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abbotjack · 2 months ago

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The House She Left You

Content Warnings : 18+ MDNI explicit sex, grief, family trauma, complicated sibling dynamics, references to addiction and overdose, emotionally repressed Pope Cody behavior, morally gray choices, sexual content in emotionally charged contexts, kitchen sex, emotionally manipulative undertones, references to Pope’s canon instability, emotionally explicit dialogue, light dubcon tension (consensual but fraught), emotionally unhealthy power imbalance, unresolved trauma, unprotected sex,

word count : 6,637

a/n : Here’s the Pope fic that’s been sitting in my drafts for weeks. Not my favorite, but I figured I’d share it anyway since I probably won’t be posting much until after finals.

Summary : She’s dead. You have her kid. Her house. Her ghosts. And now—Pope. The man you were never supposed to want, who never once looked at you when he was hers… but who saw everything. He shows up when the fridge hums and the silence grows thick, and what starts as confrontation splinters into confession, then into violence you asked for.

Time: One week after the funeral Location: Oceanside, California — your sister’s house

You don’t turn on the lights when you come in.

The house doesn’t deserve it.

It’s not yours. Not really. Not yet.

Not even after the state handed you a stack of papers, stamped and signed, with your name on the last page and hers on the death certificate. Not even after the little girl sleeping down the hall said “mommy” in her sleep two nights ago and you had to step outside so she wouldn’t hear you lose it.

You shut the door behind you and breathe in the dark. Not a big breath—your chest won’t take it. Something’s been living there the past week, curling in your ribs like an animal, biting at your lungs whenever you try to hold too much air. You let your back hit the wood, keys still in your hand, eyes adjusting to the same stale shadows.

The kitchen light is off. You left it that way.

But the fridge is open.

At first you think it’s just the door not sealed right, some crack letting the compressor hum like a breath. But then it moves. A shape. A shoulder shifting. A figure standing there like he never left.

Pope.

Just his face in the cold light, slack and unreadable. Forearms braced on the counter. Staring into the fridge like there’s something in it worth seeing. He doesn’t look up when you walk in. Doesn’t greet you. Doesn’t apologize.

And why would he?

You flick the switch by the door. Harsh, overhead light floods the kitchen. It hits him like a slap. He barely blinks.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you ask.

Your voice isn’t loud, but it slices. Dry. Defensive. You’re not ready to see him. You weren’t ever going to be.

He shuts the fridge slowly. Leans his hip against the counter.

“You left the back door unlocked.”

You stare. “That’s not an answer.”

He shrugs. “Thought I’d check on the kid.”

“You already did that. Three days ago. She doesn’t even remember.”

“She’s seven.” He finally looks at you. “Of course she does.”

Something in you tightens. You cross your arms to keep it from showing. “You can’t just let yourself in.”

“I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?” you snap, voice sharp, teeth bared. “Because it’s her house? Because you used to live here? Fuck her on that couch? Eat breakfast with her daughter like you weren’t already halfway out the door before the coffee was done brewing?”

He doesn’t flinch. Not even a blink. And that’s what infuriates you most—that nothing you say ever seems to get under his skin.

You want him to react. You’ve always wanted him to see you.

“She’s gone,” he says flatly. “You’re here now.”

You let the silence settle. He always had that talent—the kind that made people fill the quiet just to get rid of it. You don’t give in.

He pushes off the counter, stepping around the table. Slowly. Like he’s giving you time to adjust to his shape in the room. Like he knows how he fills it.

“You get the paperwork?”

Your eyes narrow. “You don’t get to ask that.”

“She wanted—”

“She wanted a lot of things.” You throw your keys in the bowl by the door harder than necessary, like the sound might drown out the ache in your throat. “She wanted to be clean. She wanted to live. She wanted to be a mom.”

“I know.” His voice is still maddeningly calm, like nothing ever rattles him. “I was there, too. You think I didn’t care?”

“I think you cared like it was a job,” you say, eyes flicking to the spot on the floor where he used to drop his boots. “I think she used that. I think you liked being needed until it made you hate her.”

A long pause. Then—

“You blame me,” he says. Not a question.

“I blame her,” you bite out. “I blame me. I blame everyone. What does it matter?”

He nods once, slow. Walks toward the sink. Opens the cabinet, finds the glasses like it’s still muscle memory. Like this place remembers him even if you wish it didn’t. Even if you still catch yourself standing in doorways, waiting for him to look back.

“Water?” he asks.

You shake your head. “Don’t pretend this is normal.”

He drinks anyway—slow, deliberate.

“I’ve been watching,” he says—low, rough, worn down at the edges. “Not just her kid. You.”

You don’t know whether to be angry or scared. Maybe both. Maybe neither. Maybe it’s just that old pulse again—buried too long under everything she took before you ever had the chance to want it.

“Why?”

He sets the glass down carefully. Like he doesn’t want to startle you. Like he’s still trying to be the man your sister needed.

“Because I know what this house does.”

Your throat catches. Tight. Dry.

“She let it rot,” you whisper, voice small and shaking and too full. “She let herself rot in it.”

He nods. Once. Quiet. He doesn’t say it out loud—he doesn’t have to. He saw it too. He stayed, and you ran. That’s always been the difference.

You shift your weight, heart pounding like a truth trying to claw its way out. “You don’t get to show up and act like this is yours. Like you’re the only one left who gets to carry her.”

“I’m not,” he says. Looks at you like he means it. “You are.”

And it shouldn’t feel like a punishment. But it does.

Because he’s right.

She left the mess—but she left it to you. The wreckage. The weight. The child. The smell of smoke in the walls. The goddamn silence. Pope? He gets to haunt the corners, slip in and out like a ghost with no leash. But you—you—have to stay and live in it. Scrub the stains out of the floorboards. Pretend the pain doesn’t sound like his footsteps in the hall.

You turn away, jaw clenched so tight it hurts. You won’t let him see your eyes. Not now. Not after all these years of swallowing the part of you that wanted him first.

And that’s when he says it. Quiet. Gentle. Like it matters now.

“She said you were the only one who never lied to her.”

You go still. Stiller than still.

“She said it like a confession,” he continues. “Last time I saw her. Said she couldn’t look you in the eye anymore. Not since the baby. Said you were the only one who meant what you said. Even when it hurt.”

Your hands grip the edge of the sink. White-knuckled. Nails biting down into laminate. Not to ground yourself—no, you know where you are. You’re trying not to shatter. Not to let him see that part of you that still wants to believe him.

“Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because she never said it to you.”

Silence. Heavy. Sacred. Dangerous. It drips down the walls, clings to the space between your shoulder blades. It makes the house feel like it’s listening.

You stare at the wall above the sink—the same place your sister used to hang grocery lists she never followed. Where her handwriting used to live. You used to read them just to imagine what normal might’ve felt like. You used to watch him read them, too—pretending he didn’t already know how it would all fall apart.

“She wasn’t always cruel,” you say softly. Too softly.

“I know.” His voice is closer now. Closer than you’re ready for.

“But she knew how to gut you.”

“She had a gift.”

You turn. Slow. Like the weight of it might crack you.

And there he is.

Watching you like he’s seeing the ghost and not the girl. Like he knows what it costs to keep surviving her. But more than that—more than any of it—he’s looking at you the way he never used to. Not when she was here. Not when you were just the sister on the couch. Not when you burned for him and bit your tongue raw.

“Are you staying?” you ask, barely above a whisper. “Or just passing through again?”

He doesn’t blink. “Do you want me to?”

And that question—God, that question—lands in your chest like a knife you’d still let him twist. Because you don’t know. Because part of you wants to fold into him and forget the rest. Part of you wants to scream in his face. Part of you has wanted this for years, and none of it came the way it should’ve.

But the worst part?

Is that you don’t want to be alone in this house tonight. And he’s the only one who’s ever made it feel like it could be home.

Time: That night, 2:37 a.m. Location: Your sister’s house — hallway outside her old bedroom

You don’t sleep. You just lie there and sweat in the dark.

You’ve been doing that a lot lately—sweating through sheets, through your shirt, through your teeth clenched so tight you wake up with a headache. It’s not the heat. It’s not even the grief.

It’s the house.

It holds things. It holds her. You swear to God, it holds him too.

You roll over, check your phone. 2:37 a.m.

The silence feels off. Stretched too thin, like it’s holding its breath. You sit up slowly, pulse already pounding. You’ve lived in enough shitty apartments to know the difference—between a house settling and a house remembering.

You don’t turn on the light.

It’s easier not to see.

You press your feet to the floor and step into the hallway barefoot.

The wood is cold beneath your toes. The air feels heavier than it did an hour ago—like the house knows something you don’t.

You pause outside your niece’s door. Still shut. Still quiet. She sleeps the way she used to when she was small—after long days, after heartbreak. But now it feels different. Now it feels like retreat, not rest. Like she’s learned the same trick you did: vanish first, before anyone can ask why.

You move toward your sister’s door.

You should go back to bed.

It’s been almost a week since you stepped inside her room.

That had been your one boundary.

You cleaned the bathroom, scrubbed the grout with shaking hands. Rearranged the kitchen so it wouldn’t feel like a mausoleum. But the bedroom? You left it untouched. Shut the door like sealing off a limb you couldn’t afford to feel.

Because walking into that room was like crawling back into a wound.

And you’ve bled enough.

But tonight the door is open.

And the light is on.

You don’t call out. Don’t make your presence known. Because part of you already knows who’s in there. You can feel it in your chest—the static. The heat. The wrongness. The himness.

Pope.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed with his head bowed, elbows on his knees like he’s praying to something he’s already lost.

He doesn’t look up when you stop in the doorway.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” you say—quieter than you mean to.

His voice doesn’t move. “Neither should you.”

That makes your breath catch. Not because he’s wrong, but because he knows. He always fucking knows. Even when you never said a word.

You cross your arms, lean a shoulder against the doorframe.

“Thought we had a rule.”

“We didn’t.”

“I made one.”

He finally glances over. No surprise in his face. Just that same quiet—dead sea eyes, nothing on the surface but too much beneath it.

“She used to leave the door open when she wanted me to crawl back,” he says. “You remember that?”

You nod once. You were eighteen. Maybe nineteen. You remember everything. The way the door would crack just wide enough for his shadow to slip through. The way you’d sit awake across the hall, listening for the sound of his boots.

“She’d scream at me for two days. Throw my shit out in the yard. Block my number. And then the door would be open.” He gestures around the room like it’s a stage. “Light on. Bed made. Like nothing ever happened.”

“She knew how to make you beg,” you mutter.

He looks at you, sharp. Not angry. Just clear. Like he sees straight through you, down to the part that still aches when he walks into a room.

“I didn’t beg.”

“No,” you agree. “You didn’t. But you always came back.”

He leans back, palms flat on the comforter. Hands spread wide like he needs to feel the fabric beneath him to remember where he is. Who he is. Who he isn’t.

“So did you.”

And it’s true. God, it’s true.

Because you were always there—behind the door. On the stairs. In the silence between fights. You never left. Not really.

You just weren’t the one she asked for.

You push off the doorframe, walk two slow steps into the room.

“She was my sister,” you say. Like it explains everything and nothing at once.

He watches you. “You were kids together.”

You sit in the armchair near the dresser—her dresser, still covered in tarnished rings, tangled necklaces, the half-burnt stick of incense she lit the night before her last relapse. Everything left exactly how she abandoned it.

“She hated when people felt sorry for her,” you say. “That’s why she lied so much. Said she was clean when she wasn’t. Said she was sober on Christmas Eve and then passed out on the stairs an hour later.”

“She didn’t want to be seen like that.”

“No,” you murmur. “She wanted to be loved like that.”

Pope doesn’t respond. Just stares at the floor like it’s safer than looking at you. Like he’s afraid of what your face might give away.

You lean back in the chair, exhale slow. “We were so close, people couldn’t tell where I ended and she began. Thought we were twins. Then she started sleeping with my boyfriends, and suddenly the resemblance didn’t feel so flattering.”

That earns the faintest flicker of a smile. The kind that barely crests his mouth before it dies. But you see it. You always see him.

“She was always louder. Always got the attention. I’d do everything right—get good grades, make curfew—and she’d show up high at dinner and still get the last word.”

“She was fire,” Pope says. “And fire burns.”

You look at him for a long time. Too long. Like the ache in your chest has a shape now, and it’s him.

“She told me you were her last chance.”

He shifts. Slight. But you notice.

“She said that a lot.”

“But she meant it with you. You were the only one she ever… stayed clean for. Even if it never lasted.”

His voice drops. Quiet. Flat. “It was never real. The clean part. Not with me.”

You blink. Your breath catches. “What?”

“She’d lie. Say she was sober when she wasn’t. Tell me she wanted to go to meetings, but only if I went with her. She’d drag me to church on Sundays just to play house.” His hands curl on the edge of the bed. “I knew she was using again before you did.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because she’d already started using me, too.”

The room holds its breath.

Then you whisper, “She loved you.”

He shakes his head.

“She did. In her own way.”

“That’s not love,” he says. “That was ownership.”

You don’t argue. You don’t need to. You both know the kind of damage she did.

“I used to watch you,” you say, before you can stop yourself.

Pope lifts his gaze slowly.

“I’d sit in that hallway when she was yelling. Just out of sight. I’d wait for the part where you’d yell back. Where you’d leave.”

He doesn’t speak.

“But you never did.”

“She needed someone who wouldn’t.”

Your throat goes tight. Your whole body stills.

“So did I.”

The words fall like glass. Sharp. Irretrievable.

And the silence after is deafening.

Not empty.

Just full of everything you never said.

Pope’s jaw tightens, like he’s grinding something down before it slips out. His fingers twitch against the bedspread—like they want something to hold, something to do. His gaze drops—traces the curve of your knees, your bare feet curled into the carpet like you’re bracing for impact. He doesn’t look away fast enough.

You feel it like a flare in your chest. Hot. Gnawing. Old.

He exhales, long and low. “She was scared you’d love me the way she couldn’t.”

You don’t know what to say to that.

So you don’t.

You just sit there in the dim light, your sister’s walls pressing in like old ribs, her scent still soaked into the sheets, the air, the skin at your throat. Pope sits three feet away, looking like something half-ruined and still dangerous. Like grief only hollowed out the parts that could’ve stayed soft.

And for the first time since she died, you feel like you’re finally mourning her.

Not just because she’s gone.

But because this—this—this fragile moment between you, this silence filled with things she always took before they could be yours… this is everything she never let you have.

“I was always cleaning her up,” you say. “Not just the mess. Her. I’d hold her hair back. Cover her arms. Wipe blood off her teeth and pretend it was from brushing too hard. I lied to Dad. I lied to the kid.”

Pope leans forward. Not fast—like something’s pulling him. “You didn’t clean up,” he says, voice low. “You parented.”

The word hits somewhere deep. Somewhere sore.

You shake your head. “I loved her. That doesn’t mean I didn’t hate her too.”

He says nothing. He doesn’t have to. He knows—fourteen months apart, same house, same hell.

“She got everything first,” you murmur. “Boobs. Boyfriends. Bad decisions. I got the leftovers. The fallout. Hand-me-downs and scars she never even noticed she left. And every time she lit a fire, I was the one putting it out.”

He leans back, eyes steady on yours. “That’s why you never liked me.”

You hold his gaze. “That’s not why.”

He doesn’t flinch. He just waits. He’s always been like this—danger wrapped in quiet. And you’ve spent years avoiding this exact moment.

You hesitate. One breath. Two.

“I didn’t like you,” you say, “because you made her worse. You let her get away with shit no one else did. And every time she got clean, it was just to keep you.”

You pause. Let it simmer.

“But I couldn’t stop… wanting you anyway.”

There it is.

Hung in the air like smoke. Like confession. Like sin.

He doesn’t move.

Doesn’t blink.

He just sits there, wrecked and unreadable, and you think maybe that is what undoes you—that he’s finally hearing it, and not turning away.

“Say that again,” he says.

You rise to your feet.

And the ache follows you up like it’s part of your spine.

The room holds its breath as you cross the carpet, slow and deliberate—each step measured like you’re approaching something wild and damaged, something that might bite if startled.

You stop in front of him. Close enough to feel the tension radiating off his skin. Close enough to touch, but you don’t. Not yet.

“I wanted you,” you say again. “Even when I shouldn’t. Even when you were fucking her. Even when she made sure I saw it.”

His breath stutters, caught somewhere in his throat.

You lower yourself between his thighs, fingers grazing the inside of his leg—slow, certain, like a fuse being lit. Careful. Knowing. The kind of beginning that doesn’t end clean. The kind that ruins.

“She used to tell me I was boring,” you whisper. “Too clean. Too smart. Not the kind of girl men ruin.”

Pope looks down at you like you’ve just become a threat—like you’re something holy and reckless, the kind of woman men do ruin, and never recover from.

“I wanted to be ruined,” you say. “By you.”

And that’s what breaks him.

His hand twists in your hair, rough and unrelenting, dragging you up with the kind of desperation that doesn’t ask—it takes. Like he’s been holding back a storm and finally lets it swallow him whole.

The kiss is unholy. Starved. His mouth crashes to yours like a blasphemy he’s longed to speak aloud, all spit and heat and something darker—like he’s tasting damnation and begging for more. Like your ruin is sacred and he’s ready to bleed for it.

It’s violent with need—ten years of silence burning on his breath. He pulls you into his lap with a force that borders on frantic, devouring your mouth like he’s been fasting on guilt and grief and this is the first thing he’s allowed himself to want since she died.

His hands are on your back, your hips, your ass. Gripping. Claiming. Consuming. Like he’s trying to memorize you by force. Like he doesn’t trust this moment to last.

“Tell me you hate me,” he pants against your mouth, lips brushing yours, voice torn and desperate.

You shake your head. “Can’t.”

“Tell me this is a mistake.”

“It is.”

You kiss him again—harder this time—so violent it nearly topples you both. It’s not tenderness. It’s a confession in blood.

He groans—full-throated, ragged. Like it’s been trapped inside him for years. His hips jolt up, grinding into you with a heat that burns through the cotton between you.

You grind down, shameless. Raw. He’s already hard—thick, aching, leaking beneath the fabric of his sweats—and you feel the exact shape of everything you’ve ever wanted.

His hands fly to your face, rough with urgency, and he pulls you back to him like he needs to look at you. Like he can’t breathe unless your eyes are open.

“You want it slow?” he asks, voice cracked and wrecked. “Or just the part that hurts?”

"Both."

He lifts you off him in one swift, breathless movement—your body dragged from his like it wounds him to let go.

“On your knees.”

You obey.

Not because you’re submitting. Not with him.

With Pope, it’s not power—it’s surrender. It's history. It's wanting so badly it’s become a kind of religion. You crawl to the center of the bed, fingers sinking into her old comforter, and arch for him with instinct and ache, every breath shaking loose something you’ve buried.

He kneels behind you. Doesn’t touch you at first. Just breathes.

Then his hands are on your hips, tugging at your waistband—not rough, not rushed. Like every inch he bares is something he’s never thought he deserved. He slides everything down your legs in one slow motion.

You exhale like it hurts.

He stays there for a moment, hands resting on your skin—like if he moves too fast, he'll ruin you. Or himself.

You hear his breath catch. Feel his heat press up against your back.

“Look at you,” he mutters, voice low and stunned. Wrecked. “So fucking pretty like this. Can’t believe she ever called you weak.”

“She said a lot of things,” you whisper, voice trembling. You’re already unraveling.

His hand traces your spine, palm flat. “She said you were off-limits.”

You look back over your shoulder. Voice like a dare. “And are you good at following rules?”

His eyes meet yours. Burning. “No.”

He drags his fingers through the wet heat of you. Slow. Possessive. Like he’s confirming something he already knew.

“Wet already,” he says, voice guttural. “You were waiting for this.”

You nod, breath shallow. “My whole life.”

He doesn’t pause.

He fists his cock—thick, veined, flushed dark—and brings it to your entrance, dragging the blunt head through your slick with deliberate weight. Like he’s about to take something he’s been denied for years.

And then—he freezes.

“You sure?”

You glance back again, hair falling into your eyes. “You don’t get to be gentle now.”

That’s all it takes.

He drives into you in one slow, brutal, soul-tearing thrust.

You gasp—lurch forward—and arch. Nails digging into the mattress. Breath punched out of you.

And he doesn’t move.

Just stays buried, impossibly deep. One hand locked on your hip, the other pressing down at the base of your neck—holding you there, grounding you, steadying himself like this is the only way he won’t fall apart.

Like you’re the first thing that’s ever made him believe he’s real.

“You feel that?” he rasps, voice raw and shaking. “That’s me. Inside what she said I could never have.”

He pulls back.

Then slams forward.

You cry out, high and sharp, and he fucks you like he’s punishing himself for every year he pretended he didn’t want this. Like he’s finally taking what he buried alive.

The rhythm is merciless—hips snapping into you again and again, the sound obscene, wet, relentless. His hands are everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding up your ribs, pressing you down like he wants to keep you there forever. He’s panting against your back, mouth open, breath ragged, murmuring broken things:

“Mine.”

“Should’ve been you.”

“Fuck—take me, just like that.”

You’re moaning, gasping, shaking, eyes blurred from how deep he is, how wrecked you feel. You brace your hands harder into the mattress as your body tightens around him—clenching, spiraling, gone.

When you clench, he growls, a low sound that vibrates into your bones.

“That’s it,” he pants. “Just like that. Let me wreck it.”

You nod, barely breathing, tears slipping hot down your cheeks—silent and unstoppable.

He leans over you, chest heavy on your back, and one hand slides under your stomach—ruthless, focused—fingers finding your clit with practiced cruelty. He rubs tight, filthy circles, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. It's too much. It’s perfect.

“You gonna come for me?” he mutters against your ear, voice thick, ruined. “Gonna let me feel it?”

You nod frantically, whimpering. “I—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he snarls. “Come on. Give it to me.”

“Please—” you gasp, high and cracked.

“Let me ruin it,” he whispers. "Let me be the one who breaks it."

And you do.

You come with a sob—full-body, wrenching, your orgasm ripping through you like a scream you’ve been holding back for years. You clench around him, trembling, crying, coming apart with his name in your mouth.

He follows seconds later—slamming in deep, one final thrust that splits you open—and groans, long and guttural, like it’s killing him to let go. He spills inside you with a curse and your name dragged raw from his throat.

Then he collapses over you.

You’re both shaking. Breathing like you’ve survived something. Still joined. Still trembling.

He doesn’t pull out.

Doesn’t move.

Just stays there—chest flush to your back, mouth pressed to the curve of your shoulder, fingers tangled in your hair like he’s drowning and you’re the only thing that’ll keep him from going under.

“Was it worth it?” you ask, voice broken, raw.

His answer barely makes it past his lips.

“Ask me when I lose you too.”

Time: 8:19 a.m. Location: Kitchen. The morning after.

You wake up to sunlight, and the first thing you feel is him.

Not his body—he’s gone. Just the dent he left behind in the mattress. The scent of him on your skin. The ache between your legs that’s part soreness, part memory. You feel raw. Wrung out. Touched in ways you’d spent years trying not to imagine. You feel like her.

You close your eyes, but it doesn’t help. The images are branded behind your eyelids: Pope’s hand tangled in your hair. His voice in your ear. His body holding you still like he needed to memorize your shape before he could live with himself.

Let me be the one who breaks it.

You roll onto your back, and it hits you all over again—he fucked you in her bed. Not just sex. Not a mistake. A collision. A choice. A lifetime of looking and aching and staying silent that finally snapped loose. And now?

Now he’s gone.

You sit up slowly. Your thighs stick to the sheets. You wipe at the sweat on your chest. You look like a girl who got wrecked and abandoned.

You look like someone your sister would have mocked.

You dress in yesterday’s clothes and follow the scent of coffee.

You hear them before you reach the kitchen.

Her voice—small, familiar, sharp enough to gut you.

“You made them wrong,” your niece says.

Pope grunts. “There’s no wrong way to make pancakes.”

“Mom used to put bananas in.”

He doesn’t answer.

You stop at the edge of the doorway.

He’s there. At the stove. Same hoodie from last night. Hood up. Shoulders hunched like he’s trying to make himself smaller, vanish into the steam. He doesn’t look at you, but his whole body goes taut the second you enter—shoulders pulled tight, jaw locked.

He knows you’re there.

He always knows.

You used to think it was a sixth sense for violence. Now you think it’s guilt. Or longing. Or both.

“Morning,” you say, voice low.

Your niece lifts her fork and waves. “He’s making breakfast. But it’s not the way she did it.”

You look at him.

He still won’t look back.

The silence is brutal. Ticking. Loaded.

You take a step in. Measured. “Can I talk to you?”

His hand flexes on the spatula. Tight enough to crack it.

“Not now.”

“You don’t get to do that,” you snap.

That gets him.

His gaze cuts over his shoulder—sharp. Brief. A warning behind his eyes like the ones he used to give her before everything went to hell.

“Do what?” he says.

“Pretend like last night didn’t happen.”

He turns now. Fully. Slowly. Like he’s squaring up, not facing you.

“It didn’t mean anything,” he says.

But it’s too fast.

And it doesn’t sound like him. Doesn’t sound like a lie he’s practiced. Sounds like it burned his mouth to say it.

You stare. Your voice softens, but it’s no less dangerous. “That how you’re gonna handle this? Just another Pope Cody vanishing act?”

His jaw ticks. That old, silent rage moving beneath the surface.

“There’s a kid in the room,” he says, dead flat.

“Don’t use her as a shield.”

His mouth tightens. No comeback. Just a low simmer. That silence that always came before the damage.

You step closer. Cross the kitchen tile like it’s a line he’s dared you to walk.

“Look me in the eye and tell me you didn’t feel it.”

He doesn’t.

He won’t.

Because he can’t.

Because for the first time in years, you touched something real—and so did he.

And now he's too much of a coward to hold it in daylight.

You wait while she eats—sloppy bites of pancake drowning in syrup, her small hands sticky and careless, bare feet kicking at the air beneath the table like she’s still too light to be touched by everything that’s broken.

Pope doesn’t speak. Doesn’t sit. Doesn’t blink. His jaw is clenched. Shoulders coiled. He watches over her like it’s all he knows how to do. Like standing still might hold the world in place a few seconds longer.

He doesn’t eat. Doesn’t drink. Doesn’t look at you.

When the bus honks outside, she shoves her plate away, grabs her backpack off the hook, and bolts out the door without looking back.

“Bye!” she calls.

The screen door slams.

And then—nothing.

No syrup chatter. No footsteps. No excuse left to not look at each other.

That’s when the silence gets dangerous.

He’s already halfway to the door when you stop him.

“Say something real,” you breathe.

He stops. Doesn’t turn. Just stills like an animal in a snare, waiting for the next shot.

“Last night… that wasn’t some mistake. That wasn’t about her.”

He shakes his head once. A sharp cut of movement. “You don’t get it.”

“Then explain it to me.”

He turns. Slowly. Like it hurts. His face is unreadable—not empty. Buried. Like everything he’s ever felt for you got pushed somewhere too deep to dig out without bleeding.

“You think I wanted it?” he asks, voice low and cracked. “You think I planned that? I touched you in her bed.”

You fold your arms, fingers digging into your sides. “You wanted me before she died.”

He twitches like it’s a bruise you just pressed too hard.

“I saw it,” you say, breath tight. “The way you’d leave the room when I laughed too loud. The way your eyes caught on my hips when I wore her clothes. You were scared of it.”

“Of course I was scared,” he bites out. His voice splinters. “You were the only good thing left in this house.”

You blink.

The words hit harder than they should. Like a wound breaking open from the inside.

“I’m not good, Pope.”

“You are,” he says instantly, eyes locked on yours, voice ragged. “That’s why I came back.”

You blink. Again. Slower.

“I didn’t come back for her,” he says. “I came back for the kid. And for you.”

You step forward. Slow. Breath caught somewhere between your ribs and your spine.

“You kissed me like you hated yourself.”

“I did.”

Another step. “You fucked me like you were trying to forget her.”

His jaw clenches. “I was.”

And another. “But you held me like you didn’t want to let go.”

His breath catches.

And now—you’re in front of him.

Close enough to feel the heat radiating off his chest. Close enough to see the blood pulsing in his throat. Close enough to see what he won’t say in the tremble behind his eyes.

And that’s when he shatters.

Not loud.

Not explosive.

Just shatters—like a man who’s been grieving too long, loving too hard, and finally let himself want something he was never supposed to touch.

Like you’re the only thing he ever wanted that didn’t ask him to disappear.

He grabs your face. Not sweetly. Desperately. His palms are rough, trembling against your skin like he’s holding a live wire. Like this—you—is the thing that’s going to burn him alive, and he’s asking for it anyway. His forehead drops to yours, and he exhales like it hurts to be this close.

His hands are shaking.

“I don’t know how to want things without destroying them,” he breathes. Voice low. Fractured. Like it’s been stuck in his throat for years.

“I’m already broken,” you whisper.

“I know.”

And then he kisses you.

It’s not clean. It’s not even careful.

It’s devouring.

Too wet. Too fast. His mouth misses yours and lands on your jaw, your throat, your collarbone like he’s trying to bury himself in you. Like he wants to wear your skin, hide inside your ribs, press himself so deep he can forget what loving her did to him. What not touching you did to him.

His hands shove under your shirt—urgent, reckless—palming your ribs like they hold answers. He fists the back of your waistband, yanks you toward him, and lifts you up onto the counter with a grunt, breath ragged in your ear.

You gasp, sharp and startled.

He doesn’t wait. Doesn’t ask. He drags your pants down to your thighs like he’s furious they were ever on you in the first place.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he rasps, every word a confession he doesn’t want to survive. “I keep seeing you—bent over her bed. Your hands in the sheets. Your voice in my mouth.”

He pushes your legs open, staring down like it kills him. Like the sight of you is both prayer and punishment.

“I woke up hard this morning,” he chokes. “Had to jerk off in her shower. Couldn’t stop hearing you.”

You moan. Soft. Shaken. “Pope—”

He grabs your face again, rougher now, like your voice just undid something he was barely holding together.

“You wanna be mine?”

“Yes,” you breathe.

“I don’t do gentle.”

“I don’t want gentle.”

His thumb brushes your lower lip. A tremble beneath the violence.

“You say stop, I stop.”

You nod. Breathless. “I won’t.”

And that’s it.

He shoves his sweats down, rough and clumsy, teeth clenched. His hands lock around your thighs—hard, claiming—and he lines up, flushed and thick and aching.

No teasing. No question. Just one long, brutal thrust.

You cry out—your whole body arching, splintering, as he drives deep into you.

Your sound echoes off the cabinets. The floor. The silence she left behind.

He doesn’t apologize.

Doesn’t slow down.

He fucks you like it’s survival. Like he means to stay. Like this is the only way he knows how to say I’m here—not with promises, but with ruin.

Like he thinks he can erase her memory by burying himself in yours.

Your hands claw at his hoodie. He doesn’t take it off. Doesn’t even kiss you again. He just fucks you harder, like he’s chasing something down inside himself—guilt, grief, hunger. Maybe all three.

You moan his name and his grip tightens until your skin burns.

“I can’t stop wanting you,” he growls, teeth bared.

“Then don’t.”

He thrusts harder. Rougher. You fall apart with a sob—full-body, breathless, undone—your orgasm ripping through you.

And he doesn’t stop.

He keeps going until he’s gone too—slamming into you deep, groaning like it’s killing him, his release pulsing inside you, your name dragged raw from his throat like it’s the only thing he still believes in.

The kitchen is silent again.

Except for your breathing—shallow, broken. Except for his—louder, rougher, like he’s still trying to catch it. Like he’s still somewhere inside you.

Pope doesn’t move.

His forehead rests against your shoulder, breath hot where it hits your skin. One hand grips the counter beside your thigh, the other still buried in your hair. He’s trembling. Not from the cold. Not from shame.

From the fact that he’s still here.

That you’re still here.

When he finally pulls out, it’s slow. Careful. Like it hurts him to leave.

You wince, but don’t pull away. You don’t move at all.

He tucks himself back into his sweats with one hand, the other never leaving your skin.

You expect him to speak. To backtrack. To run.

He doesn’t.

He stands between your legs, eyes closed, hands now resting on your hips—thumbs rubbing slow circles like he’s grounding himself. Like he’s trying to learn what staying feels like.

You whisper, “What now?”

He opens his eyes. Bloodshot. Devastated.

“I don’t know,” he says. “But I don’t want to leave.”

Your throat tightens. You nod.

“I won’t make you promise anything,” you say.

“Good,” he mutters. “I break those.”

A pause.

Then—his hand lifts. Brushes your hair behind your ear. Fingers trembling.

“I don’t know how to be what you need,” he says quietly.

“You already are,” you answer. “You’re still here.”

His jaw clenches.

And for the first time in years, you see it on his face—not guilt, not rage.

Hope.

Tiny. Fragile. Flickering.

But alive.

He kisses you again. Slow this time. Like thanks. Like maybe, if he’s careful enough, this won’t burn too.

And when he rests his forehead to yours again, he doesn’t shake.

He breathes.

And so do you.

#animal kingdom fanfic #animal kingdom #shawn hatosy #pope cody x reader #andrew pope cody #pope cody #andrew cody x reader #smut #angst

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sortagaysortahigh · 1 month ago

Text

Taste | Joaquin Torres

A/N: Hey guysss, this is based on this req! for a sex pollen fic. NOW YALL DON'T BEAT ME UP OK THIS IS MY FIRST SEX POLLEN FIC EVER! But anyways, yall know i had to throw exes to lovers/idiots in love in the mix, I'm a plot girl what can I say! Everyone say thank you to @love-chx for beta-ing ts for me, love that hoe <3

Summary: Desk duty at the Avengers compound was simple work, but throw in your obnoxious ex-boyfriend Joaquin, and a plant from a different planet, and you have a whole other problem on your hands.

Warnings: spelling and grammar errors (girl it is what it is ok), 2nd person POV, use of y/n, cursing, SAMBUCKY SUPREMACY WOO!!!, mentions of overdose (ibuprofen/in a joking way?), implied childhood trauma, Smut: Dubcon bc sex pollen, kissing, handjobs, oral (f & m receiving), smacking/spanking, spitting, choking, hair pulling, unprotected p in v, rough sex, biting, hickies, joaquin is mister munch ok, multiple orgasms/overstimulation, creampies, squirting, dirty talk, praise, idk sex love confessions (i am who i am once again), switch!reader and switch!joaquin these two are UGH

Word count: 8k

Joaquin Torres x Fem!Reader

Honestly guys, i just wanna kiss this man on the mouth <3

Today is simply not your day.

You had a terrible morning, waking up late with a headache that had you contemplating overdosing on Ibuprofen—if that was even possible—and because you were so late for work, you were stuck on desk duty.

Desk duty wasn’t inherently bad or boring, not when you worked with the Avengers themselves, even if the team was an odd mixture of clearly depressed ex-criminals and happy-go-lucky heroes that loved their job.

But desk duty meant dealing with Joaquin Torres.

A year and a half ago you would’ve been perfectly content working out of the compound with Joaquin at your side. At that point in time, you and him were actually in a happy relationship, but following his accident and his depressed period, the relationship got worse, and he constantly pushed you away.

Eventually, you were tired of being pushed away. It wasn’t as if he was subtle about it, you two would get into fight and fight, all of which revolved around him telling you that you were ‘too much’ or that you needed to ‘stop trying to make him feel better’. So you’d broken up with him.

It’s been almost eight months, and of course, the first few were awkward and tense. However, you both chose to swallow your pride and force the facade that nothing was wrong. Well, at least whenever everyone else was around.

Technically speaking, you weren’t an Avenger, you just worked for Sam and Bucky post-Blip. Granted, they did recruit you in Madripoor when they’d realized you were a one-way stop for any and all information.

You didn’t have any superpowers or enhanced abilities, you just knew your way around blackmail, fighting, and information reconnaissance. It was obvious that they needed someone like you, and after questioning why you were in Madripoor, they did feel a bit bad for you.

The whole ‘childhood trauma, parental abandonment in a country with no real laws’ thing solidified their need to take you in. Although if it was anywhere but Madripoor, their method of getting you on their side would’ve been considered kidnapping, especially considering one minute you were in Madripoor at a bar, the next you were waking up on a plane flying back to the States.

But that was several years ago, and you were over it.

For the most part.

Working for Sam and Bucky wasn’t exactly difficult, you just dealt with recon, sometimes going on missions with the team, and other times you’d be in the air or at the compound.

Desk duty typically correlated to being at the compound.

Today, things weren’t difficult, all you really had to do was hack into a few satellites, pull some information, and that was it. Then you’d be free to wander around the tower or take a trip through the city—the same things you did every day.

However, it was as if Joaquin made it his end goal to piss you off every single day or maybe that was in your head.

The second you’d gotten down to your typical workspace—a smaller room located off of the main lab filled with different sized monitors, a few seats, and of course, your series of neatly organized pens and stationary—Joaquin was already in your usual seat with one of your pens between his teeth.

He was slightly hunched over the desk, pulling geographical data from several different sources, brows knit together with his teeth grinding against the green pen as he concentrated. He also had a set of headphones on, so he didn’t notice your presence in the room, not until you were snatching the pen out of his hands with an annoyed expression.

You waited for him to push the headphones off, he looked at you as if you were utterly insane.

“The hell was that for? What, you woke up in a pissy mood or something?”

You rolled your eyes. “Get the hell out of my seat. And stop chewing on my damn pens! Don’t you have another room to work out of! This compound is gigantic and somehow you always end up in my space.”

Joaquin shrugged. “It’s nicer in here. You’ve got the whole room decked out like the blonde from Criminal minds. Besides, I’m supposed to be working with you—so why would I work somewhere else? Y’know if you would’ve gotten up three hours ago, you could’ve been on the plane out of here with Buck.”

He leaned back in the chair, still looking directly at you, a smirk on his face at the sight of you clenching your jaw. You were visibly angry, that much he knew.

Joaquin always knew how to get under your skin, he also knew almost everything about you, the perk of being your annoying ex-boyfriend. It wasn’t as if he had it out for you, and he completely understood why you’d broken up with him in the first place. But, deep down, he did still harbor his feelings for you, so he liked being close to you.

Even if you hated it.

“You’re insufferable, Torres. Now get out of my seat!” you grabbed his arm, planting your feet firmly before practically hauling him off of the chair, the action catching him by surprise, leading to him stumbling directly into you.

The pain in your head was now in your back as you laid flat on the ground with Joaquin on top of you. He practically tackled you to the ground, you tried grabbing onto one of the large tables to brace yourself, however, you hadn’t let go of his arm.

“If you wanted me on top of you, you could’ve just asked baby.” He winked as he rolled off of you, softly laughing while he smiled, glancing over at you.

You stared at the ceiling, blinking several times as you tried not to scream at him. Plus you were in pain. Admittedly, you could take a hit, however, today wasn’t your day, and you were five minutes away from crying tears of frustration. So you opted to get off of the ground, giving him the middle finger before sitting in your usual desk chair, swivelling to face the screens, picking up directly where he’d left off.

Joaquin got off of the ground, pulling another chair beside you before plopping into it.

“You okay baby?” He placed a hand over your forearm, which you quickly shoved off.

“Fuck off Joaquin, I’m already have a shitty morning, now my back hurts and my head hurts and I’m tired. Just shut up so we can sit in silence and work.”

He slowly nodded, except instead of scooting away, he stood up, moving behind you before lightly pushing your upper body forward. Then his hands were on your shoulders, thumbs applying the perfect amount of pressure into your tense shoulder blades. The way he always used to—except he used to do way more than just your shoulders.

You tried to shrug him off at first. Joaquin sighed, “Don’t start, just let me take care of you for five minutes. You can go back to being the Wicked Witch of the West after.”

You nodded, jaw clenched as you tried to remain annoyed with him. But it was always hard to be annoyed with Joaquin. Sure you absolutely wanted to wring his neck half the time, but following your break up, you’d gotten to see him recover in more ways than one. It’d taken time, but he was finally himself again, and he learned how to cope with the mental and emotional stress from the incident.

Part of you always considered what it would be like to get back together with him. The other part, the part that was still a bit heartbroken, always shut it down.

It was easier to be mean to Joaquin than to be his friend. Being his friend was a slippery slope that you weren’t ready for.

Or at least, you’d convinced yourself you weren’t ready for it.

The next hour passed in a peaceful silence. Joaquin eventually sat back down, pulling up different screens, comparing his information to yours, ensuring that the both of you were actually pulling the correct satellites and getting into the right systems. He’d even had time to run a few different programs, sorting through bits and pieces of foreign software.

But the lab going into lockdown caught you both off guard. The lights flashed red for several seconds before the typical lockdown alarm went off. Typically this only happened when foreign or dangerous substances needed to be contained.

You were the first to stand up, shushing Joaquin when he tried to protest you going into the main lab. You blinked a few times, looking around the room, trying to figure out what would’ve set the security system off.

There were several different specimens that had been brought back from multiple missions worldwide over the past two months, most of them were deemed safe enough to leave in the open, as long as they were in their own containment cubes. So you walked through the lab, taking a mental note of everything, trying to remember what was what based on the information Peter Parker had provided.

Joaquin groaned, following right behind you. “Could you not run into the face of danger every five minutes?”

You shushed him again. “Please, this is a highly secured base. The only people breaking and entering would be literal aliens, and we would’ve already known that. One of the specimens is probably in a broken container or something.”

He nodded, following you, eyes tracing the room, until they landed on a pink glittery mist surrounding a somewhat shattered glass case which contained a very large plant. He cleared his throat, then elbowed you lightly.

“Uh—like that?” Joaquin pointed directly at the mist, which was clearly spreading through the air.

“Yeah, exactly like that. Move so I can go get a better look.” He grabbed your arm as you tried to walk past him.

“Is this really a good idea?”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Joaquin, we’re already in the room with the mist, it’s most likely already in our systems. It’s just a plant, it’s not like we’re gonna die.”

He scoffed, shaking his head as you walked across the tiled floors, humming a tune as you got closer to the mist. Joaquin grimmaced as he followed behind you, teeth clenched tightly together as if he was anticipating getting hit by something.

