive to high stress environments to the point they can shut down and distress as we've seen the reader nearly do a couple of times. Also the reader herself at least in the beginning had that drive to be the perfect omega and she was always paying close attention to details so she could better adapt to the members of the pack. Now that she's relaxed a bit with them, she cares less about being perfect, but that's something that was deeply ingrained in her and definitely lingers still in the back of her mind.

Again, this is how I picture the reader, it's not a strict answer that she can only be this. The way you might envision the reader might be totally different. Again, I am not an expert on Meyers-Briggs so this interpretation is based a lot on the things that were explained after taking the test and the little understanding I do have.

[inky-duchess]

Fantasy Guide to Building A Culture

Culture is defined by a collection of morals, ethics, traditions, customs and behaviours shared by a group of people.

Hierarchy and Social Structures

Within every culture, there is a hierarchy. Hierarchies are an important part of any culture, usually do ingrained that one within the culture wouldn't even question it. Hierarchy can be established either by age, gender or wealth and could even determine roles within their society. Sometimes hierarchy can may be oppressive and rigid whilst other times, ranks can intermingle without trouble. You should consider how these different ranks interact with one another and whether there are any special gestures or acts of deference one must pay to those higher than them. For example, the Khasi people of Meghalaya (Northern India), are strictly matrillineal. Women run the households, inheritance runs through the female line, and the men of the culture typically defer to their mothers and wives. Here are a few questions to consider:

How is a leader determined within the culture as a whole and the family unit?

Is the culture matriarchal? Patriarchal? Or does gender even matter?

How would one recognise the different ranks?

How would one act around somebody higher ranking? How would somebody he expected to act around somebody lower ranking?

Can one move socially? If not, why? If so, how?

Traditions and Customs

Traditions are a staple in any culture. These can be gestures or living life a certain way or to the way a certain person should look. Traditions are a personal detail to culture, they are what make it important. Tradition can dictate how one should keep their home, run their family, take care of their appearance, act in public and even determine relationship. Tradition can also be a double edged sword. Traditions can also be restrictive and allow a culture to push away a former member if they do not adhere to them, eg Traditional expectations of chastity led to thousands of Irish women being imprisoned at the Magdelene Laundries. Customs could be anything from how one treats another, to how they greet someone.

How important is tradition?

What are some rituals your culture undertakes?

What are some traditional values in your world? Does it effect daily life?

Are there any traditions that determine one's status?

Values and Opinions

Values and Opinions are the bread and butter of any culture. This is the way your culture sees the world and how they approach different life hurdles. These may differ with other cultures and be considered odd to outsiders, what one culture may value another may not and what opinion another holds, one may not. There will be historical and traditional reasons to why these values and opinions are held. Cultures usually have a paragon to which they hold their members to, a list of characteristics that they expect one to if not adhere to then aspire to. The Yoruba people value honesty, hard work, courage and integrity. Here are some questions to consider?

How important are these ethics and core values? Could somebody be ostracised for not living up to them?

What are some morals that clash with other cultures?

What does your culture precieved to be right? Or wrong?

What are some opinions that are considered to be taboo in your culture? Why?

Dress Code

For many cultures, the way somebody dresses can be important. History and ethics can effect how one is meant to be dressed such as an expectation of chastity, can impose strict modesty. While other cultures, put more importance on details, the different sorts of clothes worn and when or what colour one might wear. The Palestinian people (من النهر إلى البحر ، قد يكونون أحرارا) denoted different family ties, marriage status and wealth by the embroidery and detailing on their thoub.

Are there traditional clothes for your world? Are they something somebody wears on a daily basis or just on occasion?

Are there any rules around what people can wear?

What would be considered formal dress? Casual dress?

What would happen if somebody wore the wrong clothes to an event?

Language

Language can also be ingrained as part of a Culture. It can be a specific way one speaks or a an entirely different language. For example, in the Southern States of America, one can engage in a sort of double talk, saying something that sounds sweet whilst delivering something pointed. Bless their heart. I have a post on creating your own language here.

Arts, Music and Craft

Many cultures are known for different styles of dance, their artwork and crafts. Art is a great part of culture, a way for people to express themselves and their culture in art form. Dance can be an integral part of culture, such as céilí dance in Ireland or the Polka in the Czech Republic. Handicrafts could also be important in culture, such as knitting in Scottish culture and Hebron glass in Palestine. Music is also close to culture, from traditional kinds of singing such as the White Voice in Ukraine and the playing of certain instruments such as the mvet.

Food and Diet

The way a culture prepares or intakes or treats certain foods are important to a culture. In some cultures, there is a diet yo adhere to, certain foods are completely banned. With Jewish culture, pork is prohibited along with fish such as sturgeon, along with shellfish and certain fowl. Meat must also be prepared in a certain way and animal byproducts such as dairy, must never be created or even eaten around this meat. This is known as kosher. The way one consumes food is also important to culture. In some cultures, only certain people may eat together. Some cultures place important on how food is eaten. In Nigerian culture, the oldest guests are served first usually the men before the women. In Japanese culture, one must say 'itadakimasu' (I recieve) before eating. Culture may also include fasting, periods of time one doesn't intake food for a specific reason.

What are some traditional dishes in your world?

What would be a basic diet for the common man?

What's considered a delicacy?

Is there a societal difference in diet? What are the factors that effect diet between classes?

Is there any influence from other cuisines? If not, why not? If so, to what extent?

What would a typical breakfast contain?

What meals are served during the day?

What's considered a comfort food or drink?

Are there any restrictions on who can eat what or when?

Are there any banned foods?

What stance does your world take on alcohol? Is it legal? Can anybody consume it?

Are there any dining customs? Are traditions?

Is there a difference in formal meals or casual meals? If so, what's involved?

Are there any gestures or actions unacceptable at the dinner table?

How are guests treated at meals? If they are given deference, how so?

[solarpunkwarlock]

Ways to Live in Direct Opposition to Capitalism

I am by no means an expert in any of these things I’m gonna talk about, so keep that in mind! I am just making a compilation of things I know of that we can do to lessen the stranglehold the capitalist lifestyle has on us while enriching our lives, our surroundings, and the lives of others. Please add anything I miss or correct anything I may be getting wrong! Anyway here goes!

Use what you have, fix what’s you can, make what you can, accept from others, thrift what you can, and finally purchase as a last resort.

This is advice I have seen float around here a couple of times that can apply to a lot of things including clothing, furniture, food, and more besides. It’s meant to be done roughly in that order as it applies to what you’re wanting/needing/doing. It’s about preventing waste, promoting self-capability, having a heightened reliance on your community, and consciously rejecting the ingrained habit many of us have to just purchase things or services.

Here’s where you can read about growing an indoor garden!

Here’s where you can read about sewing things yourself!

Here’s an online site for giving and receiving items for free!

Here is where you can find a local Mutual Aid to get things from, learn skills from, give do, volunteer for, etc. (in the U.S.)

Be politically active! (from a U.S. perspective)

Vote for every election. Know your representatives and those who will be competing in the next election. Vote without ignorance and without falling for unfounded claims. While operating within the system that actively oppresses us will not bring about the future we want, it can serve as damage control (preventing worse candidates from taking office) and it can potentially create a national atmosphere more open to change.

Here’s a good article about getting more involved in the U.S. political process.

Here’s a site that will show you how to register to vote, when and where elections are held, and more!

Here’s good advice on finding protests in your city!

Here’s some readings on unionizing! It’s your legal right to unionize!

Here’s a more user friendly site for learning about unions!

Be active within your community!

Developing strong, motivated, capable, knowledgeable, and inclusive communities is the ultimate way to combat the relentless and bleak present and future. When you’ve worked on the things above and have gotten good at it (or even if you haven’t gotten good at it yet), start spreading what you know and what you can do with others!

Give your neighbors, coworkers, and friends some of the vegetables you’ve grown.

Invite your community members to volunteer events.

Talk to folks about how to vote, when you’re doing it, etc.

Take part in Mutual Aids to teach what you’ve learned or whatever you may be an expert in! Invite neighbors, friends, and coworkers when you take part in the Mutual Aid!

Accept your community. Take them for who and what they are. Discrimination is the enemy of cooperation. You have much more in common with everyone in your community than a single billionaire or corporation. We’re all passengers on this spaceship earth.

Do it one step at a time!

Obviously we can’t do all of these things at once. Do what you can when you can, and you’ll start to notice real change in your life!

Our online communities where we talk about our visions and hopes are fantastic, but they have little impact if we don’t actually get up and do the real work that change requires.

Want to be better, and keep hope for the future!

Harbor and nourish that desire to be a better person and to be the change you want to see in the world. You need to be hungry for a better future if you plan to make it through the rough times when everything feels pointless and without hope. Reach out to others when you’re down, and be someone others can lean on when their lives get hard.

That’s it! Please interact with this, spread it to others, and add your own thoughts and ideas! It’s important that we do the real work to get the change we crave!

[soapybutt17]

The Next of Kin

Summary: Simon needed to update his contact information, as dodgy as he was for giving everyone even a glimpse of his private life, he did so. Who would have ever thought that it would become handy after an injury left him high on painkillers and needy for his girls back home. Character: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Wife!Reader. OC Daughter (Cassandra "Cassie" Riley). John Price. Word Count: 1,615 Chapter Warnings: Mentions of Injuries. Drug Consumption. Slight Angst. Mostly fluff.

Masterlist || Request are Open

It was the annual checkup in the base, something that Simon had dreaded the most knowing what it entails. Not only was his current and past injuries being monitored but he was all too certain about the wacky doctor would also make an appearance to check on his mental state. It wasn’t a fun time as any of his other team mates point it out to be.

“Should we update your emergency contact, Lieutenant Riley?” The nurse had inquired dealing with his medical records.

A part of him wanted to say no, but remembering what was waiting for him home, he could not allow himself to break his wife’s heart as well as his own daughter if the time ever comes that he dies in the middle of battle. He would want to ensure if ever that was to happen, you would know and hope that you would move on.

“Yes,” He agreed accepting the clipboard and pen handed to him.

Without an ounce of hesitation, he wrote your name and your number under his emergency contacts.

His handwriting was decent and readable at best, chicken scratch at worst as Johnny had eloquently pointed out during reports. But there was this special care with the way he wrote your first name and his last name that you were more than happy to take as soon as you married all those years ago. Your number was ingrained to his brain as he wrote it, having forced himself to memorize in the event he didn’t have his personal phone with him and simply a burner phone for missions.

What truly took him a second to write was the blank space dedicated to his relationship with you. No one knew he was in a relationship, nor did anyone know about his marriage. It took him a full two minutes before he found himself slowly opening the flood gates of his personal life that he had tried his best to hide from the world.

“Never knew you were married, Lieutenant.”

“Never planned on letting anyone know about it.” He spoke honestly, the cold demeanor and tone enough to stop the conversation from going further about his personal life.

Little did Simon know that the upcoming mission would lead to him having to make use of the emergency contact.

~

When you had begun your relationship with one Simon Riley, you had always accepted that he would always be gone for uncertain amounts of months in a year, you had accepted that part of him. How mission would always mean the world was a little safer from the dangers of man. You accepted all the big and small flaws that came with Simon and even in your eventual marriage and the birth of your daughter, you had come to accept the danger that would come in missions that would place him badly bruised or beaten beyond repair. You would always be there to tend to each and every single wounds and be the shoulder for him to cry on when he was good and ready.

But nothing could have ever prepared you for another unknown call coming from your phone. You’ve always expected it to be your husband, checking up on you before the mission begins like he always does. But the voice of an unknown man was the last thing you would have expected.

He called himself John Price and you know the man from your husband’s few conversations when he talks about the people he works with. You had feared for the worst as soon as he had explained that your husband has just gotten out of surgery after a mission. A few broken bones and a superficial gunshot wound. But it was enough to worry you as Simon himself has been asking for you as soon as he was out of surgery and in lucid consciousness.

On most days you were calm and collected, but it was the panic of seeing the worse of your husband that had you carrying your two year old and a baby bag towards your car with a mission. The Captain had asked if you could possibly have someone come get him but you know no one else better to check up on him but yourself and your daughter that was all the more excited about being in the car.

The travel was rather long and rather tedious knowing you and your husband had agreed to live away from the city and away from any dangers that may come to you and the baby while he was gone. You had appreciated the distance, the peaceful tranquility that came with being away from the bustle and noise of the city but not this time. It had meant a longer journey and a more hectic one since the base was all the way across the other side.