But the mist didn’t do much, if anything it smelled just like you—like your favorite perfume mixed with your shampoo. It was nice and soothing, before he was even processing it, he took a deep inhale of it as you stepped around the broken glass to get a better look at the plant behind it.

Your brows knit together, the smell was incredibly familiar, it didn’t take much for you to recognize it as Joaquin—which was odd. Considering a plant wouldn’t smell like him. Then you were slipping your hand into the large broken gap of the glass container—this glass was supposed to be the equivalent to bulletproof so it was strange that a plant managed to shatter it.

Then you felt the thickness in the air, as if the container was humid and the air was condensed.

“What the hell are you?” you whispered as you got closer, getting a better look at the large vibrant plant. It was clearly not something earthly, probably one of the items found at an old Hydra base. But you couldn’t deny that the plant was beautiful, however, when it spurred a gust of pink air into your face, you inhaled deeply as you gasped, coughing from the impact.

Clearly that’s how the glass managed to shatter, a buildup of pressure from whatever the hell the plant was releasing.

You stumbled back, directly into Joaquin—who managed to steady you. His hands were on your waist while you stared ahead. Then you felt it, the heat overtaking your entire body. You were practically on fire, and incredibly uncomfortable in the confines of your clothing.

The second you moved away from Joaquin, the heat became painful, your eyes widening at the shooting pain in your waist specifically. Then you turned to look at him, his eyes were blown with lust—you recognized that look. You’d known it well at one point.

He bit his bottom lip as he stared at you with hooded eyes, a clear red flush to his skin, chest rapidly rising and falling as he tried to process what was happening to him. Joaquin’s entire mind was consumed by you, consumed by memories of you writhing beneath him, moaning his name like a prayer, your hands on him—his hands on you, it was as if his brain was managing to replay each and every time the both of you had sex.

Joaquin was hard, harder than he’d been in a long time, and he was sweating. His skin was on fire to the point that he was shrugging off the U-Miami hoodie he had on as he stepped away from you, and away from the slowly dissipating—or rather slowly spreading—mist.

“Shit—baby you need to get the hell away from me. Like now.”

You blinked a few times, looking at him, watching as he ripped his sweater off, tossing it on the ground before reaching for his belt—that’s when your eyes caught the prominent bulge. The sight sent a shock through you, then you had goosebumps. You were somehow freezing and burning simultaneously.

Then the memories started flooding in, the sight of him on top of you, below you, between your thighs, the way he’d moan in your ear, his teeth and lips against your skin. It had you taking several steps back, nearly falling after walking directly into a metal side table, knocking its contents to the ground.

Joaquin groaned, running a hand through his hair, the heat unbearable at this point. He pulled his shirt off, throwing it elsewhere as fast as possible. “Shit—don’t look at me like that baby.” He ran both hands along his face, looking up at the ceiling, hands clenching and unclenching.

The pain that came with the heat made it difficult to breathe, Joaquin leaned against the closest table to him, letting out a few laughs, shaking his head at the circumstance.

“You mean to tell me, there’s a sex plant just sitting in the lab, and of all people to get stuck with it—it’s you and me baby? It couldn’t have been like Sam and Bucky—or John and Ava? Or really anyone else?”

You scoffed at that, pulling your own sweatshirt off, tossing it on the table to your side. “Oh what, you wanted to get stuck in here with Ava or Yelena—or maybe even Kate?”

He now turned to face you, blinking several times as he shook his head. “Are you trying to start a fight with me right now? As if I’m not over here dying—thinking about you and all of the things I’ve done and want to do to you? Now you choose to act jealous and mean?”

You shook your head at him, taking a few deep breaths, trying to fight the pain, but your knees were feeling wobbly, and you couldn’t stop staring at Joaquin’s chest—eyes tracing his defined abdomen and the familiar trail of hair that had you licking your lips. You did your best to lean against the metal table, both hands gripping the edges of it.

“It hurts doesn’t it? Fuck—I know it’s hurting me.” Joaquin winced as he spoke, gaze on you, watching as you struggled to hold yourself up. He knew better than to go help you, he truly did, but that didn’t stop him from walking across the area and pulling you closer to him before picking you up bridal style, practically whimpering at the feeling of you against him—then he walked away from the broken glass, scattered tables, and the plant.

He put you down on the small sofa you’d forced him to move into your office space a year ago. Joaquin tried not to focus on the way you winced the second he let go of you.

Then you looked at him, holding eye contact as you licked your lips. “Joaquin I need you to fuck me.” There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation in your words, and that had his eyes widening.

“Are you sure this is what you want—baby I don’t think I can control myself—like once we start I just—”

You sit up, ignoring the pain shooting through your body as you pulled him into you, smashing your lips against his.

Joaquin easily melted into the kiss, and the relief you both felt at the contact was mind-numbing.

You pulled back first, biting his bottom lip. “I don’t give a shit about control Joaquin, I want you to fuck me—I’m in so much fucking pain.” Your words were harsh before kissing him again, hands in his hair, tugging at the strands while he leaned closer into you, lips parted, tongue against yours, moaning against your lips.

He pulled away for a few seconds, just to sit on the sofa and pull you into his lap, lips back on yours, his hands on your waist, bunching up the old t-shirt you had on. Fingers now digging into your skin as you started grinding yourself against him.

“You gotta take these off, Hermosa—” He tugged on the waistband of your sweats. You nodded at him, biting his bottom lip again before standing back up, letting him tug them off before you were kicking them to the side.

It wasn’t long before you were undoing his belt and tugging at his jeans.

Joaquin moaned beneath you, you were like a woman possessed, and he would do anything and everything for you.

His lips moved along your jaw, then down your throat, leaving a series of nips against your skin. Joaquin moaned against your throat as you slid your hand below his jeans, then as you grasped his cock, he bit against your shoulder—earning a loud whine from you.

“Fuck—okay stop—shit.” His strained voice caught you off guard, you blinked a few times, pulling your hand away while he rested his forehead against your shoulder.

Joaquin’s head was spinning at this point, all he could think about was being between your thighs. “I need to taste you—shit baby y’gonna let me taste you?” He sounded so breathy and desperate as he looked at you.

You nodded, without any hesitation and let him manhandle you back onto the couch. He was shoving you against the cushions while making his way between your thighs.

Joaquin moaned at the sight of your damp panties, a large dark spot on the grey fabric. He leaned in closer, nose against it, inhaling your scent before licking a flat stripe along the gusset of your panties. He then kissed along your inner thighs, biting into the skin a few times—leaving marks while your hands were in his hair.

“Fuck—missed you so much. Taste so good—all the time. I dream about this—about you like this.” He spoke as he kissed along your panties again, then he was pulling them to the side, moaning while taking in your glistening cunt.

Your back arched the second his tongue was on you. Joaquin licked a flat stripe along your cunt from top to bottom—over and over again. Groaning against you before sliding his tongue along your sopping entrance.

“So fuckin wet—” Then his tongue was inside of you and you were practically seeing stars. Joaquin liked it messy, that was a fact that you’d learned early on in your relationship with him. He practically pressed his entire face against your cunt, the sharp angle of his nose pressing firmly against your clit as his tongue darted in and out of you.

He was allconsuming. You felt like you couldn’t breathe, your back arched even more as you tried to close your legs—attempting to push him away.

Joaquin wasn’t having that, he held your thighs in place, practically pinning you down as he continued his motions, pushing you closer and closer to the edge until you were moaning his name and creaming all over his tongue.

He was a moaning, whimpering mess between your thighs. But he didn’t let up, making you cum somehow made him feel better—it soothed the burn throughout his entire body. He moved from your fluttering hole to your clit, tongue swirling around the swollen bundle as he finally looked up at you—your eyes squeezed shut as you bit your bottom lip, grinding your hips against his face as best as you could.

“Joaquin—fuck—fuck!” The overstimulation had all of your nerve endings on fire, or maybe it was the pollen, you didn’t know and you didn’t care. Not when he was sucking on your clit and moaning against your cunt.

Then you felt his fingers against your entrance, two easily sliding in, the stretch was so familiar. It had your head spinning.

Joaquin alternated from sucking on your clit to swirling his tongue against it. Even taking the time to rapidly flick his tongue along it, listening to your high pitched moans as his fingers slowly curled into you. He pulled away from your clit to look at you. “Look at me baby, let me see those pretty eyes.”

You nodded slowly, eyes fluttering open as you looked down at him, his mouth back on your clit, fingers moving a bit faster inside of you. Your ears were ringing, and the heat in your body was finally dissipating, but there was a lingering pain—as if this wasn’t enough.

You shook your head at him “Joaquin—I need more.”

He raised a single brow, fingers rapidly fucking into you as he slid in a third, the newfound stretch had you practically mewling, tugging his hair so hard his scalp was starting to sting. Then you were whimpering his name, struggling to keep your eyes open as he sucked on your clit—pushing you right over the edge.

Joaquin’s fingers kept going, fucking you through your orgasm, ushering a new wave of heat in your body.

You were shoving him away this time, shaking your head, low pleas for him to stop.

Then he sat back on his haunches, looking up at you, his lips and chin covered in your slick as he slowly slid his fingers out of your cunt.

“S’fuckin greedy—look at you. Just begging for more huh? Tell me what you need, baby, I’ll give you everything.” His voice was deeper than usual, he was still on fire, a thin layer of sweat coating his skin as he looked at you, eyes trailing over your figure, still wearing the same loose t-shirt. Except now he was processing that the shirt was his.

“I need you—”

He nodded his head, brows raised, smirking, “Yeah, what about me?”

You rolled your eyes a bit, sitting up further before taking off the shirt and tossing it at him, fanning yourself with a hand, trying to combat the heat, wincing at the pain in your abdomen.

“Joaquin, please I need your cock—please.” You sounded so needy and miserable as you looked at him, shaking your head slightly “It hurts—need you to make it stop hurting.”

That’s all it took for him to be up, kicking his jeans off, letting his clothes fall to the ground before he was back on the sofa, pulling you directly onto his lap without a care in the world. He took a few seconds to undo the frilly pink bra you had on, moaning at the sight of your tits in his face.

“Missed these a lot.” Then his hands were on them, massaging them before tugging on your nipples. A few high pitched gasps leaving your lips. Then his tongue was along your throat again, licking across your salty skin, letting out a low moan as he sucked a few marks against the swell of your breasts.

Joaquin didn’t hesitate to run his tongue along your nipples, then he pulled one into his mouth, sucking on it before lightly biting into it.

Your hands were all over him, moving from his hair, to his shoulders, to his chest. Nails scratching along his skin—the feeling had his eyes rolling back slightly.

Then you were grasping onto his cock again, hand wrapped around the thick shaft, slowly rising and falling, then your thumb was rubbing against the head of his cock, spreading his precum all around—using it to move your hand faster.

He moaned against your chest, pulling away, resting his head against the wall, lips parted as he moaned your name. Then you leaned forward a bit, spitting directly onto his cock, moving your hand even faster before kissing along his neck, biting against his pulse point slightly—the way he liked it.

Joaquin bucked his hips up into your hand, guttural moans leaving his lips while you kissed along his exposed skin. Your open mouthed kisses cooled him down just enough, then you were practically mirroring his previous actions, licking a flat stripe along his neck, from the base of his shoulder to his ear. Then your tongue was trailing the edge of his ear before you tugged it between your teeth.

“C’mon baby—you know what I like.” His voice was strained as your hand moved faster. You let go of his ear, now inches away from his face, your free hand caressing his jaw as your thumb tugged on his bottom lip. He nodded his lead, licking his lips slightly before opening his mouth a bit wider.

You didn’t hesitate to spit.

His tongue was against yours in seconds, the kiss was sloppy, spit practically gliding along your chin as he kissed you with his all.

You moved the hand on his cock, gently angling it down a bit before sliding it right along your dripping cunt. He moaned into your lips at the feeling of you grinding against his length. Your hips moving back and forth against him.

When you pulled back from the kiss, a thin string of spit connected your bottom lip to his, and he couldn’t stop staring at it. So Joaquin kissed you again.

Your hips shifted again, you whimpered against his lips the second you managed to line the head of his cock up with your hole—then you were sliding yourself onto him—moaning against his lips as he slowly stretched you out.

The burning pain was slipping away, but all you felt was want. You wanted all of Joaquin—every last part of him and then some.

He bit your bottom lip before moaning against your mouth. Joaquin practically shuddered at the feeling of you sliding down his cock, his entire head hazy now.

“Fuck—missed this pussy so much baby, feels so good wrapped around me. So fuckin’ tight, need you to move. Fuckin use me—” He moaned your name, head back against the wall as he bit down on his bottom lip. Joaquin’s eyes were shut as you started slowly rocking against him, then you were lifting up and dropping yourself back down. His hands dug into your waist, fingers bruising against the soft skin while you bounced on his cock.

You’d never felt this good before, the pleasure was short circuiting you. All you could focus on was fucking yourself against Joaquin’s cock. You barely registered anything you were saying. “So fuckin big—fuck feels so good—oh my god—Joaquin.” His name slipped past your lips in a low whine.

You used his shoulders as leverage, nails digging into his skin as you kept your motions up, chasing your own high without a singular care in the world. You smiled and bit your lip, head thrown back as you bounced.

You felt as if you were simultaneously fully conscious and absolutely out of your mind.

The pleasure had you on cloud nine, in a state of pure ecstasy.

Joaquin looked at you, moaning at the sight of your tits bouncing with each movement, then he looked down, biting his bottom lip at the ring of your cream on his cock, watching as you practically swallowed his cock.

“Just like that Hermosa, you take it so fuckin good—so fuckin pretty. Cunt’s so fuckin wet—missed me didn’t she?”

You nodded at his words, eyes slowly opening as you looked at him. The second you’d made eye contact his hand was around your throat, fingers pressed against your pulse point—restricting enough to make you feel light headed.

“Joaquin—fuck I’m gonna” You took a sharp inhale one of your hands now grasping onto his forearm, hips slightly faltering as you gushed along his cock. He thrusted up into you as you came, nodding his head, mumbling praises that you couldn’t comprehend while you made a mess of him.

“Fuck—love it when you get messy for me baby.”

You nodded your head at him, slightly out of breath as he kept fucking up into you.

You thought the pain would’ve been gone by now, but even for the few seconds of relief you felt, another surge of painful heat would spread throughout your entire body.

Joaquin was still painfully hard, he’d never lasted this long in his life. Especially not with you bouncing on his cock. His hips snapped up into yours as you leaned further into him, your face resting against the crook of his neck. His hands moved now, one still on your waist, the other planting a series of firm smacks against your ass.

You were whimpering, low moans and whines directly against his skin.

This wasn’t enough for either of you.

Joaquin was gentle as he helped you slide off of him. You two shared a look, a silent agreement that had you on your hands and knees, while he used the sofa for leverage, two hands on your waist as you slowly spread your thighs apart more. He laughed as you gave up on holding your upper body up with your hands, instead resting your face against one of the decorative cushions on the sofa.

Then he was teasing you—gliding his cock along your glistening cunt, tapping the head against your swollen clit a few times before fully lining himself up with you.

“Ask for it nicely, Sweetheart.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes slightly, feeling a little more like yourself now. Or at least you did until he landed another smack to your ass, then you felt it—he used one hand to spread you open, spitting directly onto your other hole, his thumb now teasing it. There were a few things that you and Joaquin hadn’t tried before—and this was one of them.

“Joaquin—please.”

You blamed the pollen, it had to have been the pollen that was making you move your hips back into his hand, practically inviting his thumb in.

“Fuck, you’re so filthy baby, missed you so much. I’ll be nice to you today.” Then Joaquin bottomed out, cock filling you in a way that had you practically drooling. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head at the new angle, he was so deep—you loved every second of it.

It wasn’t long before his thumb was sliding directly into your ass, the newfound stretch made your toes curl as your cunt clenched around him. Then your hips were meeting his strokes, grinding yourself back against him—lost in the pleasure.

Joaquin was a moaning mess, muttering curses under his breath as he fucked into you, thrusting hard and deep, listening to your whines and whimpers.

“I’m sorry baby—It’s a lot I know—but, fuck, you feel so good.” He bit his bottom lip after speaking, you whimpered in response, then he was picking up the speed of his thrusts, practically pounding into you—the couch rocking against the wall with every movement.

“Don’t worry pretty girl, I remember how you like it.” Joaquin’s voice was low as he spoke, gaze focused on the way your cunt welcomed every single thrust, your inner thighs with a sheen wetness from your dripping center—this had to be what heaven felt like.

Then he was leaning forward, practically caging you in before sliding a hand below you, wrapping it around your neck again. The closeness sent a shiver of relief down both of your spines, he paused his movements for a brief second as you did your best to look back at him.

“What's wrong baby? You need something?”

You nodded at him, Joaquin always knew how to read you—even during sex.

“I need you to kiss me.”

He smiled at that, nodding his head before leaning further into you, lips on yours as you struggled to kiss him back. Then Joaquin started fucking into you again, holding you in place against him—forcing you to take everything he gave you.

You loved every second of it.

You were moaning against his lips, doing your best to kiss him back, your efforts were pathetic. Joaquin was all consuming, you couldn’t think of anything else but Joaquin and the pleasure coursing through your veins, your legs shaking as another orgasm swiftly approached.

“That’s it baby, squeezing me so good—fuck you’re gonna cum huh? Cum all over my cock—give it to me. Want you creaming all over me again.” His voice was low as he spoke, a mix of moans slipping out between his words while he kept fucking into you, the pace brutal—but so fucking good.

You nodded your head, forehead resting against his slightly, the angle a bit awkward as you whined his name, cunt squeezing his cock in a way that had his head spinning.

But Joaquin still couldn’t cum—and he was getting frustrated.

He fucked you through your orgasm, trying to chase his own, but it wasn’t working—he was so close but something was missing.

“F-fuck it’s too much baby—Joaquin please—”

He nodded, kissing your forehead before pulling out of you, moaning at the sight of your fucked out pussy. Something possessed him in that moment, suddenly he was on his knees, hands on your upper thighs, holding you in place as his tongue was back against you.

Joaquin licked into your cunt as if it was his last meal—he loved going down on you so maybe it made sense that he just wanted to be between your thighs again.

You were practically shaking as he tongue fucked you, landing rough smacks to your thighs and ass every now and then, your whines only spurring him on more.

He had you cumming again in minutes—your back arching even harder as you reached back, tugging on his dark curls, grinding yourself against his face as you were coating his chin in your nectar again.

Joaquin kissed against your cunt one last time before pulling away. You were a panting mess on the sofa, ass in the air as you gripped against the cushions with tears falling along your cheeks.

Then you finally looked at him, eyes widening at the sight of his still hard cock. “Quino you still haven't finished?” you were so breathless as you spoke, but the old nickname had him biting his bottom lip, nodding his head at you.

Joaquin watched as you slowly sat up, now looking up at him while he stood a few steps away, then your gaze dropped to his cock, a shiny layer of your juices coating him. His tip was flushed red as he grasped himself, running a hand along his shaft—moaning softly at the sense of relief.

“Let me help you—I know what you like.”

He nodded his head as you reached forward, grabbing his hand, a silent plea for him to sit down. Then you grasped a pillow, placing it on the floor between his legs before kneeling down.

The sight of you on your knees between his thighs was enough to have him twitching, you bit your bottom lip as you looked up at him—right into his eyes. Then you grasped his cock, leaning forward to spit on it again, spreading it with your hand as you maintained eye contact.

At this point, your pain was gone, the lingering heat still there—but manageable.

Nothing compared to Joaquin, who felt as if he was burning alive in the deepest layer of hell.

You trailed your tongue along the thick vein on the underside of his cock, slowly—deliberately. You repeated the motion a few times before swirling it around the tip of his cock, pulling it into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you harshly sucked on it.

His hand was in your hair in seconds, then you moaned against him—and that had him bucking his hips. Joaquin’s eyes widened as you gagged against his cock. Then he gently pulled you away from him. “Shit, fuck, I’m sorry baby—that was a lot.”

You giggled, nodding your head “Yeah? You wanna fuck my face Quino?”

Joaquin practically choked on air at your sultry tone, eyes wide as he looked down at you. “Please—fuck please.”

Then you wrapped your lips back around him, winking before taking more of his cock into your mouth and down your throat, gagging slightly as you bobbed your head. Then you grasped one of his hands in your own, a reassuring squeeze—a soft message. Joaquin nodded his head again, moaning before he started bucking his hips.

He started off slow, testing your limits, moaning every time you’d gag around him. But the pleading look in your eye—he knew that look and he knew you wanted it.

Before you knew it, Joaquin was guiding your movements and full on fucking your face, letting out strings of moans mixed with curses at the feeling.

You were taking it, looking up at him with teary eyes, spit drooling along your chin.

Joaquin was positive he was still in love with you—this exact moment solidified that.

You tapped on his thigh a few times, he got the message, slowly pulling back, giving you a second to catch your breath. Your drunken giggle had him blushing—if that was even possible at this point. You looked so cockdrunk and fucked out as you stared at him.

“Joaquin”

He nodded his head, looking at you, brows raised as he caught his breath.

“I want you to cum inside of me.”

His jaw was practically on the floor at your words, and it wasn’t long before he had you flat against the couch again, slotted perfectly between your thighs as he looked down at you, a few loose curls slightly brushing against your forehead before you pulled him into a kiss.

As you kissed him, Joaquin lined himself up with your entrance and you locked a leg around his waist. Then he was bottoming out inside of you again, both of you moaning against one another’s lips.

He kissed you with his all, pouring months of unspoken emotions into this as he rocked his hips into you, fucking you much slower than before. Hard, deep, and slow—the way he knew you loved it.

Your nails dug into his back, scratching along his skin as you rolled your hips against him.

“Fuck—feels so good baby—still so fuckin tight.” He rested his head in the crook of your neck while he fucked you, his body still on fire, but this was different—he was chasing his high. He was so close, he could feel it in his bones, a numbing pleasure taking over.

“Just like that Quino, fuck, just like that! Oh my god—Oh my god!” your back was arching into him as you felt yourself getting closer and closer, the coil in your abdomen so tight it hurt, you needed to cum—desperately.

So did Joaquin.

Then you grasped his hair, tugging him back slightly, he looked down at you as you looked into his eyes. “I missed you—fuck missed you so much.” Then your lips were on his gain, pulling him into another sloppy desperate kiss.

He didn’t hesitate to kiss you back, and he kissed you until he felt as if he couldn’t breathe, pulling away to rest his forehead against yours, feeling himself right on the edge.

“Want you to cum Joaquin—wanna feel it—please cum for me.” Yourwords were quiet whines as you pressed a few quick kisses to his lips. But that didn’t send him over the edge.

No, what sent Joaquin over the edge was your breathless whispers, praising him, and a short, almost shallow “I love you—”

He moaned your name like a prayer as his hips stilled, warmth spreading through you as thick ropes of cum decorate your walls. You moaned against him, feeling euphoric as you came again.

The two of you stayed like that for several minutes, neither speaking a single word as he practically collapsed against you. Your hands tracing circles into his back while he rested his head in the crook of your neck—avoiding looking at you.

Then you cleared your throat.

“As much as I like the whole, post-sex cuddle. We need to talk about what the hell just happened, Joaquin.”

He groaned, nodding his head as he slowly pulled out of you, pressing soft kisses against your neck as you winced at the feeling.

“Sorry baby, I know—shit I’m sorry.” He spoke softly while moving back, eyes trailing your face as you clenched your jaw and hissed, back arching uncomfortably. As soon as he pulled out of you, he was up, on his feet, pulling his jeans back on for a quick second before rummaging through your drawers until he found a box of tissues and an unopened water bottle.

You sat up on your elbows, brows knit together as you watched him. Then he was sliding your legs open, a breathy “fuck—missed seeing this” leaving his lips before he was gently cleaning you up, touches featherlight as he did his best to take care of you.

“Stop staring at me like I have three heads, you know I always do this for you after we have sex.” He spoke without even looking up at you, now focused on cleaning up your thighs, tossing the used tissues into a small trash can he also dragged over.

“Yeah but we don’t have sex anymore, and we’re not together—so you really don’t need to do this.” You spoke softly, confusion evident in your tone while you looked at him.

Joaquin rolled his eyes, raising a single brow as he finally met your eyes. “So I’m supposed to fuck the woman I’m in love with and leave her a jumbled, fucked out mess on the couch? Over the past eight months have you just been dating assholes or something?”

You blinked a few times, now sitting up, arms crossed over your chest—trying to cover yourself as if he hadn’t seen you before. Joaquin handed you the shirt you’d been wearing before, one of his older worn out U Miami t-shirts that you’d stolen a month into dating him. You mumbled a quick ‘thanks’ before slipping it on.

“And before you start thinking too hard, the way you always do. Yes I said I’m in love with you, I’ve never stopped loving you, and I know why you broke up with me. It was valid, and I don’t think I was ever really mad at you for it. I love you, without a single doubt in my mind, I love you. It didn’t take that weird sex plant for me to know that, I’ve known it since the day you punched me in the face.”

You blinked a few times, brows knit together. “I punched you on the plane leaving Madripoor because you scared the shit out of me!”

“Exactly. Why the hell do you think I chased after you for so long? Because I just had a crush on you. I feel like we’ve had this talk before. What matters now is I tell you, I’m in love with you. I like to annoy you because I think you look pretty when you’re irritated with me.”

He paused, looking around for his shirt, brows knit together at the realization that it wasn’t there.

“I’m not sure if it’s safe to go back out there—but anyways. I like spending my time with you, I choose desk duty sometimes just to be around you, even if it makes you mad. I know you don’t hate me, not when you were whimpering that you loved me while we’re fucking in missionary of all positions.”

Joaquin spoke with his hands, the sight made you laugh, then you bit your lip, trying to remain serious. He easily caught on to you laughing at him, shaking his head slightly.

“So, since we’re both on the same page—being you’re totally in love with me and I’m totally in love with you. I think we should go on a date tomorrow, give us a second shot?”

You smiled at him, rolling your eyes. “Only if you promise not to chew on my pens anymore.”

He scoffed. “Hell no! I can’t promise that, it’s a habit, besides, your pens are the perfect kind of plastic for it.”

“You’re such a child Joaquin!” You were full on laughing now, shaking your head at him.

“Okay, at least I can admit to having childish habits, little miss I still wear clothes I stole from my ex-boyfriend. Wait—did you ever wear my clothes around other guys?!”

You rolled your eyes at him, now standing up and heading back into the main area of the lab, ignoring his protests as you looked around, now noticing a minor glitter in the air—but nothing as major as before. The plant itself looked calmer, as if it fulfilled its purpose and was now lying dormant again.

You were quick to collect your clothes and his, tossing it at him while he followed you around.

“Well! I need an answer baby, I’ll be heartbroken if any other losers got to see how sexy you look in my clothes!”

You rolled your eyes, walking back into your office space as Joaquin followed suit, now pulling his shirt on.

“Joaquin Torres, do you really think I dated anyone over the time that we were broken up?”

He shrugged as you turned to face him. “I dunno, maybe you tried the whole ‘get over one person, get under another’ thing. But you’re not really good at casual sex—I mean look at how we ended up.”

You scoffed, shoving him. He was right though, the entire reason your relationship with Joaquin had ever started was because you were both drunk and decided to hook up on a random night, from there, casual sex quickly turned into something that wasn’t casual whatsoever.

“So that’s a no then? Good because I thought I was a desperate loser for holding onto the hope that I’d be able to win you back.” He pulled you against him, hands on your waist as he looked at you, a wide smile on his face. “You’re it for me baby.”

You rolled your eyes again, smiling before kissing him.

Then a loud shout caught your attention, both of you pulling away from one another at the sound of Sam and Bucky arguing over the mess in the lab.

“What the hell happened here?!”

A scoff followed by, “Well Buck, maybe if you listened to me instead of leaving all of the weird shit we find on missions out in the open, there wouldn’t be glass all over the ground and that freaky ass plant sitting there.”

When Sam and Bucky came into sight, both of them paused, eyes wide as they noticed you and Joaquin’s disheveled appearance, the pile of clothing on the small coffee table in your usual office, and the very evident bruises along Joaquin’s throat.

“I told you it was a damn sex plant! Bruce said to burn it! Now look, those two were getting freaky on camera! Jesus Christ—” Sam turned his gaze from Bucky to you and Joaquin, voice louder now “You two, pull the last few hours of footage from in here and burn it! I don’t need to be traumatized tonight.”

Bucky sighed, patting Sam on the back as they started walking out.

“I’m glad you two made up!” was the last thing you heard before the lab doors shut again.

“If those two ever got stuck in a situation like this, who would break first? Sam or Bucky?” Joaquin glanced in their direction, then back at you while wiggling his brows.

“I’d say Bucky definitely, he’s touch starved—he’d be all over Sam. Now onto important subjects, where are you taking me for our date?”

Joaquin smiled, kissing you again. “Wherever you want.”

#joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres x y/n #joaquin torres fanfic #joaquin torres smut #joaquin torres fluff #joaquin torres x you #joaquin torres imagine #joaquin smut #joaquin torres fucks!

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x1asirene · 2 months ago

Text

push n' fracture ! — caleb 夏 (f1 rider! au)

— ! lexical count : 5.7k words

— ! affinity : caleb (xia yizhou) x fem!reader

— ! essence : caleb doesn’t do rivals. especially not when they’re plastered across your skin. jealousy twists into something sharp and dangerous as possession takes over, and the line between love and obsession blurs. tangled, messy, and burning with tension—this is about claiming what’s his, no matter the cost.

— ! precautionary : fem!reader, use of ‘y/n’ and feminine pronouns, f1 rider!caleb, sexual content, jealousy, possessiveness, intense physicality, car crash (non-fatal), semi-public setting, slight degradation, overstimulation, roughness, dom!caleb, rivalry-based tension, angry sex

— ! writer’s foreword : just crash-landed home from, brain leaking out my ears, and what did i do? rest? recover? touch grass? no. i opened my laptop and immediately started writing this unholy, feral filthfest. if this fic makes no sense or feels like a fever dream, blame the caffeine overdose and my sleep deprivation. also, send help (and snacks). preferably both.

— ! soundtrack in play : ohmami by chase atlantic

this is my only account. any similarities between this work and others—published or unpublished—are entirely coincidental. i pour a great deal of time, care, and emotion into what i create. it is against both my principles and my moral compass to plagiarize or steal from the work of others. i hold deep respect for the creators who came before me, and i would never knowingly compromise the integrity of their work or mine. furthermore, i do not condone the use of AI in the creation or replication of fanworks. everything here is original and made with clean intentions.

minors dni. this work contains dark, mature themes and is intended for adult audiences only. accounts that do not clearly indicate age in their bio or blog will be blocked without warning. this is for my safety and yours—respect boundaries, respect creators.

you weren’t even wearing his team hoodie.

no red bull colors. no little sticker of his number on your cheek like you wore in monaco. no subtle sign that you were his—not even a glance in his direction. instead, your shirt clung to your skin in the dry desert heat, speckled with sun and cropped enough to bare your ribs when the desert wind blew. that tight mclaren crop tee clung to your skin, the bright tarocco tone screaming his rival’s colors as you stood too close—way too close—to rafayel.

it all started with a laugh. just a laugh. nothing more.

you’d meant nothing by it—just a shared joke with rafayel in the hospitality lounge before qualifying. rafayel leaned toward you with that signature half-grin, elbow on the counter of the lounge, head tilted just enough to make it intimate. charming. relaxed. fucking smug. his hand had brushed your arm when you’d thrown your head back, the soft trill of your giggle carried into the desert air. head tipped back, fingers brushing his arm as you caught his eye and giggled at something he said. a soft, unconscious motion. a friendly exchange. nothing malicious, nothing overt.

you should’ve known. you should’ve seen it in the way caleb’s jaw locked during the driver briefing—helmet held by its chin bar, fzipped up to his collarbone, gloves hooked around two fingers—and for the first time in his career, he wasn’t thinking about tire temps or DRS zones. his jaw flexed tight enough to cramp as he watched rafayel lean in closer, and watched you—his girl, the girl who should never let anyone that close—giggle and tuck your hair behind your ear like it wasn’t a fucking dagger straight through his sternum.

“caleb,” his engineer’s voice crackled through the headset. “you alright, mate? you seem out of it—everythin’ okay?”

he didn’t answer right away. swallowed hard, blinked once. his grip clenched tighter around his helmet, the carbon fiber started to dent. “…peachy.”

he didn’t look at rafayel again. didn’t need to.

he’d already decided.

i’ll deal with you later.

P2 on the grid.

of course it was P2.

rafayel sat in his mclaren like he already had the win wrapped around his fingers, one gloved hand drumming rhythmically on the top of his wheel, the other giving a little mock salute to the crowd through the visor cam. caleb didn’t look at him. his gloves were already tugged tight, helmet sealed, eyes locked forward—but all he saw behind the visor was the orange shirt stuck to your back in the heat with the stupid bold mclaren settled on the fabric right over your heart. his number and name nowhere in sight.

“radio check,” his engineer called.

he didn’t respond.

“caleb? radio check, mate?”

his voice finally came through, taut and venomous. “loud and fucking clear.”

there was a beat of silence. a pause on the line, “you good, man?”

he forced a breath through his nose. “let’s just get this over with,” over the loud hum of the engine, all he could hear was the echoes of your laugh with that shithead rafayel.

“five lights on,” the race director counted. “and it’s lights out and away we go—!” rafayel’s launch was clean—but caleb was rabid. the red bull fired forward like a predator loosed from the leash, barely missing P3 as he launched straight into turn 1 side-by-side with the mclaren. rafayel closed him off with a hard brake, forcing caleb out wide on the dirty part of the track, but caleb didn’t lift — not even when his front wing came within centimeters of rafayel’s rear.

“he’s driving like he wants to fuckin’ kill me,” rafayel spat over comms, his voice crackling. caleb didn’t respond on his own. he was too busy chasing. he spent the first dozen laps locked inside DRS range, not even trying to overtake clean—no, every move was calculated pressure. he drove like he wanted rafayel to feel him breathing down his neck. every brake was late. every corner exit was close enough to make the mclaren engineer panic.

“back off, caleb!” his own team barked at one point. “you’re risking a collision!” but caleb didn’t care. he wanted him to feel cornered. to know that he was prey. because he was. you don’t put your hands on her, he thought darkly as he tailgated out of turn 10, and walk away unscathed.

you were on the pit wall by then—wearing orange, still—and caleb saw you glance up at the timing tower. every time his number lit up right behind rafayel’s, you tensed. he saw it.

good, he thought. watch me. watch what i do to the man who touches what’s mine.

it built slowly—tire wear creeping in, temps rising, his rear losing grip in sector 3. still he stayed out, defying every team call to box. lap 26, rafayel’s tires began to fail. the tires wore down. rear traction faded. lap times dropped. still, he didn’t box. ignored every pit call.

“caleb, come in, we’re losing compound.”

“negative.” his voice came back hoarse. “i’ve got him.”

lap 28, rafayel’s grip was breaking—caleb could see it in the rear twitch. turn fourteen, he closed in so tight the slipstream pulled bits of rubber into his halo. he could’ve tapped the diffuser with his nose cone if he wanted. could’ve unstitched the seams of that mclaren.

“final lap,” came the call. “no funny shit, caleb.” but it was too late for that. he already knew where he’d do it. turn 13. fast. blind. unforgiving. he waited for the right moment, nudged inside, and turned in early.

the contact was immediate.

carbon fiber shredded. both cars locked up in a scream of tire smoke and screeching brakes. rafayel’s mclaren spun violently off the racing line, back end slammed against the barriers, dust pluming into the air. caleb’s red bull skidded into the gravel with a thunderous jolt.

yellow flags. double waved.

red flag. the race was over.

rafayel was out. caleb’s engine stalled in the gravel. static choked the radio. “what the fuck was that?!” screamed race control. he didn’t answer. not until he saw the red flag and the dust settle. not until he saw your face on the edge of the pit wall go white.

he didn’t attend the press conference. didn’t even unbuckle until a marshal banged on his cockpit. his PR rep trailed after him with panicked eyes and a clipboard full of damage control bullet points, but caleb walked right past him, suit still half-zipped, jaw clenched hard enough he could swear his teeth would crush with the pressure. they tried to stop him. camera caught his shoulder. reporters called his name—he didn’t even turn his head.

no interviews. no apologies. no explanations.

let them speculate. let them talk.

he didn’t give a single damn.

because rafayel wouldn’t touch you again.

not after this.

you didn’t speak the entire drive back.

he’d refused the medical tent. ignored the swarm of reporters like they weren’t even there, brushed past the PR team screaming his name with a pace so brutal you’d had to jog to keep up. he didn’t speak. didn’t even look at you. just reached back once��wrist tight, fingers wrapping around yours—and yanked you with him through the mess of the paddock and straight into the red bull private lot.

the silence was suffocating. not tense in the way people usually meant it—not awkward, not uncomfortable. it was a pressure chamber. the kind that made your ears ring and your chest hurt. you could hear every turn signal click, every swipe of the wiper across the windshield, even the way caleb’s grip on the wheel creaked under his gloves. he hadn’t taken them off. still in his fireproofs, zipper low on his chest, collarbone glistening with sweat and dust, jaw locked so tight it looked like it might snap.

the door slammed shut behind you with a vicious bang!—a sound that echoed like a gunshot off the walls—and it made your shoulders jerk involuntarily. he didn’t say a word. didn’t glance back. just stalked across the living room like the adrenaline was still burning through his blood, ripping open the fridge like something in it might anchor him, steady the fury in his bones. but even from where you stood, you could see the tremor in his hand. the way his fingers gripped the handle too hard. the tension still coiled in his shoulders like a spring wound to the point of rupture.

he wasn’t calming down. not even close.

the silence throbbed around you, thick and charged. you shifted on your feet, breath shallow, heart hammering like it wanted to crawl out of your throat.

“caleb—” you started, voice small.

“take it off.” his voice was low, sliced through the air like a whip.

you froze. your mouth parted, a breath catching in your throat. “w-what?”

he closed the fridge slowly. deliberately. then turned.

his eyes were black beneath the heavy shadow of his brow, dark and molten like they hadn’t cooled since the second his front wing clipped rafayel’s tire in that brutal turn. he took a step toward you, slow and controlled, like a predator choosing exactly how to pounce. “the fucking shirt,” he said, voice low and thick with venom. another step. “take it off before i rip it off ‘ya.”

your stomach dropped. you looked down instinctively. that stupid, traitorous mclaren tee still clung to your sweat-damp skin, streaked with grime and faint splashes of champagne from a podium that wasn’t his. that bright orange logo burned against your chest like a brand, and suddenly it felt radioactive.

you didn’t move. you hesitated.

and that was all it took.

two strides, and he was on you.

your back hit the wall so fast the impact knocked the breath from your lungs. the world narrowed—your heartbeat screamed in your ears, adrenaline flared under your skin, and caleb was there, crowding you in, body a furnace, heat rolling off him in waves. his fingers hooked the hem and yanked—not teasing, not even urgent. violent. the fabric caught against your arms, dragged over your skin so fast it left a burn, your hair tangled and pulled, nipples tightening into stiff peaks in the sudden rush of cold air.

caleb tossed the shirt onto the floor like it disgusted him.

“you wanna wear his colors?” he muttered, voice low and curling with fury. his breath hit your collarbone, his words too close, too hot. “wanna sit there in his fucking garage and giggle at his jokes while he stares at your tits through my windshield?”

tone wasn’t raised. he didn’t have to shout. it was the quietness that made it worse—quiet like a threat wrapped in velvet. quiet like a knife at your ribs.

you breath stuttered, your voice coming out weaker than you wanted it to. “c-caleb, i wasn’t—he didn’t—”

“shut it,” he snarled it, close enough for your lips to brush, and the force of it made your breath stutter. his hands came up—hard—gripping your waist, rough fingers digging into your hips like he meant to leave marks, like he wanted to brand you into him, carve out any memory of someone else’s eyes on your skin. caleb dragged you forward, chest to chest, his heart thudding against yours like war drums.

“i don’t want your pathetic excuses,” he ground out. “you don’t wear his name. you don’t smile at him.”

the silence after was suffocating.

his fingers curled tighter around your sides. his mouth hovered near your jaw, breath ragged and warm, chest heaving with every inhale like he couldn’t catch it. rage coiled off him in waves, not loud anymore—just molten, buried deep, a kind of fury that didn’t explode. it consumed. slow. controlled. and it was deadly.

and it was all aimed at the thought of him touching you.

of you letting him.

caleb’s thumb ghosted over your ribs, rough and possessive, tracing the bare skin now exposed in the absence of that damned shirt.

his mouth crushed against yours before you could speak—hot, brutal, punishing. all teeth and fury, like he wanted to bite the silence from your tongue, like tasting you was the only thing anchoring him to the present. he didn’t kiss you so much as devour you, lips bruising, jaw tense with barely-contained rage, breathing you in like you were air after drowning.

his hands were everywhere—frantic, careless. they slid down the arch of your spine, fingers pressing into every vertebra like he meant to memorize the shape of you, then sank lower, palms gripping your ass with bruising force. he hauled you against him so hard your breath fled, pelvis grinding to his through the fireproofs still clinging to his hips. he was already half-hard. already throbbing through the thin barrier between you. the press of it against your lower stomach made your knees tremble.

and then his gaze dropped.

his eyes caught on the denim. the sound that tore from his throat was less a breath and more a mocking scoff.

the low-rise shorts clung to your hips like sin, skin peeking out from under the frayed hem, teasing with that reckless kind of innocence that only made his fury burn hotter. they sat just high enough to hint at modesty but dipped scandalously low, hugging the softness of your waist like a taunt.

slowly, he reached down—deliberate, fingers flexing—and let his hand splay flat over your stomach. his palm was hot against your skin. the heel of it rested against the waistband, and then—without breaking eye contact—he slipped his thumb beneath it. just the barest intrusion. a single brush of rough skin over the delicate swell of your mound, not enough to touch you properly, but enough to make your whole body jerk with a whimper.