Once you had arrived to the base, all eyes were on you. Many eyes had lingered on you when they heard your last name. You know for a fact that your husband’s name and reputation beholds him, but you never knew nor did you ever try to question to what extent. It unnerved you more was how avoidant everyone had been of you aside from one of the soldiers tasked with bringing you and your daughter to your husband.

Outside the infirmary room was a rugged man. The man exudes an air or control and intensity and rugged strength, but not as much as your husband did. His posture was upright, suggesting discipline and years of military training. Dressed in an all too familiar tactical gear, he gives off a no-nonsense vibe that immediately commands attention.

“Ma’am, my name is John Price.” The man introduced the moment he caught sight of you.

You spoke your name and your daughter that was surprisingly all too mum in the whole situation, you were surprised that she wasn’t crying at being in an unfamiliar environment like she usually was.

“It is best to assume that you two are Simon’s wife and daughter, I presume?” He inquired.

You took a moment to think if it was alright to agree with his statement. Knowing your husband and the array of precaution he had come to give you, you were uncertain if you could trust the man with such a fact.

“Yes.” You spoke, dealing with the consequence later as there was something more important that needed your attention. “How’s he doing?” You inquired wanting to change the subject now.

“Stable. A little loopy from the drugs, but he’ll make a fast recovery.”

You nodded, hesitation of asking if you would be allowed to see him now in his state.

“He was looking for you.” He opened the door for you and you were welcomed with your husband in bed with his mask still on.

“Dada!” Your daughter squealed upon the sight of your husband groggy still.

You watched as his head turned to look at you and your daughter.

“Love…” He grunted wincing at the pain that you were certain that was coming in full force now.

“I’m here, Baby.” You whispered approaching him, cupping his cheeks gently. “Me and Cassie are here.” You assured trying your best to hide the tears that were fighting to fall at the sight of him.

~

When Simon Riley had opened his eyes, the first thing that he had come to notice was the pain that surrounded his entire body. The next thing that he noticed was the warmth that wrapped around his calloused hand.

Turning his head he saw the most beautiful sight that he had the fortune of seeing in his life. His wife and daughter. The more pressing matter was the fact that you were asleep in an all too familiar uncomfortable plastic chair with one hand on him, and your other arm held onto your baby sleeping on your chest.

“Baby…” He grunted harsher than he intended.

Slowly blinking away, your eyes immediately turned down towards your daughter before your eyes met his own.

“How are you holding up?” You inquired immediately, trying your best not to wake your sleeping daughter still cradled snuggly on your chest.

“Like a bitch.” He muttered appreciating being able to swear with his daughter still asleep. “But I’ll live.”

“I’m glad.” You sighed, rubbing his hand tenderly. “I was so worried about you when your boss called me. I thought something worse has happened.” You whispered.

“I didn’t really want to worry you—or have you see me like this.” He muttered.

“I know.” You nodded gently letting go of his hand to cup his cheeks that still was covered with his mask. “But I’m still as glad to be here right now knowing you’re alright. Me and Cassie get to see you’re alright.”

At the mention of your daughter, Simon noticed his daughter begin to get fussy from your chest. Gently pushing himself up until he sat on his bed much to your protest, he took your now crying daughter into his arms, gently laying her onto his chest and how quick she was sated in his warmth.

“Daddy’s here, Angel. I’m here.” He began to whisper, pulling off his balaclava to kiss his daughter onto top of her head. “I’m not going soon for a while. I promise.”

He has yet to tell you about the doctor’s insistence that he takes a few months off. It would be something he would tell when you get home. Once he finishes up with the paper works, he’ll let you know of the good news. For now, all that’s important was he had you and his daughter here with him, even in his most vulnerable state.

[razrbladekiss]

MAPLE HAZEL | Joel Miller

SUMMARY: he’s grumpy, and you’ve got enough happiness for the pair of you. you visit joel’s little coffee shop every morning, and he can’t deny that he enjoys the monotony of life with you the other side of his counter.

PAIRING: pre-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader

WORD COUNT: 1.8k

WARNINGS: inspired by lorelai gilmore and luke danes, so with that info do what you will. this is full on golden retriever x black cat realness. fluffy. banter-y. dialogue-y. joel is grumpy but he’s sexy so we don’t mind. enjoy, my besties. not sure if i’ll do a part two, but i’ll let you know in due time, of course.🍁🫶🏻

SERIES MASTERLIST

It’s like he’s moving from muscle memory. Putting down a cinnamon roll and maple hazel latte—with two extra shots of espresso—in front of the third purple stool at his counter, is almost ingrained into his brain. He wonders if one day you’ll ever take him by surprise and order pancakes, or a chai tea.

And you will. Just not today.

“Cinnamon roll, please!” You call from the door as you bumble over the threshold, fighting with the belt loop on your coat that’s gotten stuck on a brassy handle for the third time this morning.

“Already one step ahead of ‘ya.” Joel gestures to the breakfast spread at the wooden bar, and you smile.

Despite being a closed-off, stupid-person-hating, placid-at-times, grumpy old man, you can’t help admitting that you enjoy Joel’s company and general presence in your life.

His shop appeared on Birch Grove one sunny Saturday morning about three years ago, and you haven’t skipped a day since. Aside from Christmas Day, you have religiously sat at Joel’s counter and shared the trials and tribulations of life in Dallas as an overzealous twenty-something every single day.

He’s a great listener. Or, at least, you think that he is. He never interrupts you, or speaks over you. Joel always lends an ear to listen, even if he doesn’t always say all that much in response to whatever it is that you’re elucidating or complaining about.

“Thank you.” Breathlessly, you say. You take a seat and dump your purse onto the counter. “Got a busy day today. I’ve got a meeting, and I’m meeting Maria for lunch, and I’ve got a date—“

Joel’s face heats up. He turns to face you, striving to stay indifferent.

“A date?” Nonchalant, he asks. He slings a dish-cloth over his shoulder, and lifts a brow. “Does this man know that he’s going on a date with you?”

You make a face while stuffing a fork-full of pastry into your mouth. He’s so smug. With his stupid flannel and stupid little hat, you just want to rip the complacency from his lips. But he’s a good man. Just likes to try and take you down a few pegs.

But he can’t. Because you’re stubborn. And a little annoying.

“No, I just thought that I’d show up at his house in the middle of the night—because I’ve followed him home from work a few times and know where he lives—and rip him right out of his bed just like the troll that Danny Devito plays in Its Always Sunny.”

Joel let’s out a little laugh, not bothering to argue that what you had just told him didn’t actually happen in that episode, but finding it funny nonetheless.

He nods his head to you. “What’s his name?”

“Marcus.” Exaggerating your heart-eyed gaze, you tell him. “I met him at Costco—“

“Ah, Costco. Where every great love story starts. First you’re bulk-buying toilet paper, the next you’re sharing a dollar fifty hot dog—“

“Ha ha, Joel, you’re soooo funny.”

“I try.” He says, flippant, pouring coffee into another customer’s cup when they appear at the counter for a refill. He lifts the carafe and gestures to your almost-empty mug. “Want another?”

Your gaze is set on your wristwatch. It’s seven twenty-nine, and you need to be at work for nine thirty. Mentally you strive to figure out how much more time you can spend at the cafe, before you’re having to leave to get there on time.

“Is it maple hazel flavored?”

Joel tilts his head, glaring at you.

You swig the dregs of latte in your mug, and then push the polka-dot ceramic across to him. “Please.” You say, shyly.

Joel busies himself with customers, and general business-owner things for a few minutes while you finish your cinnamon roll and coffee. You can’t help watching him.

Because he’s great. He’s very caring—though extremely stern at times—and you know that if you’re having a bad day, Joel is only a two minute and thirteen second walk away.

He feels the same, too. Kind of. He knows that you’ll be sauntering into his shop at some point every day, and finds himself looking forward to seeing your wide-eyed gaze and larger-than-life smile.

And though he won’t admit it in so many words, Joel has a soft spot for you. It hasn’t always been apparent—he thought that you were utterly insufferable and obsessive when he first met you—but he can’t deny the fact that his life would be very dull without you.

Even if you do have a tendency to try to get underneath his skin.

“Are you dating, Joel?”

He rolls his eyes.

“What? It’s a very normal question to ask somebody that hasn’t been in a serious relationship for an entire twelve months.”

He pulls the cloth from his shoulder and wipes at his hands. “You and I both know that I ain’t got no interest in settlin’ down with anyone. Not yet, anyway.”

“You were willing to with Tess.” Pushing things a little, you say. You lift the coffee mug to your lips when Joel opens his mouth to chastise you, but he can’t.

He can’t because you’re right. He can’t because he wanted to, once upon a time. Before Tess walked out of his life—not long after you started frequenting his shop—he wanted it all. A wife, kids, the white picket fence that his parents had back in Austin when he was a kid.

But it doesn’t always work out that way, and Joel has learned to live with the idea that if it’s too good to be true, then it most likely is.

“I can set you up with someone—“

“Not happening.” He says. “Last time you sent me on a blind date, the girl asked me if I was into pegging.”

You giggle. “Well? Are you—“

Joel says your name, glaring pointedly.

“Sorry.” Instinctively, your lips are set into a straight line. “But I can totally do better, this time. I know this girl—she works at this law firm—and—“

“Not interested.”

“Okay.” You smile, tight-lipped. You lift your mug, striving for your third cup of coffee this morning.

Joel pours the liquid gold into the cup, before he’s telling you that he’s not going to be giving you another for fear of you ricocheting off of each wall in his place.

“You’ll turn into a cup ‘a coffee one day.”

Nodding—with a completely content smile—you say; “least I’ll be happy.”

“You’re always happy.” Joel mithers to himself, turning away. It’s one thing that he admires about you, though loathes at the same time.

Endless optimism and positivity is only something that he can long for, because he’s simply not capable of it. It baffles him how you are, especially when he’s—on occasion—so rude to you. So miserable, and cold, and completely undeserving of your friendship.

He likes that you’re so forgiving. That—even after he accidentally offended you last summer when making a comment about your then boyfriend—you can never hold a grudge, especially when it comes to him.

Because you both hold one another on a pedestal so high, neither can seem to do anything to tear themselves down. And Joel really enjoys your daily routine. That’s why he’s never not in the shop.

“You got any weekend plans?”

“Never do.”

You stretch out your arms—intertwining your fingers as you do to make them click—and offer a small smile when he cringes.

“You wanna catch a movie?” Shirking the idea that you have a date tonight—with a man who you really aren’t all that interested in, you’re just being nice—you propose.

Joel’s heart starts to beat at a tempo that’s noticeably quicker than usual. Not a lot, but it’s certainly faster.

“I think that the theatre downtown is showing the original Beetlejuice, on Saturday.”

He nods, approving. “I—uh—I’ll have to get someone to cover—“

“I’m sure you can ask your brother. Or maybe Maria?”

“I ‘spose.” Reluctant, he says. “But what about Michael? What if he wants a second date?”

“Well, his name is Marcus. And if he wants a second date—which I doubt he will—then he’ll just have to live with the fact that I have plans with a friend on Saturday night.”

He hopes that you can’t see him blush.

“Won’t it be weird?”

“Why?”

“We hardly speak outside of the shop.”

“God, Joel.” You throw your head back, laughing. “We’re the same people wherever we are. And we’re going to the movies—not a lot of talking takes place there, hon.”

His nostrils flare at your sarcasm, but mainly at the little pet name. Joel knows that you’re sweet—that you often use those terms of endearment when speaking with those that you care about—but it does something to him.

Something that he does not like.

“You can either come, or stay here and be miserable because you have no social life, or no girlfriend, or no other friends aside from me, your brother, and your brother’s wife—“

“Alright, fine.” Joel stops your miniature hate-train, and puts his hands against the counter. Your eyes zone in on the veins embellished within tan skin—how prominent they are when he’s fronting irritation—and let out a small sigh.

He’d be a lot more handsome if he smiled more, you think.

“So.” You paw at your purse, pulling it off the wood. “I’ll let you know what time the showing is, and we can make plans around that.”

Joel rounds the island and follows you as you pad toward the door, veritably sweating. “Plans?” He asks. “You never said nothin’ ‘bout plans. I thought we were just gonna catch a movie?”