“these,” he sneered. “you wore these to the paddock? while he was watching?” his voice dropped into a guttural rasp. you opened your mouth to protest, but his voice cut you off—deeper now, dipped into something feral.

“he was probably fucking imagining what you looked like bent over the pit wall in ‘em,” caleb rasped, and the way he said it—like it sickened him, like it possessed him—made your stomach twist.

his eyes darkened—and in one swift, brutal motion, he popped the button on the shorts with a flick of his thumb. the metallic click echoed in the room like a shot. then his fingers gripped the zipper and yanked it down so roughly you gasped, fabric jerking against your hips before it slid down to your thighs, pooling at your feet in a useless, tangled heap.

he didn’t stop. his hand moved fast, unforgiving—already pulling your panties to the side before you had time to react. the elastic scraped the crease of your thigh, baring you to the chill of the room and the heat of him, and still, he didn’t look away. didn’t blink. just stared down at your cunt like it had betrayed him, like it belonged to him and had wandered somewhere it shouldn’t have.

“c-caleb,” you stammered, your voice catching, high and desperate, “you’re being—,” but the words dissolved on your tongue.

because his fingers were there, already brushing against slick heat, already groaning under his breath like it physically hurt him that you were wet for this—wet for him, even now, even after everything.

you could hardly breathe.

your head lolled against the wall as his fingers fucked you open—deep, firm, unrelenting. You were soaked, the wet sounds of it obscene in the charged silence, broken only by the staggered hitch of your breath and the rough rasp of his. your thighs were trembling, barely holding you upright, and caleb didn’t let up. he wouldn’t let up.

his voice curled against your ear, low and smug and absolutely feral. “you’re not even trying to stop me.” your mouth opened but nothing came out—just a soft, cracked moan. “yeah,” he hissed. “that’s what i thought.”

he drove his fingers in deeper, curling them just right—pulling a strangled sound from your throat. your hips jerked helplessly, and he groaned as your pussy clenched, dripping all over his knuckles.

“f-fuck,” you gasped, arms scrambling for purchase across his chest, clutching at the fabric of his fireproofs like he was your anchor. “c-caleb, i—nnh, please—”

you whimpered, broken and breathless, voice catching on each gasp. “i-i didn’t mean—nnh ahhh—d-didn’t mean to—”

“you wore that fucking shirt. wore his team, his number, his name. you meant it.” his teeth dragged over your neck, biting down hard enough to make your legs quake. “don’t act like you don’t like this. like you don’t love being fucked dumb right after i almost took him off the track.”

you sobbed out a noise that barely resembled his name—“p-please, i—oh, god—”

his fingers hit that spot again, and your body jolted, hips rocking into his palm like you couldn’t help it. the muscles in your stomach tensed, fluttering around the edge of your climax. he felt it, saw it, and laughed—low and delighted.

“oh, baby… gonna cum, aren’t ya’?” he mocked, breath hot against your jaw, eyes glittering. “you’re so easy. just a couple fingers and you’re already soaking me. dripping like a goddamn whore.”

“p-please—ah—please, i can’t—” your words broke apart, swallowed by the sounds of your own whimpers as your orgasm built sharp and unbearable. “i-i c-can’t hold it, caleb, i—fuck—”

“then don’t.” his hand gripped your jaw, forcing your eyes to his. “let me hear how mine you are.” and you shattered. a sobbing, shaking mess.y our body locked up, thighs clenching around his wrist as you came with a choked cry—wet and slick and pulsing so hard around his fingers you felt your knees threaten to give out. caleb held you upright through it, murmuring dark praise between your panting breaths.

“that’s it. that’s my girl.” he pressed a kiss to your temple—mockingly tender, wicked and warm. “so good when you’re ruined.” his fingers slipped free with a wet noise, glistening in the low light. he brought them to your lips, eyes still sharp and burning. “suck f’ me, will ya’?”

you blinked, dazed, mind swimming in the haze of pleasure and want. slowly, obediently, you parted your lips, tongue flicking out to wet them just before his fingers slid into your mouth. the taste was warm, messy—you, tangled with him—and the sound that escaped you was soft, shameless, utterly desperate.

caleb’s groan rumbled low in his throat, eyes darkening as he watched every motion, every subtle shift of your tongue curling around his fingers. “god, you look so pretty like this,” he rasped, dragging those soaked fingers out with a sharp pop that echoed in the quiet room. “dumb little mouth wrapped around what’s mine.”

you whimpered, the sound raw and fragile, knees trembling as they brushed his in the cramped space. your body sagged into his, burning and unsteady, craving his touch like air. then that smirk—slow, sharp, slicing through the tension like a knife dragged through silk. his voice dropped even lower, slow and deliberate, thick with dark amusement. “think we’re done?”

your breath hitched, caught in your throat as his eyes bore into yours, unblinking and heavy with promise. the room seemed to pulse around you, heat swelling in your skin, every nerve ending screaming alive. you tried to shake your head, but your voice was barely a whisper, broken and trembling: “n-no—please…”

his fingers curled in a slow, possessive grip against your jaw, tilting your face up so your lips hovered just inches from his. “behave,” he murmured, voice rough like gravel. “because i’m nowhere near finished with you.”

his mouth claimed yours again, teeth grazing your lower lip as his hands gripped your hips, holding you so tightly it was almost painful—but you didn’t care. you were already melting into him, breath shallow and fast, heart hammering against your ribs like a warning bell.

without hesitation, he ripped open his fireproofs, pulling out his thick, heavy cock, already leaking thick beads of precum, flushed red from holding back for too long. he shifted, pressing the full length of himself inside you, inch by agonizing inch, his body a hot, solid weight that filled every space. your breath hitched sharply, a stuttered moan slipping free as your walls stretched and clenched around him, tight and trembling.

your body jolted—smack!—as he bottomed out in one punishing motion. he didn’t stop to let you adjust. he just started fucking you. hard.

“is this what you needed?” he snarled, teeth at your throat again, biting down—hard. “some real fucking? not the attention of some weak little paddock rat.”

you sobbed, arms flying to his shoulders, clawing for purchase. he drove into you over and over, hips snapping up—wet noises echoing through the room. your slick ran down your thighs, onto his, then pooling onto the floor.

“fuck, you’re mine,” he growled into your hair, voice thick with need and possession. His hips slammed harder, faster, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge. “say it. say it or i’ll fill you up and walk out without another word.”

“i—i’m yours!” you sobbed, legs trembling. “caleb, please—i’m yours, i’m yours! a-always yours!” another slap to your ass—sharp, loud. then his hand gripped your hair, yanked your head back, and his teeth sank into your shoulder—deep, a bite so hard it made stars dance behind your eyes.

“you wear my number. my colors. my fucking name on your back. not that mclaren shit or anything else. never fucking again.” caleb’s hips slammed harder, faster, each thrust a brutal claim that sent your body shuddering beneath him. his teeth grazed your collarbone, sinking in deeply with a savage bite that left a bruised crescent burning hot against your skin. You gasped, head thrown back, breath shattering into sharp sobs that mixed pain and pleasure so fiercely your whole body trembled uncontrollably.

“fucking feel that, yeah?” he growled against your skin, voice thick with venomous hunger. your hands ripped down his sides, nails clawing cruel lines along his ribs as caleb dragged his teeth lower—trail of sharp bites blooming bruises along the curve of your tits, marking you with brutal possessiveness. “you think that idiot could ever fuck you like this? make you cry out, beg, lose your goddamn mind? no chance.”

you whimpered, caught between sobs and desperate moans, hips jerking instinctively with every ruthless stroke. “n-no—! only you, caleb! please—fuck, please mmm—!” your voice broke, breath hitching in a ragged stutter as your muscles clenched around him tighter, convulsing in waves of scorching overstimulation that stole your ability to think straight.

“bark f’me, sweet girl,” his teeth sank deep into your hip, biting down hard enough to draw a gasp, pleasure twisting with pain in a raw knot of sensation that made you cry out and claw at his back. “say you’re mine. my filthy little wreck, mine.”

“’m yours! yours, caleb!” you sobbed, body trembling, tears stinging your eyes as relentless orgasms crashed over you, folding you in a violent, layered tangle of ecstasy. your voice came out breathless and shattered, “please, don’t stop! i—i’m gonna—f-fuck, i’m gonna—please, i’m c-cummin’!”

“tell me,” he snarled against your neck, voice low, dark, teeth grazing skin like a threat, “tell me who you’re cummin’ for. me or that pretty little fucker?”

his hips snapped up cruelly, deep and fast, dragging a sob from your lips. his hand stayed locked tight around your throat—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you who owned every gasp, every tremble.

“you!” you cried out, voice cracking on the edge of desperation. your nails dug into the fireproofs still half-wrapped around his waist. “you, sir—only you, ah, fuckkk—!”

he grinned, vicious and possessive, like your surrender was his prize. “yeah?” he hissed, slamming into you again. “say it louder. make sure even that bastard hears it next race.” caleb didn’t slow. if anything, he fucked you harder, rough and relentless, like he was trying to erase any trace of rafayel from your body—if there’d ever been any. one hand gripped your hip bruisingly tight, the other still curved under your jaw, forcing your teary eyes to hold his.

“damn right,” he growled, sweat-slick and flushed, but no less in control. “say my name. not ‘sir.’ not ‘please.’ mine.”

your whole body jerked with each thrust, barely able to keep upright, tears streaking your cheeks. “caleb—! caleb, i’m—i’m yours, i swear—”

“louder,” he barked, voice edged in a snarl. “c’mon, sweetheart. want you hoarse for me. want that voice ruined so you can’t say shit to anyone else.”

you shattered then—crying his name, choking on your moan as your body seized, shaking, breaking apart in his hands like it always did. and he didn’t let up. not when you came, not when your body tried to squirm away from the overstimulation.

“too much?” he murmured mockingly, breath hot against your temple. “too bad. i haven’t had enough yet. not till i’m sure he knows you walk funny tomorrow ‘cause of me.”

he crushed his mouth to yours, swallowing your desperate sounds with a hungry roar, his fingers digging deep into your hips as he drove you harder over the edge. your walls fluttered around him, clenching and pulsing uncontrollably as you teetered on the brink—then tipped.

your body convulsed violently, a flood of sensation so fierce it wracked every nerve ending. you cried out, a broken, trembling sound filled with pure, overwhelming need. his thrusts became more savage, relentless, “mine,” he rasped between clenched teeth, voice thick and harsh as he chased his own climax, “only mine. gonna fill you up so fucking deep you’ll be leaking my cum for days.”

the force of him stole your breath again as another orgasm ripped through you, your body arching wildly. you trembled, clinging to him, sobbing his name like a prayer. he chased you over the edge, one hand tangled possessively in your hair, the other bruising your waist as he came with a shuddering, broken groan—low, guttural, right against your skin—his teeth sinking into your neck as he spilled hot and thick inside you, every pulse of him a claim you’d never shake.

he stayed still a moment, breathing hard, chest rising and falling, panting like he’d survived a battle. then—slowly—he pulled out. you whimpered at the sudden empty ache, your slick and his own, trailing down your inner thighs.

your body was still quaking when caleb carried you, trembling and ruined, to the couch—his grip bruising, but reverent. his jaw was tight, his breath still shallow from the exertion, and the whole room still reeked of sex and heat and rage. your thighs stuck to his fireproofs, slick and smeared, and your chest rose in ragged, shallow pants as he laid you down like you were something precious—but barely.

"look at you," he muttered, his voice hoarse with raw satisfaction. "still shakin’. you don't even know your own name, do you?"

your only answer was a weak, broken sound—something between a whimper and a plea. he chucked, low and dangerous, fingers brushing your jaw as his other hand gripped your thigh, spreading you open again just to look. but then—he stilled.

his thumb stopped where it had been tracing, reverent in its own brutal way. his gaze, once burning with hunger, flickered—hesitating. you blinked through the haze clouding your vision, and there he was again: caleb, not the fire-eyed predator but the boy who used to hold your hand under the covers during thunderstorms, the boy who always laced your shoelaces when your fingers were too cold to do it yourself.

“…fuck,” he murmured, and something in his tone cracked open. he exhaled hard and let your thigh fall gently against the couch cushion, his body sinking beside yours, no longer looming—folding. a different kind of tension took its place, quieter, older. his hand cupped your cheek again, softer now, trembling faintly.

"you okay?" he asked, and his voice was lower. wrought with guilt, with fear, with love. "talk to me, love. tell me you’re okay."

you nodded, just barely, then leaned into his palm with a broken little sound. “o-okay…’m okay,” you breathed, voice ragged but true.

he closed his eyes.

for a moment, caleb didn’t say anything. just let his forehead press to yours. his thumb traced the line of your cheekbone like you might vanish if he didn’t keep anchoring you to him. then, with careful arms, he pulled you into his lap—blanketing you in the throw he’d once haphazardly tossed on the couch. your legs curled over his, trembling.

“you’re shaking,” caleb murmured again, his voice low and rough, like gravel coated in velvet. the heat radiating from his body pressed against your back was a fierce, solid warmth that somehow grounded you, but you could still feel the tremors racing through your limbs—shaky, fragile, like you were made of glass. his arms tightened around you, not crushing, but possessive, protective—as if he wanted to keep you from breaking apart entirely.

his lips brushed your skin like a feather in slow, feather-light kisses. first your bare shoulder, where the soft warmth of his mouth left a trail that sent a delicious shiver down your spine. then along the hollow of your collarbone, his breath hot and steady, carrying the faint scent of smoke and sweat from the race—intoxicating and unmistakably him. when his mouth ghosted to the corner of your lips, he paused, lingering like he was memorizing your shape, tasting the faint salt of your skin, the quickening pulse beneath.

“you scare the shit out of me sometimes,” he breathed, voice husky and trembling with emotion, the raw vulnerability undercut by the fire of his obsession. “the way i feel about you... it’s not normal. maybe it’s because… i love you more than you realize.”

his hands roamed slowly now, tracing the lines of your body with a possessive tenderness that set your nerves alight. one palm slid down the curve of your side, fingers pressing into your hip bone, grounding you in the heat between you. the other curled in your hair, thumb brushing your temple softly, coaxing the tension out of your clenched muscles.

“you don’t have to say anything,” he whispered, voice rough but gentle. “just be here with me.”

your eyelids fluttered open, meeting his gaze—dark, intense, burning with a hunger that softened only when it landed on you. the sight made your heart squeeze painfully, a sweet ache that spread through your limbs like wildfire.

your fingers twined tightly in the thick fabric of his fireproof suit, heart hammering against your ribs like it was trying to break free. you curled into him, the solid beat of his heart against your palm a grounding anchor amid the storm of emotion crashing through you. no words came—only the soft press of your lips against his jaw, the whisper of a kiss that said everything you couldn’t say aloud.

caleb’s breath hitched sharply, eyes darkening with a fierce tenderness as he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. his thumb brushed away a tear that had slipped silently down your cheek, his touch so gentle it made your breath catch. his smile was fragile, barely there—but real. like he was offering you a piece of his soul wrapped in vulnerability.

“you’re everything to me,” he confessed, voice thick and laden with something bittersweet, a promise and a curse intertwined. “every lap, every breath, every fucking heartbeat. you ruined me, and i don’t ever want to be put back together.”

his arms squeezed you tighter, possessive and fierce, a silent vow to keep you safe and claim you utterly. the heat from his body seeped deep into your bones, steady and relentless, chasing away the shadows that lingered inside you.

your hand rose to cup his cheek, fingertips tracing the sharp angles of his jaw, memorizing the rough scrape of stubble beneath your touch. “l-love you..i’m yours,” you whispered, voice trembling but resolute. a soft, possessive smile curved his lips. “yeah,” he said, voice low and thick with pride, “only mine.”

when he kissed you this time, it was different—slow and tender, a deep press of lips that spoke of ownership and devotion, not just need. his mouth was warm and soft, roughened by days on the track and sleepless nights, and the taste of him—smoky, faintly metallic, and utterly intoxicating—settled deep inside your senses. his hands cradled your waist, fingers digging in just enough to remind you that you were his, that you belonged here, to him, in this moment.

“sleep,” he murmured against your lips, voice husky but gentle, a soothing promise that wrapped around you like a blanket. “i’ll be here when you wake up.”

your eyelids fluttered closed, sinking fully into the fierce, steady warmth of his arms. his heartbeat thrummed against your back, a wild, unyielding fire that burned only for you—and you let yourself be consumed by it.

caleb didn’t sleep. not for a second.

he stood bare-chested in front of the fire, the room thick with heat and shadows that flickered like ghosts on the walls. the dry crackle of the flames filled the silence, but inside him, a storm still raged—cold, sharp, relentless—but not for you, no, never.

his knuckles bore the faintest traces of dried blood where he'd gripped the wall to steady you, but the ache there was nothing compared to the sharp edge of his hatred for rafayel. the mclaren tee lay crumpled at his feet—a stubborn reminder that wouldn’t fade.

he bent down and picked it up slowly, fingers tightening around the fabric, a silent vow burning hotter than the fire before him. with slow, deliberate movements, his fingers curled around the fabric, pulling it close. he traced the soft cotton absently, the smell faint but familiar, and it stabbed at him like a fresh wound. the color—too bright, too loud—reminded him of everything he hated to admit. he fed the shirt to the flames, watching the orange cotton curl, blacken, and twist in on itself. the smell of scorched cloth filled the room, but it couldn’t burn away the rancor that still coiled tight inside.

he didn’t blink until the last ember faded to ash, eyes cold and unyielding, mind still racing with bitter thoughts.

rafayel had crossed a line.

and caleb’s fire wasn’t ready to die down—not yet, not ever.

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garez19 · 2 months ago

Text

wanna switch?

having grown up as the “smarter” twin, he finally gets a glimpse of his brother’s perspective. MDNI, gn reader, yandere content, mentions of overdose, drug use, murder, not proofread, 1.5k wc.

notes: can you call this one experimental? idk.

at the age of six, his parents consider him the calmer one, the son that is easier to deal with, the smart and kind one.

“mine is cooler,” his brother says without looking at him. the toy is almost identical to his, yet kids his age are easy to handle, stupid and naive enough to accept anything. his brother clumsily pushes the toy car around with two fingers, too sure of the fact that it looks cool if he is the one doing it.

he frowns cartoonishly. the seed of doubt is planted on his head, and he does not enjoy playing cars as much. the other kid realizes his little pout, so he turns to him, “would you like to trade them?” his smile is wide and he’s ready to declare his victory.

“okay,” he says.

their parents begin to notice their son’s unexplainable jealousy toward the other boy. every toy he owns, every bit of attention he receives, even every snack he’s given is noted and mirrored by his brother.

their mother buys them two more toys— almost identical, yet in different colors.

“theo,” she calls out to the kid. they both look at her. “pick one of them.” she points to the toys. theo beams with joy, however; his brother doesn’t seem as excited. he picks the green one after contemplating a few seconds. “okay, good,” she holds out the blue one to the other boy.

“and don’t give it to alex when he asks you to.”

at the age of fifteen, he is fed up with the boy’s dumbness.

they’re identical in almost every aspect, but there has been times he took alex’s exams because he is just so incredibly thick-headed to understand even the easiest concepts.

but no, wait, alex isn’t stupid, not exactly. all he ever does is find an easier path, to manipulate and create new ways just so he could get it over with.

their parents are very much used to being praised about their son, theo, who has been exceptionally successful, the model student everyone keeps mentioning. it wasn’t the deal with his brother though, he isn’t as troublesome as he used to be, but he still lacks the ability to concentrate and blend in with the rest,

“keep your eyes on your brother,” his mom says to theo. “you’re the only one he has.”

at the age of twenty-two, he finally understands how alex must’ve felt like all his life.

theo has his life ahead of him. a bright future blinks at his way, a very successful career as well as a loving family. without a doubt, he would have it all in no time, whereas his brother is still busy acting like an asshole and trying to drink all his worries away. he has tried to warn him, “it’s not a healthy coping mechanism,” he says. alex looks up at him in pure contempt —and something else he can’t figure out is there too, something similar to disgust.—

“and what is?” he spits, “being a freak, obsessed with control?”

theo doesn’t answer. it’s not that he doesn’t care about the remark, because his brother isn’t the only one who has voiced this sentiment. but he knows—even if he is the control freak, he is in the better position. he is in control, and that’s enough to keep him going. he is safe from the consequences of foolishness and ignorant decisions.

“it’s better than overdosing on drugs,” he says through clenched teeth.

they didn’t use to be this cruel towards each other, he remembers. he is reminded of the silly fights when they were younger, and how they always had found a way to apologize and make up.

“fuck off, will you?” alex hisses as he puts on a jacket. “you’re not a saint.”

he knows his brother will come back apologetic, he will even buy his favorite dessert as a form of apology—something he does to indicate he wants to make amends. “you’re the only one i care about,” theo will say as his brother gives him the paper bag, “don’t let those pills get into your head.”

and his brother will nod along, even though he probably won’t be listening. their relationship will seem stable for another couple of days.

the scene plays out just like how he imagined, only with a bit of a miscalculation. “maybe you’re right,” his brother mumbles, “i shouldn’t be messing around with my life.” theo can’t hide his surprise, but he seems content with his brother coming back to his senses.

and after a few days, alex mentions you, someone who has been helping him heal, someone who is willing to hear what he has to say. you become the shocking news for the following days. he isn’t an easy one to deal with, so theo considers you a holy soul sent by heavens. he witnesses his brother’s eyes shining as he talks about you. he sees how excited his brother gets whenever there’s a little date of you two.

and for once in his life, he feels happy he doesn’t have to keep an eye on alex. he is happy there is someone his brother can trust with, someone who cherishes and respects him even when he’s the biggest loser.

“i’m glad to meet you,” you say, reaching out to his hand, “alex talks about you quite a lot.”

he smiles softly, you are just like how he imagined after all: a lovely soul with a loving heart.

he likes invading your rendezvouses whenever he has the opportunity. his workaholic habits don’t usually allow that, but he feels he can make exceptions here and there. your presence is comfortable in a sense he can’t entirely describe. it’s like a cup of tea after being done with his studies, or maybe like the ice cream his mom used to buy when she was there.

but there’s only so much he can do when his brother tells him to give them some privacy. he gets it, really, but he can’t help but want to be told “it’s okay, you can hang out with us.” by you.

and you do. because you truly don’t mind it: his company is fun, and it’s hilarious to watch two identical people who have two contrasting personalities fight over the best movie of all time.

he watches the story alex has posted, two of you and a stray cat— it seems very fond of you.

he seems confused. since when does he have a partner? when did he even post that story? hell, he doesn’t even use it often. he clicks on the account. there’s a picture of a cat on the profile. “Alexander” he reads. he takes out his student id from the wallet. “Theodore” it says.

he hates being called that.

he refreshes the page and views the story again. you look so lovely with your adorable smile. he suddenly longs to be that one cat you pet in that story. he wants to be a stray cat you adopt, a stray cat you intend to domesticate.

or even better, he wants to be his brother, alex. he wants to be a part of your life without needing his brother’s permission. he wants to be present, and it doesn’t matter whether he has to be theo, alex, or that one stray cat in order to be by your side. his identity has stopped making sense a long time ago anyway, and all he ever wants is to have you near.

there are two mugs of tea on the table. “best dad ever,” one says. the other one has little flowers on it. alex puts the donuts right next to them. the two sit in silence, ready to make up, but none of them says anything. fortunately, the sound of the tv takes the tense silence away. theo’s gaze shifts from the table to alex.

“you remember how mom would make me pick toys because you wouldn’t stop swapping them with mine?” he asks. alex nods as he smiles at the sight of the memory. “you remember how you’d make her believe i was the one who did that?” alex asks back. he takes a sip while theo stares at the mug in his hand.

“well, no,” theo says, confused, “anyway, do you want to switch?” he points at the mug with his head. his smile is big, and he is one word away from declaring his victory.

“sure,” his brother grins.

seeing you cry over “his” death is heartbreaking, but it is also something that makes his chest warmer. how tragic it is to leave this world when he had so much ahead of him. when he had so much to do, when he had so much potential.

none of them truly matters, not really, because heaven can only wait so long to take you back. and before that happens, he’s ready to play the part of his brother too.

“i’m so sorry, love,” you say, wiping his tears away. “it’s going to be alright.”

#yandere male #yandere #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere original character #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere x you #male yandere #yandere x gender neutral reader #yandere x gn reader #yandere fic #yandere fiction #yandere oneshot #yandere oc x y/n #tw yandere

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last-words-ofashootingstar · 30 days ago

Text

Hard Times

Chapter One: After the untimely death of your family, your step-father steps up and takes care of you.

RATED X. MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY.

❥Kim Hongjoong x fem reader

"A little girl who needs her Daddy real bad."

-Ethel Cain, Hard Times ♫

♡'･ᴗ･'♡genre: yandere, angst, smut ➯disclaimer: DARK FICTION. DEAD DOVE. RIP I KILLED THAT HOE- 18+. MINORS YOU DON'T BELONG HERE.

✫彡wordcount: 9k

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: limited short series; see general warnings in the masterlist: step-dad hongjoong, reader calls hj dad on accident / jokingly + he likes it a little too much, age gap (reader young adult, hong in his late 30s), serious daddy issues, flashbacks will be italics and past tense, soul crushing grief (readers parents passed in car crash just before the story starts), survivors guilt, brief hospitalization, kissing on the lips (half) platonically, depepictions of deep depression, medication, mentions of ptsd nightmares, joong yells at reader (but it's kinda fair imo), emotional manipulation (lowkey going both ways), attempted suicide (via pill overdose, reader throws them up->) emetophobia, reader wears traditionally girly clothes + makeup, perv!hong has a corruption / virginity kink, talking about virginity + how readers bf tried to pressure her, non-sexual nudity, pet names including: (sweet, pretty, little, ect) girl, angel, sweetheart, baby, honey

➯a/n: happy fathers day to all the lovelies out there with horrrrrid daddy issues (self shout out fr) let me know what you think <3

୨ sweet as honey ৎ @m00njinnie @seonghwassii @whyismingi @emotionallyanaemic @werewolfcrimson @ninjakitty15 @klllerwaifu @a-tiny-thing @pandyandy71 @monstacheol @aurorasjoongie ₊‧⁺stardust˖⋆ @sousydive @sunnysidesins @onyxmango @devilzliaison @ateezswonderland @queenofdumbfuckery @emilysecresy @kyomiingi @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes

♡masterlist + navigation !♡

────୨ৎ────

"I hate you!"

Hongjoong jumped as he heard you scream from your room, muffled through the walls. He instantly got up off the couch, heading down the hall.

Equal parts nosey and concerned, he stopped outside of your closed door. "Why do you always do this? You promised me that you'd t-" He leaned his ear closer.

"Oh, and now you want to interrupt me when I'm trying to tell you how — Will you listen to me? I really wanted to spend time with you..."

He heard you throw something, followed by a sniffle. "Yeah, no, I get it... Mhm. Love y- hello? Hello?" You let out a soft, sighing, laugh. "Yeah, fuck you too, Dad."

He waited a few moments before knocking lightly. "Hey, (Y/n)?"

"Just- just a second."

You were wiping your hand on your leg as you opened the door, clearing it of the tears you were trying to hide. He, obviously, could still tell you were crying. "What's up, Joong?"

"I was wondering," he leaned against the wall across from your door, giving you some much needed space, "since your mom is going to be late tonight, why don't we order some takeout? I still have that menu from the Chinese place. We can get her some too so she doesn't have to worry about stopping after work."

"Sure," you nodded, sniffling again, "the, uh, Lins Express?"

"Mhm. You liked it, right?" He knows you did, you wouldn't shut up about their honey noodles for hours. It was so endearing — how could he possibly forget? "Honey noodles for you?"

Your eyes softened as you finally looked up from the floor and met his gaze.

He smiled. Gentle and light.

He remembered what you liked from the place you had one time? He's only known you for two months, he must be very observant; that's what you told yourself as you felt the smallest flutter of happiness in your heart.

"Yeah- yes. Yes, please."

────୨ৎ────

"Has she moved yet?"

"Not an inch."

You don't hear them speaking. Not really, anyway.

After your initial shock when they broke the news to you — you cried. A lot.

You cried so much you couldn't breathe. Sobbed so violently you fell to the floor even though they made you sit down on the hospital bed before they told you. Doubled right over and almost smacked your face into the tile if not for the fast acting nurse catching you.

And after that, after the nurse sedated you, you cried yourself to sleep with your face in the pillow. It kicked in fast — left you only with a mere minute to beg them to let you join your parents.

"Can you blame her? Poor girl's in shock..." Your step-father, Kim Hongjoong, leans back in the stiff chair on the wall; crossing his arms over his chest.

He'd married your mother almost a year ago. After her divorce with your father, she had trouble staying afloat. And marrying him helped her back to the surface. Taxes are a powerful thing.

For him, marrying her, it brought him closer to you.

He met you at a work event, when your mother had brought you along.

Dancing in the grass in a sun dress that twirled with your movement, the most beautiful smile on your lips —

He fell in love.

It was a stroke of luck that your parents got divorced a few months later. For him, at least.

And another that you had been on the way back from your old home together, finalizing the selling of it, when you were hit by an oncoming truck. Leaving you the only survivor with nothing but a broken arm, a bump to your head, and a crushed soul. Again, luck for him.

He was still thinking of a way to get his hands on you. And this works. As fucked up as he knows it is — this works.

His is the only family you have left. In the state you're in, in the state he knows you're going to be in for a while, you need someone to lean on.

Might as well be him.

"I think I'm going to head home and get some shut eye..." Your uncle, his brother; Bumjoong, pats his leg as he stands.

Leaning his knee on your small hospital bed, he leans over and kisses your hair. "I'll be back soon." He doesn't know if you can hear him, but he lets you know anyways. "Be strong, kid."

You're staring at the wall, laid curled up on your side just like Hongjoong left you after you'd woken them up with your sobs for the fifth time.

When you don't respond after a moment, he lets out a soft sigh and rubs your arm before getting up. "Take care of her, Hong," he says as he leans down to hug him, "I'll be back tomorrow. Try and get her to eat something, will you?"

"Yeah," Hongjoong nods, hugging his brother back lightly, "I'll see you tomorrow."

He turns to face you as Bumjoong leaves, waiting to hear the door thunk closed before he moves towards you.

He speaks your name quietly as he sits on the twin bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. The blanket it ruffled and messy ontop of you, pulled all the way up to your neck. When he touches your head, he reels back.

You're burning up.

"Get this off, honey," he hurries to pull it off of you, and you still don't move a single muscle. Even as he drops it to the floor and gets up to turn down the AC in the room.

It's almost the height of summer, and you don't even seem to notice you've been sweating for god-knows how long.

"Come on." He lifts you with a groan — his heart breaking as you let out a soft whimper.

He hates that this is the way he gets to have you all to himself. His sweet girl doesn't deserve all of this pain. If he had it his way, nothing in the world would ever hurt you. But it went and stole away both of your parents on the same night, breaking your forearm and your heart in the process.

As he pulls you onto your feet and wraps your arm around his shoulders, your eyes start burning with the urge to cry. Nothing comes out, though. You've already exhausted your body's supply of hydration through your sweat and tears. You squeeze them shut to relieve the sting, sobbing tearlessly as he guides you to the connected bathroom.

"I know, sweet girl," he whispers, bumping the door open with his foot. "It's going to be okay."

It certainly doesn't feel like it.

"I know it doesn't feel like it," he pouts as he sits you on the closed toilet. "But I'm going to be here with you, okay? We're going to get through this together, you and me. I'm here for whatever you need, honey."

He peels the thin hospital gown off of you carefully, forcing his eyes anywhere but your chest as it heaves with the force of your dry sobs. "Let's get you cleaned up."

────୨ৎ────

"She didn't eat anything: I tried, the nurse tried, the doctor tried to tell her she should at least have something..." Hongjoong sighs, holding his phone to his ear as he leans his head against the wall; slumped in the chair. "Mh... You can get her some honey noodles. It's her favorite, so..." He trails off.

"Hopefully she'll eat it?" Bumjoong speaks on the other end of the line.

"Yeah. We couldn't even get her to drink anything. They had to put her on a drip, she was so dehydrated she couldn't even cry."

"Poor thing..."

"Mhm..."

"How are you doing, Hong?"

He pauses for a moment. He hadn't really thought of his feelings — too worried about yours. Your wellbeing far outweighs his care of his own, it has for a long time.

"I'm okay." He says truthfully, "I'm a- I'm sad, I guess. I wasn't in love with her, and I didn't know him. She was..." A means to an end? "A good friend. I really cared about her." Not nearly as much as he cares about you, though. "I'm more worried about (Y/n)."

"It's a really big shock. Both of you will get through this. I know you'll take care of her, you're good like that."

"Thanks, B- oh, I gotta go. See you when you get here."

Hongjoong stands up quickly as he catches you moving in bed. Laid atop the blankets in some slightly too large sweat pants and a tank top, you stir awake.

He's by your side when you open your protesting eyes, holding your hand gently. "Hey, honey." He keeps it simple, "I'm here."

"Joongie..." Your voice comes out raspy from all the crying, and more tears are working their way into your eyes now that you're hydrated again.

"I'm here, don't worry."

You open up your arms, and he dives right in, wrapping his around you tightly and pulling you up into his lap. Your legs lock around his hips, and your arms around his neck, the rough texture of the plaster cast itching his skin; but he doesn't move it as you land your face in the crook of his shoulder.

"I've got you. Joongie's got you." He coos at you like you're a child and really — you might as well be one right now. All you can do is cry and cry and cry.

His hand sliding up and down your back gently keeps you grounded, and you aren't sure if you appreciate it. You don't know if you want to be present while your mind sorts through all of the sudden grief you're slammed with.

Through your blubbering, messy tears, you ask, "wh-ere are- are they?"

He doesn't want to answer. He knows anything he says will make it worse. But he can't lie to you. You deserve to know. "They're in the morgue. Bum just went and claimed their bodies-"

You let out a scream into his shoulder, making him jolt before he hugs you tighter. Pure heartbreak, absolutely soul shaking and he knows the patients in the neighboring rooms have heard it.

Another raw scream rips through your throat, followed by a series of mumbles. "No, no, no, no, this can't be happening-"

"Shhh, I'm sorry, honey," he holds your head to his chest, tucking you under his chin, "I'm sorry, it is..."

He blinks away his tears, cradling you close to him. He can't stand to see you so upset. But there's nothing he can do to make it better.

This is only a wound that time can try to heal.

But that doesn't mean he won't be there as it does. He's always been there, ever since he came into your life. He isn't going anywhere.

────୨ৎ────

You were always afraid of thunderstorms.

It started when you were a girl, and carried all the way into your adulthood.

As the thunder boomed too close for comfort, you curled up in your blanket tighter. And when the lighting flashed right outside of your window; you scrambled up with a terrified yelp. "Mom!"

"(Y/n)?" Hongjoong yelled as he ran to your room quickly, sluggish with the remnants of sleep but bolting to the sound of your voice nonetheless. He was just about to fall asleep, but your scream had him up in seconds.

Your mother wasn't home, and wouldn't be for some time. She had taken to working extra late nights and weekends. It's usually always just you and Hongjoong when you get home from work.

He grabbed your doorframe as he came to an abrupt stop, looking around your room before he heard a small sniffle — and there you were.

Sitting with your back against the bed and your head in your knees, hugging yourself tightly. "Honey?" He called with such gentleness it hardly broke the air.

Your teary eyes looked up from your legs, your lip trembling. He came up to you slowly, placing his hands on your knees as he kneeled in front of you. "Are you okay?"

"It's so- so childish..." You had whispered, wiping your face quickly as tears streaked down your cheeks. Just when he was about to ask 'what?' —

Another house-shaking rumble of thunder made you jump, instinctively grabbing his arm. Fear in your eyes, you opened your mouth; but no sound escaped.

"It's okay," he said, placing his hand over yours gently as you clung to his arm. "Are you scared of the storm?"

Embarrassedly, you had nodded.

"Yeah, I get it — mother nature is a scary son of a bitch." His eyes lit up as you chuckled lightly. "Do you- is there anything I can do?"

You hesitated for a few moments before another rumble shook the walls, then you spoke quickly; "Can you stay?"

You felt ridiculous. A grown woman asking her step-father to stay with her because she was afraid of some thunder and lightning. You thought he'd come up with some excuse to leave and go to his own bed.

But he didn't even pause before saying, "of course, honey." He didn't make you feel ridiculous. Childish.

No, he made you feel safe.

────୨ৎ────

"Are you awake?"

You are. Staring at your ceiling. In complete silence. The comfort of your own bed, your own clothes, the smell of your mothers laundry soap that you always complained about being too floral — it's all so comforting that you haven't moved since you got home... 17 hours ago.

"...Yes."

"Are you hungry?" Hongjoong asks from the doorway, leaning with his hands in his pockets. "The doctor said you should try to eat with your medicine."

You take a second to think. To try and feel your bodies needs. You fall short. "I don't know."

"I'll make you some breakfast."

Breakfast?

You turn your head with a groan as he walks away, looking towards your window. In from the closed curtains, on your floor is the early morning light; trying its hardest to seep into your room.

You roll your head back and sigh, looking at the ceiling for a moment before urging yourself to sit up.

Sit up. Just do it. Just get up!

But your body doesn't respond to your brain telling it to move. You close your eyes defeatedly, keeping the tears held back by your eyelids. "Hongjoong..." You call weakly. "Joong."

He peeks his head into the room before coming in slowly, "yes?"

"I c-" You breathe out slowly, forcing your eyes open. Your chin trembles with your held back emotion. "I can't move."

His eyebrows push together, "do you want me to help you?" He asks softly, his fingers tracing over the cast on your arm.

"Please," you choke out your response, melting into his touch as he wraps his arms under you and pulls you up carefully.

"Here we go, baby," the nickname slips out unintentionally; and neither of you notice it. "Easy does it." He hums as he rubs your arms, letting you sit up on your own as he moves your legs to dangle off the bed.

"When- when are we going to bury them?"

He sighs, crouching infront of you and placing his hands on your knees. "Are you ready to talk about that?"

"I need to- we need to. I can't... I can't just let them sit there." I should be there with them; is what you want to add.

It's all you've been able to think about. Why, of all of you, are you the one to survive? The only one?

"We can talk about it after you eat something."

"Hongjoong, c-"

"Come on," he grabs your hand gently, leading you onto your feet and holding you steady as you waiver. "One step at a time."

────୨ৎ────

"Hey, Hiyyih," Hongjoong greets the young woman as he opens the door the next day.

She's the first person other than him and Bumjoong that you were willing to speak with.

"How is she?" She asks as she pushes her way into the house, taking off her shoes in a hurry.

"About how you'd expect..." He sighs, pushing back his messy hair. He spent the entire night in bed with you, both of you only getting fitful episodes of rest between the nightmares and crying.

But he was diligent and soft with you the entire time, holding you close with just enough pressure that you didn't feel trapped. You just felt... protected.

"Not great. At all."

She goes to run to your room, but she stops herself and looks him up and down. "I've got her. You need to get some rest, too."

"Thank you," he smiles, just barely.

He doesn't want to put you in someone else's care. But, if it's going to be anyone, he's glad it's her.

You've been best friends since childhood and he's got to know her and her brother well during the last year. She cares about you almost as much as he does. Almost.

"If she needs anything- or you, if you need anything-"

"I know where to find you," she nods, giving him a light hug before rushing down the hallway; calling your name.

She finds you right where he left you, laid on your side in the bed; watching your fingers trace along the cast on your arm with the slightest hint of disgust in your otherwise blank eyes.

"Hey." Her softly spoken tone makes your eyes flick to her quickly, relief written on your face.

"Hiyyih," you sit up too quickly, but your dizziness doesn't stop you from getting up and hugging the blonde tightly; getting the exact treatment back.

She doesn't handle you like you're fragile, like the brothers do. And she doesn't carry pity in her voice, like others had, as she says, "I'm so sorry."

Hiyyih hugs you like she means it, wrapping her arms around you tightly and squeezing you into her while you both start tearing up. "I was so scared," she whispers as she holds you impossibly closer, "they wouldn't let me and Kai up to see you. Joong wasn't answering his phone, yours is still straight to voicemail, I was so scared I lost you-"

"I'm still here," you choke out. Pained with the fact. And she can hear it in your voice.

She pulls back with a pout, her arms around your neck gently, "and I'm glad. (Y/n), what happened to you is-"

"A miracle?" You grimace as you recall the word the doctor and nurses said over and over again. "So I've heard."

"It's a miracle she survived." The doctor had told Hongjoong. "Your arm should heal within two months, it's really a miracle." The woman said as she explained how to care for your cast. Miracle. Miracle.

The word even slipped from Hongjoong the day he brought you home from the hospital, as he placed you into bed. Thinking you were sleeping. "My miracle."

"No," Hiyyih shakes her head, frowning. "It's a tragedy. I can't even begin to imagine the pain you're in..."

Hearing someone else say exactly what you were thinking, hearing it be validated — you crash right back into her arms in a wreck of sobs. "Oh, Hiyyih! I can't- I don't-"

She doesn't shush you, she doesn't tell you it's okay. She just sniffles, holding you tightly as you shake with the force of your grief.

────୨ৎ────

"He said that?!" Hiyyih slapped her hand over her mouth as you shushed her.

"Shhh!" You hit her arm, pouting dramatically, "will you quit it? My step-dad works from home."

"Sorry, sorry," she frowned, sitting atop the counter while you cooked for the both of you. "But... he said that?"

"Yeah... That's what he said," you smiled brightly, "he said he'll even pick me up."

"Oh, I'm so excited for you! This is your first date since when? How long has it been, two years, three-"

"Hey, girls," Hongjoong said as he turned into the kitchen, spooking you both into silence. He nodded to Hiyyih briefly before smiling towards you.

"Hey, Hong." You didn't seem to think anything of it as he pushed you forward a bit by the small of your back to get past you to the refrigerator. "If we're too loud, just tell me. Hiyyih doesn't know how to control her volume." You stuck your tongue out at her, laughing as she did the same.

"You're fine," he chuckled lightly, taking a seat at the table with his drink. "What're you making? Smells good."

"Ramen with my secret ingredient," you were already reaching into the cabinet to get another pack as you asked, "want some?"

"Sure. What's the secret ingredient?" He hummed, leaning his head in his hand as he watched you.

"If I told you, it wouldn't be a secret~"

"It's Tajin and cooking wine." Hiyyih smirked as you turned to her, wielding your fork like a weapon.

"I'm never telling you my secrets again. You've betrayed me for the last time!" You yelled dramatically, snatching up the seasoning she handed to you.

"Yes, you will," she gigged, nudging your leg with her foot, "you tell me everything!"

"Not any more."

Hongjoong watched from the table, smiling, as you and your friend went back in forth with your playful argument. Really though, his eyes never left you.

────୨ৎ────

Neither your mother nor your father had much family. The only ones who showed up to the funeral a few days later was a handful of cousins and some sympathetic co-workers. Hiyyih and Kai, their parents.

Hongjoong didn't let you leave his side, and you didn't want to anyway.

You dread the day he leaves because he's the only thing keeping you even semi-functional.

For the past four days: he's pulled you out of bed, cleaned you up, made sure you took your medicine, he helped you change everyday — claiming it was only worse for your mental health to stay in your pajamas all day.

He must pity you. That's what you think. That's why he's sticking around. He'll probably leave after the funeral like everyone else.

Your stark white cast stands out in the sea of black as your parents are lowered into the ground next to one another.

Hongjoong looks over to you; your bloodshot eyes trained on the caskets.

He doesn't pity you. He loves you.

Of course he feels bad. He hates that you're in pain. But he cares for you more than he pities you. Far more.

He wraps his arm around your shoulders and your head immediately falls into his, your hand coming to cover your mouth. Bumjoong, from behind you, rests a comforting hand on your shoulder.

You don't know what you're going to do when they leave.

Hiyyih, from your other side, rubs your back softly as you muffle your cries. Kai is biting back his tears as he reaches between you and holds your hand. You'll always have them.

────୨ৎ────

And even if you didn't, you don't have to worry about the brothers leaving, especially not Hongjoong. He tries to make that clear as he helps you out of the car.

He came back with you. He isn't going anywhere.

"I'll heat you up some-"

"(Y/n)?" Your elder neighbor hobbles over quickly, stopping the three of you in your driveway. "Dear, look at you..."

"Now's not a great time-" Hongjoong tries to stop her, pulling you behind him gently when she reaches out.

"Oh, I'll be quick," she says as she takes your hands in her own, cast and all.

"Ma'am, really-" Bumjoong similarly gets cut off.

"I just wanted to let you know how very, very sorry my husband and I are for you. You're so young, you shouldn't have to deal with such grief. I was in my fifties when my parents passed, I can't imagine..."

You look up at her blankly, "thanks, Miss K."

"Oh, dear, I'm so glad you're okay! You're such a sweet girl. It's a miracle you survived. I saw the photos on the news, it's a work of god that anyone made it out-"

"Okay, okay," Hongjoong steps between you, "really, that's enough. Thank you for your condolences."

Both you and Bumjoong are looking at the woman like she's grown another head, wide eyes and jaws dropped.

Hongjoong, though, is seething. "We'll see you around, Miss K." He yanks your hands from her grasp and pulls you to the front door, hiding you in his side with his arm around you while he unlocks the door. "What a fucking bitch, read the room-" He grumbles as he pushes the door open, guiding you inside. "Come on, honey."

Bumjoong gives the awestruck woman an awkward smile before run-walking to join you.

Hongjoong is kneeling down, taking your shoes off of you gently.

"Ignore her." He knows you feel guilty for surviving. He, and everyone else, have been trying to get that idea out of your head.

The idea that you should have died with your parents.

"I think I wa- I want to go lay down."

That's all you've wanted to do for the past six days. All six days since the crash — all you want to do is curl up and disappear.

"Come on," he pushes you into the direction of the couch, "Bum, will you make her something to drink?"

"On it."

You crash onto the cushions, laid face down as he pulls the blanket off the back of the couch and drapes it over you. "Thanks." You say shortly.

"Anything you need, honey. Anything at all."

────୨ৎ────

"What're you wearing?" Hongjoong hummed, leaning his head over the back of the couch and looking you up and down.

Dressed in a cute skirt and a button up blouse, all dolled up, you did a twirl that made his heart flutter. "Cute, right?"

"Very~ Where you off to?"

"Me and Hiyyih are going on a girls date. Her boyfriend just broke up with her, so I'm standing in," you laughed as you grabbed your purse from the hook by the door.

"You're a good friend," he smiled, quickly standing up and making his way to you. "No boys right?"

"No, Dad," You rolled your eyes playfully, missing the way his eyes widened a bit. "Just me and her- well, her brother. But he doesn't count!"

"Hmm... I'll allow it," he joked right back after his shock passed, handing you the keys to his car after you pulled your shoes on. You took them with a big smile.

"Really? I was gonna take my bike to meet her-"

"In that skirt? Do you want the whole neighborhood to see your pant-"

"Okayyyy!" You shoved his arm, "I get it, perv."

He smirked lightly — if only you knew the half of it.

"I'll be back before mom gets home," you said as you opened up the door, leaning back to him. "Mwah," you gave him a quick peck. Chaste and fleeting.

That's one thing he still can't get used to. You kiss everyone on the lips, it's just part of how you show affection. But it still makes him giddy.

"Bye, Dad." You closed the door before either of you got the chance to really take in what had just slipped from your lips. Not joking like before.

Hongjoong stared at the door with wide eyes, debating on whether or not he actually just heard you correctly.

Debating on if he should just deal with the consequences of yanking the door open and shoving his tongue in your mouth to show you how to really kiss.

In the end, he didn't. But he thought about it.

He still thinks about it. A lot.

────୨ৎ────

"I made you an appointment with a grief counselor," Hongjoong says quietly over the sound of the rain against the roof.

The wind howls, the screen door bangs every few seconds, the television keeps it's steady sound of a show you've seen a million times.

You stay there, laying across the couch, unmoving with your unfocused eyes on the TV.

"Did you hear me, honey?"

"...Yeah."

"Is th-" He sighs, rubbing his face as he leans on the doorframe. He's asked you 'is there anything you need' five times a day, at the very least. And he never got an answer.

He's not been guiding you through your grief — he's just been keeping you afloat so that you don't drown in it completely.

He needs to know what you need to start getting through it.

"I'm really trying. I really am, (Y/n)... But I can't help you if you don't tell me what you need."

The lights flicker with a loud rumble of thunder, and his heart breaks a little more as he watches you flinch.

He pushes off of the wall, getting a tissue from the third box you've gone through this week and a half on his way over.

When he kneels in front of you and dabs your tears away, they start flowing quicker. "Shhh," he coos softly, rubbing your arm as you hold yourself, "I know. I know, honey."

His blurry figure pouts as you meet his gaze. "I need-" Your voice cracks, "I need you to hold me."

He presses his lips together in a gentle smile, "okay. I can do that."

You finally push yourself off of the couch for the first time in hours, sniffling quietly.

He sits next to you and pats his lap lightly, urging you forward. Carefully, you sit sideways atop of him; your shoulders slumped and your head low as you wipe your eyes.

As he wraps his arms around you, you can't help the wave of ugly sobs that come with the comfort of his touch.

"It's okay," he says softly as he presses his forehead against your shoulder, "cry it all out."

You turn quickly, hugging his neck and crying into him, "why am I alive, Joongie?"

He's well and true speechless. He has no idea what to say. How to comfort you. "Don't... don't say that."

"It should have been me-"

"Stop. Stop talking like that, honey."

When his palms touch your cheeks, you almost think he's slapped you from both sides simultaneously — but his touch is soft, and it doesn't move.

His eyes flick wildly across your teary face, his finger twitching on your cheekbones. "Don't say that. Don't fucking say that."

"Why are you even here? You can leave, go find an actual girlfriend-"

"I don't want to." He breathes softly, frantic eyes finally locking on yours, "I don't want to leave. This is our home. This is where we belong, together. I don't want a girlfriend, I want you."

"Wh-"

"I want to stay with you," he shakes his head as if correcting himself, "I want to take care of you, honey. Please, please just let me. You don't need to do this on your own — you can't. I want to stay."

Your pout only gets bigger, bottom lip trembling and calling his attention. "Why?"

"Because I care about you."

Despite the circumstances, his heart is trying to beat out of his chest to try and jump into yours. He means every word he says, but you don't know the extent.

"Don't say those things again, baby. Never. You deserve to live. And I'm not going to leave. Especially not when you're hurting so bad."

A bittersweet warmth touches your soul for the first time since the accident. The corners of your lips twitch up instead of down. "R-really?"

He takes a steadying breath before he pecks your lips, holding himself back. "Really."

────୨ৎ────

"Joong." You grab his wrist as he turns to leave your bedroom the next night, looking down at the floor.

"Yup? Yes, honey?" He turns back around quickly, rubbing your arm.

He had helped you clean up and change into your pajamas, and was about to go do the same for himself.

Hiyyih had visited again, but left a few hours ago, promising she'd come back soon. You hugged her extra tight.

"I just wanted to say... thank you for taking care of me and my mom. You're a really nice guy. I hope- I hope one day you'll get to have an actual family."

He wants to tell you you are his family. But he just smiles and pets your freshly washed hair. "You're sweet."

He gets the wind knocked out of him as you crash into him. Hugging him extra tight. "Oh-" He wraps his arms around you in return, squeezing you much gentler than you do to him. He waits until you let go — he always does.

You appreciated that about him. He was good to you. "Goodnight, Hongjoong."

"Goodnight, honey. See you in the morning."

You don't say it back.

He closes the door behind him quietly. Shuffling down the hall, he rubs his face tiredly.

It doesn't hit him until he's rinsing his face, staring down at the place where your pain and sleep pills should be. And it's empty.

The door just about comes off the hinges as he yanks it open, running down the hall. "Hey!" Your door gets the same treatment, slamming into the wall behind it as he throws it open.

It's only been twenty minutes — if that. But you're sitting on the floor, leaning on the side of the bed, eyes drooping as you stare at the photo of your parents on your nightstand. Both bottles of pills are empty on the floor next to you.

"No, no, no, no," he mumbles as he runs to you. "No! What did you do? What did you do, baby? Hey, you stay awake, goddamn it!" He slaps your cheek lightly, multiple times in quick succession until you pout and open your eyes.

Wildly dilated eyes scanning his face, you groan. "I'm gonna go."

"Like fuck you are! Get up, c'mon," he grits his teeth as he hauls you to your feet, wrapping his arms up under yours and dragging you out of the room, "you aren't going anywhere! No fucking way!"

"Let go of me," you slur tiredly, kicking your feet weakly as they drag on the floor. Everything is slightly blurry from your tears. The photos lining the hall, the wallpaper they're on — your mother's bedroom door that hasn't been opened in a week.

He falls to the tile with you, dragging you to your knees as you protest feebly, "oh, god... How long ago- oh, god!"

You whine as he pulls your torso over the clawfoot tub, slapping at his hand while he grips your jaw. "You can't leave, you can't! I need you. You can't go." His fingers dig into the sides of your face; forcing your mouth open.

His fingers are in the back of your mouth before you can even grab at him, making you gag. "Ge- get them out, angel." He shoves them deeper, making you retch right into the tub. Bile and half dissolved pills.

But not nearly as many pills as he knows was in those bottles.

He does it again, cringing at the sound of your gagged whines. Not paying any mind to the stomach acid on his fingers as he digs them back into your throat. Only your pained noises as you spew more pills.

"Shhh," he uses his clean hand to rub your back as he turns on the water, washing away all of the filth and pills before rinsing his fingers. "Shhh, you're o- I'm here."

He doesn't dare say 'you're okay'. Because that's far from the truth.

You're so filled with grief and misplaced guilt that the first thing you've done in almost two weeks without being coaxed — is try to kill yourself.

But as you spit up into the tub: hard tile under your knees, heart clenching painfully in your chest, casted arm slipping on the edge, Hongjoong's trembling voice cutting through the air to beg you to stay awake long enough to get the pills out —

You realize you're afraid to die.

He's crying almost as hard as you are as you ask yourself, in a near incoherent voice, "why did I do that?" You cough into the tub, spitting up the taste of your stomach. "Joongie, what did I do?" You yell as you grip the edge of the tub with your finger-tips. "I don't want to die!"

You don't.

You miss your parents so badly that it feels like there's a void in your heart — like someone has hole punched it and left you to bleed out. You feel so guilty for walking away with nothing other than a broken arm that you may as well be calling yourself the anti-christ; like you've committed a mortal sin just by existing.

But you're afraid of what comes after death. If it's pitch black and cold. If it's like a deep sleep. If it's like heaven and hell.

You aren't ready to find out.

He hugs your arm tightly, sobbing into your sleeve, "how many did you take?"

"I t- all of them! All of them!" You shake your head, blinking rapidly, "what do I do?!"

"Open," he shakily lifts his fingers again, wrapping his hand around yours on the edge of the tub as he shoves them back into your throat. "Get them out, as many as you can, honey. Before you start digesting them more."

You can hardly breathe as he makes you empty your stomach into the tub, three more times before pills stop coming up with the burning acid that has your throat raw.

"We need to get you to the hospital-"

You shake your head, coughing dryly, "they'll admit me."

"You need to be looked at, sweetheart..."

"Please," you look at him, begging. "Don't make me. They'll keep me, Joong... I can't- I can't." You squeeze his hand tightly, "they won't let me see you."

His gaze softens even more, lacing his fingers with yours. The rushing water fills the silence between you.

"You were right," you say quietly, voice hoarse with pain; both physical and mental. "I need you to take care of me. Please, take care of me."

────୨ৎ────

You came home late, mascara smudged and half-assedly cleaned up.

"Where you been?" Hongjoong's voice made you jump, holding your hand to your chest. He turned around at the table and his eyes widened; practically jumping out of the chair. "What-"

"It's nothing." You tried to shove his hands away as they came up to cradle your puffy and heated face. That, along with your ruined makeup, told him you'd been crying.

He tilted your head up, pouting as he inspected you. "What happened?"

His soft touch, his gentle tone, the genuine concern in his eyes — it made you burst into another round of tears.

"Oh-" He shook his head, shushing you as he rubbed your cheekbones with his thumbs, "hey, shhh, you don't need to cry, sweetheart. Whatever it is, I can try to help you."

You threw yourself into his chest, hugging him tightly and leaving him a bit surprised for a moment before he returned the favor.

It was the first time he ever called you anything other than 'honey'.

He let you cry into his chest for a good few minutes before you finally exhausted yourself; sniffling and holding onto him.

"Want to tell me what this is about?" He whispered as he traced on your back.

"He dumped me."

Hongjoong wanted to jump for joy, but he hid his smile as he continued to hold your head to his shoulder; trying to keep his tone even. "He doesn't know what he's missing, honey."

"Can I... could I ask you something a bit personal, Joong? About guys?"

"Sure." He smoothed out his expression as you leaned back. He'd answer any question you ask without hesitation.

"Well... I know you and my mom don't have sex-" His eyes widened a bit, having absolutely no idea where you were going. "-and... I was just curious if guys really do get blue balls if they don't... do it? God, I sound ridiculous." You laughed humorlessly, wiping your cheeks.

"Uuuuhm- sorry, sorry." He scratched his neck, feeling heat creeping up it. "I wasn't expecting that-"

"You don't have to answer, I just- well... Google wasn't very helpful. It was a bunch of incels on Reddit, not the most reliable source."

He pushed a hand through his hair as he wandered back to the table, sitting quickly. "No, that's not true." He looked down, and then back to you in a split second, "why?"

He noticed your unease, the way you swallowed with a bit of trouble; like there was a lump in your throat.

"He said that's why he couldn't be with me anymore... We were just w-" You cleared your throat, choosing to leave out the details, "he said because I won't put out."

"That's stupid, honey-" Your heart dropped for a split second, thinking he was telling you you should go back to him and- "-you don't have to do anything you don't want to."

You slunk into the chair across from him, tapping your fingers on the table as you bit your lip. "You seriously don't get blue balls? He made it sound so real..."

He laughed a bit, fondly. Reaching over, he held your hand softly, "seriously. We can handle it on our own." Looking over your features slowly, watching you take in the information; his eyebrows pressed together. "Are you a virgin?"

The question had caught you both off guard, and he let go of your hand quickly to cover his mouth. "I'm so sorry. I did not mean to say that."

Although a bit mortified of answering, you thought it a fair question. You know he didn't mean to ask, and he was definitely not expecting an answer — he was fully expecting a scold or a slap or for you to completely ignore his personal inquiry.

But you just spoke, "yeah."

You didn't know it, but his wide eyes weren't of shock. They were of wonder and awe. Can you get more perfect? Is what he was thinking in the brief moment of silence that hung between you.

He swallowed thickly before speaking, "and that's why he broke up with you? Because you aren't ready to have sex?"

"Yeah, but, I mean," you shrugged, "I see where he's coming from-"

"No, no, noooo," he interrupted, quickly, "absolutely not!" He met your eyes and spoke sincerely, "you should wait until you're ready. Don't let that jackass get in your head. If it's important to you, you should do it with someone special."

"You really think that? Most people say I'm overreacting, being too picky..." You looked away, sighing, "most people my age don't really think it's such a big deal. I mean, it really is mostly societal- but for me, I want to feel safe with the person who I literally let inside of me, y'know?"

He was internally freaking the fuck out, but he kept a calm face; nodding along with your words. It was your first time ever opening up to him about something so undeniably personal.

"No, that's completely valid," he said quickly when he realized you were done talking; looking to him for a response. "I can imagine it's scary to you, right?"

"Yeah," you leaned your head on your hand, "it is."

He'll make sure you never feel scared with him. He can take much better care of you than any boy your age ever could. He should make sure you stop going on dates — one of these times, you might give into their pressuring. All of these thoughts ran through his mind as he watched you, his heart in his throat. What can he do to make you feel better?

"Hey, honey?" He broke the silence carefully, a smile tugging on his lips as you looked up at him. "Have you ever egged someone's house?"

────୨ৎ────

"How are you feeling?" Hongjoong asks for the third time in twenty minutes, looking over to you as he puts the stopper in the tub.

Letting it fill with lukewarm water, he sits on the edge to face you.

"Tired," you whisper as you pick at the plaster cast. "My throat hurts- you had to jab me so hard?" You're fuzzy headed and it's the first time you've even gotten close to laughing.

Your small joking tone doesn't amuse him though, not when you're still in the danger zone and refusing to go to the hospital.

He knows he should just pick your ass up and make you go. But he can't bring himself to, the thought of them keeping you away from him nagging him into doing research as fast as possible so he can take care of you.

You're going to be so pissed when he keeps you awake for the next few hours, already nodding off every so often with your head rolling back and forth on the wall you rest on. But he isn't risking letting you fall asleep. Not when you never waking up is a possibility.

He knocks his foot against yours as your eyes droop for the umpteenth time.

"Let me sleep," you draw on in a whine, slapping at his foot clumsily.

"No. You need to stay awake for at least a few hours until I know you're okay."

You peek your eyes open and pout up at him, dramatically at first. But it turns genuine as you register the sternness, the care and concern on his face.

His nose slightly red from crying, his eyes puffy, and his hair a mess.

"I'm sorry." You blurt out quickly. "I d- I just..." You squeeze your eyes shut as you roll your head to face away from him. "I don't even know. I'm sorry..."

"Why did you do that?" He deadpans, finally asking the million dollar question.

"I don't know-"

"Yes, you do."

"I don't!"

"Stop lying to me!"

You flinch as he stands quickly, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"Stop lying to yourself! You didn't do this for the fuck of it. You were trying to kill yourself! I want to know why! Why would you do something so stupid? What if I hadn't noticed? Huh? You were just going to lay there on the floor until you seized to death? Until your heart gave out? All alone i- What- I can't-" He paces back and forth in the small space, gripping his hair.

He stops as he hears you choke back a cry, and his eyes snap to you; still on the floor. Your knees pulled up to your chest and your wide eyes teary as you watch him.

He sighs, sliding down the wall to sit next to you. He holds your hand gently, but his voice is still laced with anger and confusion, "I want a goddamn answer, (Y/n)."

You take a few short seconds to steady your shallow breaths, not daring to look over at him even as you feel his gaze on you. "I feel like... I shouldn't have survived. Like this is some sort of sick joke the universe is playing on me. Why d- why did I get to live and they don't? It's not fair..."

"Life isn't fair," he says without hesitation, "life is fucking brutal. It sucks, but, honey, that's the truth. The world will throw the most vile things at people who deserve it least. It pummels us to the dirt — and you know what we do?"

He squeezes your hand lightly, getting you to look at him. "You know what we do?"

You shake your head slowly, gripping his hand tight.

"We get up. And we keep going. No matter how much it hurts. We keep living, keep fighting. Do you understand me? We don't get to give up just because life is unfair."

Your lip trembles, and before you can stop them, tears are free falling down your face.

"C'mere," he mumbles softly, opening up his arms and wrapping them around you as you crawl into his lap. "I got you."

"I'm so sorry, Da- Joong," you stutter into his neck breathlessly, already a mess of sobs in his hold.

"I know, honey," he hums as he rubs your shoulders slowly, "it's okay, I'm not mad. You just scared me, you know? What would I do without my sweet girl?"

You can only respond with more tears, clinging to him tightly.

────୨ৎ────

The sun rises in through the windows, casting the dim table in its light. Shining on you and Hongjoong in two separate blocks of warmth as you both rest your heads on the surface.

Your fingers play idly with his, eyes barely held open.

He's just the same, holding back his yawns as he waits in silence; tracing your face and committing every detail to memory like he hasn't already.

He had kept you up all night despite your growing aggravation as he did so; the pills that managed to dissolve in your stomach making you unbelievably sleepy. Eventually, around two hours ago, you had given up arguing and forced yourself to stay awake so he'd stop shaking you and blasting music in your ear.

When you made it clear you'd stay up, he turned off the blinding overhead light and rubbed your head to aid your headache.

When the alarm on his phone finally goes off, he breathes a sigh of relief. "You're in the clear," he shuts it off quickly, sitting up and stretching his arms above his head.

"Can I eat now?" You moan tiredly as you rub your eyes, forcing yourself up.

"Yes, and then we'll get some sleep," he kisses your head as he stands. "Cereal okay?"

"That's good."

The events of the night still hang heavy in the air, but less so. In between your bouts of annoyance over not being able to sleep; Hongjoong got you to open up more.

All of your feelings laid out in the open, the crushing weight of dealing with them all on your own has lightened. Your shoulders feel less tense. Your soul feels just a bit less plagued.

You eat in silence, both of you clearing your bowls quickly with the promise of sleep awaiting you.

He doesn't even bother clearing the table before he stands up and opens his arms for you. With a small groan, he lifts you up and allows you to wrap your arms and legs around him. "Let's go to bed, honey."

"Mhm," you hum into his shoulder, resting your head against him while he carries you to your room.

"I'll set an alarm for a few hours." He lays you down gently before taking his phone from his pocket, doing just that.

You expect him to leave, go to his own bed. But he throws his phone down on your bedside table and tells you, "scoot over."

You don't hesitate before sliding closer to the wall, making room for him as he lays next to you. "You're going to stay?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna stay," he smiles lightly, settling on his side to face you. "I need to know my honey is safe."

You roll to mirror him, eyes tired like never before — but he sees a small flicker of life in them as you move closer.

You cuddle into his chest, hiding your face in his shirt as you close your eyes; melting into his hold.

"Thanks, Dad."

The word slips without you even noticing, already falling asleep with the warmth of his body soothing your soul.

But he latches onto it. Letting it echo with something akin to love blooming in his chest, sinking it's vines into his heart.

He isn't going anywhere.

────୨ৎ────

#ateez #ateez smut #yandere ateez #ateez angst #smut fic #yandere fic #angsts fic #ateez fic #ateez x reader #yandere ateez x reader #yandere hongjoong #yandere hongjoong x reader #hongjoong x reader #kim hongjoong #kim hongjoong x reader #hongjoong smut #hongjoong smau #ateez fanfic

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mggslover · 6 months ago

Text

Addicted

In which Spencer meets a beautiful stranger at his local dealer, his addiction to weed rapidly turning into an addiction to her.

Pairing: stoner!spencer x stoner!fem!reader Genre: slight angst x smut (18+) Content warnings: weed usage (not promoting it! pls zont zo it), short mentions of tobias hankel and maeve, finger sucking, mutual masturbation, lazy high sex Word count: 3,6k A/n: my first fic inspired on a song! when i listened to 'denial is a river' by doechii, this fic immediately started to form in my mind

Spencer oftentimes wondered when he started becoming afraid of his own mind. Maybe there was never a starting point — maybe it was rooted in his bones, something he never had the chance to escape. An inherited terror, passed down like a family heirloom.

He knew the descent into insanity was inevitable. That there would come a time when his mind, the thing he’s relied on all his life, would betray him. That he’d watch the pieces of himself scatter until his identity was nothing but a cruel mockery of who he once was.

What Spencer didn’t expect was for that moment to arrive so soon. He never imagined his first meeting with madness to be in a dark cabin as the sting of Dilaudid coursed through his veins. And what Spencer least expected was how he’d feel afterward — how, no matter the trauma, he would find himself aching for that sensation, longing for it to return.

With his reason still intact, he managed to sign himself up for a support group destined for addicts in law enforcement. Rehab might’ve been the hardest battle he’d had to face, and being clean is a title he still doesn't deserve. Because even though it’s been years since his arms last looked blue, he’s been smoking weed habitually.

It started when a police officer in the program spoke up about his struggle with weed addiction, going into detail about the tranquilizing effects and how it left him unable to focus on the job. Whereas his story would sound appalling to most, Spencer found appeal in its descriptions. Cannabis offered the same calming qualities as Dilaudid, but with a lower overdose risk, and on top of that, it was far easier to obtain.

So when the officer casually slipped his dealer’s address in the middle of immersively sharing his story, Spencer made a mental note and found himself on the location later that day. The transaction was easier than he’d expected; showing the cash in his pocket was enough for the gruff man to hand him a small, opaque bag, its contents concealed.

That same night, Spencer found himself sitting on his couch, supplies spread out on the coffee table before him. He remembered a guy from his PhD mathematics program, rolling a blunt in Yale’s community garden under the same big tree where Spencer would read his literature for the day. It gave him some of an idea on how to proceed. Once he had the wrap filled, he methodically pinched and smoothed the paper as he rolled it with his fingers, careful to avoid tearing.

He didn’t feel much with the first drag, but as he inhaled deeper, a tingling sensation spread to his head and chest, almost coaxing him into a dosed state. The world around him instantly softened, and he sank further into the couch, as if a fuzzy, warm blanket had draped over him.

That moment marked the first of many, as Spencer would often return to the plant when experiencing withdrawal or when he started developing headaches later in his life. He frequently recalled how the officer mentioned performing less at his job while under the influence, but for Spencer, it had the opposite effect. He tended to approach cases too objectively and analytically. When he would go home at the end of the day and smoke before bed, his mind would suddenly make creative, out-of-the-box connections — connections he had never considered before.

Spencer wasn’t ready to give up weed just yet.

———

You were lying down, your head resting on the armrest of the pink velvet couch that stood in the corner of your therapist’s office. For the past fifteen minutes, you’d been staring at a small star painted on the ceiling, which was part of a mural of the universe. It was supposed to help people ground themselves — to remind them that their existence was nothing more than a tiny spark in the entire cosmos.

“I don’t know,” you eventually responded in a sigh as your therapist questioned you once again. “This is a really dark time for me, I’m going through a lot.”

“By ‘a lot’, you mean drugs?”

You were thrown off guard by the inquiry, brows furrowing. “Um, I wouldn’t-”

“Drugs?” She repeated, her pen ready in hand, as her notebook rested open on her lap.

Your head shot up from its position on the armrest of the couch. “No, it’s a-”

“No?” She probed, her eyes raised up, glasses perched on the bridge of her nose.

“It’s a natural plant,” you stated, sitting up straighter.

“No, I’m not judging.”

You rolled your eyes at her attempt to reassure you. “I’m not an addict.”

“I’m just saying-”

“I don’t think-”

“You wanna talk about it?”

———

The door slamming behind you was as much of a response as you would offer her. With hurried steps you walked out of the building, hand reaching into your pocket as you searched for your car keys. With a small click of the door, you entered your beat-up old car, shivering as you still haven’t been able to fix the radiator.

You didn’t need to pull up the GPS — not that you even owned one — to know where you were headed. You speed-dialed your dealer as you rounded a corner, and maybe that was enough to confirm that you did have a bit of a problem with drugs. At least you were seeing a therapist; not many can say the same.

The sun was disappearing behind the clouds as you pulled into the familiar motell parking lot. There was a chill in the air, making you pull your jacket tighter around you as you walked toward room number 13.

Your attention was drawn to a tall, lanky man with messy curls, bouncing on the balls of his feet with his hands tucked in his pockets as he stood in front of the door. It was a rare sight to see someone ahead of you in line — usually people would arrive one by one to not bring any attention to the scene, but then again, you made an appointment at the very last minute.

You walked up to him, standing beside him in an attempt to make the scene look like a casual visit. You offered a polite smile, which he returned with a brief wave of his hand. Awkwardly, you turned your gaze to the door in front of you, waiting. You could feel his eyes scanning over you, making you reach up to fix your hair, just in case something was out of place. He seemed to notice your action and turned his head.

After a minute, you cleared your throat. ��Did you knock?”

He looked at you, and you weren’t expecting the flutter in your stomach as you met his deep, brown eyes.

“I did,” he answered. “It’s been four minutes and twenty eight seconds, which, based on my previous encounters, gives him approximately three more seconds to open the door.”

You fell silent as the door opened, just like the handsome stranger had predicted. You reached into your jacket pocket, pausing when you found it empty. Your heart began racing as you checked the other pocket, then anxiously patted down your jeans.

“Fuck.”

“Are you okay?” The brown-haired man asked in concern.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just- I forgot my wallet.”

“I could pay for you.”

The casualty of his offer took you by surprise. “Really?”

It was embarrassing that you didn’t turn him down, but you didn’t have the energy to be polite — today had been rough, and all you wanted to do was go home and relax. You felt a little less guilty when the stranger’s lips curled into a smile, as if he was happy to do this for you.

“Well, I don’t give a shit who pays. Just give the damn money — it’s cold.”

The stranger’s lips tightened in response as he handed the man twice the usual amount of bills. The dealer handed over two small bags in return, closing the door behind him with a loud slam.

“Here you go.”

You breathed out a soft ‘thank you’ as you accepted the bag from him. “I’ll pay you back next time.”

“That’s okay. I don’t mind,” he replied with a casual wave of his hand.

You exchanged names, which led him to compliment yours and give you a brief history lesson on its origins.

“I never expected to learn more about myself from a total stranger,” you chuckled.

You didn’t notice he had walked you to your car until you stopped in front of it. “This is me. Where are you parked, or are you staying here?”

“I got here by subway, actually.”

You raised your brows, surprised. This wasn’t the safest neighborhood, especially at night, and Spencer didn’t strike you as the type to wander around here.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” you asked, just to be certain.

“Absolutely!” he answered, lifting up his shirt, revealing a gun holstered at his waist. “I can handle myself.”

Alarm bells blared in your mind at the sight, and you instinctively stepped back.

“Wait! No, no, no,” Spencer put his hands up, showing you that he meant no harm. “I work at the FBI.”

He could read the doubt in your expression, slowly moving one hand to his jacket while keeping the other raised in the air. Carefully, he retrieved his badge and held it out, revealing it to you. You leaned in, observing the golden emblem and the ID picture beside it.

“Now, that wasn’t what I was expecting,” you said with a relieved sigh. “I guess I can offer you a ride, then?”

Spencer looked at you, as if considering all the possible outcomes of his answer. He ended up nodding his head and giving you a soft grin.

“I’d appreciate that. Thanks.”

The car ride was filled with a comfortable silence, the weight of the day settling over both of you.

“You seem nervous,” he observed.

“How’d you know?”

“Your fingers are tapping against the steering wheel, and they’re out of rhythm with the radio, so it’s not like you’re tapping along with the song.”

“I guess I am.” You turned your head to him, then back to the road. “It has nothing to do with you, though. I feel oddly comfortable around you.”

When you glanced at him again, he was smiling, a glimmer in his eyes, shyly playing with his fingers. “Me too.”

———

You hadn’t expected Spencer to invite you in when you arrived at his house. He suggested you smoke together, saying you shouldn’t be driving while feeling anxious.

Honestly, you didn’t care about the reasoning. You just wanted to spend more time with him.

You were sitting beside him on the couch, legs pulled up and half draped over his as you took another drag from your joint. You didn’t know who started the conversation, but somehow you found yourself opening up about life and its struggles.

“I caught my ex cheating. He was supposed to pick up his stuff and leave the next day, but instead he crashed my place and just… destroyed everything I owned.”

His expression remained neutral, like he was trying not to judge, though his eyes said enough. After a beat, he spoke up again. “My girlfriend got shot in front of my face.”

Your eyes widened in shock, but the weed dulled your reaction. “Oh shit.”

“Yeah… shit,” he muttered in an exhale, picking up his joint again.

Your eyes were drawn to his fingers, noticing the long, slender shape of them, the small bones shifting under his skin as he gripped the joint. The image of a tree flashed through your mind, its branches moving in the wind — or maybe it was just the weed making your mind wander.

As he brought the joint to his lips, your gaze followed the movement, your breath catching when his pink lips parted just enough to reveal a hint of his tongue. A shiver ran down your spine as your eyes lingered there, entranced. He closed his lips around it, letting out a low hum that was almost a moan as he inhaled.

He exhaled, filling the air with smoke, the rich scent enveloping you.

“Can I take a hit?”

He didn’t question why you weren’t using your own. Instead he handed you the joint, his fingers brushing lightly against yours as you took it.

You kept eye contact with him as you placed it between your lips, softly moaning at the contact, knowing his mouth had been right where yours was.

Spencer took you in with dark, tired eyes. You threw your leg over his thigh, feeling the need to be closer to him as the air around you grew warmer.

He didn’t seem to mind your clinginess, which gave you the confidence to lean in closer. Carefully, you reached out, your nails lightly grazing his jaw, making him shiver as he let out a quiet purr at the touch.

“What are you doing?” he asked in a husky whisper, more intrigued than accusatory.

“I’m horny,” you whispered against his lips, fingers trailing down his jaw.

His breath heaved at the proximity. “Evidence shows that cannabis can enhance sexual pleasure.”

“Yeah?” you purred, lips brushing against his. “And what should I do about it?”

“You should touch yourself.”

“Should I now?” your voice teasingly sang as you leaned back, your hands sensually moving up the sides of your body before squeezing your breasts through your shirt.

“Like this?”

He blinked a couple of times, licking his lips. “A bit lower.”

You smirked, your hands trailing down your body, relishing how he was taking you in, unable to look away. Your hand stopped as you cupped your heat through your clothes, slowly rubbing your fingers in circles. “Here?”

He groaned at the sight, nodding his head in confirmation. “Right there.”

Spencer’s bulge pressed against your leg, which you had thrown over his lap. You couldn’t resist moving against it, making him gasp as he threw his head back.

“You should take care of that,” you suggested, nodding towards his pants. “Let me give you something to work with.”

Spencer’s gaze was expectant, as he watched you slowly peel your clothes off. Inch by inch, you revealed your skin, leaving him desperate for more.

Spencer mirrored your actions, undressing himself before he took a hold of your bare leg, placing it back on his lap, so that your legs were spread wide open. With one arm behind you, he pulled you in closer, his other hand reaching out to caress the skin in between your breasts, making you catch your breath.

His hand trailed further up your skin, until his fingers were lightly tapping against your lips. “Open up for me,” he murmured.

You obeyed without hesitation, parting your lips for him to slide two of his fingers inside of your mouth. You responded instinctively, wrapping your lips around them, your cheeks hollowing as you started moving your head back and forth. Your tongue swirled in lazy circles, humming at the taste of his skin.

“Good girl,” he cooed in approval. “Get them all nice and wet, so that I can touch you.”

Spencer watched your eyes sparkle at his words. When a moan escaped your lips, vibrating around his fingers, he was reminded once again why he loved being high — it soothed his anxiety in a way that made his thoughts spill out without overthinking. And it thrilled him to see the effect his words had on you, words that would usually stay locked in his mind.

The hand that had been resting around your shoulder wandered down to your breast, giving it an experimental squeeze. You moaned around his fingers, meeting his gaze, his nose nearly brushing yours as he watched you with intent focus.

He pulled his fingers from your mouth with a pop, before he reached down to press them against your pussy. You closed your eyes in bliss as he rubbed his fingers up and down your slit, the combined juices of your slickness and your mouth made his fingers easily slip between your folds with every move.

“You’re so wet,” he whispered in awe as he pressed a soft kiss to the side of your mouth.

“That’s your fault,” you teased, a playful smile tugging at your lips. He chuckled, his breath brushing your cheek. “I’ll take the blame,” he murmured before pressing his mouth to yours.

You hungrily accepted his kiss. Your hand slid between his thighs, finding his hard length pressed against his stomach. His cock felt warm against your palm as you wrapped your fingers around him, the movement causing a string of precum to form, connecting from his tip to his happy trail.

Spencer groaned into your mouth, his tongue swirling against yours, deepening the kiss even further. You traced your thumb over the sensitive head of his cock, causing him to buck his hips and pressing his fingers harder against your clit in response.

You squirmed at the intensity of his touch. His slender fingers continued to trail over your pussy, teasing with delicate strokes before slipping a finger into your dripping heat.

“Fuck, that feels good,” you moaned.

You began stroking his length, squeezing him gently as you flicked your wrist. Every movement was a lazy, unhurried exploration of each other’s bodies. Savoring the haze of the high as it sharpened your every sensation.

You broke the kiss, as you reached for the joint on the coffee table, turning toward Spencer with a playful glint in your eye. He gratefully parted his lips, as you placed the roll between them. He took a deep drag, the smoke curling into his lungs. You leaned closer, opening your mouth in anticipation to receive the smoky breath he exhaled, as you shared the pleasure.

Spencer took in the sight of you. Your swollen lips were slightly parted as you breathed in. Your nipples were hard with excitement, and your pussy glistened around his fingers as he slowly pumped them in and out of you. You were a sight to behold, and he couldn’t believe how lucky he’d gotten tonight.

He could look at you all day. He’s never felt so drawn to someone before, and he could easily finish just by watching your body as you sat bare in front of him. His cock fitted perfectly in your delicate hands. You were gripping him just right, bringing him closer to the release he’s been longing for.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, the words slipping out naturally.

“So are you,” you replied just as sensually, your eyes tracing the way your hand palmed him, feeling his heavy weight in your grip. “I wanna know how you’d feel inside of me.”

A flush crept across his cheeks at your bluntness. “Yeah?”

You nodded slowly, humming in response. “Bet you’d fill me up so good.”

“Jesus,” he groaned, swallowing hard as he could feel the way you clenched around his fingers.

“Are you clean?” you asked him, and he quickly nodded.

He eagerly grabbed your hips as you crawled on top of him, moaning softly as he felt the weight of you. His hand slid to your neck, pulling you in for a sloppy kiss, sucking your bottom lip.

You reached down between your bodies, fingers curling around his thick length as you guided him to your entrance. You let out a shaky whisper as he filled you up more than you expected. Spencer noted the furrow in your brow, but before he could remind you to take your time, you were already rocking your hips against him.

“Oh, baby,” he cried out, his hands sliding to your back as you wrapped your arms around his neck. Your thighs rolled over his, and he met your pace, thrusting up into you.

“You feel so good,” he continued moaning as his fingers dug into your skin.

You could only whimper in response and you fastened your movements, your breasts brushing against him with each slide of your hips.

He could feel you tightening around him, your legs trembling against his. “Spencer, I-”

You didn’t need to finish your sentence for him to understand. “Me too, sweetheart,” he groaned. “Please, don’t stop.”

You kept moving, the urgency in his voice spurring you on. You leaned in to capture his lips one more time, and Spencer accepted with a desperate whine.

The pressure in your core finally broke, and you cried out his name as an overwhelming pleasure washed over you. Spencer’s grip on your hips tightened, and he pushed up into you one last time, his body shuddering as the warmth of his release filled you.

“You’re so amazing,” he sleepily groaned, nuzzling his head into your chest as you came down from the high. You chuckled at the scene, unsure if he even noticed how clingy he was being. It had to be the weed that made him hold onto you like that, but the action still made your heart flutter, imagining how you could be the reason why he’s acting this way.

“Can you pick up the joint for me?” he softly asked, his lips brushing against your stomach.

You giggled. “You’re really an addict.”

“I’m just addicted to you.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #criminal minds smut #spencer reid angst #criminal minds angst #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x reader

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midnite-c6 · 6 months ago

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Watching the daily dose of sunshine makes me think of a au, where nam-gyu goes to rehab and his main doctor is timid!reader, like he’s always teasing you for being so shy and everything!!

I LOVE YOU. SO SO MUCH. sorry guys i gotta confess, i know doctor x patient is weird esp if its IN a mental hospital, but if i was kim seowan's doctor in ddos i would've FOLDED so fast (sorry).

patient!nam-gyu x doctor!reader <3 warnings: 18+, DARK content, dubcon, manipulation (please read at your own risk!!)(kind of a ddos au!!)

*⁠.⁠✧ : he SCARED you so much during the games, how he was killing people left and right (esp during lights out), how he was practically one of the strongest people there. he made you feel incredibly small, he'd constantly mock you, constantly humiliate and embarrass you because you were just. so. quiet! luckily for you, and for him i guess, player 456 successfully stopped the games half-way thru leaving some of the players to stay alive.

for some reason, to everyone's surprise, he'd try to change for the better. as soon as he got that 400 million something won distributed among all the other players, he'd go to some nice rehab center, he was traumatized, definitely. he'd wait patiently for his doctor to prescribe him some shit since he was definitely on the brink of overdosing himself during the games, but when he looks up to see your face, he flinches, and every self-development in his body crumbles as he grinned widely.