“We are.” You tell him. “But we need to buy snacks, and grab dinner before we go—“

“Now you’re just describing a date.”

You shake your head. “No, I’m describing hanging out with a friend, Joel.”

“A friend?”

“An acquaintance…?” Testing the waters, you ask. Your eyes squint a bit, awaiting his retort.

But he just smiles.

“A friend.”

You smile back. Bigger.

“Perfect.” Your purse is slinging over your shoulder, and you pull your jacket to close so that the darned loops don’t get stuck on the door handle. Again. “I can’t wait.”

“It’ll be…nice.”

“Jeez, Joel. At least try to sound enthused.”

His hands shoot up in defense. “I am. Just have a hard time showin’ it.”

Your head nods. “I know. I’m only kidding. It’s nobody’s fault that you’re the human equivalent of Oscar The Grouch—“

“Alright, get out.” He holds open the door for you, smiling tight-lipped as he watches you leave. “Enjoy your meeting. And your lunch. And your date.”

You chuckle, thanking him with another bright smile.

“See you in the morning, Joel.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You step onto the sidewalk—that’s festooned with red and orange leaves as the tree above starts to shed its skin—turning to wave at him. “See ‘ya, kiddo.”

[loverafey]

you only feel it when it's lost  !   ex!rafe x reader.

          ⤿ synopsis : another year, another christmas, another fight. escaping your family, you decide to spend the christmas at your ex's house who's just as lonely as you.

          ꕀ warnings - angst, bittersweet, reader has a dysfunctional family, suggestive content in like one paragraph, they both are idiots. (if you get the reference of the title i'll kiss you) wc - 2k.

these days were supposed to be joyous, full of family reunions and shared laughs. that’s what people would normally assume to be the ideal day of christmas eve followed by the last days of the year, and you had assumed too.

it was easy for fights to break out in your household, one disagreement leading to another. whether it be between your parents or between you and your parents, it was as if they never took you seriously enough. a disappointment laying right in front of them, a mistake they mourned. the dinner table didn’t consist of your parents laughing happily while you’d decorate the christmas tree, talking about your friends, helping your siblings.

you couldn’t even remember how long it had been since you actually celebrated something with your family. or how long it had been since your mother woke you up with a kiss on your forehead and your father with a hug.

today was like any other, shouts and heavy silences lingering in the house altogether. you felt suffocated, too tired. your phone had been blank today, each of your friends busy celebrating with their own, resulting in no notifications. not that you wanted any, you’d rather be left alone. but why was being alone felt so ironically lonely?

perhaps, deep within you, you too wanted someone to hold you on this day. to soothe the ache in your heart that's been there for far too long.

there was only one person you could think of that would somehow be at home on this day. maybe not, but it didn’t hurt to try, even if it was a horribly stupid decision.

you had dated rafe for over four months, a rather impulsive relationship that had not only destroyed you but also the friendship that had been between you both way before the relationship. no wonder they said not to date your damn best friend. you wondered if it had destroyed him too. you couldn’t really blame him, not when you had a part to play in the relationship’s downfall too. neither of you both were saints, just too lonesome souls trying to find warmth within each other. which is precisely why your visits had never ceased after the break up, even if your friendship was long a pile of rubble. he was an angry person, so were you, in your own way. the very root cause of the pointless arguments that would rise every day.

sometimes he’d come over at your place, pissed off about work, wanting some relief, ending with you pressed against the mattress. sometimes you’d go over to him to feel something, anything, ending with his face always buried in between your legs, coaxing out cries you were desperate to let out. just like right now, your feet leading you to your car, the route to tannyhill ingrained into your brain.

it wasn’t long until you arrived at the mansion that was now owned by rafe, a shaky sigh leaving your lips as you clutched the sweater around you tight, the night air as chill as ever. ringing the door bell, you could hear the muffled sounds of footsteps inside nearing closer until the door opened, revealing him — and fuck. he looked so cozy in that dark knitted sweater of his, clearly having just cut his hair recently since the last time you remembered, his buzz had grown a bit. you didn’t mind it though, nearly everything suited him annoyingly enough.

“hey, you okay…?” he breathed out, leaning against the door, brows knitting together as he took in the sight of your exhausted face and the very subtle sight of your fingers trembling, hidden by the way you were clutching your own sweater so tight.

“hi, yes…” you lied through your teeth, reaching within your purse to take out a small box that you’d made a few days ago, having spent the whole day contemplating whether to give it to him or not. “merry christmas.”

his eyes softened as he took the gift from your hand, untying the lace and opening it up, a bracelet made from strings resting inside, the blue matching the colour of his eyes. “is this some sort of appeasement?” he couldn’t help but grin, satisfied at the way you scoffed yet were unable to suppress a smile. shit, that smile — he’d do anything to make you smile even a little. just like the old days.

“nope.” you mumbled quietly, chewing on your bottom lip in a rather nervous manner as he stepped inside to let you in, the warmth of his house comforting. “i didn’t want to spend these days at home. can i stay here, at least for the night?”

bad idea, but who was rafe to refuse? he had no one to spend these days with anyways. sarah was with the pogues. wheezie was gone for the week with their grandparents while rafe had refused the offer with an excuse to finish all his work. the truth was, he didn’t have the energy within him to pretend that everything was jolly.

“of course, baby.” it was so easy for that nickname to slip every now and then, as if his tongue was made just to speak that.

he led you into his living room, no decorations in sight, just the same old. it was almost comforting. you sat down on the couch, rafe a bit far from you, the silence heavy. it wasn’t the usual comforting silence you’d sought out with him, no. right now, it felt as if you both wanted to speak of something, but couldn’t. your fingers were curled up into wrists, resting on your knees as you stared down at the floor, mindlessly analysing the texture. your eyes slowly drifted over to his shoes, and sneakily upwards to his hands, and then face, eyes thankfully not on you.

he’d been sitting this far from you on the night of your break up too. on this very couch.

the thought made you want to laugh bitterly, but all you could feel was the heavy lump forming in your throat like hands choking you. it hurt.

“any plans for the new year…?” rafe cleared his throat, hesitantly looking over you, only to find you looking back at him. his jaw clenched, hating feeling so vulnerable, so weak in front of your eyes. the same eyes that’d glimmer at the sight of him. he could have sworn they still glimmered. his angel, coming to his house every now and then with a scythe to reap his soul, which he’d offer so gratefully. his soul and heart had been yours from the start anyways, it didn’t matter, did it?

“no…” you swallowed, shaking your head. you?”

“nah.”

“wheezie’s away?”

“yeah, with grandparents.”

“what about topper?”

“just texted him, and kelce. didn’t wanna meet any of them.”

“oh…”

it was awkward, again, though you could hear the slight shuffle ringing in the air as he scooted near you, hands awkwardly tapping at his knees, as if restless. he couldn’t help but look down at the bracelet you’d made him, still in the box. his fingers reached out, unsure, grabbing the strings and wearing them around his wrist.

“it’s nice.” he said, earning a hum from you.

“we could watch a movie, y’know. a christmas movie.” his tone held some amusement, already grabbing the remote to turn the television on to scroll through all the influx of sappy christmas movies, most of them similar to one another.

“didn’t know you enjoyed those movies, rafe.” you feigned ignorance. both of you would spend the nights watching cheesy stuff together after all, it wasn’t easy to forget about that. you don’t think you ever will.

clicking onto some random movie, rafe tossed the remote aside and leaned back into the couch, watching from the corner of his eye at you doing the same. a soft melody played in the movie as the opening credits were displayed on the screen, though he couldn’t bring himself to watch the movie. he’d noticed how sad you looked today, hair messier than usual, lips chapped. he didn’t even need to ask what happened, he was well aware of how your family could be like.

rafe had tried to hold himself ever since you stepped in here tonight, but he couldn’t anymore. you needed this, didn’t you? the same warmth you’d always craved. one arm slowly wrapped around your back, pulling you closer. when he felt your body relaxing and leaning into his, he took this as a cue to wrap his other arm around your front, letting you fully curl up into him, knees pulling up to hug against your chest.

“what’s goin' on in that pretty head, baby?” he whispered, voice hoarser than before as the hand resting on your back reached up to gently caress the back of your head tenderly, with the same love he always held for you. shaking your head, not wanting to talk, you simply leaned over to rest your head against his shoulder, trying to hide the way your breathing got heavier with emotion, as if you’d break down any second.

“shut up…” you weakly spoke, closing your eyes and simply letting yourself feel the way his fingers raked through your way. you always liked the way he touched you, it made you feel so alive, real. “just hold me, rafey…” you, too, hated being vulnerable in front of him. though the world was against you both at the moment.

“do you miss me…?” you asked on impulse, peeking up from his head to look at him, eyes filled with unshed tears. his heart clenched at the sight of you, and he knew that he should deny so you both could move on and just forget.

“yes, i do. every day.” he sighed, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead.

“me too.”

he sighed tiredly in acknowledgement, his heart feeling so empty yet so full, void yet on the verge of bursting at the same time. “i know, baby. i know.” he smiled softly, holding you tighter. you weren’t watching the movie anymore, content on nuzzling your head against his neck so you could feel his pulse, inhaling his familiar scent.

“want me to go over and make some coffee for us?”

“not yet.” you grumbled, not wanting to let him go so soon. what if he were to never come back and this all was nothing but some sick dream?

“fine.” he chuckled softly, shifting on the couch so now you were fully resting against him, legs hooked around his waist, clung onto him. he rested his chin on top of your head, gently rocking you back and forth, soothing you. “would you like to spend the new year’s eve here too?” he asked after a while, softer. he’d usually rent a yacht and host a raging party with all the kooks, but he didn’t feel like doing that this year. “i don’t wanna stay here… wanna go away, for like a week or two.”

“yes, alright…” you had already known the answer before you’d even spoken it, hands bunching up into his sweater tightly. there was no guaranteeing how long it’ll be after that until you both would see each other again, if ever, depending on what will happen until the new years eve.

you pulled your head back, eyes clearly puffy and a bit red as she sniffled, pressing a soft kiss right on the tip of his nose, causing him to huff as he tilted his head to capture your lips with his — a short lasting yet comforting kiss. exactly what you needed.

“merry christmas.” his hold tightened around your waist.

“merry christmas, rafe.” your hands loosened on his sweater, just a bit.

[dmitriene]

cw: dead dove, kidnapping, cannibalism, gore and dead bodies.

simon riley's butcher shop is quite popular in a small town, where, unlike the usual stores, meat products are fresher and not so overpriced, and dishes from his meat turn out to be so delicious that everyone comes back here earlier than the end of the week, because they have already eaten what they recently bought.

no one understands that on the long counter behind clean glass there is not the usual fresh meat of a once ripe cow or pig, but human flesh, among the pieces of different sizes there may be someone's overly rude neighbor, who once allowed himself to insult simon, or a young woman who was annoyingly sticky to him.

no one even thinks of the small farm in a cold, gloomy refrigerated storage room filled with the bodies of both men and women, dark metal hooks gleaming with a reflective, dim light that fades in simon's liquid eyes, the thick wooden handle of the cleaver clutched in his thick fingers, before simon raises the clean blade over his cornered victim, blood splattering scarlet and warm liquid around.

his heavy hands rest on the pale, slashed neck of the corpse to cover the grisly, blood oozing incision of split layers of the skin, allowing the liquid mess taint his bare, scarred arms and the apron, preferring to stain himself and the floor beneath rather than the walls, which would then have to be washed of ingrained dried blood and the foul smell of spreading rot.

simon is pulled out of his delicate focus as he squats down and examines each limb of the corpse, the tongue behind his closed lips running along the line of his sturdy teeth, his thick hands pondering and feeling the soft, fatty areas of the body in front of him, noting how much he can take, before a bell rings from the further side of the wall, indicating someone's arrival at the store.

he hurriedly wipes his hands so that they do not drip with viscous blood on the floor, running along the sides of his shirt with wet, soaking stripes before heading for the exit from the storage room and looking out into the store hall, eyes quickly searching for the person who came in, before his inky gaze slows down on you, meeting the peering gleam of your stare.

you're out of sorts, not on your plate, fingers tugging at the fabric of your jeans, fidgeting at the pale parts of them as you look around like a wild cat, but unlike them, you twist your nose, skin on the bridge wrinkling when you spot huge chunks of meat on the counter, the mere sight is enough to send a shiver down your svelte spine, and simon is almost ready to be offended, if it weren't for your charm.

he is used to people who swallow lumps of pooling saliva in their mouths from the mere sight of meat, even if not cooked, raw pieces attract them, because they are addicted to them like drugs, the taste of human flesh changes their typical habits of taste, animal meat seems tasteless,not so soft and fibrous, forcing them to return again and again to simon, but you are nothing like them.

you reluctantly move closer to the glass case as he lets out a hoarse grunt, his still slightly bloody hand flexes to run through the air behind the spread out pieces of meat, and when his sanguine hand hit the periphery of your eyes, you cover your mouth with your palm and practically bend over in a broken line in disgust, muffling a gag that rises from your throat, eyes rolling up and fluttering to close briefly.

makes simon wonder what would you look like if he made you sit locked in the midst of freshly butchered bodies and one still covered in flesh, not so long ago some of them were breathing, and maybe even greeting you in the middle of the street, but now their fate is to be eaten, unlike yours, and the very concept of such a depiction should not make his cock fatten up in his loose pants with dull throbbing, but here he is.

when for once, simon allows himself to speak, a smoky wheezing of a british accent envelops you in a heap cloud, immediately turning your focus to meet his rugged mug, his voice a smug tone of purr, wondering what a skittish kitten like you has forgotten here, if you can't even look calmly at the meat in front of you, could you wandered here by chance, mistaking his butchery for a grocery store.

this is your chance to leave, fly off and never come back, bottomless pools of his eyes peering at you through pale eyelashes, gaze dancing with black mirth, eyeing every inch of you with hungry, sickening interest, but you don't notice the signs, fluttering your pretty eyelashes uncertainly as your faces get a little closer together, simon's head turning aside with curiosity.

his heavy, broad body leaning on beefy hands that hold onto the counter, sleeve adorned with different shaped skulls, swirling in black ink down to his wrist, suitable for his image, which you do not yet fully know, as you mumble that you've come for some nice cuts of meat to cook a dinner, and only his store was credible.

it's flattening, knowing that an innocent bird like you recognizes his developed talent, despite all your inner disgust, and simon doesn't mind taking you further in shop to show you what he thinks will definitely fit your request, but you shouldn't twitch too hard when he squeezes your thin neck in his wide hand, fingers press into the carotid artery with a fleeting stroke, before everything floats in front of your eyes, and finally dissolves, plunging you into a gentle, sleeping heap.

simon would keep you, he doesn't want to send you on a ferry of the same fate as corpses in his refrigeratered room, despite your alluring, appetizing shapes, the curves of which he can notice even under a layer of closed clothing, imagine how your fat would feel between his teeth, filling his luscious mouth with sweet blood, instead, he may well enjoy the fat of your pussy.

there's no reason to hurt you, instead, he'll leave you to explore his own sudden attraction, cock straining against his meaty thigh from just looking at your peaceful face, maybe you'll be obedient enough to not resist his curiosity, he'll even wash the blood off himself for you, ain't no point in making an already feisty kitten scared of him.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[robinsgrl]

FEARLESS

chapter two. begging and begging

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pairing ⇢ rafe cameron x plus size!reader

word count ⇢ 2.5k

warnings ⇢ curse words, yn overthinking and panicking like usual, second hand embarrassment (i had to stop and pace for a second but that’s me idk), a glimpse of daddy issues y’all its ingrained in me

authors note ⇢ hey……….. i personally am loving this story and hope you are too! i’ve compiled a bit of a taglist but i am very bad at keeping track or forgetting to add to my list so if you aren’t being tagged despite asking that of me, please remind me, preferably through private messaging since the comments can get kinda muddled to me 😭

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Logically, you know you’re not into JJ. He’s cute and funny, sure. But he’s no Jonah. Yet, his message made you nervous. Beyond nervous. You’ve never had any guy speak to you in such a flirty way. Or, send a text like that. You were used to pity compliments from other girls who felt it was their duty as girls who support other girls. So when you sneak out through your window frame and meet his eyes as he stands down on the grass with Kie and Sarah, you play it off as just being nervous. Which you are.

You’ve been at this for five minutes. The girls and JJ are trying to coax you into just coming down. But the distance looks insane from where you sit.

“I’m gonna die!” You whisper-yell down to them. They’re looking up at you with expectant looks, urging you to hop down.

“You’re not gonna die.” Kiara rolls her eyes but you can’t care for any of that as you take another peek down and scare yourself some more.

“My bones are going to shatter.”

“That sounds pretty cool, actually.” Sarah sends a smack to JJ’s chest, wanting him to shut up.

She looks up at you sweetly. “It’s really not a big drop, just put your hands out and jump. Trust, it’s easy.”

You slip down the steep roof part near your window and you let out a little yelp. Immediately, JJ gets to his feet and rushes to where you could possibly land and holds his arms out. This makes a bigger wave of embarrassment flush through you. He’s not the buffest and you’re sure you’re twice his size. To have him stumble and unable to catch you would ruin you. You’d beg your mother to let you go and live with your aunts back in California and never show your face in any Carolina. It’d be too risky to go to either.

The girls are yelling out to you. Something about being careful. That not being prepared for the jump will hurt. You’re panicking. Yelling out to them that you get it. JJ’s promising that he’ll catch you. Too much is going on at once.

“Your mother isn’t home.” The new voice breaks your chatter. The girls and JJ look up at you with wide eyes. You glance over from your window to another to see your step-father peeking his head out at the group and you. “You can just go out the front door.”

Kiara and JJ share a look as Sarah laughs. Your eyebrows furrow at his words. “You’re… you’re okay with this?”

He sighs, rubbing his face tiredly. “No. But you’re going to do it either way. I did a lot worse at your age than you’re doing now. Just… if your mom finds out, I didn’t know about any of this. Seriously, kid, I’ll throw you under the bus without a care.”

“Yo, your dads cool.”

“Step-dad.” You correct JJ. Usually, your mother would scold you for such a thing. There’s no step in a family, she would tell you. But it felt like a betrayal to your real father. You glance over at Anthony just in time to see a flicker of something pass through him.

He shrugs it off though, tapping the windowsill. “Just go through the front door before you break something.”

“Will—“ but you yell as you start slipping off the roof. The girls yell. JJ yells. You land in a thud, JJ’s arms wrapped around you as two tumble to the ground.

“Fuck, are you okay?” Anthony calls from the windowsill. When he gets no response, he waves his arm. “You’re fine. Don’t do drugs.” And he shuts the window.

You’re on your back now, looking up at the night sky. “Is she dead?” You hear Sarah ask.

“I wish I was.” You answer with a huff, your knees aching.

“Told you I’d catch you.” JJ hums with a smirk as he gets up off the floor, dusting off his cargo shorts and holding a hand out to you. “Come on. Pope’s drunk and you’re missing it.”

—

You’d never been to the boneyard before. Not to party, at least. Whenever there was a get together, a bonfire or a party, Scarlett would ask you to come with but you’d always say no. At some point, she stopped asking and you’d find out through Instagram that she was out with her cooler friends.

The bonfire is lit. There are people all over. People you’ve passed by all your years in Kildare but have never spoken to you. You felt the same towards the group you’re with but now… now they’re talking to you and laughing with you like they’ve all known each other for years.

You also never knew that Kook’s and Pogue’s could ever get along. But apparently they can when you’ve had a few cold ones. You’re sitting on a log with JJ on one side and John B on the other. Sarah’s sitting on John B’s lap, and you side eye it for a second, realizing that she and Topper really are done. You pay no mind to it afterwards and keep leaning up against JJ as he dramatically tells a story about his last time surfing, which was this morning, the kid living and breathing the sport.

Your eyes skim the grounds and your eyes immediately fall onto Rafe who’s standing around with his friends, beer at hand. Whatever his friends are saying is amusing him because he’s letting out a laugh, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes like he can’t believe it.

“She’s a pogue now.” JJ pulls you back into the group as he boasts about you. “Beat that Harlet girl.”

“Scarlett.” Sarah corrects the drunken guy.

“Whatever her name is. Can I say the b word?” He asks Kiara who shrugs lamely, taking a sip of her beer. “to beating bitches up!”

“JJ, why would you say that?”

“You just gave me permission!” He scoffs and turns back to you, hands squishing your cheeks and making you pucker up. “Look at that sexy shiner.”

You try to pull away from him with a laugh. If it were anyone else, the constant need to be touching you and being flirty would overwhelm you. But you’ve come to realize that he’s just an affectionate and flirtatious person. Plus, it’s very clear that he has his sights set on Kiara, with the longing looks he constantly sends her way.

“To my girlfriend!” JJ hollers far too loudly for your liking, eyes wide as you look at him, as he’s now dramatically standing on the log you were sitting on.

“N-not! Not his girlfriend!” You grab his hand and try to drag him to take a seat but he’s apparently a goddamn bulldozer when drunk.

Cleo and Pope are tending to the drunken guy when you find the chance to slip away. Luckily, you had brought yourself a sweater so walking down the shoreline at one in the morning isn’t the worst part of your night. It’s calm and cool now, the sound of chattering and music now becoming a distant noise, giving you the solace and warmth you need.

The path you’re on now is one you walked down with Scarlett by your side many times. It was never this late of course, always at a decent time with her dog on a leash before letting him run wild. You’d talk for hours. Despite the tension often felt from her remarks, you had a pleasant time. More than pleasant. Fun even. She’s a bad person. A mean person. A bully. But when it was just the two of you, she was just a girl. A girl with you. And you hate how easily she could have betrayed you.

A motion in the corner of your eye startles you out of your reminiscing thoughts. You see a figure rush between the trees and take notice of who it is. Rafe. If you were in a cartoon, you’d imagine a lightbulb drawn at the top of your head lit brightly. This was your shot. Your time to beg and beg until he agreed to take you under his wing.

With a small skip to your step, you follow after Rafe in between the few trees on the beach. You lose sight of him for a second before you spot him again. His back is facing you but what concerns you is how he’s kneeling to the ground. Carefully, you start approaching him.

“Hey,” you gently reach out and tap his shoulder. This startles him. And before you know it, you feel a thousand grains of sand in your eyes. You yell, hands immediately covering your eyes. “Oh my god! What the fuck?! What the fuck?!”

“Holy shit!” You hear him yell. The two of you are yelling now. You don't think you’ve ever heard such a big and tough man like him yell in the way he does. So high pitched. Or maybe that’s just you. But you’re in too much pain to pay any attention. “Why would you fucking creep up on me?!”

“I thought you weren’t okay!”

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?!”

“Cause you were kneeling on the floor like a freak!”

“How does that make me a—“

“I think I'm going blind! Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god!” You can’t help but cry out, unable to open your eyes fully because of the sand in them. “Why the fuck would you throw sand in my eyes?!”

“I thought I was being attacked!”

“I only touched your shoulder! Do you think an attacker would lightly tap your shoulder to attack you?! Take me to the hospital!” You’re screeching. You know this. But you can’t open your eyes and this means to panic. Or at least, it is to you.

He sighs, calming down. Or not. You can’t see anything, eyes shut tight. The way the sand grains feel in your eyes only drives you even deeper into a panic. “You don’t need to go to the hospital.”

“Then the eye doctor!”

“It’s one in the morning.”

“Oh my god, I’m never gonna see anything ever again! Do you know how much I like to see things?!”

“I’m assuming a lot?”

“A lot! Oh my—“

“Stop saying ‘oh my god’. Fuck, do you have any other phrase?”

You scoff, eyes still covering your eyes which wouldn’t be able to open either way. “Just help me!”

“Fuck, fine! I’ll help you!” You jump when his hand grabs your wrist, tugging one of your hands off of your face. You figured he would tug and drag you behind him but you’re pleasantly surprised that he’s carefully guiding you through the thick trees and what seems to be back to the boneyard. When your feet hit asphalt, you’re sure you’re in the parking lot, taking you to his truck.

“Just… stay here.” He advises you as your back presses up against the cold touch of a vehicle. You heard a car door click open, some scrounging, the door shuts and he’s back in front of you. You’re not sure what he’s doing as he stands across from you, eyes still shut tight. It’s quiet for a moment except for the sound of distant waves crashing.

“Hello?” You reach out shakily, unsure of where exactly he is. Your hand meets his face in a light smack and he pushes your hand off.

“Get off of me.”

“What the fuck are you doing just standing there? Help me!”