"you?" you gasp, your heart dropped from seeing him again. it was like you were the one who needed therapy right this moment. "what are you d- ahem, good afternoon, sir." you'd carefully sit down on the other side of the desk. "it's really a small world." he plops his arms on the table, resting his head in his arm as he gives you the snarkiest smile. "so? you're a doctor..? you sighed, trying to ignore him, ".. it says here in your file that-" "shhhh." he shushed, placing his finger atop your lips. you are now thankful for the desk between the two of you since he's already uncomfortably close to you now. "miss, are you capable of making me feel better?" he'd ask in a voice and expression you'd truly feel bad for, if it just was anybody else doing it. "..you barely did anything during the games, how could you save me?" he tilts his head. you'd only do what you were most familiar of doing, avoiding his gaze and looking down, you weren't like this with any other patients who'd come to you, but nam-gyu truly traumatized your very being.

"tsk." he'd grab your chin to look up at him. "look me in the eye, doctors should be social. right, miss?" your heart would beat faster, his tone sounding just like the ones he'd use during your first encounter. he'd give you that same look of terror, as if trying to make you fear him, which infact works, and you'd sit there staring at him with a big frown! he only laughs after a couple of seconds, "jeez, looks like you need a doctor for your own." his laugh had broken you from that distracted trance, you were a doctor for christ's sake!! "sir, you've confessed into taking alot of substances during the past month, leading to a potential overdose, i'd advise you to stay here to sober up." you say straightforwardly before he could respond anything else. he'd tuck his long black hair in behind his ears and hum, "that was so fucking cute. you being professional and all that.."

---

he did stay, as it was advised by the one and only you, you'd given him check-ups from time to time and you'd see him with the other patients, but one particular day, he'd occasionally crashout, making you keep an eye on him more frequently. he'd call for you from his bed..and as to not lose your job, you'd come in an instant. seeing him laid down, in his hospital gown,. "miss. c'mere.. please." he whined, a 180 of his own character. "yes? sir, how are you feeling..?" he'd reach out to cup your face, looking into your eyes. "i just can't seem to forget... i've watched so many deaths, right infront of my eyes.. " you nod, listening intently, for a brief second you'd feel your utmost sympathy towards him. "and i was gonna get something like ketamine to forget about it again." - he'd cut you off before you could scold him: "..but, i know i'm here to become sober, so.. i wanna know.. what else are you good for, miss?" like a muscle memory, you know what to answer, "obviously-" but he'd cut you off AGAIN. "..and i don't want those stupid medicine shit." he'd pull you in closer to him, where you could feel his breath tickling your face. "c'mon, you were there too, don't you want to forget, aswell ..?" he'd place a soft peck on your lips, letting it linger before lightly biting your lower lip. why didn't you pull away? that's really the big question. why didn't you? you wanted to.. but.. you know very well about his crashouts.. or how he'd act out.. but in these moments you'd find out you're the worst doctor ever.

nsfw below!!-> (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

he'd use up all his remaining strength to pull you ontop of him, letting out a low groan of relief. he'd now keep a tight grip on your hips, knowing that you'd probably gain some consciousness right about now.. but you don't.. you're stupid. you're a fool to his tactics. "oh wow..." his hands would slowly explore your body, with light feather touches. and you'd only stare at him in shock, wondering why you've let him break that patient and doctor relationship dynamic, "fuck. you're even cuter like this." he'd press your body against his, nothing was covering him underneath that hospital gown, so you could already very much feel his everything. to his surprise, he'd see your face contort from the pleasure, whatever's happening right now is just as fucked up as him. "hmm, you like that?" he'd moan out loud, "it's working on me," he'd tore apart your silly pencil skirt, why were you wearing that as a doctor, anyway? his thumb pressing down on your clothed clit. he'd push your panties to the side, making your juices drip on his hospital gown. "let me feel you for real, miss."

it didn't take long, he was so whiny about it too! you could see him biting his lower lip as you fully take in his dick. "miss.. god, i need you." you swear you were gaining control over him, hearing him whimper so submissively, but he knows that wasn't the case, his little whines were so deceiving. you're grinding on your patient's dick right now, but every request of a patient must be returned! and this was his request.. "haah. such a good girl." he'd hold you down against him, "you'd do anything to save your patients won't you? what a hero." feeling your cunt throb for that was crazy, he thought you were crazy.

both of your pleasure-filled moans were echoing inside the room, you'd thank god not one of his nurses would come in here. at such an unfortunate time. his breathy moans were driving you crazy! "fuck.!" he'd finally get to coat your insides with his nut, how he'd make you roll your hips faster to chase out his high, you were much more sensitive than him anyway. "i think.. you've cured me.." he looks right into your eyes so calmly, not matching your exhausted moans. "bet whoever's watching those cctv cameras is jerking it right now." he snickers, making you look up at the camera, oh shit. you'd forgotten some patients need to be watched 24/7. "your moans were so cute, afterall, miss."

guys i NEED TO GET THIS OUT OF MY SYSTEM URHGNS one of my fav imagines everrr i love jaewon sm i love SEOWAN sm and ik he was depressed in that kdrama but i genuinely would let him do anything to me bye. . . 😭 hes so whiny here. i might post part 3 of that one thanos fic, nam-gyu included !! (spoils). someone request myunggi guys!!🥺

#squid game #squid game 2 #player 124 #nam-gyu #squid game x reader #squid game smut #squid game season 2 #nam gyu #namgyu #nam-gyu x reader #nam gyu x reader #nam-gyu smut #nam gyu smut #squid game imagine

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onlymingyus · 9 months ago

Text

What's your favorite scary movie?

pairing; vernon chwe x f reader

genre; horror, smut (minor dni), angst, toxic

summary; The summer after graduating high school is supposed to be one last hurrah before you and your friends head off to college---none of you expected it to become a horror movie.

content warnings; PLEASE READ ALL OF THE WARNINGS! 90s au, multiple murders, police, alluding to self harm, drugs/alcohol (mentioned and usage), overdose, knives, blood -- detailed scenes of harm/murder, funeral/memorials, fighting, bullying/harassment, degrading names, "slut" shaming, mild alluding to sexual assault (past/present), self confidence/esteem issues, depression, alludes to other behavioral/mental problems being present, crying, stalking/spying, obsession, yandere!vernon. all main characters are adults -- just graduated high school (vernon & other svt cameos have been aged down). the reader has a classic small town suburbs nuclear family (mentions parents obviously), vernon's "mother" briefly mentioned. this fic is full of really horrible people.

smut warnings; virgin!reader, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), quick handjob, crying (pleasure), corruption/innocence kink, petnames, praise, pulling out, cum on skin -- aftercare, brief post-sex dysphoria.

w/c; 30k and some change (870 extra words for patreon bonus)

a/n; thank you to @junkissed for proofreading for me and giving me strength to push through and finish this despite all the shit that kept trying to knock me down. this fic is a lot, so please if you have made it this far in my notes make sure you read all the warnings -- keep in mind this is my halloween fic, so i didn't hold back. dark au mars is back strong.

before continuing remember reblogs are incredibly important and please read how to support me here

Trailing behind your friends, you laugh when your best friend Caitlin pulls at your arm, urging you towards the front of the group. “Y/N!” You roll your eyes as she whines your name, extending the last of it dramatically before laying her head on your shoulder and putting her arm through yours. “Can I sit between you and Christen this time? This movie is supposed to be hella scary.”

Hearing his name, the self-appointed leader of your group, slows his strides to match yours and, in turn, Caitlin’s. “What about me?”

You liked your friends but they could be a bit much. You had known Caitlin the longest. The two of you had been friends since middle school and she was the person you could rely on the most, but that all changed when the two of you went to high school and your bodies and personalities started to change. Boys started to pay attention to you more and Caitlin’s personality soured.

Christen wasn’t the type of person that you ever saw yourself being friends with before. He was the most popular guy at school and the captain of the football team, but none of those things mattered anymore. After graduation this year, you thought all of those trivial things would fall by the wayside, that your friends would start acting a bit less like they were still in high school and yet it was like they never left.

“Caitlin wants to sit between us for the movie. It’s supposed to be really scary. I don’t min—”

“You know I like the end seat.”

Furrowing your brows, you start to speak up again when Christen sighs and puts his hand around your waist, pulling you from Caitlin and causing the girl to scowl at you. “I like the end seat and you always have to piss like five times during a movie. Let’s keep the seats like we always do. That okay with you, Cat?”

Staring at Christen, Caitlin wants to be mad and tell him no, but the moment he calls her by the nickname he had given her, she swoons and just nods. “Uh huh… sure, Christen.”

“See.” Turning his attention back to you, Christen winks. “It’s all good, baby. Now, put a smile on that face; don’t be a buzzkill. If you get scared, you can just hold on to me.” Tugging you closer, he grins before finally letting you walk on your own.

From the time that you had met him your sophomore year, Christen had never been shy about how he felt about you. You wouldn’t call it a crush. A crush was something sweet and something that, if you didn’t reciprocate, the other person might move on. What Christen felt for you was possessive and like you owed him something. You were like a target or an end prize and he hadn’t won just yet, but to him there were still plenty of levels left in the game.

Wrapping your arms around yourself, you glance back at Caitlin as she scoffs at her "boyfriend,” Jae. You felt bad for him. It was so obvious how much he liked Caitlin. He would follow behind her like a puppy, buy her anything she wanted, and be at her beck and call even when she was drooling over another guy. You had watched as Caitlin had belittled Jae in front of others and refused to call him her boyfriend but then gotten angry if he didn’t refer to her as his girlfriend. It was a complicated situation that you honestly didn’t understand.

“Just… Stop touching me. Did you bring money for candy?” Caitlin’s voice is sharp, still irritated from the interaction with Christen and now Jae was walking too close to her. In her mind, she always got second best while you did nothing and got first pick. You didn’t even act like you wanted Christen; it was devastating.

“Yeah, of course I did. You can get anything you want, babe.” Jae’s voice is a bit defeated, but at least he was going to be able to sit next to Caitlin. He had gotten nervous when she had asked to switch seats. It wasn’t like he could tell her where to sit... he wasn’t like that. She was a strong-willed girl; she always had been, but that was one of the things he loved about her.

Making a face at Jae’s words, Caitlin steps forward and sighs dramatically, not hearing the way Alanna and Juwon copy her just a few steps behind her. They were the lucky two out of the friend group in their own personal opinions. They knew exactly where they fit in the hierarchy.

There was the king, Christian, and his would-be queen if only you would accept his hand. The princess who wants to be queen, Caitlin, and her dog turned prince, Jae. Meanwhile, Alanna and Juwon belonged in the court together. They were happy to cheer each of you on and laugh when you failed.

They had been dating since freshman year and a day hadn’t gone by that someone was complaining about seeing Juwon’s tongue down Alanna’s throat. Another strong opinion that the two shared was that if you didn’t want to see them making out, you could look in the other direction.

“Babeeeee!” Alanna whines mocking Caitlin as she pulls on Juwon’s arm, causing the boy laugh as he looks at her fondly. “Buy me candy?” Batting her lashes, Alanna blows a kiss in his direction that Juwon pretends to catch before reaching into his pocket to take out his wallet, handing it to her.

“My money is your money, princess.” Another wave of laughter erupts from the back of the group as Alanna pushes Juwon’s wallet back towards him. Now the two have caught the attention of everyone.

“The hell are you two doing? Are you high?” Christen’s voice is stern, but the layer of his own amusement only serves to make Juwon laugh as he shakes his head and pulls Alanna forward towards the doors of the theater.

“Nope, not yet. Give me a few hours and I’ll be so fuckin’ chill I might not remember your name.”

Smiling, you lift your fingers to your lips to hide it as Alanna pokes at your side when she passes by you, giving you a wink. For all their heavy PDA and following the leader's behavior, you got along with them well. They had been nice to you, even when your best friend hadn’t.

“Ugh, as if. You can’t think now, Juwon. This is why you two are going to a community college. You’ve fucking rotted your brains with weed. It’s gross.” Caitlin watches as Alanna throws up her middle finger before blowing her a kiss and disappearing behind the theater door. “It is gross. I’m right, aren’t I, Y/N?”

You tilt your head and struggle with what to say as you all get closer to the doors that your friends had just gone through. “I—well. It’s their choice.” Feeling bad that you can’t just tell Caitlin to shut up and to leave Juwon and Alanna alone, you find yourself muttering as she scoffs, turning her attention to Jae for support who gives it willingly.

Feeling the weight of having to agree with Caitlin off your shoulders, you unzip your bag, the air conditioner hits you like a breeze when Christen opens the doors and steps inside. You purse your lips and fish out a five-dollar bill, not paying attention to what’s in front of you until you hear Christen’s and another guy’s voice.

“Wassup, man? Still manning this place like a fucking loser?”

“Still making money, so yeah, if that’s what you wanna call it. Just one?”

“Nah, two. Me and Y/N.”

Furrowing your brows, you lift your money up to show it to Christen just as you see who’s behind the ticket counter. Vernon Chwe, another member of your graduating class. You didn’t know him well, but as often as you and your friends came to the movies, you saw him in passing. He was always nice to you, and he was easy on the eyes.

“Already paid for. See…” Reaching over the counter, Christen rips two tickets for himself before winking at Vernon and passing one to you.

You can see the irritation written on Vernon’s face, but he manages to keep his cool. He wasn’t like Christen or anyone else in your group. He didn’t hang out in the commons area or at the mall like you did. You knew that he worked here and that he had a cool car. You found him intriguing.

Moving towards Christen quickly, you take the ticket and look at Vernon apologetically. “I’m sorry. That was so rude.” Looking up at your friend, you whine, “That wasn’t cool, Christen...”

Instead of offering his own apology to Vernon, Christen just laughs and taps you on the tip of your nose. “Whatever, baby. Don’t get mad about it. I’m just playin’ with Vern. Come on. Let me buy you a snack.”

Vernon watches as Christen tries to take your hand but you manage to keep it from him. Tilting his head, he finds it curious. He didn’t know if you were dating the guy or not, but he didn’t like him; he never had.

“Um, excuse me... Dodgy, loser, man? I need two tickets.”

Turning his attention back towards Caitlin, Vernon sighs and rips off two tickets before taking $10 from Jae. “Enjoy the movie.” The moment she is out of earshot, Vernon adds, “Bitch.”

He could hear you and your friends at the concession stand. It wasn’t a busy night and the theater wasn’t running a full staff. If it had been any other group, Vernon might have put a bit more pep in his step, making his way over from the counter, but he could already hear the bitchy girl complaining, so he took his time.

“Oh, my god. Does this place not have anyone else working?”

Muttering for Caitlin to hush, you rub your neck as Vernon sighs and moves to the middle of the concession stand before lifting his hands. “What can I get for you guys?” He didn’t really care; well, maybe he cared what you wanted. You had been kind to him and it wasn’t the first time. Every time he had seen you here or run into you at school, you were nice. You were also gorgeous, so that didn’t hurt your case either.

“Two large cokes, a medium popcorn, and some M&Ms. Also, could you like... not take all night? The movie is supposed to start in thirty minutes.” Leaning on the counter, Caitlin watches as Vernon shifts his head to the side slightly before grabbing two large cups and filling them with ice. She remembered him from school and the other times they had been here. He was weird. She had a few classes with him and he had always sat in the back and avoided talking to people except when he had to.

“Oh my god, Y/N, do you remember Miss Lewis’ calculus class from that last semester?”

Taken aback by Caitlin’s question, you look from her back towards the counter before tilting your head. “I—yeah? What about it?” This was the type of thing that you hated about your friends. They lived in the past; every day was still a day of the glory of high school, whereas you were ready to move on.

“This dude was in that class. We had that stupid ass icebreaker, remember? Like a weird fact about us? He said he was allergic to peanuts.” Cailtin snorts into a laugh as she meets Vernon’s eyes, his brow lifting to her memory.

“Well—I, I remember—”

“Man, that must fuckin’ suck. Can you eat anything? What happens if you eat a peanut? Would you die? Swell up like a fatass.”

Juwon had been doing so well until that moment, but he was good at following the leader and at that moment Caitlin was playing her best queen bully bee role. Beside you, Christen laughs under his breath before leaning on the counter as Vernon tries to ignore them, fixing the rest of the order before giving the total to Jae, who slides over the money.

“Anyone else want anything? I’d hate for you to miss the previews because you’re being assholes.”

Surprised by Vernon’s words, the laughter dies off. No smiles are left except a slight one on your face.

Christen doesn’t say anything before he reaches over to take a box of milk duds from the display showing them to Vernon and tossing a dollar bill on to the counter. “Thanks for nothing, bitch.”

You try to stay; you want to apologize to Vernon for your friends one more time, but Christen’s hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you forward hard. “Let’s go, Y/N. You can share a drink with Caitlin. She didn’t need a fucking large anyway.”

The movie theater didn’t have many others besides your group. After a few stragglers made their way in finding a seat, you tried to settle into your own and focus on the screen. You weren’t the biggest fan of scary movies, but there wasn’t much to do on a Thursday and you had already spent too many days staring at the same stores at the mall.

When the lights go off completely and the screen lights up, you find yourself trying to make yourself smaller in your seat to keep your leg away from Christen’s hand when he stretches his fingers and smirks over at you. “Chill, are you scared already? It’s just the previews, baby.”

You wished that you had the guts to tell him to stop calling you baby and that you weren’t scared. You just wished that he’d keep his fingers away from the end of your shorts. Shaking your head, you offer him a strained smile as you lean towards Caitlin, taking a few M&Ms she offers you before eating one of them. “Not scared, just a little cold.”

“You want my jacket?”

God, you couldn’t win, but maybe that would keep his hands off your skin. Nodding, you watch Christen stand up despite the groans from those behind you. Taking the jacket, you lay it over your legs and smile a bit wider at him. “Thanks, Christen.”

Now Caitlin was regretting sharing anything with you. Tilting the box of candy away from you as she watches you tuck the jacket around your legs, Caitlin scoffs and takes a long sip of her drink.

By the end of the movie, you find that you don’t have that much to be worried about. It wasn’t as much of a scary movie as you thought it would have been. The acting wasn’t great and the story had been predictable. You seemed to be the only one who seemed to think that way as the rest of your friends loudly discussed how good it was as you all moved through the theater lobby.

Taking up the rear, you hold Christen’s jacket in your arms, waiting for the right moment to give it back to him until you see Vernon sweeping some popcorn off the floor near the concession stand. Maybe you could get in that apology now. Watching your friends for a moment longer, you let them keep going as you hang back and head in Vernon’s direction.

“Hey… Vernon?”

Furrowing his brows, Vernon lifts his head, sighing when he sees you standing in front of him. He hadn’t expected that, especially seeing you alone. Glancing around for your entourage, he’s surprised to see them closer to the front doors instead of right on your heels. “Yeah, what’s up? How was the movie?”

Opening your mouth, you close it quickly, not sure how to answer him at first, but you shift on your feet and smile at him. “It was—it was okay. I mean, I think everyone could guess what they did last summer by how guilty they were acting.” Shaking your head, you sigh and glance down at your hands, gripping the jacket tighter in your hands. You weren’t sure why Vernon made you so nervous, his gaze making your cheeks heat up with how his smirk pulled up at the corner of his lips.

“Yeah, not my favorite either, honestly.” Lowering his eyes to the jacket in your hands, Vernon takes a breath and shakes his head. He wasn’t an idiot; he had seen that jacket on Prince Charming—Christen, before the movie. “Did you need something, Y/N?”

You weren’t sure that Vernon even knew your name so hearing him say it startles you, but of course he did. You had graduated together and probably had several classes together. It was silly of you to think he didn’t know your name; even Christen had said it before the movie. Maybe it was more that Vernon was saying it. Why did it matter?

“Oh, no. Sorry, I know you are busy. I just—my friends, I’m so sorry. They aren’t always shitty.” Even you knew that was a lie, but that was what you did. You made excuses for them. You could see that Vernon knew it was a lie too, as he smiles and nods along with your words.

“Sure, it’s whatever. Didn’t bother me—”

“Y/N, what the hell are you doing?” Christen’s voice startles you with how close it is. Vernon watches how your body jerks in surprise and he furrows his brows, feeling a pang of anger taking over him at how someone could scare you so easily.

“I—I was coming. I just—” You weren’t sure what to say to Christen, especially when you meet his eyes and see him glare at Vernon. You had made it worse. Turning towards your friend, you sigh and laugh but even you can tell it’s fake. “Let’s go. We were going to get froyo, right?”

“What the fuck were you saying to her, freak?” Christen was fuming that you were talking to Vernon, but what pissed him off even more was that Vernon had been smiling at you. You had gone over to him by yourself and it looked like some loser was flirting with you. That wouldn’t happen, not while he was breathing.

Pushing at Christen’s chest, you whine his name before glancing over at Vernon apologetically as he shakes his head and leans on his broom. How wasn’t he afraid of Christen? You were friends with Christen and you were afraid of him at times.

The damage was done; the rest of your friends had made their way back over the concession stand, where the tension was growing thicker. Caitlin looked equal parts disgusted and amused as she watched Christen yell at Vernon. Jae stood behind her, confused look on his face as if he didn’t know if he wanted to be there or if he had to be there, and Alanna and Juwon were already laughing. That’s what they always did. They wanted to see a fight; that would be better than the movie to them. Meanwhile, you were horrified at the idea.

“Please, can we just go?” Your voice is strained as you push at Christen, unable to get him to budge.

His hand moves to grip your forearm, causing you to hiss in pain as he pulls you from in front of him and towards Caitlin, who wraps her arm around your waist, holding you closer to her and Jae. “I’m not leaving until I wipe this stupid smile off this freak’s face. I don’t like how he looks at you, Y/N. He’s a perv.”

Nodding along with his words, Caitlin hums against your hair as she keeps you close to her even as you groan in annoyance. “Totally, he was staring at her the entire time. Made me wanna hurl. Like, seriously, loser? You think you can look at my best friend and it’s okay?”

Now you were her best friend and she was protective of you? Only when she could make someone else miserable or make you miserable while doing it. Pulling from Cailtin, you tug on Christen’s shirt and beg for him to leave with you. “Please, can we go? You promised to buy me a snack and to get me home early.” Avoiding Vernon’s eyes as he grips his broom a bit tighter, his jaw clenched, you tug harder on Christen’s shirt.

Smirking at Vernon, Christen takes a step back, putting up his hands as if he’s being the bigger man. He moves towards you and Cailtin so he can wrap his arm around you and this time you let him. Vernon can see the discomfort in your eyes, his brows furrowing slightly, but what you are doing seems to work as Christen takes his jacket from you and sighs happily as if he’s won the girl, leading you out of the theater.

“You owe Vernon a night off.”

Wen Junhui looked bored as he watched Lee Chan leaning far too close to the television in front of him as he gripped the Sega controller in his hands. Vernon just sighs and shakes his head, dismissing his friend’s comment. He knew what Jun was getting at, but he wasn’t worried about it.

“I can work next week if you want me too.” Chan, or as he preferred to be called, Dino winces as his pixelated character is killed, taking him back to the beginning of the level. “What day were you thinking? I have an English paper due like Wednesday, so... if it could be after that—”

“It’s fine, dude. You don’t have to worry about it.”

“The fuck he doesn’t. Why didn’t you tell me those assholes were giving you so much shit, huh?” Jun knew that Vernon didn’t want to talk about what had happened at work, but he was getting tired of seeing his friend let people walk all over him because he was too nice. “Every single one of them is sketchy and I’m tempted to ask Seungcheol to get them banned.”

Now Dino was paying attention, the controller was back on the table and the game paused, letting the menu music play on repeat as he listened to his friends. Jun was pissed and Vernon looked as calm as always until Jun implicated everyone. That caused him to sit up and shake his head as he reached for one of the cheap beers the three had been sharing over the past week.

“Not all of them are assholes, alright? And I have it handled. I’m not fucking worried about Christen, his big ass ego or his little followers.”

Vernon had said it himself, Christen’s little followers. To Jun, that was all of them, and Vernon wasn’t changing his mind any time soon. “Yeah, whatever. Next time they come in and pull something, come get me from the box. Don’t just let them push you around. I don’t care if you think that one chick is hot or not. She’s still his bitc—”

“Hey!” There were very few times that Vernon raised his voice at either of his friends, so when he did it made the air in the room shift. “Just… Shut your damn mouth about her. She wasn’t doing anything wrong. Y/N… She was trying to apologize for the rest of them and then Christen—you know what? It doesn’t matter. Here.”

Pushing the can towards Dino, Vernon stands when the youngest of their group takes the beer and puts it on the table, watching him pull on his leather jacket. Jun shakes his head and lets out a long sigh when Vernon picks up the keys to his car and searches for his beanie.

“I didn’t mean to piss you off. I didn’t—look alright? Vernon, I didn’t know all of that. Ya, know, what Y/N did? I’m sorry I started to call her his bitch. I’m just… I’m done with them messing with you.”

Pulling his black beanie over his hair, Vernon shrugs and shoves his keys into his jacket. “It’s fine. I’m not pissed; I’m just tired. I’m gonna get home; I’ll see y’all later.”

Watching Vernon walk out of the room, Jun rubs the back of his neck, feeling a bit of regret wash over him. He knew he had pushed a bit too hard but Vernon had been acting off for months. He had known him since they were freshmen and neither of them had ever fit in, but they found their own way together. It was just lately Vernon was different; Jun felt like he didn’t know the person he called his best friend.

Gripping the wheel of his 1989 Chevy Beretta, Vernon sighs as he leans his head back against the headrest hard. It was starting to get late, but he couldn’t seem to get himself to go home. Instead he kept turning on to familiar roads, his eyes scanning the houses.

Vernon knew where he was. This was your street. The house on the right was yours, and the window with the light on, second floor… that was your room. Slowing down to a crawl, Vernon swallows hard as he leans to look at the curtains covering your window. He wished they weren’t there, as bad as that was. Sometimes he wished he could just get one glimpse of you instead of a shadow of you crossing in front of them, but he would take what he could get.

Sighing loudly, Vernon pushes his foot down on the gas and takes a right, leaving your house behind. Tapping his thumb on his steering wheel, a smirk pulls at his lips as he eases by Caitlin’s house. He supposed this was why the two of you became friends. It was more a friendship of convenience living a street over from your best friend. Christen, however, didn’t live on the street.

In fact, Vernon knew that Christen lived at least a fifteen-minute drive away in a gated community. So why was his car parked outside of Caitlin’s house? Wasn’t this the same guy who was threatening Vernon for daring to look at you and acting like you were his property?

Narrowing his eyes at the only window with a light still on, Vernon lifts his brow when he sees Christen pull Caitlin back against him. He was seeing a lot more of her than he ever wanted to. It wasn’t like Vernon was shocked to find out that Christen was sleeping with Caitlin. That made more sense than Caitlin dating Jae, but it didn’t seem like they were even trying to hide it. Not from Jae and not from you. Did either one of you know? Now he was curious.

Ten minutes later, Vernon puts his car in park and purses his lips as he looks around the street. There weren’t many cars for this to be an uppity part of town. Turning his attention towards the house he had stopped in front of, he starts to think that no one is at home until he sees a light on the third floor. It seemed that the person he wanted to see might just be home after all.

Shoving his keys into his pocket, Vernon sniffs hard, the colder night air biting at his nose as he makes his way to the front door of the nice house. Pressing the doorbell, he waits for a few moments until the door opens and Jae gives him a confused look, tilting his head.

“Uh, hey?” Jae was surprised to see Vernon at his front door. That had been the very last person he expected to see, especially this late at night. He knew Vernon better than anyone else in his circle of friends, but he would never admit it to any of them. Before he had been brought into the inner circle, he had been in a similar situation to Vernon’s; the major difference had been that his family had money and he could—and did—use it to climb the ranks. “‘Sup?”

Nodding his head in Jae’s direction, Vernon glances behind him, scanning for anyone in the house, but it all seems quiet. It appeared that Jae was the only one at home. That was good. It was better for what Vernon needed to tell him. “Hey, can I come in? I, uh…” Rubbing at the back of his neck, he tries to smile a bit, but it seems as forced as it is. “Just wanna talk to you about something.”

Was this about what had happened at the theater? Jae’s stomach was in his throat. He didn’t really want to deal with this, but he did feel a little shitty about how that had all gone down. He could have reigned Caitlin in a bit more, but... even he knew he was lying to himself. “Uh, sure. Yeah, come in. My parents are out of town so I’m not really supposed to have people over but—” Sighing to himself at how stupid he sounds, Jae shakes his head and gestures at the stairs for Vernon to go up. “Whatever, we can talk in my room. I’m on the third floor; my doors open.”

Lifting his brows, Vernon smirks a bit as he lowers his head and moves through the door towards the staircase. Jae sounded like a kid who was breaking his parent’s rules, not like a recent graduate who was going to some Ivy League school in the fall. Vernon knew he shouldn’t find that as amusing as he did, but it was fitting with how Jae treated everything else in his life—including his girlfriend.

“Cool, nice fucking place, man.” Jogging up the stairs, Vernon barely gives the house a second glance as he makes his way to the third floor and turns towards the open door. The room was decorated just as he thought it might be and yet it was still shocking.

The bed was made perfectly, books lined pristine shelves, and there were pictures of Caitlin everywhere. What was even more interesting was that there were only two pictures in the entire room that included Jae and Caitlin. This wasn’t a room; it was a shrine to Jae’s cheating, whore girlfriend.

Watching Vernon look around his room, Jae finds himself feeling a bit embarrassed and overwhelmed at having another person in his space. He wasn’t even used to having Caitlin in his room often. She didn’t come over much and when she did, it was more of a rare treat for Jae.

"I—uh, what did you need to talk to me about? Is this—look if this is about what was said at the theater—”

“Nah, man. It’s fine.” Shaking his head, Vernon keeps moving around the room, picking up a picture of Jae standing behind Caitlin as she smiles brightly. What he notices the most about the picture is how they aren’t touching, not even his hand on her arm. “She’s a handful, huh?”

Tilting his head slightly before straightening it, Jae looks at the picture in Vernon’s hand before crossing his arms. Where was this going? He was feeling more and more uncomfortable as the seconds ticked by, and he was wondering if he should regret letting Vernon in his house.

“I—she’s, sure. Sometimes. What’s this about? You said you wanted to talk about something.”

Putting the picture down, Vernon makes sure it is in the same place as it was before he rests back against the desk, his hands next to him on either side. “Yeah. You know, it’s funny. I drove past Cailin's. I was just driving around... You know how it is.” Tilting his head, Vernon meets Jae’s eyes as he sighs. “Anyway, it was funny ‘cause Christen’s car was at her house. I thought that was weird until I happened to see them in her bedroom window.”

Jae scoffs, starting to feel not only embarrassed but defensive of his girlfriend’s honor. What was Vernon doing looking in her bedroom window in the first place? Taking a step forward, he drops his hands, making them into fists at his sides. “Hey—”

“Not like she has up curtains. I wasn’t tryin’ to see your girl like that, scouts honor, but needless to say…” Moving his hands from the desk, Vernon puts them at his chest, cupping them like he would a girl’s breasts to make sure Jae understands, seeing the boy’s face flush. “Christen is banging your chick, dude. Just thought you’d wanna know.”

Taking a step forward, Jae stops and pushes his lips together, trying to think of what to say. It wasn’t like he didn’t know, but it was more the fact that Vernon was at his house and telling him about it. “Shut the hell up, you freak. First you spy on my girlfriend and then—then you come here to what? Try to—I don’t know what you want!”

“I don’t want anything, Jae. I was trying to help your stupid ass out.” Vernon’s voice is angry, a layer of malice the moment that Jae has the audacity to call him a freak. Everyone else had, but not Jae. The more that Vernon looked at him, the less he felt bad for him. Maybe he never had, how could you? He was pathetic. His room was a fucking shrine to a girl who probably only let him fuck her with his fingers so she could sit on another guy's cock. God… It was sickening, and yet he was the freak.

“I don’t need your fucking help! I want you out of my house.” As if realizing something—a metaphorical lightbulb coming on above his head—Jae moves towards Vernon, who shifts away from him, causing the two to move to opposite sides of the room. Jae stares at Vernon in front of the open bedroom door as he feels the breeze from the open window behind him as he glares at the other man with disdain. “How the hell do you know where I live anyway? You fuckin’ stalking all of us, freak?”

Vernon was seeing red; his jaw clenched tightly, he rolled his neck as a smirk pulled at his lips. His eyes move from Jae to the window behind him and all he can imagine is watching Jae fall out of it. How easy it would be to push him through the window and then the motherfucker wouldn’t call him a freak again. Taking a step forward, Vernon scoffs before speaking, his words quiet. “About that...”

His hands meet Jae’s chest hard, a surprised gasp slipping from the smaller boy’s lips as he tries to push back only to feel the desk beside him bite into his hip. The picture of him and Caitlin falls with a crash, glass shattering on to the floor, drawing Jae’s attention away from Vernon just enough long enough for Vernon to push him again, this time even harder.

Vernon listens to the strangled scream that leaves Jae’s mouth as the screen tears from the weight of his body before he falls through the window and three stories down. The deafening dull thud of his body hitting the pavement sends a shiver through his body even before Vernon leans out of the broken window frame to look down and see the blood pooling around Jae’s lifeless body.

In that moment, he knows he should feel bad. He should be scared. He should feel something other than a rush of adrenaline, but Vernon doesn’t. Looking around Jae’s room once more, Vernon moves back down the steps and out the front door, not giving the body another look. Getting behind the wheel of his car, he sighs to himself as he drives away, finally feeling like he can go home.

You wake up to the sound of the phone ringing from your desk. It sounds like a nightmare because surely no one is calling you this early. Even through your curtains, you can tell the sun has barely started to rise.

Groaning, you sit up with a groan as the phone rings again. Whoever was trying to reach you wasn’t giving up. Sliding out of bed, you sink down into your desk chair and pull the phone from the base, putting it to your ear with a sharp, “Hello?” If that didn’t make whoever was calling you regret it, you didn’t know what else would.

“Y/N!”

Caitlin’s sobbing voice makes your heart drop into your stomach immediately and you feel horrible for picking up the phone angry. Shifting in the chair, you switch which shoulder you rest the phone on, your fingers twisting into the already ruined phone cord as you anxiously furrow your brows, almost afraid to speak. “Wha—”

“He’s dead, Y/N! What the fuck? Like, seriously?” Sniffing hard, Caitlin rubs hard at her nose as she lays in her bed, her own phone tucked between her ear and shoulder. “The police said it could be an accident or he might have...”

You could hear the way her lips were quivering as Caitlin tried to speak, but you still weren’t sure who she was talking about. “Who, Caitlin?”

“Oh, my god! Jae! Jae’s dead!” Caitlin’s voice is shrill, causing you to pull the receiver away from your ear slightly as you swallow hard the reality of her words hitting you. “Why are you making me say it out loud? It’s already so hella depressing. I’m like a widow; it’s gross.”

Glancing towards your bedroom door, you try not to feel anything negative about your best friend while she’s grieving, but she was going about it in a strange way. You knew that she didn’t care about Jae, not in any way that she could claim widow-like status. She treated him like shit most of the time, but you weren’t going to say that to her now. You weren’t that type of person. You were the person who coddled. “I’m so sorry, Caitlin. Do you want me to come over?”

Whining, she nods before pouting into her words, hoping to make you feel even worse for her. “Yeah, could you? That would totally help me feel less shitty.” Before you can even reply, a single breath of a word starts to leave your mouth. Caitlin speaks over you. “Oh, and Y/N? Could you bring me Taco Bell?”

You lean your head back; the urge to roll your eyes is so strong but you keep it at bay as you nod to yourself. “Yeah, of course. I’ll be there in like an hour.”

Hanging the phone up, you close your eyes, your brows knitting together tightly once you can hear yourself think. Jae was dead? How? Caitlin had mentioned an accident, but you didn’t have any other details. You knew he didn’t like to drive, maybe something with one of his parents cars... Not wanting to picture anymore gruesome things, you force yourself to stand and move to your closet to get dressed.

Vernon tilts his head as he watches you cross your arms, your keys dangling from your fingers as you wait in line in front of him. You looked beautiful. It was rare that he saw you out like this on a normal day, but lucky for him, he had been craving some food, and tacos seemed like a good choice.

Taking a step towards you, Vernon takes in a deep breath and just enjoys the overwhelming scent of your perfume and body wash. He wished he had more courage to speak to you, to let you know how much he was into you, but you were the sun and he was like a dark cloud. Least that’s how it felt...

“Hey, uh…”

Vernon sighs as he listens to you place your order, your voice like the sweetest song on the radio. He'd play your voice on repeat if he could. Getting lost in listening to you, Vernon doesn’t realize you are done with your order until the boy at the register lifts his brows and hands in question. “You wanna order something, dude?”

“Uh… yeah.”

You knew that voice. Turning towards the source of it as you reach to take the cups in front of you, you can’t help the small smile that lifts at your lips as you see Vernon. You hadn’t realized he was behind you. It kind of made you sad that he was and hadn’t said anything, but it made sense after what had happened at the theater. You couldn’t blame him for being upset with you.

Meeting Vernon’s eyes, your smile brightens slightly before you look away and move out of his way so he can get a cup as you move to the drink machine to fill your drinks. You can feel Vernon’s eyes on you even as you move, your fingers pressing down the buttons. The heat of his eyes makes you feel shy and warm as you listen to him move closer to you until he finally stands next to you, filling his own cup with soda.

“Weird seeing you alone.”

Vernon watches your cheeks push up towards your eyes before you glance towards him when he does speak to you. You shrug and take a step backwards towards the lids and straws, taking two of each and letting Vernon move towards you to do the same.

“I do things alone sometimes. It’s weird to see you somewhere besides the movie theater. I almost started to think you lived there.” Keeping your eyes on Vernon, you bite subtly at your bottom lip as you move towards the counter to pick up your bag of food just as they put Vernon’s next to yours.

“Mm, that’s fair. I don’t do much besides that, but in my defense, you don’t really know me, so…” With his own food in his hand, Vernon grins at you and you feel your heart beat hard in your chest. You aren’t sure you have ever seen him smile like that and you aren’t sure anyone’s smile has ever effected you in that way before.

Vernon watches you look away, one drink in the crook of your elbow as you hold the other so you can hold the bag of food in your other hand. Gesturing towards the door, he takes a breath, letting it out slowly as if he’s gaining courage before speaking to you again. “I can help; you seem like you have your hands full. You, uh… Lunch for your family or something?”

He was sweet; this was the most you had probably ever really talked to Vernon and he was being a gentleman. It was nice not to have your friends hovering around you and being assholes to him. Letting him hold the door open for you while you maneuver through it, you glance back at him and shake your head, letting out a soft sigh. “No, I’m going over to Caitlin’s.”

Vernon notices how your words seem to fade off at the end and how your smile dulls. Following you to your car wanting to help you, he furrows his brows as he offers to take the food from your hands as you unlock your car, seeming to struggle with your words. “She’s—it’s a hard day. You know Jae, right? One of my friends?”

Of course he did, but Vernon keeps his cool and just shrugs his shoulders, letting you continue. “Uh, Caitlin’s boyfriend. The one who was following her around last time.” Getting a nod from Vernon, you lean in your car to put the drinks into the cup holders before taking your food from him. “I guess something happened last night—an accident. He passed away. She’s super upset. So I’m gonna go spend the day with her.”

You were a good friend, better than Caitlin deserved in Vernon’s opinion. He knew for a fact that Caitlin didn’t give a shit about Jae and the fact that he was dead. She was using this for attention, but you were giving into it because you were sweet and that was all you knew how to do. If he had his way, he’d take you away from it and give you attention. Shaking his head, Vernon furrows his brows, leaning against your car door, giving you a solemn look. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do to help you?”

It wasn’t lost on you that Vernon asked if he could help you and not Caitlin, but it still made your heart feel warm. He was such a good guy, so kind and soft. He didn’t deserve the treatment that the rest of your friends gave him. Shaking your head, you pout softly before letting it shift into a gentle smile. “No, I’m okay... I—this was really nice, Vernon. I like talking to you. Um…”

Leaning into your car once again, you put the food down and reach into your purse as Vernon watches you carefully with a raised brow. He agreed, it was nice to talk to you. He was trying to be respectful, but you made it a bit difficult. Your shirt was riding up your back and you were so fucking pretty. He couldn’t help the way his eyes were moving along your skin as you searched for—

”Ah! I was looking for a pen. Can I give you my number? Maybe you could call me sometime.”

You wanted him to call you? Vernon’s head was spinning. He must be in another dimension where he wasn’t a loser because you were looking at him expectantly as you held your cute purple pen. Nodding, Vernon smiles to one side, watching your smile grow in return as you reach for his hand, pulling it towards your stomach and turning his palm over. The pen tickles Vernon’s hand, but he can’t stop staring at your fingers and the way the pen glides over his skin as you put the numbers on his palm.

“It’s my own line, so like, my family won’t pick it up. As long as I’m not using my computer, you can reach me there, okay?” Tilting your head, you trail your fingers from Vernon’s as his lips part with a soft breath. He was so handsome it was almost devastating to you. How had you never noticed him in school? You knew the answer to that, but you wished things had been different in that moment.

“Yeah, I—sure. I’ll call you.” At least that’s what he was telling himself. Would he have the courage to actually do it? Vernon wasn’t sure in that moment, but he knew he wanted to.

“Cool. Thanks for helping me get to my car, Vernon. I’ll talk to you later.”

Standing there like an idiot for a moment longer, Vernon nods before taking a step back from your car as you slide behind the wheel, waving at him before backing out. Glancing down at his palm once more, he closes his fingers around your number and smiles to himself before turning on his heels towards his car with a bit more pep in his step.

“I’m literally fucking starving. What took so long?” Taking the bags from your hand, Catiltin pouts at you as she sits with her legs crisscrossed in the center of her full-size bed.

You could tell she had been crying. Her eyes were a bit swollen, with slight circles under her eyes, but there was still something about the situation that made you fully aware that Caitlin wasn’t mourning Jae as much as she was her reputation.