You hear him sigh heavily, the sound of his shoes on asphalt. You aren’t sure what you were expecting but his hand taking a hold of your face, big hand sprawled over your chin and onto your cheeks, puckering your lips out softly isn’t it. It’s oddly tender for a man who’s supposed to be abrasive. “I’m gonna need you to open your eyes for a second. Gonna flush ‘em out with water, alright?”

You have no words, you simply nod gently, opening your slightly burning eyes for him to flush them out. It takes a few gushes of water for your eyes to no longer feel grainy. The sleeve of your sweater is rubbing at your eyes tirelessly, the stinging unbearable. His hand grabs your wrist, pulling you away from your eyes again. “Stop doing that. It’s going to worsen it.”

You glare at him. The blurry version of him from how teary and red your eyes are. “It wouldn’t be bad in the first place if—“

“If you didn’t sneak up on me like a stalker.” His harsh words don’t deter you. His tone would have last week but not anymore. Normally, you'd feel a flutter of embarrassment or shame but after all that's happened in the past 48 hours, you can't find it in you to care.

“A stalker?! God, I just wanted to talk to you. You were kneeling over on the ground like you found a dead fucking puppy. Forgive me for wanting to check up on you.”

“This is a good lesson for you, kid—“

“Kid? Seriously?”

“A lesson to mind your own every now and then.”

You scoff but have no retort to throw back, tired and stinging eyes taking him in. His face is strong as usual, little to no emotion shown in them, even with the ridiculous sight of your extremely reddened eyes and roughed up face, he shows nothing. You wonder why he is the way he is for a second before snapping back into reality. “You owe me for this.”

“Is this that “make you hot“ bullshit?” He snorts out what you think is a laugh. But he would never so you can’t find it in you to stew over it.

“Yeah and wh—“

“I’m not making you hot.”

“Ugh, please! Look, I really need this! And you almost blinded me so you have to.”

“I don’t have to do shit. You put your nose in someone else’s business, that’s what leads to sand in your eyes.”

“Yeah, but—“ you try again but he easily shuts you up by putting a single hand up, palm to your face. A look of amusement flashes through his eyes when he realizes it actually worked and you’re too worked up to fight back. You’re about to speak and he’s about to decline and fight you again when another voice speaks up.

“Yo, fight club!” John B calls out to you, a sleeping Sarah on his back. Beside him, Pope and Cleo are placating a tearful JJ as he hangs off their shoulders between the two of them. Kiara is wearing a random hat that reads ‘Fish Fear Me’, probably stolen by JJ and now a trophy for her. “We’re leaving.”

You turn to speak to Rafe but he’s already gotten into his truck and with a loud sigh of defeat, you walk over to your new group of friends. Kiara brings her arm over your shoulder easily, putting the hat she had on top of your head with a bright smile. They’re talking about god knows what as your eyes turn back to Rafe’s truck one last time. And you’re not sure if you’re making it up but you swear your eyes meet through the slide glass before he drives off.

────────────────────────

taglist. @pinkyqily @chalahyung01 @lunalvrsblog @teenwolfbitches28 @jayjsbaby @yawnzshit @mytimeiswaiting @tsshifting @always-reading @chimchimjiminie16 @ayy1234567 (if your name is red, im not able to tag you and im not sure why, sorry!!)

[marvelstoriesepic]

Angstober (day 10)

Pairing: College!Bucky x College!Reader

Prompt: Humiliation

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Bucky is a jerk (he does have a sense of regret); reader is humiliated; mentions of self-doubt and insecurities; toxic and strict parents; hurt!reader; sad!reader; ending is quite open but not really happy

Angstober Masterlist

This is bad.

This is really, really bad.

You stare at the sheet of paper in front of you - the exam your professor just handed back, corrected. And it seems like there were quite a few things needing to be corrected.

82%

The number burns behind your eyes, but you don’t get your gaze to turn away. It sits there so innocently as if it doesn’t matter. As if there isn’t something at stake here. As if you could be satisfied with it.

Your mouth goes dry. You had studied days and nights for this exam, as you always do, buried yourself in textbooks, flashcards, anything to cram more information into your already overloaded brain. All for 82%.

Heat creeps up the back of your neck, your skin prickling with it, like embarrassment and dread decided to team up against you, merging into something gruesome, something you can’t escape.

Around you, students already started to pack up their bags, laughing, chattering, moving on. But you can’t move. You’re frozen on this bench, apprehension sinking into your bones and making them too heavy to lift your body.

Thinking that way over a grade - with it being objectively even a decent one - would perhaps be considered dramatic. Some fellow students had cheered at much lower numbers when the professor handed out the results earlier. And perhaps, you would have even been okay with this. Perhaps you could even allow yourself a tiny flicker of satisfaction if this were about you. But it’s not. It never is.

It’s about your parents.

It’s basically ingrained in them to scrutinize every part of you, every grade, every decision. They keep close tabs on everything you do, everything that may be a hazard for the path they laid out for you a long time ago. But you don’t walk this path voluntarily. You’re being pushed, forced to take steps closer to a dream you never claimed as your own. And that can only weigh a person down.

So maybe you’re not even that surprised about the grade. Pressure is a bitch. Especially when it’s boiling, simmering under the surface, until your mind can’t comprehend the simplest of information anymore. But they won’t consider anything like that when they find out. And they will find out. They always do. It’s like they have eyes everywhere, monitoring you, waiting for you to slip.

And 82%? You may as well have flunked the entire thing.

The last time you fell short of their expectations had been 86%. Funnily enough, it was the exam before this one, so that makes things even worse. Your parents had acted like you dragged the family name through the mud and intentionally smeared it all over just to spite them.

And every word they threw at you was laced with that cutting edge that usually ends up making you feel small, insignificant, stupid. Really, it doesn’t stop there.

You don’t live with them anymore. You took the chance and moved away for college the second you could, hoping for an escape, carte blanche, freedom, whatever the hell people like to call it.

But the distance wasn’t able to cut the ties. They’re still there. Their expectations, their rules, fighting for dominance in the back of your head and hanging over you like a dark cloud. And you know with chilling certainty that this 82% is going to rain hell on your head.

Your hands feel heavy, too heavy to lift, too heavy to even pack up your things like everyone else. You just sit, paralyzed by the weight of their disappointment that hasn’t even happened yet, but you know is coming.

“Y/n!”

Wanda’s voice reaches you through the haze, your thoughts had blurred into. Her voice carries hints of that teasing tone she loves to use on you.

“Pack up, slowpoke! I gotta catch my bus!”

“Yeah, right, sorry,” you mutter, blinking yourself out of that numbness that had been creeping in. You snatch up that exam paper and shove it into your bag, crumbling it in the process but not at all caring. It’s better out of sight. You throw the rest of your stuff into the bag as well and rush to the door of the lecture hall, meeting Wanda there.

You two take different buses to get home every day but always walk to the bus station together after the classes of the day are over. And thank god this was the last one of the day, the last one of the week.

A weekend to drown yourself in your sorrows is what you need.

“Soo…” Wanda sing-songs, a hint of something in her voice. “There’s this party tonight…” she trails off, giving you a sideways glance, eyes wide with expectation and a bright grin on her face.

You sigh. Heavily. Deeply. “Wan-” you start, already shaking your head without turning to her, but she doesn’t let you get far.

“Come on, Y/n,” she practically begs, drawing out the words. “You’ve been working yourself to death for weeks. And now that the exams are over, we don’t have anything due for ages! We’ve got time. And, well, don’t punch me for this, but you need to come out, let off some steam.”

You don’t give her much of a reaction as you carry on with your steps, head turned forward, watching the bus station in the distance grow bigger. This isn’t the first time she’s asked you this and it certainly won’t be the last.

“I’m not-” you start your usual rejection, but she is relentless, already prepared for your banter.

“I’ll make sure you have a good time. It’ll be fun, you’ll meet some new people, let loose a little,” she nudges you lightly, “forget about the dragons for a while.”

At that, a huff of laughter escapes your lips and you make out the triumph in Wanda’s eyes even though you’re still not looking at her directly. At some point, Wanda had resigned to calling your parents the dragons. You took offense at that for them for a while. Or you tried to at least but, honestly, it actually made your situation with them humorous to some twisted extent.

You want to argue. You want to dig your heels in and tell her no like you usually do. But you’re tired. Tired of this conversation, tired of the accusations of your parents - the dragons - you will have to prepare for, tired of that weight that never really moves off your shoulders.

So you really can’t be mad at yourself for this.

“Alright, fine, whatever. But just this once.”

Wanda squeals.

****

Yeah, this was a mistake.

The moment you and Wanda put foot into the room, vibrating with music that leaves you stumbling, eyes move over to you.

Actually, perhaps, it aren’t even many. But receiving attention from a whole bunch of people isn’t something that happens to you on a daily basis, so having those few students turn in your direction, ogling your form as you walk into the life of the party, overwhelms you with an intensity that forces you to halt.

You had hoped you could use this night to finally forget, to get an escape where no one would notice you. That doesn’t seem to happen. Wanda also doesn’t let you retreat back into the night, and find solace in a bottle somewhere far from here - somewhere quiet.

“Hey!”

You know that voice. You hate that voice and everything that belongs to its owner.

“Took a wrong turn there, sweetheart. Library’s the other way!”

There’s a laugh in his voice, the exaggerated mocking he always uses to taunt you, perfectly edged into it and you pretend not to hear him, only gripping Wanda’s arm tighter. His friends sharp laughter isn’t ignored that easily though, and you feel that well-known shame boil over far too easily.

“Oh, how would you know, Barnes?” Wanda shoots back, her voice mocking, but lacking that same playfulness she used with you earlier. A few more snorts from Bucky’s group follow but you don’t turn around as Wanda pulls you passed them.

You hate this. Already.

Bucky is at every party, so you knew he would be here. And you had tried to mentally prepare for his presence, steeled yourself against the jibes and insults he usually throws at you. Well, at least you had thought you were ready. But no amount of preparation could ever arm you against the venom sneaking into your thoughts at every word of his. How they latch onto the darkest corners of your mind, feeding the doubts already planted there.

It’s always been this way with him. He has always been this way. Since the first semester, it’s as if he has a vendetta against you, and you’ve become his favorite target. It started with him noticing you sitting over a textbook in the library, in the mensa, in study halls, all over campus really, and he made sure to always point it out. To make fun of it. To make fun of you.

Perhaps there is some warped entertainment in your discomfort that he savors. You’re an easy mark - soft-spoken, non-confrontational. You don’t fight back. Instead, you bury your hurt, swallowing the insecurities he rises in you, without showing a soul. Your parents were good at teaching you how to do that.

He doesn’t see how deeply his jokes cut, because you never let him see it. But you don’t think he’d care if he did.

“Does this not ever get boring to you?”

“It’s not like anyone’s going to remember you if you stay holed up in your books all the time”

“At some point, you gotta focus on the right things in life, sugar.”

Once they’re said, they never leave your head, always coming to the forefront of your mind in times you can’t handle them.

Now is one of those times.

“Wanda, I’m leaving,” you say, words holding the determination you needed all day, yanking your arm free from her grip, harsher than intended.

You need to get out of here, need to take a fucking breath, and get a taste of the cool air outside since the heat flooding your blood and skin makes it feel like you’re burning from the inside out.

You make for the door, but his voice finds you again.

“Now, hold on, where you goin'? Can’t leave yet, L/n. You just got here.”

You don’t stop at his bullshit, willing yourself to ignore him. But your fingers start trembling, growing slick with sweat.

“And hey, since I get the chance to talk to you… 82%?”

You freeze.

Your heart stutters, a cold shock icing your veins. It’s like the air has been sucked out of the room leaving you to search for oxygen. You don’t want to turn around, don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing your reaction, but you’re stuck. Glued to the spot, giving him and his words the power to anchor you in place.

“Really?” Bucky continues, voice still dripping with teasing mockery, unaware of your struggle. “With all those all-nighters at the library? I gotta say, Y/n, that’s actually impressive.”

The rushing sound in your ears devours everything else - the way Wanda jumps in to your defense, as always; the same menacing laughter of his friends - it’s all drowned out by the pounding in your skull.

Your hands ball into fists, nails digging into your palms. You feel the burn of tears, that familiar sting in the corners of your eyes, and you fight it. You fight it because the last thing you want is to cry in front of him, in front of all these people, all these damn prying eyes.

You turn around without even thinking, your gaze locking onto Bucky’s. He’s grinning that satisfied smirk, a gleam in his eyes but then, in a space of a heartbeat, his expression changes, falters. His smile is wiped off his face in seconds as his eyes widen. Shock enters his features, easing the lines and sucking out the color on his face as his lips part slightly, slowly.

You can’t place his reaction, but you figure it out when your body betrays you. Lips trembling, you pull your bottom lip between your teeth but you can’t do anything for the tears blurring your vision rapidly.

Bucky is still staring at you, frozen, gaping; his face a mix of something you don’t want to concentrate on. He’s not the one allowed to be in pain right now. He’s not the one allowed to feel the rising load of agony. So why the hell does he look like it?

You turn on your heel as the hot tears start gliding down your cheeks and your body doesn’t feel like your own as you hastily make your way to the door. Your hand flies to your mouth, hoping it will stifle the sound of the sob that emerges from deep within, trying to hold onto the last shred of control and dignity you have left as you bolt from the room.

You’ve never left a place this fast before.

Not even your parent's house.

🍁 October Writing Challenges Masterlist 🍁

[heirloomgem]

Euphonious Series

Summary: (AU) In a world of ABO, you've always thought you were an alpha, high above others.

However, encountering your fated pair, proves you otherwise.

Add to that, your fated pair, whose grey eyes that always seem to see through you and black hair that always tries to entice your hand to run through it. You found out you were an omega through the heat he caused.

You couldn't help but curse the gods in every possible way as you tried your hardest not to kneel and beg your junior in school to claim and ravage you, whose name was Sung Jinwoo.

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything except for my characters and plot.

Warning/Genre: OOC, Romance, fluff, high school life, gender neutral (Sorry for the miss grammar)

Chapter 1 - Meeting

In your current society, you have your first gender.

A female and a male.

However, once you reach a certain age, you are tested to differentiate for your second gender.

A Beta, which the majority are categorized.

Next is the minority that experiences heat, an Omega.

And then where success is guaranteed, the Alpha.

You have always thought your life is set.

Born into an affluent family, number one in studies and sports, a good enough appearance and a dominant but nonchalant personality.

You and everyone have obviously thought you were an alpha.

Or so you thought as you met those grey eyes of a boy, named Sung Jinwoo.

It had been an average day for you.

Waking up and getting ready for school, listening to your teacher as they teach their subject.

Doing your duties as a student council president and catching your schoolmates who were slacking and skipping school.

Punishing them or dragging their asses back if they defy you.

It was a normal routine for you however what made that day different from others was meeting him.

Your fated pair.

You had just finished all the necessary paperwork and meetings as the student council president and were on your way home when you saw a group of students harassing some middle schoolers.

Stopping in your tracks, you saw that some of them were from your school while the others were from schools that were close to your area.

Observing the group of high school students, you couldn't help but notice that they seemed to be part of the same friend group, as there were no conflicts between them. Instead, they were bullying some middle school students.

You sigh as you shake your head.

Such a bunch of brats.

Seeing that they have already beaten a few middle school students and are about to harass them again, you step in without hesitation and call out to them.

The students who wore similar uniforms as yours stiffened once they heard and saw you.

They have been the same junior students you have always dragged back to school from skipping classes.

They were either in some arcade or in some brawls with other delinquents from another school, in which case resulted in you facing both parties.

Neither did you take sides as you beat them.

In the end, you would contact the other school's student council president, who happened to be one of your childhood friends, to inform them about your schoolmates and what happened.

Afterwards, you would finally escort your own schoolmates' beat-up assess back to your school infirmary.

That was how it usually plays.

And since they have crossed paths with you a few times already, they have seen what you're capable of and have unconsciously ingrained your presence in their minds.

They knew they were in trouble.

However, the other students from a different school were unaware of their dilemma, nor did they know you.

And so, seeing you leisurely walking up to them, they immediately put their attention on you and abandoned their previous targets at once.

Oblivious to the danger they're putting themselves into.

Arrogant in their stance, clearly the one leading them was an alpha.

You sigh once again, deciding to finish this quickly. Since you were eager to go home and were quite looking forward to the dessert that your mother had bought from abroad.

The thought almost makes you salivate.

"What this? Trying to be a hero now aren't you?" The alpha taunted as he strode over to you, smirking as his lackeys trailed behind him and slowly circled you.

Eyeing you up, it was clear he was sizing you as he instinctive knew you were an alpha.

You two were almost the same height however you clearly towered him by a few inches.

Showing an indifferent attitude and not answering his taunt, he faltered as you gave him a cold stare.

Embarrassed by showing weakness and intimidated by another alpha, he hid it by sneering at you and barking again at your classmates.

"Hey! What the fuck are you doing?! Get your asses here!" He shouted, his voice showing traces of agitation. This affected his lackeys as their earlier confidence faltered as well.

Looking at their other friends, they were confused as they remained rooted in their place.

Their faces paled, body trembling and sweat dripping down from their forehead. Hesitant, they gave a small shake of their head, their eyes showing undeniable fear.

Annoyed, the alpha was once again about to shout when suddenly a presence loomed over him and a cold voice interrupted.

"I'll advise you to leave if you don't want yourself embarrassed and beaten up by the end of the day, kid."

It was your voice.

Calm and deep, sending shivers down their spines as they felt authority dripping off it.

The alpha and his group paled instantly. Something inside them, especially the leader in their group instinctively told them this student was dangerous and someone not to be messed with.

However, an alpha is an alpha. They weren't one to be bent over nor ordered around so easily.

And because of this and due to his arrogant pride, the alpha kid faced you with a sneer and defiantly challenged you.

"Fuck you."

"..."

The surroundings fell silent, and the atmosphere immediately grew colder than it used to. A heavy feeling washed over everyone watching the two and they felt a foreboding sense creep up their spine.

You, however, just gave a small cold laugh before dropping your bag. Your eyes narrowed darkly.

Not long after, sounds of screams and agonizing cries echoed in the park while your schoolmates and the group of middle school students watched in horror as you beat them with ease but not without mercy.

Instructing your schoolmates to drag their friends' asses to their school infirmary, you told them that their student presidents, whom you have informed already, were waiting for them at the school entrance.

They knew that if they didn't show up, this president of theirs would hound them no matter where they were. Because of this, you didn't worry if they ran away.

As for your schoolmates, they already know to show up the next day if they want to keep their balls alive.

Watching them limp away, you finally let out a breath and pick up your school bag, satisfied that everything was almost over.

However, glancing over to the side and seeing the group of young students all bruised and battered, you sigh inwardly.

You made a mental note to have those bastards write up a thousand-word apology and assign them chores around campus as punishment.

Walking over to the group of middle schoolers, you asked them if they were alright.

"Yes, senior. Thank you so much for your help!" One of the kids replied while the others nodded with a bit of enthusiasm.

Looking over their battered faces while a smile was on their lips and their eyes shining as they looked at you, you couldn't help but worry and apologize to them on behalf of your schoolmates as their school president.

Throughout the exchange, one particular student was silent and kept his distance from you however you didn't blame him. If you were him, you would also be wary, especially after what they have been through before you came.

You may have saved them, but there's no guarantee you won't do the same as what those previous people did.

Though you felt his eyes lock onto you, you didn't know whether it was hostility or something else. Just that you couldn't ignore how intense his gaze was as he watched you.

Deciding to let it go, you took out a card from your pocket and gave it to them, advising them to visit the clinic if they ever experienced any signs of discomfort.

It was one of the clinics your cousin works at.

Given the number of students you frequently handled in such cases, your cousin already suspected it was you who sent them whenever students arrived at their clinic with bruises on their bodies.

Your cousin scolds you because of it.

You simply shrugged and responded that it at least contributed to the business. No matter how you deal with these troublemakers—whether through a gentle approach or not—if they still refuse to listen, they need to learn the hard way.

It was that or nothing.

You explained and your cousin could only accept defeat as deep down he knew that kids your age are hard to disciple.

As the students bowed in gratitude, you noticed the admiration in their eyes as they stared at you.

Not used to such gazes, you cough and avoid their eyes. Instead, you immediately urged them to go home as the sky slowly turned dark.

Inwardly, you hope they won't turn out like you, as you know you are barely crossing the line when it comes to disciplining such unruly schoolmates of yours.

Bowing their heads once more, they said goodbye and walked away, eager to head home while chatting happily.

You sigh again and lift your hand to brush your hair, glad that everything's finally over.

As they turned the corner, you were about to leave when suddenly there were hurried footsteps behind you. You felt a hand grab your shirt tightly, stopping you in your tracks.

That's when you heard them, stammering with a soft and warm voice, calling out to you pleadingly as you turned your head.

Your eyes locked with grey-coloured ones.

It was the boy from earlier who was watching you so intensely.

He has soft black hair with bangs that brush against his lashes. He also reaches your shoulders in height and has a lean build.

Clearly, the boy was growing and showing a distinct trait of an alpha.

However, it wasn't those physical traits that shocked you, it was his scent. A scent so endearing your body reacted in ways you never experienced before.

You felt your body heat up, your hands trembling and your breath laboured as you continued to lock eyes with the boy.

His scent enveloped you, intoxicating and enticing, making you crave something you knew was wrong.

Slowly, dread fills you as realizations hit you all at once.

You cursed.

"Fuck."

A/n: Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! Their age will be explained as the story goes and don't worry there won't be inappropriate ages or such.

Please leave a comment on what you think! Thank you!

{All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author}

[dyaz-stories]

a house, not a home || Cha Hyun-Su x Reader

word count: 1.4k

warnings & tags: canon typical violence, hurt/comfort, hyun-su needs a hug, unresolved tension, mentions of blood

a/n: okay so, for context, this takes place during season 2. reader and hyun-su know each other from high school and reader runs into hyun-su after the events of the first three episodes. reader also doesn't know that he is a monster/neohuman though if people are interested i could definitely write that 👀 I hope you'll like it! Please let me know your thoughts and if you'd like me to write more, and consider reblogging!

next part

The hardest thing to get used to, after what others called the Monsterization Outbreak but you labelled, more simply, the Apocalypse, was the silence. You were the type of person to always have music playing, back when you were a high schooler studying hard to get into your college of choice. Now, music was wasted electricity and, worse, could be a death sentence if anyone — anything — heard it play, or if it dulled your senses and got you killed.

At the beginning, there had been lots of sounds. Screams. Cars colliding. Stores’ alarms, blaring when the looters broke in. Sobs. In your house, for a while, there had been your father, humming quietly as he worked.

Then he’d gotten a nosebleed, left the house, and never returned.

Now it was just you, and you’d learned not to make a sound. So when there’s a knock on your door, it echoes through the rooms and rattles you to your core. For a second, you clench your trusty baseball bat. You took hours and cut your fingers planting nails into it, but it’s worth it, if only for the feeling of confidence it gives you. Truth is, you rarely had to use it. Your strategy relies on avoiding confrontation at all costs.

You release it when you realize that there are very few people who can come knocking at your door.

After all, monsters don’t knock.

You rush to the door without letting go of the bat. Your habits are ingrained in you well enough that you still check the peephole — and when you do, your heart somersaults in your chest.

You keep the hinges well-oiled and the door doesn’t make a sound when you open it.

“Come in,” you whisper, not daring to break the silence with actual words.

Cha Hyun-Su stares at you, looks like he hesitates. He always does, looks like he wants to give you a chance to slam the door back in his face. He’s covered in blood now — ‘not mine’, you know he’d say if you asked —, clutching his wrist, lips chapped, eyes hollow.

“Come on,” you say again, and this time he does, walking by you without a word. Then he goes still once more, there in your entrance, while you close the door behind him. He always does that, until you give him explicit permission.

“Are you okay?” you ask when you turn around, hands reaching for his arms, his torso, trying to check on him, though you cannot see whether or not he is hurt.

“I’m fine,” he replies with that deep voice of his, catching your wrists before you can feel for yourself. “It’s not my blood.”

It never is.

“But are you hurt?” you press, still.

He frowns, and confusion sparks in his eyes.

“I told you. I’m fine.”

You shake your head.

“No, I mean— Does it hurt? Does anything hurt?”