“I’m sorry, I got here as soon as I could. You know things are busier on Saturday.” Sliding on to the bed next to her, you furrow your brows before leaning in to hug Caitlin, feeling her shoulder’s drop. You were a good friend. Despite feeling and knowing what you did, you were still concerned about her. You hated that this had happened, and the truth of the matter was that you were sad. Jae was your friend.

“Has—well… Did anyone say what happened?”

Your voice is quiet and the question causes a new wave of tears to spill from Caitlin’s eyes as she chokes on her words, only managing to get out a couple before she’s cut off.

“Splattered on the sidewalk under his window.”

Horrified, you look over your shoulder towards the doorway where Christen leans against the frame. You didn’t even know he was there. Had he gotten to Caitlin’s before you? Just now? It didn’t matter, you supposed; you assumed everyone would end up here eventually.

Your eyes follow Christen as he moves to the bed, taking the bag of tacos to take one for himself. You hadn’t bought them for him, but that had never mattered in the past and it doesn’t matter now.

“You’re always so sweet, baby. Thinking ahead and getting lunch like this.” The bed dips at your side as Christen joins you both and Catiltin sniffles hard, getting the attention back on her as she opens her own food.

“Could we like... I don’t know, not say splattered? It’s so gross, Christen.”

Shrugging, the boy swallows a bite of food before sighing into his words. “Sorry, that’s what happens when you launch yourself out of a fuckin’ third-story window, babe.”

Babe? Furrowing your brows, you let your eyes move from Caitlin to Christen as your best friend blanches slightly and puts her taco on the wrapper to the side.

“He—that’s not what he did. The cops said it was an accident. He just fell somehow. Some freak accident—”

“I’m sure it was an accident. Jae would never… you know.” Your voice is softer than Caitlin’s and Christen’s combined, but it manages to draw both of their attention to you. You couldn’t say what Christen thought happened; you couldn’t get that word out. Not just because it was too hard to even think, but also because it just didn’t make sense. Jae wasn’t depressed. He had a charmed life.

“Sure, baby… But listen, you know Jake, the tight end?” Sighing softly, you tilt your head at Christen’s question. While you knew who he was talking about, you didn’t think it was important to label him as his position from the high school football team, but what was the point in arguing—so instead you just nodded. “Well, he’s lives across the street from Jae. Said the cops were out there all morning and he overheard one of them talking about some things that just didn’t add up with an accident—”

“Christen! Do you, like, hate me? I’m a fucking widow now and you want people to think that my boyfriend killed—” Lowering her voice, Caitilin whines when Christen furrows his brows at her, only for them to soften when he sees the hurt in her eyes. “Just—this is scary, okay? What—did Jake say why they said that?”

As much as you hated to admit it even to yourself, you were also curious as to what Jake had overheard. Shifting on the bed, you turn a bit more towards Christen, who straightens his back and lets a bit of a smirk pull at his lips, having so much attention focused on him.

“Yeah, so just what he heard, okay? But he said Jae’s nails were fucked up and that there were scratches on his desk. Like, maybe he regretted it just before he—” Seeing the look on your face, Christen presses his lips together and tilts his head, changing his words. “Like he tried to stop himself from falling out the window. Oh, and uh...” Furrowing your brows, you see a nervous look spread across Christen’s face as he meets Caitlin’s eyes. “There was a broken picture or frame. Could’a been thrown on the floor.”

“What picture?” Moving to sit on her feet, Caitlin’s eyes widen slightly, causing you to sit back a bit confused as she waits for Christen to explain.

“I—he wasn’t sure. All the really said it was of a couple, but seeing as it was Jae’s room…”

Even you didn’t need anymore explanation. You had never been in Jae’s room, but who else would be in the picture? Why would a picture of Jae and Caitlin be smashed? Your eyes move between your two friends as Caitlin falls back against the bed with a new wave of grief, as if she’s realized something. Christen, on the other hand, just sighs and reaches for your drink, taking a sip before meeting your eyes.

“You look freaked, Y/N.”

That was an understatement. Shaking your head, you rub your hands over your arms before scooting closer to Caitlin to rest your hand on her thigh, letting her know you were still close to her as she cries. “I’m just—this is really sad. It doesn’t make sense, and he was so excited about starting university. I feel really bad for his parents.”

Nodding along with your words, Christen leans to put your drink on the nightstand before leaning back on the bed, letting his hand rest near your leg. “It fuckin’ sucks. I mean… It’s fucked up. Like the weak ones, man. Why do they gotta die before they get the chance to make something of themselves?”

You stare at Christen as he speaks; his words are almost said as if he’s quoting something poetic or profound, though to you it’s heartless and ridiculous.

Leaning against the end of his bed, Vernon runs his fingers over the fading numbers written on his palm. Hours had passed, the sun had gone down, and now the only thing left to remind him that he had actually seen you today was slowly dissolving into his skin.

Jun and Dino were occupying the beanbag chairs in front of the TV as some movie played, something that Vernon had seen a hundred times. He knew he should be paying more attention to his friends, but instead he was trying to commit your phone number to memory.

“During the matinee today.”

“For real? Cops? What did they say?”

Vernon’s brows lift, realizing he hadn’t been even listening to the conversation until cops were mentioned. Shifting on the floor, he sighs and lifts his eyes to watch Dino pass the bowl of popcorn over to Jun as he shrugs.

“Were asking questions about that guy you all graduated with? I don’t remember his last name, uh—Jae, that’s his first name. He said he had a movie ticket in his pocket or something. Not sure why it mattered. They just—”

“They what?”

Vernon had been so quiet over the past hour that both of the boys had almost forgotten whose room they were in and that he was even there until he spoke up. Glancing back at him, Dino shakes his head and shifts in the chair, almost uncomfortable under Vernon’s gaze. Vernon could be intense sometimes; Jun might not notice it, but Dino always did.

“Nothin’ really. Asked if he seemed like himself when he came by. I told them I didn’t know him that well and that I had been off that night. They said they would probably stop by and talk to you tomorrow. Is—why? That not okay?”

Moving to his feet, Vernon shakes his head and shrugs. He didn’t like the idea of talking to the cops, but it didn’t seem like he had much of a choice. “It’s whatever. I didn’t know him either.”

“That’s not true.” Shooting a look back at Jun as he speaks, Vernon scoffs even as Jun lifts his hands and sighs into his words. “I mean—not like you were friends with him, but you knew him a bit.”

“Whatever, I didn’t hang out with him. I had a class or two with him and he came into the theater. Didn’t make me his best friend, Jun. Why the fuck does it matter anyway?”

Jun furrows his brows and shakes his head. He watches Vernon reach for a pen, looking at his hand as he transfers something from it to a piece of paper, then tossing it on the desk. “I–well… It doesn’t, but you might have noticed if he was acting out of his head maybe. People are saying he fell out of his window, or—you know. Maybe he wanted to fall out of it.”

Scoffing, Vernon turns to lean against his desk, an uncaring look on his face. “I mean, wouldn’t you if your chick was a lying whore? Not sure he ever acted like he knew what he was doing from the moment he started dating that girl. It was like putting one foot on a banana peel and his neck in a noos—”

“Jesus Christ, Vernon.” Shivering, Jun cuts Vernon’s words off before he’s able to finish. He had heard Vernon be callous before. He had seen him uncaring and perhaps act like a dick, but never like this. “It was an accident. It’s tragic…”

Nodding slowly, Vernon sighs as he tries to remember what he’s supposed to feel in a moment like this. He can see the look on Jun’s face—something akin to sadness. Dino, on the other hand, looked a little sick, horrified as he wrapped his arms around himself, trying to be smaller.

“Yeah, it’s sad; you’re right. I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s up with me. I’m just tired or something.” Shaking his head, Vernon moves back towards his friends, lowering himself back to the floor and offering them a smile that seems to soothe them both. “I saw Y/N earlier today; she seemed to be kinda tore up about it too. She was going over to—uh, Cailtin’s. She’s a good friend.” Gritting his teeth slightly, Vernon forces himself to say her name instead of anything else out of respect for you. In his head, Caitilin didn’t deserve anything but what she was going through.

Tilting his head slightly, Jun watches Vernon talk about you. There was a stark difference in how he mentioned you compared to anyone else. While he knew that Vernon had a crush on you, if he was talking to you, maybe he was wanting more. More could be dangerous.

“You saw her? Where? Was she alone?”

Vernon knew why there was a barrage of questions, but it only served to annoy him. Leaning his head back, he sighs and nods along with each one. “Yes. Taco Bell. She was alone. Why the fuck does it matter?”

“Because, Vernon. She's—look, I get it. She’s cute as fuck. She’s nice, but he’s got his claws in her. He’ll kill you if you try anything. Some ass isn’t worth it. I don’t care if the ass is prime—”

Glaring at Jun, Vernon bites at his cheek until he snaps. “Why do you talk about her like that? Do you even know her? Have you spoken a single word to her?” Shaking his head, Vernon rubs hard at the numbers on his palm now. “Of course you haven’t because you are too fuckin’ judgmental and too chicken shit. Just think that because she’s standing next to Christen, she’s just like him. Well, newsfuckin’ flash, Junhui, you aren’t the genius you make yourself out to be.”

Dino had been quiet—he always was, but he hated the tension and arguing between his friends. No one was worth putting a wedge between his best friends, especially some girl. “Hey! Stop it. Why are you two always doing this now? Every fucking week!” Staring up at Dino, Vernon swallows hard as the youngest stands up and points from Jun to him. “If he likes his girl, so what? Lay off! And you…”

Swallowing hard, Dino falters for a moment as he meets Vernon’s eyes. It takes a deep breath to calm down before he can round his shoulders and speak up to Vernon. “Jun is your best friend and you’ve never been such an asshole before. If you need to get your dick wet, do it. If you need to get high or drunk, please... Just do it before you say something you can’t take back.”

Vernon stared at his television for a long time after his friends had left, thinking about what Dino had said. To be a year younger than him, the boy was wise beyond his years and he had a point. He knew that he was wound up and he had been taking it out on Jun in particular for weeks.

There had been some relief when Vernon had left Jae’s, but then he would be reminded about Christen and his bullshit and be right back where he had started. The anger was building until he felt like he might just snap.

Glancing towards his desk, Vernon lifts his brow, seeing the piece of paper with your phone number written on it. It wasn’t incredibly late, but it was the weekend. There was a good chance you were still at Cailtin’s or worse... You could be out with the rest of them doing something, trying to take your minds off of Jae—but Vernon still wanted to try.

Pulling the phone from the desk along with the piece of paper, Vernon sighs as he leans back against the side of his bed. He rests the receiver between his shoulder and ear before carefully dialing your number and waiting. You had said it was your own line, and somehow that didn’t stop Vernon from letting Jun’s words get the better of him for just a single moment. What if you gave him a fake number? What if Christen picked up? But neither of those things happened.

“Hello?”

Your voice is beautiful, a bit sad, and confused. Vernon has to take a deep breath to stop himself from hanging up the phone when you furrow your brows and listen to the sound of breathing on the other line. Clearly someone was there; it wouldn’t be the first time you had gotten a crank call, but today really wasn’t the day for it.

“Hello? Look, seriously… I’m not in the mood—”

“Y/N… Sorry, it’s me, Vernon.” Wincing to his own voice, Vernon pulls on the phone cord in his lap and weighs his regret as he listens to you take a deep breath in response. You had hoped that Vernon would call you, but you hadn’t expected it. He seemed so different from you and the rest of your friends that he was almost like a life preserver at the moment.

“I—oh… Hey. I—I’m glad you called. I’m a little surprised.” Closing your eyes for a moment, you lean your head back, trying to think of how to salvage your conversation, thinking you might have ruined it before it started. “I promise I don’t always sound like a bitch when I answer the phone.”

Vernon’s laugh brings a much-needed smile to your face and warmth to your chest. Shaking his head, he tries to picture you in a room he’s never seen besides a light behind a curtain. “You didn’t sound like a bitch. I—I didn’t exactly start speaking so I get why you said what you did. I’m not really like, you know, a great conversationalist.”

And yet he had called you anyway. That wasn’t lost on you as you stood up from your desk and worked the cord for your phone around it so you could sit on your bed. Vernon listens to the sounds of you moving in your room and it brings a slight smile to his face. “How are you, by the way? You said you were going over to your friend’s house.”

He remembered. Leaning your head back against your headboard, you bite your bottom lip and nod. “Yeah, I spent most of the day at Cailtin’s. It was honestly exhausting.” Sighing, you close your eyes, realizing how bad your words sound, causing you to shake your head. “But—I… You know, I’ll do it anytime. She’s going through a ton right now. I’m—”

“Y/N… I didn’t ask about her. Sorry, that sounds really shitty, but I’d rather talk about you.” Vernon didn’t want to cut you off, but he couldn’t stand that you were spiraling because you felt bad for Caitlin. In his opinion, she didn’t deserve anything, much less you in her life. You were far too good for her, not that he could just say that out loud to you now. “Don’t get me wrong; it’s really nice of you to do what you did. Is it cool if we just talk about you?”

That was almost a terrifying prospect—someone wanting to focus on just you. Christen did it in his own way, but it always led back to him. There was always an ulterior motive, and yet it didn’t seem like Vernon had one. Shifting on your bed, you rest the cradle to your phone next to you as you pull your knees towards your stomach.

“Sorry, yeah… Yeah, we can do that, but only if we talk about you too. Is that okay?”

You were apologizing again. That seemed to be something you did a lot and usually not for yourself. Shaking his head, Vernon smiles into a sigh before lifting his brows. “Yeah, that’s okay. I—I kinda wanna get to know you. God, that sounds so fuckin’ lame.”

Warmth spreads along your cheeks at Vernon’s words and you are happy he’s just on the phone and not in front of you. Pressing your lips together, you swallow hard and bury a bit of a happy sound as you pull the phone from your ear briefly before calming yourself down and clearing your throat. “It’s not lame. Why would that be lame? I mean, I wanna get to know you too. I gave you my number for a reason... Like, obviously.”

Listening to how your voice trails off with a bit of shyness to it, Vernon can’t help the grin that pulls at his lips. There was no way you were actually into him the way he was into you. You probably just wanted to be his friend, and if that was the case, he’d have to deal... But the tone of your voice—the cute little giggle to it—made his stomach tighten with intrigue.

“Oh—oh, yeah?” Clearing his throat, Vernon lifts his hand to rub at his neck, feeling how hot it is under his touch. He knew if he were to look in the mirror, it would be red along with his ears. There would be no way he would have called you with Jun and Dino in the room; if he was this shy and embarrassed alone, he would have died in front of them. “Wha—what’s the reason?”

Despite being new adults, fresh into the world, there was still a layer of that schoolgirl and boy whimsy layered in the conversation that made you kick your feet when Vernon stumbled over his questions. You had a feeling he knew the answers to his questions, but he was just wanting to hear them out loud. The real question was, would you be able to say it out loud?

Whining Vernon’s name softly, you wrap your phone cord around your fingers and laugh under your breath, almost in disbelief. The sound of his smooth but shy laugh makes your stomach twist with that nervous new crush feeling and you feel almost like you could float off your bed. “I don’t know; it’s hard to say it out loud. You know what I mean... Don’t you?”

Pulling his beanie from his hair, Vernon rakes his fingers through his hair and scoffs into a laugh as you dodge his question. You were being so cute and coy that it was driving him crazy. Sure, he had dated in high school. He had crushes, but none of them quite stood the test of time like this one.

“Think I’d just rather hear it. This isn’t a conversation I’ve ever had before, Y/N.” Dropping the beanie on to the floor next to him, he bites at his lip and tilts his head, looking at the wall almost too intently as if it will give him the right words. “I—I mean, you know who I am. Let’s be honest, I’m not—I mean, fuck. I’m not Christen—”

“Stop it. I don’t like Christen. I think—I mean, I thought that was obvious, at least to you. He—” Furrowing your brows as you speak over Vernon, cutting him off, you bite at your cheek, feeling the frustration rising in your chest. “He honestly makes me really...”

Hearing how you seem unable to say the words, Vernon chews at his lips, feeling bad for bringing the other man up. It hadn’t been his intention to upset you, but he did feel inferior when it came to Christen in some ways, especially you. Now he wasn’t sure he should. Now Vernon could feel the same anger from before threatening to rise up as he taps his fingers against his leg and fills in the word for you. “Uncomfortable?”

Nodding, you sniff back your emotions and sit up a bit on your bed, as if talking about Christen will make him manifest in front of you like a demon. “Yeah, so you not being him is a good thing.” Wanting to get the conversation off of Christen, you take a deep breath and shake your head as if clearing the fog from it before speaking again. “‘Sides, I do kinda know who you are; that’s why I—you know... It’s why I like you, Vernon.”

Your words make Vernon feel like he’s stuck in a wind tunnel. He hears them, and yet they don’t seem real. “Me?”

Laughing under your breath, you nod at his question as your brows knit together. There was no one else you were talking to and you had used his first name. “I—yeah. I mean, you know… If you don’t like me, that’s totally—”

“Oh, my god... I do. I just—I’m a loser and I can’t even remember what else your friends called me.”

“I don’t care what they think. I mean, I care what they say, and they are so fucking wrong.” You weren’t sure why it was so hard for Vernon to understand that you liked him, and while you were glad that he liked you back, it was difficult to hear him call himself a loser. That wasn’t how you saw him. You hated hearing your friends call anyone that, but especially Vernon. “I know I make a lot of excuses for them, but the things they said the other night... I really am so, so sorry. That was my fault.”

Pushing his tongue against his cheek, Vernon lets out a breath as you once again apologize for your friends. It’s even worse when you take the blame for something that isn’t your responsibility. “Y/N, wh—no. I don’t blame you. Nothing that happened was your fault. Christen could have threw a punch at me and it still wouldn’t have been anything that you could have started or stopped.”

The idea of Christen hurting Vernon makes your skin crawl. You knew that Christen was just waiting for the opportunity and what you were doing right now... Pursuing something with Vernon would only make it worse. Frowning a bit to yourself, you stretch the phone cord between your fingers and Vernon seems to notice how quiet you’ve become, your soft breath on the other side of the line being the only thing that lets him know you’re still there.

“You thinkin’ hard about something? Wanna let me in on it?” Smiling a bit, Vernon shifts his legs, pulling his knees up a bit so he can rest his forearms on them as he leans his head back against his bed. “Or did you fall asleep?”

“No—no, I’m here. I just—I know you said none of that was my fault, but it feels like it.” You can hear Vernon start to speak and you know he’s going to argue your point, but still having more to say, you keep going before he can. “It’s just—Christen, he’s like weirdly been obsessed with me for a while, right? He's just my friend, but it’s like I can’t get him to see that. It makes it hard to date, well, like anyone. I—” Laughing under your breath, it’s clear there is no humor to it as you roll your eyes. “Like I haven’t even had a boyfriend or been on a date since freshman year.”

Letting your words sink in, Vernon tries to think about high school and when he first noticed you. It hadn’t been hard. You were beautiful from the first day, but he hadn’t been the only one who had noticed how much you changed over summer and that was when Christen had laid his claim. No wonder you hadn’t dated. Vernon could imagine that any guy that tried to get close to you was either scared away or knew you were off the table—even if you weren’t.

“So… I’m just saying that because if this goes anywhere, and I’m not saying it has to... Christen might freak the fuck out. He already got mad that you were talking to me.” Your voice is sad and quiet. You sound repressed like you had at the theater, and it bites at Vernon, making him almost feel antsy in his room. He wants to get up and fix it for you; change your situation so that you don’t have to feel so small...

“I don’t give a fuck what he thinks, Y/N. I’m not afraid of him. All I care about is what you think and want.” Vernon presses his thumbnail into the tip of his pinky hard enough to leave a divot as he grits his teeth. He had to calm down; you weren’t his—not yet. Christen had already done enough damage by laying a freaky claim to you; Vernon was determined not to make you feel worse by doing the same. “I’ll only do what you want. Like I told you, I like you.”

Unable to stop the smile from spreading on your lips, you bite at your lower lip and glance towards your window as the curtain moves with the wind. There was a huge difference in how Christen and Vernon made you feel. Christen terrified you and made you feel trapped in a box. Vernon, he made you feel almost free and desired. It was almost a bit dangerous the way you enjoyed that feeling, along with the smooth sound of his voice lulling you into a comfortable place.

“Yeah?” Now your smile was even in your voice and Vernon could hear it over the phone. “I—yeah, I like you a lot. God, I sound like a teenager.”

Smirking, Vernon looks down at his fingers and the red half moon on his pinky as he runs his tongue along his lips and tilts his head. “Well, I mean technically—”

“Stop it, I’m not. We aren’t anymore. I let high school go, like forever.” Sliding down in your bed, you rest your head on the pillow, sighing into the phone, causing Vernon to have to close his eyes to the sound. “Another reason I like you so much. You don’t seem to dwell on it. High school is over, and we can start something new. Like this, right?”

Fuck. Vernon has to pull the phone from his ear as his stomach tightens to the idea of you and the sigh you had made in his ear. You were so innocent to him and yet he wasn’t thinking completely with his brain at the moment. Nodding, he swallows hard and rubs his hand along his jeans to ground himself. “Hell, yeah.”

Partying wasn’t really Vernon’s scene. It wasn’t even the fact that he wasn’t in the “cool” crowd; it was more that his personality didn’t mesh with how loud a party could be. Not just the music or the talking, but the atmosphere. It was all so loud and made Vernon’s head feel like it was in a vice that someone was constantly tightening the longer he stayed—and yet a party is where he found himself tonight.

Jun loved to party. He liked the release of not having to think. He enjoyed the free beer and access to almost anything he might want to get his hands on. Jun didn’t go crazy, but if someone passed a joint, he wasn’t going to be rude and refuse a gift.

“Dude, try to enjoy this.”

Vernon rolls his eyes at Jun as he lifts his cup to his lips, nursing a stale beer he had picked up at the beginning of the night. Sometimes he wished he could be more like his friend. He did find watching people at parties interesting, even Jun. You could really see who someone was when they were wasted. Inhibitions were low and people’s true nature came out to play.

“I have about fifty other things I could be doing.” Vernon wasn’t lying. It was rare that he and Jun both had a night off from the theater and he didn’t particularly want to be spending it in the house of someone who probably treated him like shit in high school. You were on Vernon’s mind, and he had been letting his eyes wander around the crowd just hoping you might show up—though this didn’t seem much like your scene.

“Such a fuckin’ buzzkill, man. You gotta relax. That’s why I wanted you to come out with me. You gotta get out of your head. You’re spinnin’ your wheels.” Jun tried to focus on Vernon, but unlike him—who had taken the night slow, Jun had not. He was feeling just how he wanted to be feeling: light, cares were a thing of the past or a problem for tomorrow, and there was still plenty of shit to play with floating around this party.

Shaking his head, Vernon can’t help the scoff that slips from his lips, though between Jun’s current mental state and the boom of the bass echoing off the walls, it went unheard. “I’m gonna top off.”

Nodding, Jun turns his attention away from Vernon and towards the pretty girl with a joint resting between her fingers. Vernon, on the other hand, kept his head on a swivel as he moved into the kitchen and straight towards the keg to refill his beer. There was a mishmash of people he had gone to school with; a couple of kids he knew were still in school, but the two that caught his eye were leaned up against the farest wall.

Vernon wasn’t sure how he hadn’t noticed Juwon and Alanna until now, but then again they had probably found a room in this godforsaken house and defiled it. Bringing the cup to his lips, Vernon furrows his brows as he follows the direction of the couple's eyes as they laugh between themselves. Jun—they were watching Jun.

Everyone at this party was wasted—well, almost everyone, and it made no sense to Vernon why old habits had to die hard. Something you had said to him the night before was replaying in his mind as Vernon took a step back into the living room, carefully maneuvering through people as Juwon and Alanna made their way closer to Jun.

“They just all are mentally stuck in high school. The glory days, you know?”

Well, this wasn’t fucking high school anymore. There weren’t glory days for anyone. Vernon had never gotten any, and Jun sure as hell hadn’t, so why should a group of assholes get them?

“Thanks, fuckface.” Taking the joint from Jun’s fingers, Juwon passes it to Alanna as the girl who had given it to Jun in the first place shifts uncomfortably. “You living off scraps like a dog? Who invited you anyway?”

Juwon had always had an issue with Jun for seemingly no problem on the surface. He had gone out of his way to make his life a living hell in high school, and it seemed that wasn’t stopping just because they had donned a cap and gown a couple of months ago. The real issue was that Jun had almost dated Alanna first. Juwon had almost lost the “great love of his life” to someone else, and now that he had her, he had to remind Jun at every given chance.

Alanna eyes the girl sitting next to Jun harshly. She had no reason to, but she honestly didn’t like her so close to Jun. As much as she loved being at Juwon’s side and making sure that Jun remembered her as she egged the bullying on—she also enjoyed seeing him available. You just never knew if the wind would change.

“Cut the shit out, Juwo—”

“Who the fuck do you think you are, Wen? Walking up in this place like you belong.”

Vernon was seething as he watched just a few feet away along with a small crowd of others. He wanted to give Jun a chance to defend himself, but he had seen this song and dance. Jun wasn’t a violent person; he wasn’t a confrontational person—and tonight he had been drinking and smoking. Juwon had an unfair advantage.

The moment that Juwon starts to lay his hands on Jun is when Vernon can no longer just watch. Taking a couple of steps forward, he pulls Juwon back, and the anger he is feeling is evident in his eyes. Stepping in front of Jun, Vernon’s nose almost touching Juwon's, he tilts his head as he speaks just loud enough for the man to head. “Touch him again and see what happens. Take your little bitch, and get out of my face.”

Juwon looks shocked at first, his eyes widening almost comically until a laugh bubbles in his throat. “Yo–you kiddin’? The fuck?” Alanna quickly joins in, her higher-pitched laugh grating at Vernon’s ears as the couple hangs off one another. “You’re a fuckin’ psychopath, Vernon. Almost had me scared for a minute. Shit… Seriously, you could almost pull off being a badass if everyone didn’t know you were a pussy.”

Juwon laughs again as he takes the joint from Alanna, the end of it burning orange as he smirks before inhaling deeply and blowing smoke into Vernon’s face as he pushes him out of his way. Vernon forces himself to keep his eyes open even as they burn from the smoke. He wasn’t going to let Juwon get the better of him, not tonight. Not while his nails were digging into his palms hard enough to break the skin.

“Goodnight, ladies…” With his arm wrapped around Alanna, the last of the joint resting back between her lips, Juwon grins at Jun as he shifts uncomfortably on the arm of the couch. He had succeeded in doing what he had set out to do. Jun and Vernon had always been the outcasts in high school and at any party they went to, but now they were being looked at like they were diseased. The pretty girl who had been sitting next to Jun was long gone, and anyone else who had been seen talking to Jun before had found better company.

“Fuck this party.” Vernon sighs, hearing how defeated Jun sounds. His eyes follow his friend as he quickly stands and moves past him, only to get a few feet before Vernon watches him fall flat on his face with a loud groan.

Searching for the source, Vernon’s anger boils over when Juwon laughs loudly once again, throwing his hands up as he meets Vernon’s eyes. “Not my fuckin’ fault your girlfriend can’t walk. Maybe he’s too fucked up, Vern. Get him home safe; tuck him in. Kiss him goodnight for me?”

Vernon tilts his head, refusing to respond to Juwon’s words as others around him laugh at the pathetic excuse for jokes. Instead he moves to Jun, trying to help him up, only to feel his hands get slapped away as Jun glares at him, his eyes quickly softening before he gets to his feet on his own. “I got it. I’m fine. I just want to get the fuck out of here.”

Following Jun, doing his best to keep up, Vernon sighs as Jun tugs open the door to his car, sliding behind the wheel and wiping under his nose hard. Glancing down to the wet, sticky feeling of blood running from his nose, Jun rolls his eyes and leans his head back before meeting Vernon’s eyes and shaking his head. “I don’t wanna hear it.”

“I wasn’t gonna say a damn thing.” That was the truth. Vernon didn’t have to say what Jun already knew. It had been a bad idea to come to this party. From the moment they had walked in, Vernon had felt it, and now Jun was bleeding because of it. “You want me to drive you home?”

Grimacing, Jun shakes his head again and wipes under his nose, checking the heel of his hand for more blood. “No, I just—I appreciate the offer, but I wanna be alone. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Taking a step back, Vernon watches Jun shut his door,his eyes following the Toyota down the street until it turns the corner, leaving him alone as the sun starts to set. He knew that he should leave too. Logically, Vernon knew that it would be smart to get in his Beretta and drive off—leave all this bullshit behind, but then he hears the laughter from inside the house and logic is off the table.

“Did you see his stupid fuckin’ face?” Juwon mimics Jun falling forward as Alanna tips back her beer, her eyes bright watching him getting attention from the small crowd around them. They weren’t Christen and you, but when it came to this scene—this is when they were King and Queen.

Grinning as he slides his fingers along Alanna’s side, Juwon nods, agreeing to another drink as Jake slides off the couch, moving towards the kitchen to gather them for the group. “You having a good time, babe?” He knew she was; he could see that hazed, lazy look in her eyes. She was just high enough, just drunk enough, that the world didn’t matter anymore. All that mattered was right in front of her, and that was how Alanna loved to exist.

“Mmm—so fucking good. Only be better if—” Leaning in to whisper in to Juwon’s ear, Alanna drapes her leg over his thigh, causing him to groan not only to her dirty words but also to the weight of her knee over his crotch. “Know what I mean? Can’t do that here.”

Juwon’s finger slid down further to grip at Alanna’s hip, her skirt sliding up slightly on her thigh, causing Jake to cough as he averted his eyes. “I—shit. Got more beers... I’ll leave ‘em here. Y’all wanna use my room or somethin’? Don’t fuck on my couch, alright?”

Pushing his tongue against his teeth, Vernon leans against the wall in the dark hall next to the bathroom as he watches the scene in front of him carefully. It was interesting how much people would let themselves go when they thought they were amongst friends or those who worshipped them. Vernon also thought it was interesting what people left just lying around—or at least what they kept in their medicine cabinets.

Jake’s mother had been in a car accident about a year ago. Vernon remembered when that had happened. It had been dramatic for the town. She was some important bigwig businesswoman that people thought others should give a fuck about, but Vernon didn’t even know her name until today. He had learned it when he had read her name on the medicine bottle before he had pocketed the pills inside of it.

Vernon had never been a good chemistry student, but he did know that certain things shouldn’t be taken in large dosages. The human body wasn’t made to accept opioids at an accelerated rate in large quantities. While Vernon hadn’t been great in school, he had enjoyed watching people and realizing how little they watched him. Like how Jake hadn’t paid attention as Vernon added the crushed-up pills to Alanna and Juwon’s drinks before he handed them off to the couple.

It didn’t take long for the drinks to disappear and for the expressions on their faces to change. There was a difference between being high and what they were feeling now. Moving to his feet, Juwon holds his hand to his head as Alanna shakes out her hands, trying to get a grip on herself. “Com—come on, baby. Let’s get out o—outta here.”

Nodding along with Juwon, Alanna moves to her feet, stumbling along side of him, finding herself holding him upright as the two make their way towards his car. Had they drunk that much? Trying to think back, Alanna blinks a few times as she counts the beers to herself before her attention is brought back to the present and to Juwon when he groans weakly, his legs giving out and pulling her down with him.

“Juwon… Shit. Wha—baby!” The euphoric feeling of fun that had been running through Alanna’s body just an hour before was long gone as she lazily swiped Juwon’s hair back, feeling warm tears running down her cheeks. All she could feel now was fear mixed with horror as she watched his eyes roll back, his breaths becoming more like choked gasps. “Baby, wake up!”

Tilting his head, Vernon took in a deep pull from his cigarette before letting it settle in his chest for a second and blowing it out into the wind. He knew that Alanna was trying to be loud enough that others from the party would hear and come to their aid, but she was exhausted and fading.

Shaking Juwon as hard as she can manage, Alanna sobs, unable to tell if he is breathing—the choking sounds no longer reaching her ears. Leaning back against the side of the car, she tries to focus and to find anyone to help them, but the only person she sees makes her blood run cold. Vernon smirks, flicking the last of his cigarette from his fingers before blowing out another deep breath of smoke, his eyes never leaving Alanna’s. It’s only when the girl’s head falls forward, her body slumping over Juwon's, does Vernon slide behind the wheel of his car and drive down the street.

At this point, you were becoming numb from going to funerals. It was two days after the morbid joint memorial that Juwon and Alanna’s family had held, and though you had cried—now you just felt numb.

You had watched Christen pass a flask back and forth between himself, Caitlin, and a few other friends in the church—that had only served to put you in an even worse headspace. To you, this entire experience should be a reason for your friends to clean up their act. Two of your friends had overdosed, and yet the others felt the need to celebrate that by trying to follow in their footsteps.

There had been a full day of you avoiding your phone and pager. You knew that Caitlin wanted you to spend time with her and that Christen would be right on your heels, but the numbness made it easy to say no, or at least nothing at all. It wasn’t until that second day when your parents had apologized for having to leave you alone for a few days that you felt like you could finally breathe.

You knew you should want their company. You should want the hovering of your mother and the protective shield of your father, but all you wanted was space from the usual. So, when someone knocks at your door just a couple of hours after you had gotten that space, you find yourself almost willing to let them get tired of knocking as you lay on the couch.

“Y/N?”

Furrowing your brows at the sound of your name, you glance towards the front door before sitting up and wrapping your arms around yourself. You had expected either Christen or Caitlin to come demanding your attention, or even someone from the local church to visit with a casserole, but you hadn’t expected to hear Vernon’s voice.

Opening the door slowly, you meet his eyes and Vernon’s soft smile almost makes you collapse at how easily he starts to seep through that numbness that had taken over your being. “Hi… Why—I mean… Do you wanna come in?”

Vernon isn’t surprised when you start to ask him why he’s there. He had tried to call you, but you weren’t picking up your phone. He could see the look on your face. You looked like you hadn’t slept well in a few days. He didn’t want to pity you, but there was something about that pout on your pretty lips that almost broke his heart.

“Yeah—yes, I mean sure. If you want me to, I mean, you know if your parents won’t freak the fuck out.” Vernon watches you shake your head as you take a step back and open the door more for him. Moving past you, Vernon takes in a deep breath, feeling slightly overwhelmed by the idea of being inside your house. He had wanted this for so long; he knew that if he went up those stairs and to the right, the last door had to be your room. God, he wanted to see your room.

“My parents aren’t here.” Sighing softly, you close the door, locking it behind you before watching Vernon as he looks around a bit. “They left this morning to go out of town. Should be back next week sometime.”

Raising his brows, Vernon looks at a picture of your family—your mother sitting in a chair as you stand beside her and your father behind you both, his hands on either of your shoulders. It was such a classic family photo, and yet to him it looked so fucking fake. Vernon could see you that weren’t as happy as you pretended to be in the picture; there was a fakeness to the smile. He had seen a real smile from you, and he wanted to see it again.

“Oh—that’s… They left you with all this shit going on? That’s kinda fucked—” Hissing under his breath, Vernon meets your eyes and lets out a long sigh. “I’m sorry, it’s none of my business and I’m sure they have their reasons. I just worry about you in this big ass house alone with everything—this house seems lonely, Y/N.”

You wrap your arms back around yourself, suddenly feeling cold at all that Vernon is pointing out. The house was too big for just you, and it was a bit lonely... Yet you were still enjoying that solitude—minus him. You liked him there. ��It’s not so bad; I mean, you’re here. It’s not lonely now. I—and honestly, they were smothering me. I needed a break from them. I needed one from every—that sounds bad.”

It didn’t sound bad to Vernon. That was something that he understood better than anyone. Sometimes you just needed a break from everyone and everything. If it wasn’t necessary, you had to rid yourself of it. He was finding out he was good at that—very good, in fact.

Taking one step closer, Vernon smiles slightly, his lips pulling up at one side as he tries his luck a bit to be in your space. He wants to be less of a coward and reach out, take your hand or pull you into his arms, but the fear of pushing you away keeps him just far enough away that you tilt your head and give him that sweet smile that makes Vernon’s stomach twist up in knots. “It’s completely fucking fair, Y/N. I—look, I was hoping that I wasn’t bothering you. I wanted to check on you and… Fuck I don’t know what I was thinking. I missed you. I just wanted to see your pretty face, honestly.”

Looking down, you press your lips together, trying to keep your reaction hidden. You feel the heat spread across your cheeks, and it only gets hotter as Vernon chuckles and takes one step closer to you. “Y/N?” Watching his hand tremble slightly, your lips pull up in a small smile as he works up the courage to lift his hand to your face, his fingers carefully tilting your head up so you will meet his eyes once again.

“I’m listening.” You knew you probably shouldn’t let yourself enjoy the feeling of Vernon’s calloused fingers on your cheek, but you were. You should be sad right now, hidden in your room mourning the loss of your friends. But as you meet Vernon’s eyes, all you feel are the butterflies in your stomach. “I—would…” Taking a deep breath, you close the distance between yourself and Vernon, causing him to take a deep breath in return. “Could you hangout for a while? I don’t think I wanna be alone.”

Vernon’s skin erupts with goosebumps as your fingers trace his forearm up to his rest, where you wrap your delicate hand around his wrist. He expects you to move his hand from your face, but instead you lean into his touch, your head tilted as you wait for him to answer you. Swallowing hard, he nods while tracing your cheekbone, feeling the soft skin under his thumb. “‘Course I will.”

Listening to the sound of popcorn popping a room away, Vernon runs his fingers over the couch underneath him. It would be a lie to say he wasn’t nervous. You terrified him just as much as you enthralled him. Finally reaching for the small assortment of VHS tapes on the coffee table in front of them, Vernon reads over the titles, trying to make a decision.

You had left the movie choice in Vernon’s hands, declaring that he would have the most expertise in that field while you would take care of snacks. Leaning against the kitchen counter, you tap your foot against the cold ceramic tiles as you gnaw at your thumb nail watching the popcorn bag spin in the microwave on the countertop in front of you. Your stomach was in knots. You wanted Vernon there, and yet there was that sense of breaking the rules hanging over your head. There was a looming air of risk weighing on you that made you feel like you were in another dimension as you thought about where the night could go—Vernon’s hand on your cheek, his lips on yours—BEEP BEEP BEEP!

Gasping, you put your hand to your chest, your eyes closed as the microwave comes to a stop, pulling you out of your daydream and back to reality. Emptying the popcorn into a bowl, you balance it on your arm as you carry two cans of soda against your stomach with your other hand making your way back to the living room and Vernon.

“If we want something to eat in a bit, I can order pizza. Jerry’s is open until 9 o'clock.” Putting the bowl onto the table, you smile at Vernon as he makes a sound, realizing you were so close. Letting him take the sodas from you, you sit on the couch near him, keeping a space between the two of you as you let out a sigh, your eyes moving over the tapes to see what he had picked.

“Whatever you want... I can always eat, but this is great.” Popping a piece of popcorn into his mouth, Vernon glances at you first and then down to the marginal space between himself and you. It made sense; it wasn’t like the two of you were dating really. Things had been discussed, but being interested and wanting to see where things went didn’t mean it was official. Still, the space made Vernon furrow his brows and caused his stomach to tighten with anxiety. “Yo—you good, Y/N? Is Seven okay?”

Smiling softly, you shift a bit on the couch, your fingers under your thighs, letting the end of your denim shorts catch between your fingers as you bite at your lips anxiously. “Mmm, yeah. I’m fine. I’ve never seen it; my dad buys most of the movies.” Moving back to your feet, you swipe the VHS from the table and kneel in front of the entertainment center as Vernon watches you carefully. “Is it really scary? I mean—it’s totally okay if it is. Brad Pitt is hot, so that makes up for my trauma.”

Vernon grins watching you put the tape into the VCR, your head tilting as you sigh and press the rewind button, realizing that your dad hadn’t done it after his last watch of the movie. “It’s not too bad. More thriller and a bit gory. If you don’t like it, we can cut it off and try something else.”

Getting back to your feet, you shake your head and move back towards Vernon, offering him the remote before taking your seat. “I’m not that much of a wuss. Besides, you won’t let the movie hurt me, right?” You knew it was a pathetic attempt at flirting, but the slight smile on Vernon’s lips and the flush running along his ears to his neck made you feel a bit better about how nervous you were.

“Nah… never. Wouldn’t let anything hurt you, honestly.” Leaning back against the cushions, Vernon doesn’t see your expression change as he presses play and pops a few more kernels of popcorn into his mouth. He doesn’t seem to understand how much his words effect you and how your heart beats quicker in your chest. It doesn’t seem to dawn on him until you slide closer to him, your legs tucked up under you so that you can rest your shoulder against his arm.

Struggling to watch the movie, Vernon stays in the same awkward position for the first forty-five minutes of the movie. His eyes move from the television to your face, the pout on your lips becoming more evident as time ticks by, until finally you sigh and reach forward to grab a handful of popcorn, letting Vernon take a much-needed breath.

He leans his head back, cursing under his breath as you stay forward on your knees for what seems like an impossible amount of time, when in truth it’s only a few seconds—long enough to take a sip of your drink to wash down your popcorn. When you lean back, you gasp quietly under your breath before lifting your eyes towards Vernon, finding yourself tucked into his side. Now your cheeks were burning, and you could feel Vernon’s fingers brushing together against your shoulder as he took a deep breath, seeming to need it for courage as he kept his eyes forward with his arm behind you on the couch.

You felt perfect against his side, and it was almost devastating to Vernon. You smelled sweet and just as warm as you felt; it was causing him to almost feel lightheaded. Lifting his free hand to his lips, Vernon rubs at them as he glances down at you, being careful not to move his head. God, you were so beautiful. He had looked at you so many times, and he had been close enough to look at you, but never this close. If he really wanted to, Vernon was almost convinced he could take the time to count your eyelashes or freckles while he admired your face.

Grimacing at the movie, you whine, finding yourself tucking your body and head against Vernon, wanting to get away from the sight of blood and filth in front of you. “So gross…” Fingers brush over your hair and Vernon smiles behind his fingers, finally moving them as he meets your eyes, knowing he has your attention.