Hyun-Su’s lips part. He closes his eyes. His body sways towards yours, and you freeze. You feel his breath against your cheek, and his grip on your wrist becomes lighter— a caress, at most. You just stay there, not wanting to scare him away, but not wanting to leave him to himself either. You feel a pull towards him, the urge to wrap your arms around him, and you resist it, knowing that he’d flee.

Finally, he snaps out of it, lets go of you, takes a step back.

“I’m fine,” he repeats for a third time.

You don’t push it.

“Do you want to take a bath?”

Clean water isn’t easy to come by these days. Fortunately for you, you have a complex system designed to retain rain water as well as morning dew, put in place by your father, when he was still around. It’s rained recently, and with the help of solar panels you’d stolen with him what feels like a lifetime ago, you’ll be able to have hot water. Showers, you haven’t mastered — though you’re sure your dad would have figured it out by now — but you can at least offer him a warm bath.

Hyun-Su’s eyes are on you, wide and focused.

They’re ever so slightly warmer than they were when he came in.

“I would like that.”

Hyun-Su comes out of the bathroom some thirty minutes later, clean and looking more like himself. He’s wearing clothes he’d left there on one of his other visits, which you’d washed by hand among some of your stuff.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice firmer than it had been earlier.

“It’s not a problem,” you reply, and you have to stop yourself from grimacing at how fake your nonchalance sounds to your ears.

If he notices, he doesn’t comment on it.

“Have you been okay here?” he asks instead.

You bite the inside of your cheek. The answer is complicated. You’ve been safe, physically that is. You have barely caught sight of a monster since he’s last been here — nine days ago. You can’t say you’re bored, either. There’s always things to do, to fix, to figure out around here.

What you are, is alone.

And, though you don’t want to admit it, lonely.

It might be the kind of answer he’s looking for, yet you can’t bring yourself to say it out loud. It’s not even that you don’t want him to know.

It’s that you’re scared that if you did, if you asked him to stay or to take you with him, he would still leave you behind.

“I make do,” you reply, which at least isn’t a lie. “I keep myself busy.”

It’s your turn to freeze when Hyun-Su leans forward, trying to meet your eyes.

“Are you hurt?”

A smile escapes you at his cautious tone as he repeats your words at you. You look up, and there he is, inches away from your face, checking on you in the very same way you’d checked on him when he’d arrived — now that he’s had the time and space to collect himself. For half a second, the corner of his lips lifts clumsily to form a smile in response to yours, and then it’s gone, as he, too, realizes how close he is.

You see him sucking in a breath, then swallowing, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. Your heart beats so loud in your ears, you can’t even hear the silence anymore.

“I’m not hurt,” you say, and it is true for now, at least.

Hyun-Su nods without moving away. There’s an intensity in his eyes that you’re not used to, a spark, a craving.

His eyes drop to your lips.

Your whole body is tingling with anticipation, yet you don’t move, no matter how badly you want to close the gap between you. You can’t rush him. You’d never forgive yourself, if he didn’t come back.

He leans forward, just by an inch, then closer again, so close and—

He turns his head at the last moment, late enough that his cheek brushes against yours, before he pulls himself back.

That hurts. It makes your heart ache more than you’ve let yourself hurt in forever.

“Sorry,” Hyun-Su mumbles, stumbling back. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say. You’re not sure if he’s apologizing for trying to kiss you, or for not doing it.

“I’ve brought you food,” he says in a rush, picking up his backpack by the entrance door.

You watch him as he does, and you can’t help but note the many wounds on his body. Most of them are half-closed, and you know that they’ll be gone by the next time he comes back, but that new ones will have had the time to open and heal halfway.

He hands you his offering of food, without meeting your eyes this time, and you take it from him. Your fingers brush against him, and he moves his hand away like you’ve just burned him.

“It’s late,” you say, your voice quiet even to your own ears, even now that you’re so accustomed to the lack of noise. You don’t want him to go, not just yet. “You should sleep here.”

But, just like you expected, Hyun-Su shakes his head and closes his backpack with shaky hands.

“I need to go,” he says. Then, when you don’t answer — can he tell you’re fighting back tears? —, he adds “I’ll come back. I promise.”

You nod. It’s your turn to avoid his eyes.

“I’ll be waiting,” you say.

You open the door for him, and you force yourself to look at him as he steps back outside, into the unknown, into the danger, and away from you.

He looks back, right before disappearing in the night.

“Stay safe,” you say, though you know he won’t.

“You too,” he says, knowing you will.

And then he’s gone, and you’re alone with the silence again.

next part

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Code of Conduct 4

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as cheating, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your boss has a difficult time keeping his personal life from bleeding into his work. 

Characters: Steve Rogers, this reader is known as Rosie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

“Are you sure you want to keep working?” You ask Mr. Rogers as you bring in the printed report he requested. 

“Yeah, can’t really go home...” he mutters as he takes the report with a brittle smile. 

“I guess, but you could... take some time for yourself. I can call your one o’clock,” you offer. 

“Rosie, you’re wonderful. But I need the distraction.” 

“Okay, I—can I get you anything? A tea? When I feel down, I have this lavender chamomile in my desk that helps me feel better.” 

He looks at you, his blue eyes sparkling. You really can’t handle him crying. His eyes are already pink and puffy from the tears he hid in his closed office. 

“You’re so sweet,” he sniffs. 

“Look that over and I’ll steep the tea,” you insist. 

You leave him before your ingrained sympathy can have you joining his pity party. You feel awful for him but lost too. You’re not sure how to handle all this. Relationships have always been a bit of a mystery to you. You have lot of friends but never found anyone to be more than. 

You take your time in the break room. You smell like vinaigrette. It’s another reminder of the chaotic morning. The kettle pops and you pour the water over the tea bag. You bob it up and down with the string and make your way back to Mr. Roger’s office. 

He thanks you as you set it down and warn him it’s hot. He runs his thumb up and down the edge of a page then looks up at you.  

“Anything else, sir?” 

“You... you said you feel down sometimes?” He asks. 

“Oh, well, yeah, but everyone does.” 

“But... about what? Why would you feel down?” He lowers the stapled papers onto the desk. 

“Just... things, sir. Nothing big. It’s just the way people are.” 

“You-- you have everything, Rosie. You’re so bright and bubbly. What could make you sad?” He pivots his chair towards you. “Who do I gotta give a talking to around here?” 

“No one, sir. Really. I guess I just need a pick-me-up from time to time.” 

He nods and looks down. You hover on the other side of his desk. You should get back to work but you don’t know if you should leave him. 

“I get lonely too.” He lifts his chin up. “Even when Peggy’s right next to me. I get it.” 

“Sir?” 

“You said you’re not married, right? I—I'm sorry if I assumed--” he cringes. “Wow, I’m so embarrassing.” 

“It’s... it’s fine. I have friends and we have lots of fun. My friend Missie, she’s really cool. She lies to tie-dye. We do that sometimes. And you,” you perk up, “you have Mr. Barnes, right? He told me that you twohave known each other forever.” 

“He told you that?” Rogers tilts his head. 

“Well, sure, he’s a bit chatty when he stops by.” 

“He is?” A brow arches curiously and ripples his forehead. “I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re so easy to talk to. Even with someone like him.” 

“Erm, I guess. I just try to see the positive. You know. Um, I don’t mean to presume because I can’t begin to know but I know Peggy loves you. And you have a good job and you can fix this, Mr. Rogers. You could try counselling or I don’t know. Like I said, I don’t know much,” you shrug. 

“We did counselling,” he picks up the mug and blows the steam away, inhaling the scent. “She stormed out of that too. We’ve tried a lot of things. A second honeymoon, a vow renewal, everything.” He looks down and his shoulders slump. He looks tiny even though he’s a big man. 

“I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to overstep.” 

“You didn’t,” he inhales and pushes his shoulders straight. “You’re right, I can do something. I can put myself first. I think... I think I need to look into leaving.” 

You blink. You’re speechless. It feels like too much. Not his suggestion, just that he’s saying it to you. You’re fine getting him coffee and sorting his schedule but you haven’t been trained for this. 

“You should do what’s best for you, sir.” 

He nods and tastes the tea. “It’s good, Rose,” He sets the cup down. “Thanks. You’re... you’re too good to me.” 

“It’s just tea. I’ll let you enjoy it in peace and I gotta get back to it.” You smile. “Let me know if you need anything else.” 

“Will do,” he utters glumly. 

You slowly turn away and stride out. You feel a tugging in your stomach. Like guilt. You feel bad leaving him like that. Yet, you don’t know what else you can do for him. Missie would know. She always knows how to make things better. Maybe you could ask her but it’s a long story. 

Hm. 

You take out your phone and open up the conversation. You giggle at the kitten pictures she sent you last night. It takes several attempts to get it right; ‘hey, Miss, what would you do for someone going through a break-up? Tryna do something nice. Thx <3’ 

You’re sure she’ll come up with something, even without all the details. You tuck your phone away and turn back to your screen. As you do, an email pings into Mr. Rogers’ inbox.  

You click on it and open the attachment. The legal letterhead has your blood cold. Before you can react, you hear Mr. Rogers exclaim.

Oh no, he’s already seen it. Divorce papers. 

[joelscruff]

wait (boyfriend's dad!joel x f!reader) 18+

first and foremost! this is part of my boyfriend's dad!joel series and takes place after "words". this won't really make sense if you haven't read that one! it's so crazy to me how this started out as a silly little smutty drabble and somehow became this. this one's kind of heavy (read the warnings!!) but i promise that things won't stay this angsty forever. at its root this story is supposed to be smutty and fun and i promise there will be more of that in the future. i hope you enjoy it and here's my kofi if you'd like to leave a tip 💕 summary: it's been a month since your boyfriend discovered your relationship with his father and a month since you've seen joel. it's starting to take its toll. rating: 18+ explicit warnings: daddy kink, unprotected p in v sex, sexting, comeplay, angst, allusions to past trauma, shitty family dynamics (addiction & verbal abuse), panic attacks word count: 3.2k

i miss you

it's the only thing you've thought about texting him for about a month, a text you always type out and then erase a few moments later. it's something you swore to yourself that you wouldn't do no matter how lonely you got. he'd said he needed time, and you want to give it to him. and yet here you are, leaning against the window of your bus home from community college with tears in your eyes, phone in hand, wanting nothing more than to see him. selfish.

it's been one of the loneliest periods of your life. you've known loneliness, felt it throughout most of your childhood, through your adolescence, it's nothing new. but with joel you'd finally begun to feel whole again, like you actually mattered to someone. he looked forward to seeing you, to holding you, being with you. you'd never felt so desired and loved and protected in your whole life.

now you're back to having nothing, no one. it's a harsh reality you're forcing yourself to accept. you still haven't heard anything from your boyfriend - now ex, of course, though there was never any official breakup - and even that's a punch to the gut, an added depth to a loss that you caused.

he's hurting, i hurt him, joel's words repeat in your head. it breaks your heart that he's feeling so guilty, that he feels that he caused this entire thing when it's really your fault. if you weren't such a mess of a person, such a broken human being, the whole thing wouldn't have even happened to begin with. what kind of person sleeps with their boyfriend's father? starts a relationship with him? calls him daddy?

you know you caused this and yet you can't help but miss him so much. it's like he's ingrained himself into your bones somehow, his touch tattooed into your skin. he's all you think about, dream about. you miss being in his embrace, being held by him, whispering daddy in his ear and feeling understood, not judged. you miss his gentle kisses to your nose, the safety of his lap, his arms around your trembling form while he fucked you, took you, made you his.

you stare at the unsent text message and inevitably find yourself scrolling back up to a previous conversation from a few months back, short and simple. texting was never a frequent medium for the two of you, more-so used for you to send him dirty pictures every so often to tease him a bit. you briefly look at the picture, a close-up shot of your bare pussy with some of his come leaking out; absolutely filthy.

still have u inside me daddy

oh baby, so messy. what am I gonna do with you?

you smile at the silliness of it all, the filthiness, but it quickly fades when you remember the reality of the situation again, the fact that your boyfriend had read joel's messages, had definitely seen these texts in particular. he'd called joel a sick man. you don't agree, but you can understand why; if you'd seen a text interaction like this between your own father and a girl half his age... you'd probably have a similar reaction - though the concept of your father showing a woman any affection in the first place is alien in itself.

your bus pulls up to the stop near your house and you get off, slipping your phone back into your pocket and hiking your backpack over your shoulder as you go. it's only a short walk to your house, no more than three minutes, though you usually try to make it a bit longer to delay the inevitable disaster of your home life.

you take it one step at a time, slowly walking down the darkening street with fresh tears in your eyes. god, you're so lonely. you don't want to go home, don't want to be accosted by your alcoholic father and avoidant mother, your asshole brother who never gives you a break. it's so damn depressing in that house; when you'd first gotten together with your boyfriend you'd been so relieved to finally have somewhere else to go that wasn't school or home, another reason you'd stayed with him for so long despite the relationship being doomed. you should have known it couldn't last.

you'd told joel everything. it's hard to believe sometimes that the connection you shared was strong enough for you to trust him with some of your darkest secrets, the worst things from your past. he knows all about your family, all about what you've been through, had listened to you quietly and earnestly as you cried into his shoulder about the hand life had dealt you. he'd rubbed your back, kissed your forehead, whispered it's okay, and i'm here now, and i'm gonna take care of you, sweetheart. and he did. he did take care of you. he'd done everything right and somehow you still managed to fuck it up.

the lights are on in the house when you arrive at the front gate, though the car is missing from the driveway; this only means that your mother is out late tonight, probably staying with a friend or a lover or whoever she turns to when shit gets bad. you can't blame her - you'd done the exact same thing when you'd actually had somewhere to go - but part of you still aches for that little girl inside you that needs her, wishes she was inside waiting for you, though it's not like she'd do much to help.

your father is definitely home, probably your brother as well. you stand at the gate, gripping the strap of your backpack and deliberating even bothering to go inside. you know you'll be accosted at the front door by either a drunken tirade or bitter argument. it's a no-win situation no matter how you look at it. your phone buzzes in your pocket and you pull it out, grateful for one last brief distraction.

i miss you too, angel. so much.

your eyes go wide, heart stuttering in your chest as you stare at the words.