“Is it too much?”

Rubbing your lips together, you can’t help the way you take in a deep breath of Vernon’s cologne, letting it invade your senses. Looking from his eyes to his lips and back, you shyly smile before you shake your head. “It’s okay.”

You were saying one thing, and your body language was telling Vernon something completely different—and yet the movie was beginning to not matter. Vernon could almost feel the path of your eyes as they move to his lips before his eyes take the same walk down your face and he feels your fingers gently trace the sleeve of his t-shirt where it sits on his bicep. Did you want him to kiss you? All signs were pointing to yes…

The feeling of Vernon’s fingers on your chin this time is almost electric as he gently keeps your head in place, leaning down to test the waters by brushing his lips against yours. Resting his nose along yours, he smiles when your fingers close against his arm, dragging your nails along his skin gently. “Y/N... is that what you want? I gotta know. I don’t wanna do anything you don’t want.”

God, your head was spinning. For your entire high school existence and the short time you have had outside of it trying to navigate being a woman, you had never been asked what you wanted. Christen never asked. He told and took, or at least he tried. There had been so many times when he had almost taken things from you that you would have never been able to get back, and now as you clung to Vernon, his lips hovering over yours and that question on his lips—you yearned.

“Please? Kiss me? I want it.”

Vernon’s brows furrow tightly, almost painfully so at how needy you sound. His lips meet yours gently, but not without meaning. He doesn’t want to scare you, but he also doesn’t want to risk you slipping through his fingers as he tastes your lip balm on his tongue.

To Vernon, you seem delicate, almost as if he were to hold you too tightly, he might break you. It’s almost frustrating to you when you whine into the most breathtaking kiss you had ever received and Vernon’s hand tightens on your hip only for him to shakily loosen his grip and move his hand as if he’s afraid of something.

Shifting on the couch, you open your eyes, moving your leg slowly along Vernon’s thigh to see how he will react. You furrow your brows, feeling a rush of arousal, your panties beginning to stick to your folds when Vernon groans your name from deep in his throat to the feeling of the warmth between your legs against his jeans.

“Shit—I… Y/N, I gotta—” Vernon leans his head back, his eyes searching the ceiling as you stay still, almost afraid to move based on his reaction and the feeling bubbling inside of you. Glancing over his face and down along his neck, you finally make up your mind, leaning forward to press your lips to the junction between Vernon’s jaw and his neck and listening to his breath quicken.

Hands slide along your legs to the end of your shorts, where Vernon forces himself to stop and let his hands rest even as his fingers knead at your soft thighs. He could feel how hard he was getting from the feeling of your warmth against his leg and your soft, plush lips on his throat. “Y/N…”

Your name was starting to sound like a prayer on Vernon’s lips, as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded and sitting on the couch. “I like you, Vernon. Like a lot, if that isn’t clear.” Groaning in a mixture of frustration and pleasure, Vernon lifts one hand from your leg to run his fingers through his hair, tugging gently to bring himself back to reality. You were making it hard for him to keep his head clear as you traced the collar of his shirt and adjusted your leg over his.

“I think it’s painfully obvious that I like you too.” Sighing, Vernon meets your eyes as you smile at him. Your face is so sweet, not a bit of malice or ill intent behind your eyes. There is something so innocent and pure about you that makes him equally excited and horrified. “I’m enjoying this. I’m ju—I’m enjoying it a little too much.”

You weren’t stupid or completely naive. You could feel how hard Vernon was as you dared to slide your leg further up his, resting your knee dangerously close to his crotch. It wasn’t like you hadn’t made out with guys or that you had been around Christen when he had gotten too excited, but this was different. You wanted to be here. You wanted more with Vernon, and you knew what it meant and how it would change things.

“That’s okay, right? It’s just—you know, just us here. Um, if we wanted to, you know.”

Tilting his head, Vernon can’t stop the way his lips pull up in a soft, amused smile at your phrasing. Were you embarrassed to ask him for more, or were you afraid to say the words? Or was it something else? Were you even more pure than he thought?

“Wanted to what, Y/N? Make out? We already were…”

Whining at Vernon’s words, you shift even closer to him as you shake your head no firmly. “I—no, I mean yes. I want to kiss you so much. Keep kissing me, but more. I mean, if—if you want me like that.”

The moment that your confidence seems to wane, Vernon’s brows furrow and his hand moves to your neck, pulling you closer for a deep kiss that once again takes your breath. Gasping into the kiss, you feel a rush of excitement run through your body as his other hand slips around to your ass, fingers slipping into your back pocket.

“You got literally no fucking idea how much I want you like that or how long I’ve—God, baby.” The pet name slips off Vernon’s lips as a soft whine before he can stop himself. A rush of fear moves through him quickly, but when you smile on his lips and shift over his lap to sit on his thighs, Vernon’s anxiety melts away. “Are you sure?”

Nodding, you let your knees slide to either side of Vernon’s legs, a soft gasp escaping your lips when you finally feel the bulge of his cock press against the center of your legs. “Uh huh, I’m sure, but—god, it’s so embarrassing.” Lowering your head to press your face against Vernon’s neck, you only feel shame for a moment before his hand slides over your back to join the other on your ass, helping you gently grind down over his jeans. “Oh…”

This had to be a dream—some perfect wet dream that Vernon would wake up from with his boxers sticky from cum. There was no way you were actually rolling your hips down over his cock, and those pretty little whines were real, but it all felt real. You were warm on his lap, your pussy almost hot even through your shorts. Your ass felt soft in his hands as Vernon tightened his fingers over the denim, trying to keep himself from throwing you down on the floor and fucking you right there in front of the family portrait over the fireplace. “Fuck—don’t be embarrassed in front of me, please? What’s wrong? Talk to me, baby.”

Kissing gently at Vernon’s neck, you furrow your brows, feeling his fingers run over your head as he asks you to talk to him. Taking his hand when he moves it to your neck, you link your fingers with Vernon’s before nodding. “I’ve never done this before, Vernon. I wanna do it. I wanna—I want it with you, but I just don’t wanna fuck it up.”

If there was a way for Vernon to die, go to heaven, and end up back on your couch in the span of seconds, it had happened. Staring up at you, he licks his lips, trying to come up with the right words before finally shaking his head and letting out a sigh. “You’re perfect. You couldn’t fuck up a single thing even if you tried.”

Patting your thighs, Vernon helps you to your feet and offers you his hand as you give him a confused look. “I’m not doing this on your couch in your living room, Y/N. You deserve so much better than that.” Gently tugging at your hand, he leads you towards the staircase, and you find yourself enamored by Vernon as he leads you to your bedroom.

While Vernon had thought being in your house was overwhelming, being in your bedroom was like being inside of his dreams. It was like being inside your head and learning how to understand you from the inside out. Dropping your hand for a moment, he moves to turn on your bedside lamp before turning back to you and offering you his hand as you tilt your head and laugh softly. “How did you know which room was mine?”

You watch Vernon’s eyes shift to your window quickly before he laughs and shrugs into a sigh, his arms wrapping around you while he walks backwards towards your bed. “Lucky guess and I followed my nose. It smells like your perfume.” Vernon wasn’t going to tell you that he had counted your windows hundreds of times and that he had guessed the layout of your house, perhaps knowing it better than his own. No, he wasn’t going to fuck up the best thing that had ever happened to him as you looked up at him like he had hung the stars in the sky.

“Oh… I bet I could find your room like that too. Your cologne smells so good; it’s my favorite thing.” Leaning forward, you rest your nose in the crook of Vernon’s neck, taking in a breath and Vernon thinks he could die right then and there. Yes, he liked you, but that wasn’t strong enough for the emotions that you made him feel—he loved you.

“Jesus, Y/N… You don’t even fucking understand what you’re doing to me. I—here, lay down. Let me—I gotta take care of you, right? Make this matter.” Carefully turning with you in his arms, Vernon walks you backwards until your knees hit your bed. “I got you.” Resting his knee beside you, Vernon keeps his eyes locked on yours as he helps you lay back on your bed, a pillow under your head—another picture from a dream he’s had a hundred times.

Trailing his fingers slowly along your side, Vernon shakes his head as you shift under him, squirming slightly in anticipation. “You’re telling me that no one else has touched you like this?” When you whine his name, Vernon smiles, the warm, soft feeling of your skin under his fingertips as he pushes your shirt up your torso towards your breasts, exposing your body to him... inch by inch.

“It’s just a question. I just can’t believe I’m this fucking lucky. Crazy to me actually…” Vernon’s words make your cheeks heat up, but any complaints you have die on your tongue when his lips gently brush over your stomach. “But I’ll take care of you... Make you feel good, I promise.”

You find yourself wondering how many people Vernon had been with before you, but before you can ask, a moan slips from your lips at the feeling of his warm breath and kisses moving along your skin. You knew this would feel good—having someone touch you, kissing you—but you had no idea it would be this good when he had just started.

“Please… please? Can I see you? ‘M so nervous, Vernon... Don’t tease me.”

Vernon could tell you were nervous. You were trembling under him. Every kiss brought out a new shiver and more goosebumps. He knew it wasn’t fear, because if he even for a moment thought you were afraid of him, Vernon would stop. That was his worst nightmare—a world where you weren’t safe and happy.

“Not teasing, baby. I’m exploring… I’m—mm…” Chuckling against your skin, Vernon hisses, almost afraid to say what he wants to, but a glance up to meet your eyes gives him the confidence he needs. “I’m loving you. Lift your hips for me, angel.”

Wiggling your hips from side to side, you grip at the bedding under you as Vernon works your jean shorts down your thighs and finally off your legs. In that moment, feeling Vernon’s hand running along your leg back towards your thigh, you find yourself happy that you had taken the time to shave your legs. The thought seems trivial and silly, but the feeling of his rougher hands on your soft skin is better than anything you’ve ever felt before.

“You’re so beautiful. The most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen in my goddamn life, you know that?” Vernon grins as you let out a soft, happy sound to his words and also to the feeling of his lips against your knee. It was killing him to go so slowly, but it was what you deserved. He could just imagine Christen throwing you on the bed and shoving his cock in you. Some bastard who didn’t give a shit about anything other than getting his dick wet, watching you cry, not even from pleasure as he got his rocks off... No, Vernon wasn’t about to treat you like that. He would never treat you like that.

“Can I?” Sucking in a breath as you feel the back of Vernon’s finger trace the lace around your thigh near the center of your legs, you glance down between your legs and whine. You could see how wet you were and there was no way that Vernon hadn’t noticed too. He was being so respectful, and you loved that he was asking. “Hm? Can I take these off too?”

“Yeah…” Your voice is quieter than you mean for it to be so you nod, making sure that Vernon meets your eyes. Lifting your hips one more time, you quickly close your eyes when you feel air hit your wet folds and Vernon helps you lift your legs one at a time until your panties are discarded on the floor with your shorts.

All Vernon wanted was for you to look at him, but the embarrassment was written on your face like a book. This was the first time anyone had seen you like this and he wasn’t going to push you. He was going to help you and ease you into feeling more comfortable. “Pretty girl, it’s just us. I want you to know that you are perfect. Everything about you, from your head to your toes.”

Your quiet laugh causes Vernon’s lips to pull up in a smile. He loved that sound and he meant what he said. Slowly moving his hands along your legs, Vernon lets you decide when to spread your legs and he does his best to muffle his groan when he is able to take you in completely. “Shh—okay. Perfect, baby. You still okay?”

Whimpering his name under your breath, you open your eyes to meet Vernon’s and wonder if that was a mistake when you find him watching you closely. Lifting your arm to put it over your eyes for a second before raising it over your arm, you nod and wiggle down in the bed towards Vernon as his breath quickens. “Yeah… Still wanna see you.”

A scoff slips from between Vernon’s lips and he nods, forcing himself to pull his eyes away from you. It was difficult. You were every bit his wet dream a thousand times over as you lay on the bed naked from the waist down, your shirt bunched up under your perfect tits. “You can see me. Whatever you want.”

Sitting up on your elbows, you bite your lips as you watch Vernon stand at the end of your bed. Your instinct is your move—to help him as he pulls his shirt over his head or as he undoes his belt, but instead you find yourself frozen in a trance. It isn’t until Vernon pushes his thumbs into the top of his boxers, his eyes meeting yours, that you glance away only to hear him laugh under his breath and whisper your name.

“Don’t be so shy about it. Even if we just end up making out, I’m not gonna be disappointed, alright? You wanted to see me... Is that still true?” Nodding, you slowly move your eyes over Vernon’s body, letting out a deep breath. You felt childish, like you were still stuck in high school until the exact moment that Vernon’s boxers hit the ground and your eyes met his with want.

Running his hand over his mouth, Vernon stiffles a groan at the look on your face and to the relief of pressure being off of his cock. He wanted more; he needed more... but this was a start. You were looking at him like he was a full-course meal and he wasn’t planning on making you wait much longer.

“God, you can’t keep looking at me like that. Come ‘ere…” Helping you sit up more, Vernon meets your eyes with a smile before quickly pressing his lips to yours, his hands working your shirt over your chest. Humming against his lips, you lift your arms, letting him break the kiss to help you out of the shirt completely before his lips are right back on yours.

Skin meets skin and you find your thighs brushing together at the feeling of Vernon’s cock resting on your lower stomach as his fingers work the clasp of your bra open at the middle of your back. “Oh my god... Please go faster, Vernon.”

There was that want and need in your voice again. Vernon has already been leaking onto your skin, but with those words, he felt his cock jerk, a rush of pre-cum oozing along your stomach as he tugs your bra from your arms and tosses it over his head, not caring where it lands.

“Fuck.” There wasn’t much more that Vernon could think to say as he looked at you now. Your lips bitten and swollen from his kisses, your breasts rising and falling quickly with each deep breath, and your knee running along his hip. The moment he feels your warm, wet folds on his thigh, Vernon thinks he’s died one more time. It wasn’t like he had fucked many other girls in his life. A couple of hookups at shitty parties, but none of them had mattered and none of them had made him feel like he was going to lose his fucking mind. He had always heard that your first time, the one who took your virginity was supposed to be the one that you remembered forever… Right now he couldn’t even remember her name, much less her face, as you looked up at him and ran your fingers along his jaw.

“Are you gonna—” Swallowing hard, you struggle for the right word, but your cheeks bloom with heat and Vernon smiles. “Don’t make fun of me. It’s hard… I don’t know how to say it without sounding gross. I want you... Put it in.”

God, Vernon felt like he could cum on the spot hearing you say something like that. He wanted to be inside of you, but that wasn’t how this should work. He watches how you pout, a full frown forming on your pretty lips when he shakes his head. Pressing a kiss to your lips, Vernon groans before working the kisses to your cheek and down your jaw to your neck as he speaks quietly. “I will, I promise... Just not yet. I’m not an asshole, baby. It’s not gonna feel good at first, no matter what I do, but I gotta make sure you're ready either way. You understand?”

You weren’t a child; you had touched yourself plenty of times and Christen had tried to show you porn to see how embarrassed you would get. You knew what Vernon was talking about, but seeing and feeling was different. With a breath getting caught in your throat, you run your fingers through Vernon’s hair as he kisses the top of each of your breasts, glancing up at you to make sure you are okay before running his tongue around one of your nipples. Arching from the mattress, you moan behind tight lips, your brows furrowed as Vernon smiles against your skin, sucking the bud into his mouth gently.

“Holy shit… That feels so good. Your mouth…” It all felt so dirty, like you shouldn’t be able to experience it, and yet as Vernon’s fingers caressed your stomach moving lower, your head just got clouded with arousal. The first pass of his thumb between your folds is like being shocked by a live wire. Any attempt you had at being quiet fails, your lips falling open in a breathy moan that has Vernon groaning against your soft breast as he repeats the motion. “Please, please, please...”

Your pleads sound like a prayer—a song of worship sang by a true believer as you lift your hips and roll them towards Vernon’s fingers as he uses his knuckles and thumb to massage your clit. “You’re so wet, Y/N.” Vernon had said your name and he was talking about you, but you weren’t sure he was actually speaking to you. It was more that he was saying the words on his mind out loud in wonder as he finally eased his index finger into your tight hole, feeling you clench down around him like a vice.

“Baby… Fuck—” Vernon’s voice gets caught in his throat as he rests his forehead against your chest, working his finger into you, feeling your arousal seeping around it. “Relax for me. Let me help you feel good, huh?”

You were trying to relax, but Vernon’s finger was deep inside of you and you could feel every time he would bend his knuckle, raking the pad of his finger back towards your stomach. It was overwhelming how good it felt and how much you wanted more. To you, it made no sense how you could already feel so full and yet so empty. “Uh huh…”

“That’s my girl.”

Vernon’s voice had dropped an octave and as if that wasn’t hot enough, he had called you his girl. God, you wanted to be his girl. You hadn’t realized how much you wanted that until he said it. You wanted to be his, only his for the rest of your life. You knew it was silly, that this was probably that first time euphoria taking over you, but looking into Vernon’s brown eyes as he smiled up at you sliding down further into the bed... You were falling in love with his boy.

Using his other hand to separate your folds, Vernon groans under his breath as he glances from you back to what he is doing before leaning in to run his tongue from his finger to your clit. He hadn’t warned you, but being between your legs, his mouth level with your pussy should have told you everything you needed to know, in his opinion. Yet, when you practically scream his name, your mouth falling open in shock, Vernon just grins and latches on to your clit rendering you speechless.

This was like nothing you had ever felt before. You had fingered yourself before, played with your clit... but having Vernon’s mouth on you? That was pushing you over the edge so fast that you couldn’t think straight. There were no intelligent thoughts in your brain; the only thing that was there was Vernon, Vernon, Vernon...

Trying to lift your hips, you let out a choked moan when a second finger eases in to you next to the first. The feeling of being full and wet skyrockets you to the moon and back; your thighs shake on either side of Vernon’s head and before you can warn him, the coil that had been so quickly winding inside of you snaps.

Closing his eyes, Vernon groans loudly, feeling your thighs close around his head as you cum. He knew it was coming. He could feel your walls squeezing his fingers—the way you were pushing your hips down over his hand trying to fuck yourself. When you finally let your legs fall to either side, apologies slipping from your lips, Vernon silences them by slowly slipping his fingers from you so he can replace them with his tongue.

Fingers tightly grip at brown locks as you struggle to not trap Vernon’s head between your thighs once again. You sob out his name on a moan, tears running down your cheeks as your thighs begin to shake once again. “I can’t—oh, my god. It almost hurts, Vernon.”

Furrowing his brows, Vernon groans at how good you taste, but your words make him find his restraint. Licking his lips, he takes a deep breath and meets your eyes with blown-out pupils, his hips pressed firmly into your comforter to keep himself from rutting against it. “‘M sorry, baby. You taste so good. I don’t want it to hurt; I just want you to feel good.”

Vernon’s lips pull into a soft smile when you reach for him. Sliding up in the bed between your legs, he kisses your jaw and then your lips before gliding his tongue along yours, letting you taste yourself. Making a face, your brows knitting together, you pull back from Vernon to pout up at him and shake your head as his fingers lightly stroke your side. “Tastes awful… But I do feel good—so, so good. I—I want this. I want it all. Can I—you?”

A laugh starts to leave Vernon’s mouth, along with a comeback about how you taste like candy to him when your hand wraps around his cock and nothing he was going to say is left in his head. Groaning, he rests his forehead against yours, letting out a shaky breath before wrapping his hand loosely over yours and guiding it over his shaft in a slow stroke from base to tip and back.

“Tru—trust me… I want you to. I want so much with you, but fuck. If I let you do this or anything else…” A long groan of your name falls from Vernon’s lips as he meets your eyes, looking for mercy, when you break free from his hand and trace the slit in his head with your thumb, feeling pre-cum ooze around your finger. “Babe, I’ll cum before I can fuck you. I can’t bounce back as quickly as you and I really—don’t do this to me. Please, beautiful.”

You could see yourself getting addicted to the power of having Vernon’s cock in your hand. You loved how you were reducing him to breathy moans and begging, but you wanted to feel him inside of you. You wanted him to be your first and you wanted it today. You didn’t want to wait anymore. Lightly scratching your nails along the underside of his shaft, you pull your fingers from Vernon, watching him choke on his breath, his arms shaking as he struggles to keep himself above you. “Okay, Vernon, but I wanna do this next time.”

Next time. Those two words made Vernon feel like he was levitating. You didn’t want this to be a one-time thing. You wanted him in your life. Groaning deeply, Vernon nods, leaning down to capture your lips as he uses his left hand to pin your right wrist to the bed, keeping it away from his cock. “You can do whatever you want to me next time. I swear to god.”

Silence takes over the room; only your shaky breaths are left as Vernon’s thumb strums at your pulse point over your wrist. You had asked for this, and now that it was going to happen, you found yourself once again so nervous that you felt like you could faint. Vernon could see it in your eyes, all those nerves racing through your mind. There was enough stress on you; this should take it away, not add more… He’d do what he had to in order to let you know this wasn’t scary.

“Okay, baby? Rest your knee against my hip, keep your leg up... Should make it easier. I’ll go slow, and if you don’t like anything, you tell me right away. I’ll stop. I won’t be mad or sad.” Seeing the pout on your lips even as you move your leg like you were asked to do, Vernon copies it and shakes his head. “I like you so fucking much, Y/N. I liked you before we got in this bed and I’ll like you once we are out of it. This is a goddamn dream come true, angel.”

It was almost like you could hear him telling you that he loved you, and while it scared you, it also made you relax under Vernon. The brush of his thumb over your warm cheek, his lips lazily moving over yours as he lined himself up with you and began to ease himself into you—it was all overwhelmingly perfect.

Furrowing your brows to the stretch and then a stinging pain, you hiss on Vernon’s lips, causing him to look down at you as he finally bottoms out in you, feeling you clench around him. “Wait—” Nodding, Vernon bites at his lips, watching you closely as you seem to try to work out some internal problem, but as the pain starts to fade and your face relaxes so does his anxiety. “Okay, I’m okay. You can move.”

He wanted to. Vernon’s brain was telling him to fuck you hard and fast, but his heart reminded him who you were and where he was so he kept it slow. Each thrust smooth and steady so he could keep his eyes on your pretty face, watching for any signs of discomfort, but the deeper and longer he went, he only saw bliss. “Is it good? You like it?”

There weren’t words to describe how much you enjoyed the feeling of Vernon inside of you. It was as if you were made to be one and for you to feel this full, but as he kept his pace slow and his thrusts almost too shallow, you couldn’t explain the frustration building inside of you until it snapped. “Mmmhm, more? Can I have more?”

Closing his eyes to hide how they were rolling back in his head from pleasure to your words, Vernon nods and buries his face in the crook of your neck. He was dying for more. He would have kept this pace for the entire time if it was what you wanted, but it would have been torture for him, but those words... and asking for more?

“I’ll give you the fucking world. So, yeah, baby, I’ll give you more.”

Vernon’s choice of words makes you smile, a bit giddy at how love struck he sounds but your moment is short lived because he stays true to his words. A loud gasping moan falls from your lips as Vernon’s hips meet yours hard, his cock buried in you so deep you wonder how you are possibly able to fit all of him. The drag of his tip as he pulls almost all the way out of you almost makes you cry in fear you are losing him but then he is back inside of you as if he never left, his hips rutting against yours harder and faster.

“This what you wanted? More? Tell me it’s what you wanted.”

Tears once again form in your eyes as you nod, feeling that familiar tightening in your stomach. You couldn’t believe how quickly Vernon could get you to your orgasm. There had been nights when you would lay on your back, your fingers working hard only to find no satisfaction. Yet Vernon was making you cry with how good he could make you feel. “Please, yes! So good… It’s what I want, Vernon. Don’t stop, please. I’m gonna—”

You couldn’t even say that you were going to cum? God, you were perfect. Vernon’s perfect, pure little untainted rose that he was going to keep unsoiled by anyone else for the rest of his life if he had his way about it. Nipping at your jaw, Vernon groans loudly, feeling himself getting close to his own climax as your walls tighten and quiver around him. “Yeah? You gonna cum for me, baby? Say it… Do it for me? I wanna hear you say it.”

Pushing your head back against the pillow, you sob Vernon’s name as his fingers slip between your legs to rub at your clit as his cock fills you full, keeping you right on the edge. You find yourself wanting to give him exactly what he wants, even if it makes your entire body feel like it’s on fire and like you are going against every single moral thing you know. Biting your lips, you whimper, your words a whisper—yet Vernon smiles hearing each one. “I’m gonna cum for you.”

A deep thrust, one that sends you towards the headboard as his fingers circle your clit without mercy, makes you do exactly that. Choking on your moans, you feel Vernon’s thumb wipe under your eyes pushing away your tears as he whispers your name and how good you are before he groans deep and pulls from you suddenly.

Warm, sticky cum paints your stomach as Vernon’s hand strokes his cock quickly. Panting groans spill from between his lips as he sits back on his knees and lets his eyes move over your body to your face as you look up at him trying to catch your breath.

“Fuck, babe…” Running his hand over his mouth, Vernon sighs, glancing down at the pool of cum on your stomach, running towards the top of your mound and he swears his cock could get hard again. “I—shit. Whi—which room is the bathroom? I’m gonna get a washcloth and clean this off you.”

Gesturing to the hall, you mutter across the hall, watching Vernon roll from your bed and towards your door. The more time that passes, even as you listen to the sound of water from a room over, you feel your chest get heavy—a deep sense of dread washing over you as tears once again threaten your eyes. This time when the tears spill over your cheeks, they aren’t from pleasure and you find yourself confused as to why you feel so upset after something that felt so good.

Washcloth in hand, Vernon sighs only to stop in his tracks seeing you crying. “Wh—shit. No, what’s wrong?” Sitting on the bed beside of you, he runs his fingers through your hair while using his other hand to carefully clean your stomach. The moment he is back on your bed, his hands on you, the dread you had felt starts to fade, your chest feeling lighter.

“I–” Swallowing hard, you shake your head and lean into Vernon’s touch as he slides down in the bed and pulls you into his arms, letting you curl up against him tightly. “I don’t know. I felt so alone all of a sudden and scared.”

Shushing you, Vernon kisses your forehead, running his hand along your back as your fingers scratch lightly at his stomach, causing him to suck in a breath. “I’m—fuck… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you right after like that. I didn’t even think. That was so stupid. I just didn’t want all that shit to dry on your skin. I’m not gonna leave you, baby. I promise.”

Promise. That word makes your heart jump and you wrap your arm around Vernon’s waist, pulling yourself even closer to him. You knew that there was a risk of falling in love with the person who took your virginity, but that wasn’t what this was. This was something more. This was more about who Vernon was and the type of person he was.

Pressing a kiss to Vernon’s chest, you look up after to find him smiling down at you. It was taking everything in you not to say those three little words that he wanted to hear more than anything.

Tapping his fingers against his steering wheel, Christen sighs loudly as he turns on to your street. He was annoyed. You hadn’t been answering your phone, and you had avoided him for two days.

It wasn’t like he didn’t know what was going on. He was feeling some sort of way after going to the funeral too, but that didn’t mean he was going to be a bitch and cut people off from his life like you were. Clearly you were just dealing with shit and needed to be checked on.

Pushing his tongue against his cheek, Christen stares at the car in your driveway as if it will disappear. There was no fucking way that car was in your driveway. Your parents cars weren’t there, but Vernon Chwe’s was? Something was fucked up and he was fuming.

Slamming his car into park and leaning forward to look at your house, Christen narrows his eyes at what lights are on. Where could you and this freak be? What were you two doing? He wasn’t sure what pissed him off more. The fact that Vernon was at your house. The fact that he was at your house alone with you. Or the fact that your bedroom light was on while the rest of the house was dark.

“Motherfucker—I should…” The words trail off Christen’s lips as his eyes fall back on the Beretta, his blood boiling. If Vernon could taint something precious that belonged to him, he would ruin something precious of his.

Taking a deep breath, Vernon smiles when he realizes that you are in his arms. The smell of your shampoo and perfume almost overwhelms his senses even before he opens his eyes and pulls you a bit closer. He probably shouldn’t have stayed over, but after everything that happened, he couldn’t see himself leaving you—he didn’t want to leave you.

You had been beautiful the night before, but in the morning light that could make it through your curtains, you were stunning. Vernon usually didn’t like the mornings. He preferred to sleep in until later in the day and spend his time out later at night, but for you—to see this, he’d get up at the crack of dawn.

“Mmm…” Stretching against Vernon, you turn in his arms, nuzzling your nose against his chest. You were beginning to wake up, but everything around you still felt like the best dream ever. You were warm and safe in Vernon’s arms. Nothing bad could possibly happen to you ever again. There was nothing else besides what was in this room right now that mattered.

Leaning to brush your hair from your forehead, Vernon smirks a bit to himself as your nose wrinkles a bit and you seem to try to hide from his touch and the light by burying your face even closer to his body. “Baby…” The word slips from Vernon’s tongue like candy and you smile against his skin, remembering how many times he had called you that the night before. “I gotta go home... least for a bit. Come on, don’t hide from me; let me see your pretty face for a bit.”

Your smile fades at the idea of Vernon leaving you alone. You knew it wasn’t forever, but your mind was spiraling with the idea that he might not come back, so it took a lot of strength to meet his eyes and attempt not to look as sad as you felt. Though you tried to smile, Vernon could see the way your bottom lip was sticking out; he could see the concern in your eyes, and it almost broke his heart.

“No… hey.” Sitting up, Vernon pulls you into his arms and cups your cheek, pressing his lips to yours and taking your breath away. You were melting against him. Vernon could feel how pliant you were in his hands and it was almost too much for him to handle. He knew without even having to ask that if he wanted to, he could lay you down and make love to you all over again… but he had to wait. “I’ll be back. You think I’m leavin’ you? I’m not an idiot. Got me for as long as you want me, Y/N.”

It shouldn’t make you as happy as it does to hear Vernon pledge himself to you like he does after one night, but you can’t stop the smile that pulls at your lips even as you kiss him. “Promise? What if…” Laughing sweetly, you bite at your lip and give him a teasing look as he sighs, meeting your eyes. “What if I said forever?”

Groaning, Vernon furrows his brows, stroking your cheek with his thumb. You might be joking, but god, he wished you weren’t. “Then you can have forever. ‘M yours, long as you want me, like I said. Just gotta make sure my mom doesn’t file a missing persons report.”

Vernon laughs when you wince at his words, the cute look on your face making him fall even harder for you. He knew his mom wouldn’t actually do that, not after just one night. He had been gone for longer periods of time, but there were some things he needed to do before he came back to you.

“I’m sorry, Vernon... I’m clingy, I guess.” Trailing your fingers along his chest, you sigh into your pout, feeling his fingers trace your jaw. Shaking his head, Vernon lets his index finger move over your cupid’s bow, feeling your lips press against the pad of his finger. He wants to give in and stay right where he is.

“I’ll be back this afternoon, promise.”

Even after trying to feed Vernon or at least send him home with some form of food, you are left in your foyer with your lips tingling as he refuses, saying this is more than enough. You can only watch as he winks at you and closes the door behind him, leaving you alone in your house, making you realize just how quiet it is when you are by yourself while you count down the hours until he comes back.

Sliding the pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket, Vernon puts one between his lips and starts to light it when his mouth falls open, the cigarette falling to the pavement at his feet. A moment before he could hear the birds chirping, cars driving in the distance, and even kids playing down the street. Now he could only hear the blood rushing in his ears as his eyes moved over the side of his Beretta and the red paint that had dripped down the entire side of the door in big capital letters: ‘PERV’.

Shoving the cigarettes back into his pocket, Vernon curses through gritted teeth as he moves around the other side of his car, only to laugh in anger when he sees ‘LOSER’ on the other side in the same red paint. He didn’t need to figure out who had done this or even guess—he knew. There was only one person, Christen.

The sound of the car door slamming outside makes you jump, your brows furrowing at how angry it sounds. You start to move to your front door when you hear tires squeal out of your driveway and down the street, leaving you confused and feeling a bit sick to your stomach. You knew that Vernon was a bit different from what you knew, but he wasn’t the type of person in your mind to drive recklessly.

Deciding to settle back into the cushions of your couch and pass the time with television, you manage to zone out for a while. Your mind occasionally drifts to Vernon, causing your eyes to wander to the clock before you pull them back to your show. It had only been a couple of hours so when you hear a knock at your door, you are surprised but excited about the idea of him being back so soon.

Practically skipping to the door, you pull it open and your smile drops as you meet Christen’s eyes as he leans against his hand against the door frame, causing him to loom over you. “Wow, for a second there, I thought you were happy to see me, baby.”

The name baby on Christen’s lips makes you feel queasy as you take a step back and he takes it as an invitation to take a step into your house, kicking the door closed behind him. “I—I’m not up to hanging out.”

Scoffing, Christen tilts his head at you and glances around your house as if looking for someone else before his eyes land on you once again. “Why the fuck not? Cause I’m not Chwe?” Christen watches your reaction—how you almost recoil at Vernon’s last name. That was all he needed to know, as if he didn’t know that the fucker had been at your house last night. “What the hell are you doing, Y/N? Did—” Disgust creeps along Christen’s face as he gives you a once-over, searching for something unseen. “Did he—did that pervert touch you?”

You open your mouth to defend yourself and Vernon, but nothing comes out. You aren’t sure what to say. It’s none of Christen’s business and yet when he asks you something like that, you are overwhelmed with shame, as if you have done something wrong. The look evident on your face, Christen groans, lifting his hand to run it over his face, taking a step towards you to grab your wrist, pulling you towards him hard.

“He did. Baby… You gotta tell me.” Pulling your arm in his grasp, you whine, finding his grip too tight—painful. “Did he fuck you? Tell me he didn’t. Tell me you didn’t let that freak inside of you.”

Tears gather on your eyes as you pull once more at your arm, blinking a few times they slip on to your cheeks. “Let me go. Stop talking about him like that. It’s none—”

“What the fuck, Y/N!” Christen’s anger makes you stop moving and talking. His grip tightens on your wrist and all you can do is whine his name, more tears rolling down your cheeks. “I didn’t think you were a slut, but I guess that’s what you fuckin’ are. Jesus Christ! Giving it out to anyone who’ll take it, huh?”

Christen’s words cut deep at your heart and your confidence even as you shake your head trying to defend yourself, knowing he is wrong. You hadn’t done anything wrong. You had slept with one person your entire life and you cared deeply for him. Christen’s problem was that it wasn’t him. He was lashing out—he was trying to make you hate yourself, it was working.

“Who’s gonna touch you now, Y/N? After you let him fuck you?” Pushing your arm hard back towards you, Christen’s expression doesn’t change when the force of his action causes you to stumble backwards, falling on your ass. “It’s pathetic… You’re pathetic. Just a slut.”

Sobbing, you wrap your arms around yourself, begging Christen to leave you alone. Sucking his teeth, the man you had once called your friend tilts his head and stares at you for a moment longer before turning back towards your front door, leaving you alone once again by slamming your door. The sound of the windows rattling from the force of the door shutting makes you jump, a small shrill scream escaping your lips before you lay on your side, pulling your legs up towards your stomach and letting the tears fall freely.

Gritting his teeth, Vernon uses the back of his hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead as he kneels next to his car with a bucket and rag. He had been trying to clean the red spray paint from his black car for over an hour and he had barely made a dent. It was a hot day and the morning sun had only served to bake the paint into the clear coat of his Beretta.

Vernon didn’t cry, but as he leaned into his driver-side door panel with all the strength he could muster, he could feel the pressure behind his eyes. This was bullshit. He hadn’t done anything wrong to Christen. You hadn’t done a fucking thing wrong to anyone, and yet this small dick son of a bitch was lashing out like a child, going after the only other thing that Vernon loved.

The part of town that Vernon lived in wasn’t like yours or honestly, even his closest friends. Most people avoided it because of the lack of amenities and not many people wanted to be seen in the low-income section of such a well-respected little town. Vernon was used to the sound of engines revving; there were always beater cars that sounded like they were on their last legs going up and down his street so when someone seemed like they were late to an appointment, Vernon didn’t give it a second thought. He kept his eyes forward, his brows tightly furrowed as he grumbled.

Rolling his neck from side to side, Christen leaves his car door open and keeps his eye on the prize—Vernon Chwe with his head close to his stupid ass car as he scraped the truth written from it. He was surprised that he hadn’t heard him pull up; he hadn’t been subtle. Christen had left your house and hauled ass to get to this trailer park trash part of town and to take care of this.

Pain runs through Vernon’s face and head when he meets the side of his car with a loud thud. He can hear a muffled voice through the pain and ringing in his ears; it only becomes clearer when a boot meets his ribs, knocking the air from his lungs. “Stupid fucking freak. Couldn’t keep your hands off what doesn’t belong to you? I’ll fucking kill you.”

Blinking up at Christen, Vernon groans in pain, his hands grabbing for the foot that kept meeting his bruised torso in an attempt to stop the blows. Christen was furious, but so was Vernon. Anger had already been rushing through his veins and now his adrenaline was in overdrive. “Get the fuck off’a me!”

Vernon twists Christen’s foot hard, bringing the other man down to the ground with a loud, painful groan. Both try to make the next move, but Vernon is a second fast, letting him get in the first punch across Christen’s face. “You piece of shit! I was willin’ to let this go.” Vernon wasn’t lying; he had you. He had woken up and felt the best he had in a year. For the briefest of moments, it didn’t matter what anyone else thought about him, but as he felt Christen struggle under him, he knew he’d never know that peace with you again—not while he was breathing.

Laughing, blood on his lips from Vernon’s fist making contact, Christen uses his fingers to dig into Vernon’s forearm muscle as he pushes against him. “I ain’t letting anything go, you perv. Thinkin’ you are high and mighty now that you got some pussy. ‘Specially some that don’t belong to you!”

He was still laying claim to you. Not even Vernon would claim that you belonged to him after being with you. There was something about how Christen was talking about you, like you were an object, that made him bite through the pain of his grip long enough for him to get his footing. “She doesn’t belong to you! She hates you; don’t you fuckin’ get that, Christen?”

That was more than Christen could stand to hear. He could manage a few weeks of letting you sit in your mistake, washing the freak off of you before he would touch you—but the idea that you hated him? That was insane; no one hated him. Except maybe Vernon, but that feeling was mutual.

“She worships me, Vernon. Always fucking has.” Eyes like daggers follow Vernon as he stumbles backwards into his garage as Christen moves to his feet with a low groan. They were both exhausted, bruised, and bleeding—but this wasn’t over. Following Vernon, Christen points towards him as he wipes blood from his lips with his other hand. “Just cause you got her to put it out like a slut one time doesn’t mean a damn thing. You’re gonna pay for that and then you’re gonna get your ass out of her life.”

A slut. That was enough to make Vernon scoff into a laugh, his hand steadying him on an open drawer of his tool chest. You weren’t a slut; you were the furthest thing a person could be from something like that. The fact that Christen of all people was calling you told Vernon everything he needed to know—he didn’t care about you at all. Christen had never cared about you, and if he didn’t care about you, then he didn’t matter.

“Did you fucking hear me, freak?”

Vernon takes a sharp breath, his fingers wrapping around the handle of the knife as his eyes follow Christen’s broad steps towards him. Without a second thought, Vernon sinks the knife into Christen’s stomach, watching the smug look on his face slowly fade away into confusion and then horror.

Blood seeps around his hand as Vernon digs his free hand into Christen’s shoulder, preventing him from taking a step back until he allows it. Looking down at the knife, Venon feels his lips pull up in a slight smirk when Christen gasps in pain.

“Vernon…”

Vernon wasn’t sure he had ever heard Christen sound so pathetic and weak before as he pulled the knife from him, meeting his eyes. “I heard you. Can you hear this?” Christen gasps, a choking sound bubbling in his throat as blood seeps around his mouth when Vernon stabs the knife back into his stomach, deeper. The others Vernon had kept at a distance. He hadn't gotten his hands too dirty, but he would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit he was enjoying watching the life drain out of Christen’s face.

Wiping his hands, Vernon takes a deep breath, nodding at how much progress he had made on his car. Unless you knew what you were looking for, you couldn’t see where the words had been painted anymore, and if you looked in the garage, the only thing that would have told you that anything bad had happened was the smell of bleach.

Vernon tosses the rag on to the table before putting a cigarette between his lips and looking at the back of Christen’s car. He wanted to get back to you. He had been gone for too long after promising he just had a couple things to do—of course that had been before some unexpected hiccups—but Vernon meant to keep his promise.

Closing the truck, not giving a second look to the body rolled up in a tarp inside of it, Vernon lets out a deep breath of smoke before sliding behind the wheel of Christen’s car, feeling a wave of anxiety lifting off of him as he pushes his foot down on the gas. It was a nice car. He could tell that a lot of money had gone into keeping it up. For a second, Vernon pictures a time when he and Christen could have had a normal ass conversation about cars, but that’s short lived as he turns onto the secluded road leading to the lake.

“Sweetie, are you sure you don’t want to go to the cemetery?”

Sitting in the backseat of your father’s car, you shake your head, refusing to look up at either of them. You didn’t want to look your parents in the eye and tell them that you didn’t care enough to go to the cemetery and watch people cry over Christen for another hour. You had done plenty of that in the church while people had looked at you like you were going to shatter. You weren’t; Christen wasn’t what everyone thought he was to you, but it didn’t matter what you said or thought.

You father sighs, starting to say something when your mother coos in sympathy. When you do glance up, you wish you hadn’t when you meet Christen’s mother’s eyes. She looked broken, and yet you could tell she was loving the attention that this was bringing her. It was sick. “We are so sorry for your loss—”

“Y/N, darling… Ride with us in the limousine to the cemetery. It’s what Christen would want. He would want his girlfriend to be with his family, sweetheart. I know you are being modest, but you don’t have to be.”

Being cut off, your mother shifts her eyes from you and back to the woman in front of you as you look off to the side. She had never seen you this way. You were like a sunflower in the middle of a field of daisies and today it was as if the sun wasn’t rising for you. Thinking back, it had been that way for a while for you; they just hadn’t wanted to see it.