"fuck," you breathe, "fuck, fuck fuck," you quickly scroll up to confirm your fears - the i miss you text, the one you always erase, the one you make sure to never send - you'd somehow sent it this time, entirely by mistake.

tears are stinging your eyes as you turn on the spot and start walking back and forth in front of your house, running your hand through your hair in disbelief while you stare at joel's text. you fucking idiot. what the fuck have you done? what happened to giving him space? you stupid fucking bitch. you absolute loser. you're suddenly berating yourself the exact same way you know your father and brother will berate you if you go in the house now. you can already picture it - them seeing your tear stained cheeks, the puffiness of your eyes, the words they'll throw at you to hurt you even more, make you feel small.

fucking bitch. fucking loser. fucking idiot.

your breathing is becoming more and more erratic the longer you pace. you can't go in now, not after this, not after seeing that he misses you too and being so fucking close yet so far away. all you can suddenly think about is all those wasted moments at his house, spending so much time with your asshole boyfriend when you could have been with joel, been loved instead of tossed aside like garbage.

god, if you could only hear his voice. if you could just talk to him for one minute before you have to go into this godforsaken hellhole.

before you even fully understand what you're doing, you're hitting the call button and bringing the phone up to your ear.

he answers on the first ring.

"h-"

"i can't do this anymore," you gasp out through a sob, not even bothering to let him say anything, "joel, i can't do it, i miss you so fucking much it hurts."

"babygirl," he breathes, voice rough and deep and gorgeous and familiar, sweet like honey in your ear, "where are you? are you okay?"

and that's enough to break you.

you feel the tears begin to stream down your face, hot and unrelenting. you shake your head even though he can't see you, throat bobbing through repetitive gasps, "no, i'm not okay," you blubber, "da- fuck, joel, i- i can't do this, i can't be by myself anymore. i'm - " you don't even know where this is coming from, voice muddled, "i'm so lonely. i can't do it anymore, i can't. please, i can't."

he makes a devastating sound at your words, something between a sob and a gasp, "where are you?" he repeats, voice full of concern, "where are you, baby? i'm gonna come get you."

"the bus stop by my house," you manage to tell him through your tears, reaching the little bench and situating yourself on it without an ounce of hesitation, "i was- i was gonna go home but," another sob rips through your throat, "but they're home and i- i can't- i can't take it anymore, joel. i don't wanna be there anymore, i can't be there."

"you stay where you are, you hear me?" you can hear movement on the other line, the rattle of keys, footsteps, "don't go home, babygirl, i'm comin'. i'll be there in ten minutes."

"okay," you whisper, trying to catch your breath, "okay."

"deep breaths, baby, remember?" and you do remember; he'd taught you some exercises to help in situations like this, when you feel like the world is falling apart around you and you're just getting smaller and smaller, disappearing into nothingness. he'd held your hands while you'd sat in his lap, eyes closed as you both matched each other's breathing, melted into one another. "in and out, babygirl, that's it. real slow, count for me."

"i r-remember," you manage to hiccup, squeezing your chest with your other hand and trying to ground yourself.

the wait is excruciating, no matter how short, and no matter the fact that joel is on the other end trying to calm you. you sit on the bench with a hand on your heart and the other on your stomach, listening to joel count to five over and over, phone upturned on your thigh.

"big breath in. one...two...three...four...five," he says through the muffled sounds of traffic and wind, "big breath out. one...two...three...four...five." over and over and over again, "i'm turnin' the corner, baby, i'm almost there," he says after about ten minutes of this, "you see me, honey?"

you look up to find his headlights, getting brighter and brighter as they approach. you shakily sit up from the bench, breath coming out much less erratic now, "y-yes," you whisper.

seconds later the car is pulling up in front of you and he's jumping out, not even bothering to shut the door behind him as he dashes around it. it's been so long since you've seen him that it's jarring to suddenly have him in front of you, sprinting toward your small and shaking form with his jacket undone, shoes mismatched, glasses askew. you catch a glimpse of his expression, concerned and upset - are those tears? - before he scoops you up into his arms and pulls you in close to him.

"i'm here," he tells you, voice rumbling through his chest against your cheek, solid and warm, "i'm here now, babygirl, you're okay. you're okay."

and somehow you are.

--

"i'm sorry," is all you can say to him as he drives you to his house, hand holding yours tightly the whole way, "i'm such an idiot, i'm so sorry."

"stop saying that," he repeats for maybe the fourth time, shaking his head and squeezing your hand even more firmly, "you're not an idiot and you have nothing to be sorry about."

you really are okay now, breaths calm and tears not even flowing anymore. instead the guilt and shame and humiliation have taken over, sinking into your skin as you lean back in the passenger seat with your hood pulled up, hiding your face from him.

"i was giving you space," you mutter, "i didn't even mean to text you, it was an accident. i was being stupid, as usual."

"stop it," he says again, "stop being mean to yourself."

you close your eyes and face away from him, "easier said than done."

the two of you drive in silence for a few moments, that is until he asks, "have you eaten?" and you say, "no."

he buys you mcdonalds and doesn't let go of your hand.

--

the house hasn't changed. you hadn't really expected it to; it's not like it's been that long since you were last here. you don't bother even sneaking a peek at your ex boyfriend's bedroom as joel leads you upstairs, curiosity nonexistent.

you're not sure why you expect him to take you into his office, maybe sit on the couch with you and talk. to your surprise he leads you straight past the door, down the hallway to what you can only assume is his bedroom - a place you've never been in all your months of being with him.

"sit down," he tells you softly as he opens the door, pulling you slowly inside and nodding toward the queen sized bed, "i'll get you something to wear."

"okay," you breathe, barely looking at him as you examine the room in front of you, large but cozy, cool colors but a warm atmosphere, framed music posters and blueprints covering the walls - exactly what you'd expect from someone like joel. you shuffle forward and drop your bag at the end of his bed, sitting on the edge of it while he goes to his dresser.

you end up in one of his sleep shirts and a pair of his underwear, loving the feeling of being his again, even if neither of you have actually talked about what exactly this means for your relationship. he helps you change, tugging off your worn-out jeans and the same shirt you've worn for three days in a row, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he pulls off your panties and replaces them with his boxers. it's not sexual, but part of you still longs to pull him on top of you, just feel his weight, smell his cologne.

he pulls back the duvet and helps you climb inside onto your stomach, rubbing your arms and shoulders and releasing some of the tension you've been feeling for the past month. you feel him press another kiss to the back of your neck, pushing your hair out of the way and stroking it gently, giving you all the care and attention you've been aching for. his hands are so big, so comforting and safe, touching you everywhere without any expectations or underlying motive.

"i missed you, daddy," you whisper against his pillow, not sure if he can even hear you, even more unsure whether it's okay to use that word anymore.

he doesn't reply right away, still kneading his thumbs into the base of your back and massaging you gently. you hear him inhale and exhale deeply a few times, like he's biding time while he figures out what to say.

"sorry," you wince, "joel."

he releases you then, helps you turn over so you're on your back and peering up at him with uncertainty. he sits on the edge of the bed and reaches down to thumb your cheek, eyes sad and tired.

"i wanna be that for you, sweetheart," he murmurs, brow furrowing, "i do. i want it more than you even realize," he takes a breath, biting down on his lip briefly, "i just... i need you to tell me somethin'. be honest with me now."

your heart skips a beat, "what?"

"when you said you loved me..." his voice breaks a bit and you ache to reach for him, cup his cheek and hold him close, "was it because of what we've been doin'?" he seems to reassess his words, shaking his head slightly, "i mean, did it...did you actually mean it? or was it... was it just part of the game?"

you stare at him for a few seconds, lips parting and eyes going slightly wide. without a second thought you do exactly what you'd just been thinking about, reaching up to place your hand against his face, feeling his scruff beneath your palm. he leans in and takes a breath, peering into your eyes with a yearning you can't describe, can only feel.

you shake your head slowly, "joel," you whisper, "it's never been a game."

his eyes close, stuttering out another breath when your thumb strokes his cheek soothingly. unable to hold back anymore, you lean up to capture his mouth in a soft kiss, sweet and tender and familiar. his hand finds the back of your head, pulls you closer, claims you again.

he fucks you slow.

it's never been like this, never has he fucked you the way he fucks you now. you barely speak, just moan and whimper and sigh and melt into each other the way you've never truly been able to, not without prying ears and a time limit hanging over your heads. your hands tangle in his hair while he hits that deep spot inside you, holds you close, buries his face in your neck and breathes you in, pounds into you relentlessly like you'll both come apart at the seams if he lets go.

you're biting it back, trying not to say it as much as you desperately want to, still unsure if this is really want he wants. just tell me what to do and i'll do it. i don't care, i'm yours. he looks into your eyes and you can't help but start crying again, overwhelmed by the warmth of him, the safety. he thumbs your tears and kisses them away.

"say it," he murmurs to you as you both near your inevitable release, the tension building and building as he grabs your face with both hands and fucks you with purpose, with passion, "say it, babygirl, tell me."

you shake your head, suddenly self conscious, suddenly afraid. the feelings from earlier tonight rise back in your chest, making a home in the back of your throat as a sob threatens to rip through it.

"it's okay," he whispers, voice trembling with the speed of his thrusts, "it's okay, honey, i wanna hear you say it," he furrows his brow and releases a groan, so close to the edge, "please, baby, say it. need you to say it."

you pull him close, grip his back, press your lips to his ear, "daddy."

he groans, dark and rough, "that's it," he murmurs, "that's it baby, i'm your daddy. that's right." he pulls back to look at you, eyes meeting yours in a passionate gaze that lasts forever, "say it again."

"daddy," you whine, unable to unlock your eyes from his, lip trembling as you submit entirely to him, "feels so good, daddy."

there's something in his expression you can't place, something in his words that reverberates in your brain like a pinball. say it again... you realize it means more than you'd initially thought. he's not just asking you to say one word - he's asking for three.

"i love you," you cry out just as he presses his thumb to your clit, pushes you over the edge, "i love you."

he comes just as you do, an animalistic sound tearing from his throat as your fingers scramble for purchase at his back, holding him impossibly close to the point where his entire body weight is on top of you, but you don't care. all you can feel is the way his heart beats against your chest, the way his gasps match yours, finding the same rhythm.

you lay there still for what feels like eternity, joel laying on top of you with his cock still deep inside and his forehead pressed against your shoulder. your tears have stopped but you feel the dampness of his own on your skin, hear the gasp he lets out as he sets his emotions free.

"i love you too," he whispers in your ear, breath hot and quick, voice wrecked, "god, i love you so much."

for the first time, you stay the night.