Shaking your head, you scratch at a bug bite on your arm, your lips rubbing together as you try to think of something nicer to say, but there was nothing you wanted to say that was kind or proper. “If you think that he’d want his girlfriend with his family, perhaps you should ask Caitlin to ride with you.” Avoiding the woman’s eyes, you look at your mother with a pleading look on your face as you reach for her hand and whine. “Mom, please… I just want to go home now.”

With a grimace on her face, your mother nods at you before meeting Christen’s mother’s eyes and seeing the fire behind them. “She’s exhausted; she hasn’t been herself for days since this happened. Please forgive and excuse us.”

You knew that not going to Christen’s funeral would be a big deal to some. There would be plenty of talk. There were plenty who—just like his mother—thought you were his girlfriend. They all thought this despite you giving no one—including Christen—any reason to think so. Perhaps there had been a time when you would have done the uncomfortable thing for appearance’s sake, but that girl was just as dead as Christen was.

Looking out the back passenger’s side window, you had been doing a good job of blocking out most of the conversation until your father’s voice lowered. It only did that when there was something to hide—something important—and now you were listening carefully. “He was brutalized... They’ve put the entire town on curfew. I just—what do we even do? We can’t leave her like this.”

Your parents were good at talking about you like you weren’t in the same room or car with them. They were good, decent people, but that didn’t make them excellent parents. None of that meant that when your mother had been nineteen years old and knocked up that she had actually wanted to marry your father and have you, and yet here you were—in the car, invisible but looming.

"Well, we don’t actually have a choice. That school is going to cost more than our damn mortgage.” Glancing into her visor mirror, your mother makes sure you are still watching the side of the road as she tries to keep her voice calm and low. “If she even still wants to go—”

“She’s going. I’ve put too much goddamn money up for it.” Gripping the steering wheel tightly, your father rolls his neck, feeling annoyance ripple through it. They enjoyed being the parents who went to barbeques and got to say their daughter was going to a notable university in the fall, but deep down your father resented it. You hadn’t played sports or been exceptional at your classes, so there were no scholarships; there was just mommy and daddy’s hard-earned money.

“Then that means we have to go to Chicago. She’ll understand…”

They were leaving again. You were used to it. You knew your parents worked hard but you had gotten good at raising yourself once you hit high school. At that age, you were old enough that your parents could take business trips and schmooze their bosses. It was harder to impress the higher-ups from a little desk behind a phone. It paid well to drink and rub elbows with the ones who mattered personally.

“Y/N… baby?” Furrowing your brows at the sweet shift in the tone of your mother’s voice when she speaks at a volume meant for you to hear. You meet her eyes in the mirror and tilt your head as she gives you a small pout. “I know things have been hard, honey. You’re strong, you know that? My strong girl...”

You knew what she was trying to do, and while you could appreciate the peptalk, you weren’t in the mood. Looking back towards the side of the road, you sigh, and your mother purses her lips. “There’s a curfew now. Everyone has to be in their houses at dark.”

“I know, Mom. The sheriff told us at the memorial—”

“I know he did. You also know that there is someone dangerous still on the loose, but Y/N…” Grimacing at the idea of what she needs to tell you after what she just said, your mother looks towards your father, feeling his hand slide over hers to give her a bit of courage. “You’re an adult now, and we have to trust you because we have a business trip. One that we can’t pass up.”

You didn’t want or need their excuses so you just nodded along with her words. “Okay, mom. I’ll be alright.”

Laying back on his bed, Vernon groans as he looks at the sun starting to set just over the horizon. He hated this curfew bullshit. As if the curfew would keep anything from happening to anyone... As if it would keep him from doing anything if it needed to be done.

“Vernon, did—are you listening to me?”

Your voice brings Vernon back to the present; he shifts the receiver on his shoulder and nods. “‘Course I am, baby. I’m just—I’m thinkin’.”

Walking around your kitchen with the cordless phone against your ear, you sigh softly to Vernon’s words before opening the fridge to see what you could make yourself for dinner. “Yeah? And—so? What do you think? I don’t wanna be here all weekend by myself. Don’t you wanna, maybe... spend some time with me?”

That’s all Vernon wanted to do. He could hear you moving around in your house, and he could picture himself there with you already. “You know I do. I just—don’t think I’d make it there by curfew. People didn’t wanna leave the matinee and—” Vernon could hear the disappointment in your sigh as you let out a deep breath. “I don’t want you mad at me.”

Dragging a pan from under the stove, you shake your head and lie to him and yourself as tears collect on the rims of your eyes. “Not mad. I’ll be fine. I’m gonna cook something and watch TV. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

Vernon runs his hand over his face, a soft groan escaping his lips when you want to get off the phone with him. He knew you were lying. You might not be mad at him, but you weren’t thrilled either. After everything had happened with Christen, Vernon had taken a step back while still trying to be close. It was a strange feeling, trying to keep you safe without being so close that he was the issue. He wasn’t sure if someone would link him to something or not; he was smart and he had covered his bases, but he wanted to be sure before he got too close to you again. Yet now, hearing your soft breaths and knowing you were about to cry, Vernon knew he couldn’t keep it up.

“No… I’ll be over soon. Let me pack a couple things and I’ll figure it out. I’ll—” Scoffing into a laugh, Vernon slides off his bed and towards his desk as he rubs the back of his neck. “Try not to get arrested on my way over.”

You knew you should feel bad for pressuring Vernon into coming over, especially with how close it was to the curfew. There was probably less than ten minutes before it would go into effect, and his house was at least twenty minutes away on a good day. “Please don’t get arrested, and be safe. I—” Unspoken words had become part of yours and Vernon’s routine. You knew what you wanted to say—what you felt, but it all still seemed too early.

Swallowing hard, Vernon closes his eyes and imagines the two other words leaving your mouth before he sighs. “I’ll be alright. See you soon.”

Tapping his fingers on the steering wheel out of nerves, Vernon watches every corner and dark area as he drives to your house. There were a few others out, but he watched them quickly pull into driveways and usher children or spouses inside their houses. He wasn’t so worried about them as he was about the possibility of a cop lingering around the next street.

When your house comes into view, he finally breathes out a sigh of relief, pulling his car into your driveway and glancing at the houses closest to you. Everything was so quiet on your street. If there was anyone at your neighbor’s house, Vernon couldn’t tell. The house was completely dark and there were no cars in the driveway—the same went for the house across the street. Your house was like a lighthouse at a port.

Pulling his bookbag over his shoulder, Vernon groans a bit at the soreness in his muscles. He was still bruised heavily; that had been another reason he had been avoiding you. He didn’t want you to see that he was hurt, and he didn’t want you to worry about something you couldn’t fix. He had already fixed it.

Nerves roll through Vernon as he moves towards your front door and lifts his hand to knock. He just wanted to get inside and away from the street. He knew that if he got caught even outside of the house after curfew, the cops would have questions and he didn’t have all the right answers. Waiting a full minute, Vernon shifts uncomfortably and knocks again when he hears a loud crash from inside your house and raised voices. Something was wrong, and he wasn’t going to wait any more.

“You don’t even fucking care! You didn’t go to the funeral, Y/N. You’re such a selfish bitch.”

Staring at the broken glass of your mother’s vase on the hardwood floor, you shake your head as Caitlin’s voice breaks. You had been surprised when someone had knocked on your door earlier than expected. You thought that maybe Vernon had driven a bit too fast to make better time, but then you had been sorely mistaken when Caitlin had pushed her way past you and into your house wanting answers.

“This is crazy. You need to calm down—”

“Don’t you tell me to calm down! I’m so tired of being told to calm down.” Pacing in your kitchen, Caitlin laughs, the laugh causing a chill to run down your spine. It isn’t a sound you had ever heard your best friend make before because the laugh isn’t one of humor. It’s dark. “You never cared about him. That’s the fucked-up part. I loved him—like really loved him, and he wanted you!”

Picking up a bowl from the kitchen island, Caitlin doesn’t even think before she throws it towards you, narrowly missing your head as you duck, letting it hit the wall instead. Ceramic shatters behind you as you scream her name, begging her to stop. “It’s not my fault! I didn’t—please? Stop this…”

Vernon narrows his eyes as he moves down the dark hall towards the kitchen, just as Caitlin screams at you again. He had heard you scream and beg her to stop; he had heard more things breaking—all he wanted to do was get her away from you.

“It is your fault! He was murdered, you bitch!” Moving towards you quickly, Caitlin lunges at you, barely missing you as you push past her and back towards the pot boiling on the stove with tears streaming down your face. With tears streaking her own face, Caitling straightens her back and wipes hard at her cheeks as she stares at you with disdain. “I think you did it or you know who did. Shit like this doesn’t happen here, Y/N! Christen wouldn’t let someone close enough to him—to do that to him. So… I think you did it and I’m—”

Gritting his teeth hard, Vernon watches Caitlin’s eyes move to the knife on the counter before her hand does the same. Panic rushes through him as he tries to think of what to do next, knowing whatever she is going to do can’t happen.

Your back pushed up against the stove; you feel the hot steam against your back as you sidestep towards the fridge looking for a way out. You search for a way to get away from Caitlin as you watch her weigh the weight of the knife in her hand before she looks back at you and then her face contorts with even more hatred. “Please... Put it down, Caitlin. You’re my best friend. Don’t do this.”

Caitlin was barely looking at you now as Vernon stepped out of the hall and into the kitchen behind you, his eyes fixed on her. Now it all made sense. All the pieces were clicking in her mind and she was right. She didn’t need some dumbass cop to solve a murder when she was looking at the murderers right now. “You did it, didn’t you freak?”

Shaking your head, you take a step back, jumping when you feel a warm hand on your shoulder. Glancing up at Vernon quickly, you look back at Caitlin to keep your eyes on her and the knife. “Caitlin—”

“Shut the fuck up, Y/N! Are you blind? You know how much he hates us.”

Vernon just sighs, his hand sliding along your arm as he tries to move you behind him and out of the way of danger, even if it means putting himself in the line of it. Caitlin laughs as she watches, the knife pointed in your direction, the tip falling slightly forward in her amusement at the sight and the look in your eyes. She wasn’t an idiot; she was the smartest person in the fucking room and she knew you were in love with the fucking loser standing in front of you. All the pieces fit together like one big fucked-up puzzle.

“Oh, I’m sorry... How much he hates me. How much he hated Christen... He clearly doesn’t hate you and you are in love with the person who killed your friend.” Making a face, Caitlin looks like she’s going to be sick, her fingers tightening on the handle of the knife. “God, I can’t even look at you. You let him do it?”

Shaking your head, you try to push past Vernon, feeling defensive of him when Caitlin tries to blame him for murder. It wasn’t that you hadn’t even considered it yourself in times of weakness—you wouldn’t even have blamed him—you just didn’t want her doing it. “Shut up! You don’t know anything, Caitlin! He hasn’t done anything wrong; it’s always been you!”

Trying to keep a grip on your arm, Vernon says your name and winces when you accidentally push back against his ribs. Everything happens so quickly in front of him that even though he tries to be the first one to act, he watches it like a movie in front of him.

Caitlin screams in anger, finally letting go of all of it that had been boiling in her blood as she sees red and storms forward with the knife. Her intention and eyes set on Vernon; she finds herself surprised and annoyed when your hand grabs her wrist, keeping it back from the man. Of course you would stop her; she had been so close—but at this point, in her mind, it was two birds, one stone.

“Stupid bitch!” Caitling’s shrill voice cuts into your ears just as much as the knife as she slashes at your arms, the two of you falling on to the kitchen floor. The only thing you want to do is get the knife away from her—keep her from making anymore mistakes, but when you feel pain followed by warmth spreading along your stomach, your blood run’s cold.

“Fuck… Fuck!” Pulling on Cailtin’s arm, Vernon panics when he hears the sound of a choking gurgling—the sound of someone swallowing their own blood. From where he is standing, all he can see at first is blood on the white tiles, and the last person with the knife in their hand had been Caitlin. With his heart in his throat, Vernon whispers your name like a prayer as he separates you from Caitlin, and his eyes fall to the knife, and your chest rises and falls in panic.

Meeting Vernon’s eyes, you quickly look down at your hand and the blood running along your fingers before seeing the knife buried deep in Caitlin’s stomach near her ribs. “No… no, no, no!” Sobs fall from your lips as Vernon pulls you back against him, his arm wrapping around your waist as tears fall along your cheeks.

He knew you were upset; you were panicking, but Vernon kept his head. Turning your arms over in his hands, he shakes his head and whines your name, seeing the cuts and deep gash near your wrist. “Baby… shh. Listen—stop! Listen to me.” Vernon didn’t want to yell at you, but you had started to struggle against him, your eyes moving over Caitlin’s lifeless body as blood seeped from her mouth and you wanted to do something to change it. “We— It’s time to go. We are going to wrap your arm and then…”

Shaking your head, you sob his name, feeling him turn you in his arms as he reaches for a dishcloth, wrapping it around your wrist tightly. “Yes, Y/N. You did nothing wrong. It was self-defense, baby... But they won’t give a fuck, so—baby girl, we gotta go.” Holding your cheeks between his hands, Vernon meets your eyes, and tears run over his fingers as you try to understand what he’s telling you. “We are leaving.”

It takes half an hour for you to pack a bag and to be settled in Vernon’s passenger’s seat. You try to make heads or tails about what is happening, what’s real, and what has to be a dream as you both sit in the darkness of the garage across the street, waiting for the right time.

You had insisted on calling the cops. Vernon had wanted to leave right away, but you didn’t want to leave Cailtin alone in your kitchen like that. So now you were stuck watching as three police cars slammed on their breaks in front of your house, and each cop held their gun at the ready as they entered.

When the call had been made, you had been crying, saying you and your boyfriend were hurt and that your friend had been hurt too. They asked if the person who had hurt you was still in the house and without needing to lie, you had looked at Caitlin and said yes. Vernon had watched you carefully, waiting for the right moment before he grabbed the phone out of your hands and threw it against the wall hard enough for it to break. He was smart, you realized then. You also realized you didn’t know him as well as you thought—there was a lot you needed to learn about the person you were now on the run with.

“They found her.” Sighing, Vernon leans his head back as one of the cops comes out of the house with his hand over his mouth. Small town cops weren’t used to this much death; Vernon almost felt bad for him. “We can wait until they get the ambulance out here and day breaks—then we go.”

Closing your eyes, you nod, feeling fresh tears rolling down your cheeks. This was the only place you knew, the only life you knew and it had just been taken from you so quickly. Fingers wrap around yours, and Vernon’s lips brush over your knuckles as he furrows his brows, watching you closely. You were falling apart, but he wasn’t going to lose any of the pieces. He’d put you back together, no matter how long it took and no matter how far he had to take you away from here to do it.

“Me and you, Y/N, okay?” Meeting Vernon’s eyes, you nod again, seeing his lips pull up slightly as he kisses your knuckles. Silence is almost deafening in the car, as you watch red and blue lights move across Vernon’s face, his eyes searching yours before he finally speaks again. “I love you.”

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the-shedevil-writes · 1 month ago

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My All (Bob Reynolds x Reader)

DESCRIPTION: After the New York incident, sleep doesn't come easily. That is, until Bob Reynolds starts sleeping by your side each night. The comfort turns into friendship, but when a mission sends you to a gala in disguise and Bob can’t even seem to look at you, it hurts. At least until you confront him. WORD COUNT: 4.2k WARNINGS: Thunderbolt!Reader. Reader has superpowers. Miscommunication. Suggestive content. Making out/Borderline smut (LOOK! I'M DOING IT!). Friends to lovers. Slight angst. NOTES: This is adapted from a fic I abandoned. My All by Mariah Carey slaps. MY MASTERLIST - READ ON AO3!

It all started because Y/n couldn’t sleep. She thought that she had it all under control before working for Valentina. Sometimes she’d need to practically overdose on melatonin, but the nightmares were gone. The memories of rusted lab equipment and needles stayed locked in a compartment deep down in her subconscious. Like any wound, it scarred over.

The New York incident ripped that wound right open. She was the last of the Thunderbolts to make it to Bob’s room that day because when she stepped into the void, she froze. Y/n, the mutant assassin who had done plenty of difficult jobs and missions without breaking a sweat, froze. She couldn’t bear to relive all of it.

She didn’t even try to sleep after that. A full jar of melatonin gummies sat on her dresser. The plastic wrap around the lid stayed intact. Because she knew that when she did fall asleep, she’d be subjected to it all over again.

She shuffled into the Watchtower’s kitchen wearing sweatpants and an old T-shirt that was knock-off Avengers merch. Even as exhausted as she was, a part of her was giddy at the fact that this was the old Avengers Tower. She walked through to the fridge, lost in her thoughts. Iron Man walked on these floorboards. Thor could’ve stored milk in this fridge… Do Asgardians eat? Does Asgard have cows? She grabbed a pint of strawberry ice cream from the freezer. Black Widow could’ve sat at the kitchen counter.

She turned to said counter and suddenly a shadowy figure sat there. She jumped with a startled yelp, and her eyes lit up bright red, charging up.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait-” Bob’s voice rang out. “Don’t blast me- please?”

It’s just Bob.

She sighed, and her eyes returned back to their natural hue.

“Bob! Jesus Christ. You gave me a heart attack.” She said, her heart still pounding in her chest.

She and Bob hadn’t bonded much after the New York attack. It was clear that, compared to everyone else, she still struggled with seeing her shame rooms. She somewhat kept to herself. She trained hard and alone, oftentimes spending most of her day in the boxing gym. Whenever Yelena or any of the other Thunderbolts would try and get her to open up about what she saw, she would sniff it from a mile away and close off.

But Bob especially. It wasn’t that she was trying to ignore him the most, but Bob wouldn’t reach out to her at all. Honestly, they had barely spoken since the New York incident a month ago.

Bob stared back at her, then immediately looked down at his hands as he sat down at the counter.

“S-sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” He said awkwardly, “I have a tendency to be kind of invisible.”

She looked at him, still defensively stanced. She watched him for a moment. His shaggy brown curls moved with his head, and his soft blue eyes were desperate to avoid eye contact. She saw his genuine nervousness, and she sighed. It was impossible to ever be mad at this guy.

“It’s fine.” She rubbed her eyes. The exhaustion on her face was clear. She held up the ice cream. “Want some?” She shook the pint.

Bob looked up at her with surprised eyes. He nodded.

She turned and grabbed two spoons from the drawer before making her way over to sit next to him at the counter. She opened the pint, and there were already some indents from when she had eaten before. Bob hesitantly took a spoon and waited for her to take the first bite.

As she draped the spoon out of her mouth, she hummed. “Can’t sleep?” She asked

He was taken off guard, stopping mid-bite, frozen as his jaw hung open with the spoon hovering inside. He then quickly took the bite and shook his head again.

After a fast swallow, he shook his head. “No. Can you?”

She sighed. “Never do, Bob. Never do.” She said almost grandfatherly. Like she was wise enough to know better.

Bob put his spoon down. He stared at her as she ate. He watched her with this strange expression on his face. Like he was failing at figuring out a Rubik’s cube. His lips were slightly parted, and his eyes looked desperate.

She noticed his staring because, of course, she did. She was an assassin. It was imperative that she was always on high alert- well, except for missing Bob at the kitchen counter, apparently. She stabbed her spoon back into the pint.

“What?” She asked a little defensively

He was silent for a moment. He looked like he was about to explode or… vomit in his lap.

“I’m sorry.” He spat out

Her brows furrowed. “What?”

“I’m so sorry about the Void. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. And I know you’ve been struggling because Yelena said-” Bob rambled.

She stared blankly at the counter before putting her face in her hands, shutting Bob up.

“I’m- I’m sorry. You have every right to hate me.” His voice trailed off.

There was heavy silence between them. It felt like they were both holding their breaths for someone to say something, and they both knew it shouldn’t be Bob again.

“I don’t… hate you, Bob.” She finally admitted, and Bob let out a huge breath. “I don’t hold that against you. How could I? You don’t even remember it. You didn’t choose to become the Void.” She said gently. She still didn’t make any eye contact, scared herself. “I just… I had all these things… that I was able to pretend never happened. But that day, I had to remember they did again.”

She couldn’t look at him. This was the most she had ever spoken about how she felt about the New York incident to anyone. But she was doing this for Bob’s sake. So he can understand that she wasn’t mad at him.

“So I can’t sleep. I can’t… ever sleep.” She whispered.

“I’m sorry,” Bob said for what felt like the millionth time. But this time it wasn’t from a place of extreme guilt. But from sympathy.

She shrugged. “It’s just the way it is.” She sighed and finally grabbed her spoon to take another bite of ice cream. She gestured to Bob to do the same. Her movement was sloppy, and her eye bags were deep even in the dark kitchen.

“Y/n, when was the last time you slept?” Bob asked, looking at her

She rubbed her eyes and itched her nose. “Uhhhh….” She thought about it, “A little over two days ago? Wait- was it two or three?”

Most people would have gone wide-eyed and immediately jumped into action. Oh, god, get some sleep. That can’t be healthy! Not Bob. He just nodded understandingly.

“Been there.” He chuckled, “Mostly when I’m feeling like the Sentry. I won’t get any sleep.”

“That’s mania, Bob.”

“Oh.”

She snorted, then relaxed a bit. “It’s… It’s fine.”

Bob took a bite of ice cream and shook his head. “No, it’s not. You’re gonna start feeling sick here soon. I always get sick on day three. You should sleep.” He said, covering his full mouth.

“Thanks, Captain Obvious. Haven’t tried that one.” She said sarcastically, “I’ve spent the past-” She checked her phone. “5 hours just rolling around in bed and staring at the ceiling. My problem is, I don’t exactly want to.”

There was a casual peace now. It didn’t feel as tense. Bob started digging another scoop, then he paused.

“I have an idea.” He said softly

She turned and looked over at him. “If this is anything like the elevator shaft, I want you to rethink it.”

“No, no no- it’s just…” Bob fidgeted with his hand before looking at her. “What if you slept in my bed?”

She squinted her eyes, confused. “Why?” She said with a judgmental tone that made Bob’s eyes widen.

“Not for anything weird. Just like- I just thought that it might help if you had someone there for you.” He explained like he was being held at gunpoint

“And where would you sleep?” She asked clearly, not understanding his whole idea.

She noticed the redness creep up on his cheeks, and he started to stammer.

“Well, I-I meant that I’d be sleeping next to you. So you feel… safer.” Bob said, scratching the back of his neck, “And as I’m saying that out loud, I’m realizing how stupid that sounds because I’m the guy that started this in the first place-”

“Sure,” She said, “Why not?”

“Wait, seriously?” Bob asked

She yawned, “I have nothing left to lose here. And I mean- if you try anything funny, I’ll blast your hands off.” She warned, her suddenly serious eyes glowing red.

Bob gulped and nodded. “Okay. Yeah, sounds good.” His voice tight and squeaky.

And that’s how they became inseparable. The first night was awkward at first, with them unsure how to exist that close to each other, and Y/n unable to sleep. Until Bob suggested they hold onto each other.

“Yelena said what stopped the Void was you guys being there for me with a hug.”

“Bob, I’ll kick you off this bed.” She snapped, and he gave a nervous chuckle.

A slight silence as Bob gave up and closed his eyes.

She thought about it. Maybe… Maybe it would work. “... Fine. Get over here.”

It was in his arms that, for the first time in a month, she slept for the full night. Not a single nightmare.

Three months later, they were still doing this every night, becoming closer friends in the process. In fact, she considered him her closest friend. She still struggled with a sense of belonging in the team, but it had been getting better. Especially with having Bob as her anchor. They’d hang out in his cozy room all night, talking and laughing before bed. Bob would teach her how to fold paper cranes, and she’d teach him how to be in control of his Sentry powers… An equal trade.

They told each other everything. She explained her shame room to him- the experiments that had been conducted on her. He explained all of his rooms in more detail. It got to a point where they were so close, the team noticed. And when Walker and Bucky demanded to know whether they were dating or not, they laughed in their faces.

There was a mission that Valentina assigned to her and Ava. A gala mission. Now that reminded her of her young assassin years. Years ago, she once went on a similar mission to retrieve records from the Yakuza. But it had been a long time since then. Making that years since she had worn a dress of any sort.

After a long day with Valentina’s makeup department, she felt… horrible. Awkward. She was put in a long golden gown that had a deep V cut and hugged every curve of her body. Her eyebrows were plucked. She was caked in layers of makeup. Her hair was curled and up in a beautiful bun that balanced on the back of her head.

It’s not that Y/n wasn’t feminine… It had just been a while. And in that time, she had certainly gotten stronger and bulkier. She didn’t feel like the slender minx that Valentina expected her to be on this mission. She was labeled as the sexy distraction for Wilson Fisk, the new Mayor of New York, so that Ava could go in and destroy the evidence against Valentina. But… she didn’t feel like she could be that girl.

She already felt anxious outside of an armored vest, so this was about to send her spiraling. She needed reassurance from a friend.

That’s why she knocked on Bob’s door. “Bob?”

“You never have to knock, Y/n.” He called lazily through the door.

She swallowed. “I just-I don’t want you to laugh at me, okay?” She said nervously.

“Laugh at you? Why would I laugh at you?”

She could hear him shifting inside, probably going to sit up. Her stomach flipped, scared. She just needed him to tell her that she could do this mission. That she would be successful.

“Just. Promise?” She called. The door tried to open, but she quickly grabbed the handle and closed it again, horrified. “Promise me!” She repeated.

“Okay! Okay! I promise.” Bob said genuinely. “Just… open the door.”

She took in a deep breath and opened the door, revealing what she looked like. Bob stood in the middle of the room, awaiting her entrance, and when she did, his face completely paled. His eyes widened. He swallowed nervously.

This was bad. This was really bad. She must look horrible if he’s reacting like this. He must be trying to figure out some sort of lie to say.

“Valentina is having me go on a mission at the Gala tonight. And- and I just feel like I can’t… do it.” She admitted worried.

Bob just shook his head in disbelief. He was completely silent, just taking her all in. But to her, it looked like he was just staring in shock.

“I look stupid, don’t I?” She said, worried, pacing around the room.

“I- I-I don’t- You-” He stammered like he was completely broken

Maybe I should be less aggressive, she thought. Maybe she’s just being too much for his already anxious state of being. “Uh- wanna see something cool though?” She asked suddenly.

Bob nodded almost eagerly, but was silent.

She put her foot up on his desk chair and hiked up the slit of her dress to reveal a black leather garter around her thigh. Knives slipped into the little pockets. “Knife straps! Cool, right?” She asked, not realizing… she just made the problem worse. Bob looked like he was about to pass out, staring at her long legs like they were cursed. He quickly sat down on the bed and put a pillow on his lap.

He nodded. “C-cool.”

Y/n felt… awful. She looked like that, and her best friend had hardly said anything. If her best friend couldn’t tell her to her face that she looked nice, then she must’ve looked like a fish out of water.

“Why are you acting so weird?!” She asked, frustrated. “Can you just say something?”

Bob’s breath hitched. “You…” His voice was hoarse, choked. “Don’t… look… stupid.”

She tilted her head, exasperated at his reaction. Her brows furrowed, and her mouth opened in a ‘what?’ face. He had to be lying. It felt like he was just trying to say that so she wouldn’t get angry.

She threw her hands up, frustrated and anxious, “Thanks, Bob.” She said sarcastically before her heels clicked out the door to meet with Ava for the mission.

Then Bob was left alone in the room, feeling both like he had messed everything up and like he had just seen an angel in real life.

After the mission was over, Y/n just wanted to be home. She did successfully distract Fisk long enough for Ava to grab the hard drive and destroy it.

Ava and her stood silently in the elevator. Both of their hair was knocked out of their updos, and their makeup was smudged from sweat. Their glittery heels dangled in their hands. A proper post-mission walk of shame.

When the elevator doors opened, the girls walked out, and Ava walked straight toward her bedroom.

“Night.” She called out

“Night,” Y/n called back, but she froze. She saw a figure standing outside on the balcony. There was only one person who’d be awake at this hour.

She made her way over and opened the sliding balcony door, startling Bob. But when he realized it was just her, he relaxed.

Still holding onto her heels, she jingled them like a trophy. “I did it somehow.” She said, making her way over to a spot next to him.

“I knew you could,” Bob replied softly.

She grumbled. “You weren’t very reassuring.” She said, obviously still bristly after their last conversation.

“I’m… I’m sorry.” Bob said

“Whatever,” She said, putting her cheek in her hand as she leaned against the balcony railing. She looked out into the city life. The view from the tower was gorgeous. It felt like you could see all of New York, and the lights twinkled at night, making the border between the stars and ground mesh. “You know, when your best friend looks horrible, you need to either tell her the truth or just tell her she looks nice so she doesn’t go insane. Because I…” She didn’t even know what to say. “I felt so… ugly.”

“Stop. No. You aren’t-” Bob said, watching her.

“There’s no use making up for it now, Bob. I know what you were thinking-”

“No, you don’t. You really don’t.” He said firmly now. It surprised her, his sudden tone switch. He dragged his hands down his face.

She looked over at him, accusatory. “Why are you acting so weird? You’ve been all twitchy and silent, like you’re trying not to laugh in my face!” She exclaimed.

Bob covered his eyes and shook his head. He looked back out into the city, and he looked like he was doing his all to keep it together. “I’m sorry. I’ve been… distracted.”

She leaned against the railing, facing him. “Distracted? Did Valentina give you a mission?”

“You’re so…” Bob laughed breathlessly, like he couldn’t believe it. And she felt a sense of shame burn in her stomach. What was going on?

“What? I’m so what?” She asked, but Bob just looked out into the city. He didn’t give an answer. She pushed his shoulder, now frustrated enough to want to get to the point. “Hey. I’m talking to you.” She reached over again.

He stood up straight now, taking her wrist in his hand to stop her. They were so close. He looked down at her, and his nose brushed against her forehead. Was that a late-night breeze, or did a shiver just run down her spine? She looked up at him like a deer in headlights, as their faces were mere inches apart. Her breath hitched along with her heart.

“The… the reason I…” He stammered, leaning back almost as if he needed air. He blinked anxiously and rubbed his eye. “The reason I couldn’t speak earlier is because you… You are the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. In my life. I- I couldn’t- put it into words. I-”

She couldn’t help but cut him off by putting her lips on his. The words hit her like a train. He hadn’t thought she was ugly. He hadn’t wanted to laugh at her. He thought all the things she secretly wanted him to.

Bob stood frozen in shock for a moment before letting go of her wrist so he could cup her face. He closed his eyes and kissed her like a man starved. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him as close as possible. There was no thinking. Just the feeling of his warmth against hers. It must’ve looked kinda funny, her in a ball gown and he in a sweater and sweatpants.

She felt his hands come around to the back of her head so he could run his fingers through her disheveled waves.

Y/n was the first to pull away. She looked up at him, and they both panted breathlessly.

“Is that true?” She asked

“Are you joking?” Bob asked, wiping the lipstick off his mouth, making the two of them laugh.

But then… There was a silence. A tension. That feeling buried deep in the bottom of her stomach made its presence known. She didn’t know how to feel. On one hand, that was the best kiss of her life, and it was with a man she trusted. On the other, should she do this with a fellow team member? What if something happens and their friendship is ruined? The team ruined?

They both read a sad expression on each other’s faces. She hugged him. Simply putting her head against his chest, he scratched the back of her scalp. She sighed, the tension of the day relieving, but her heart hurting.

“We shouldn’t…” She started, “I don’t know what to do.”

Bob didn’t say anything for a moment before simply saying, “I don’t know what to do either.”

The city traffic hummed in the air. And she stepped back.

“I-I should sleep in my own bed tonight.” She said

Bob looked like he’d just been slapped in the face, but he swallowed.

“Yeah… yeah, that sounds like a good idea.”

This didn’t last. After her shower, she tossed and turned in her own bed, not used to sleeping alone. For the past few months, she’d been able to hold onto the warmth of Bob. She’d been able to wake up, scared, and see his sleeping face. Going cold turkey was hard… Too hard. She wasn’t strong enough for this.

That’s how she ended up knocking on Bob’s door for the second time that day. And when it opened, Bob looked down at her with need in his eyes. After a moment of disbelief, he leaned down to kiss her, pulling her into the room and shutting the door.

They didn’t sleep. Even though she felt the exhaustion from the mission in her bones, the excitement of kissing Bob kept her awake. It’s not like either of them could get that good of sleep anyway…

They had just been lying in bed kissing each other, exploring the feeling. When she decided to surprise him and straddle his lap. Shifting him from his side onto his back.

“Y/n- Y/n- Y/n-, wait wait wait-” He said, horrified.

She pulled away and sat up on her knees. “What? What? Are you okay?” She whispered worriedly.

“I just-” He started, staring wide-eyed at how pretty she looked in the moonlight above him. “I wanna go slow.”

She nodded. “Of course. We don’t have to do anything tonight.” She said, and honestly, she didn’t wanna go much further. Honestly, just wanted to keep kissing the cute man below her.

“Y-yeah, but I just… I don’t want you to feel… Uh….”

Then she put two and two together, and she let out a little smile. “Ohhhhh… Bob, it’s only natural.” She said, leaning down, but not sitting quite yet. She kissed his cheeks and ran her fingers through his hair. “I’m flattered.” She whispered with a small smirk.

“Oh Jesus Christ-” He said breathlessly, making her laugh a little. “It’s okay?” He wanted to assure.

“More than. Is…” She finally sat her waist down and felt him through his boxers against herself. “Is this okay?” She asked flirty, but also genuinely wanting to make sure.

You would’ve thought Bob had been electrocuted. He sucked in his breath, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah. More than.” He repeated fast. It’s not like Y/n hadn’t felt it briefly before. They had been cuddling in bed for the past 3 months. But they had somehow configured ways to avoid direct contact like this… until now.

She leaned down to kiss him and moved her hips gently. A loud groan escaped from Bob beneath her, and she giggled quickly, shushing him. They certainly didn’t want the other Thunderbolts to hear. She felt Bob move his hands from her face down to her waist and grip. He held her so tightly, as if he were afraid she was gonna disappear into thin air.

Leaning over, she started kissing the soft spots of his neck. A little moan escaped him. He was trying so hard to suppress his sounds, but when she did something new, he couldn’t help it. She didn’t shush these. She was empowered by how needy he seemed.

He smelled like clean laundry, and she couldn’t get enough of it. She felt him reach up and spread his hands on the skin of her back, under her shirt. There was a gravitational pull between the two, and it was like they couldn’t get enough.

When she reached a sensitive spot behind his ear, he bucked up with a sharp inhale, and she gasped. She buried her face in his neck and gripped his shirt at the sensation. He turned his head to her to see her face and smirked at the reaction before doing it again. They pressed against each other hard, and the only way to suppress the noises was to slam their lips against each other.

After a while of making out, she just lay on top of him, exhausted. Her face tucked into the nook of his neck while he hugged her body against his.

“I’m so glad you’re my best friend,” Bob admitted softly.

She closed her eyes sleepily. “I feel like I should be honored, but the best friend department around here is kind of lacking.” She murmured half asleep.

Bob chuckled and gently moved her off of him. He tucked her in under the sheets, and they got into their usual sleeping position, on their side with her face in his chest and him wrapping his arms around her. But this time, they weren’t afraid to entangle their legs together.

He kissed her forehead. “Get some sleep.” He said as he gently moved her hair out of her face.

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stlllle · 15 days ago

Note

Hiii can u make a nam gyu x reader When u die in jump rope and he goes crazy Or u did a suicidal attempt and overdose but u surive Or any happy nam gyu x reader stories

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The Last Night (Nam-Gyu x Reader)

Pairing: Nam-Gyu x Reader

Content Warnings:

heavy angst, suicidal ideation, drug overdose attempt, vomiting, emotional breakdowns, heavy themes, fluff ending, reader lives, death games context (Round Six S3 AU)

Rating: 18+

Word Count: ~2.1k (expandable if needed)

💌 Author’s Note:

Hiiiiii, thank you so much for your request! I picked this one because it really tugged at my heart, but your other ideas sounded amazing too! If you’d like me to write those as well, just let me know, okay? I’d love to! 💖

Masterlist –[link]

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The Last Night:

The suffocating silence inside the sleeping quarters was almost maddening. The dim lights flickered above, casting pale blue glows across the rusted metal walls and makeshift beds lined up like coffins waiting to be filled.

Nam-Gyu woke with a jolt.

Sweat clung to his skin, his chest tight with that suffocating dread he couldn’t shake since the first night of the games. His eyes darted around, adjusting to the gloom, to the twisted bodies of other players lying in restless sleep.

And then it hit him.

You weren’t there.

The mattress next to his was empty.

The blanket tossed aside.

It felt like the air was sucked out of his lungs.

A cold, nauseating dread pooled in his stomach.

You never left without telling him. Not since that first night. Not since that promise: “We’ll get through this. Together.”

But you were gone.

Nam-Gyu’s pulse pounded in his ears as he pushed off the bed, moving silently through the maze of sleeping bodies. Every small cough, every groan in the dark made his skin crawl. He didn’t care if a guard saw him — if he got shot for this.

He had to find you.

And then he did.

Behind a stack of metal crates, half-hidden in the shadows.

His stomach twisted.

There you were, slumped against the wall, your hands trembling as you popped pills into your mouth one after another, like a machine too broken to stop itself.

Empty bottles littered the floor.

Your gaze was hollow — glassy and far away — as if you’d already left before your heart even stopped beating.

For two agonizing seconds, Nam-Gyu froze.

And then he lunged.

— “What the fuck are you doing?!”

His voice cracked, hoarse with panic.

Your head tilted up, and for a moment, a small, broken smile tugged at your lips.

— “It’s okay, Gyu… it’s fine. I… I’m just done.”

Your voice was slurred, a fragile, frayed whisper.

You tried to shove another handful of pills into your mouth, but his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist in a bruising grip.

The fear and fury in his eyes made your stomach churn.

— “You promised me, you promised we’d stick together!”

He shook you, his voice cracking.

“Don’t you fucking do this to me!”

Your head lolled, dizziness setting in as the drugs clouded your senses.

— “I can’t anymore, Gyu… I just… I can’t keep watching them die. I can’t keep pretending I have a chance in this fucking place.”

A tear slid down your cheek.

And it shattered him.

Nam-Gyu didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t let you finish.

He grabbed your face, rough and trembling, forcing your eyes to meet his.

— “If we go down, we go down together, goddammit! But not like this — not fucking like this!”

You tried to fight him off weakly as he forced your mouth open.

You barely registered his fingers pressing against the back of your throat.

The nausea surged.

You gagged.

He did it again, harder this time.

And then it hit.

You coughed, choked, and vomited violently onto the floor, bile burning your throat, half-dissolved pills splashing onto the cold metal floor.

It hurt.

God, it hurt.

Tears blurred your vision, hot shame and helplessness choking you more than the pills ever could.

Nam-Gyu didn’t let you fall.

Didn’t let you pull away.

He held you.

Fingers tight around your trembling frame, one hand cupping the back of your head.

His voice cracked as he whispered against your hair:

— “Don’t do that to me… don’t fucking leave me like this.”

You sobbed, clinging to him.

— “I’m sorry… I just wanted it to stop, Gyu… I just wanted it to stop.”

His arms tightened around you like a vice, his heartbeat hammering against your ear.

— “I know, baby… I know.”

He kissed your temple, his lips trembling.

“But you stay. You fucking stay. I’ll drag you through this if I have to.”

A weak laugh, half-sob, left your lips.

And somehow, in the filth and the fear, it felt like breathing again.

He pulled back, cupping your tear-streaked face.

— “Look at me. No more pulling this shit, you hear me? If you wanna die, fine — but you’ll have to take me with you.”

You nodded, your throat raw, lips trembling.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t sweet.

It was desperate, angry, tasting of bile and blood and everything the games had taken from you.

And you kissed him back.

For the first time, really kissed him back.

He picked you up, like you weighed nothing, cradling you to his chest.

And you didn’t fight it.

Didn’t protest when he carried you back to the bunks, ignoring the filth and the blood in your hair.

Nam-Gyu laid you down, pulling the thin blanket over you both, his arms still wrapped around you, fingers laced with yours.

He didn’t sleep that night.

His eyes stayed on your face, on the rise and fall of your chest, terrified the next breath would be your last.

And somewhere, through the haze of shame and heartache, you whispered:

— “I’m sorry I scared you.”

His voice broke as he replied:

— “You’re staying. That’s what matters.”

And you did.

You stayed.

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#nam gyu #squid game imagines #angst headcanons #reader x character #namgyu x y/n #namgyu x you #namgyu x reader #squid game fanfic #au squid game #squid game au #namgyu squid game #black reader #character headcanons #fan headcanons

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ohproserpine · 1 year ago

Text

viii. deer dolly

see all chapters here tags: fem! reader, alastor tweaking, VERY heavy warning for violence and blood, overdose, murder, DEATH, hunting, VERY graphic descriptions of injuries, vox being painfully obvious, vox malfunctions (lmao L), drowning, flooding, mentions of glass piercing skin, a gun, threats of death, valentino warning, alastor's demon form

Alastor's head snapped to the side, with a sickening crack accompanying the movement

"Show me," he snarled, his voice taking on an inhuman quality, heavily filtered by radio waves.

Without hesitation, Angel gestured towards the billboard, his expression blank.

"Get in there, and see for ya'self."

A few blocks away, at the Vox Tower.

The heavy door before you swung open to reveal a diner. Chandeliers hung from the lofty ceiling, the crystals casting shattered reflections of light across the expanse of golden tables below. The centerpiece of the room was an expansive aquarium, its transparent walls housing sleek, metallic sharks that glided gracefully through the rose-tinted waters.

Vox guided you inside with a hand on your back, leading you towards a secluded booth. He was dressed in a neat, crisp royal blue suit, perfectly matching the attire chosen for you by Velvette. She had dressed you in a stunning cerulean silk dress that hugged your figure in all the right places. The fabric flowed gracefully as you moved, the long skirt sweeping across the floor with every step of your white heels.

"I didn't realize there was a restaurant tucked away in here," you whispered, your eyes widening in awe as you took in the glowing ambiance of the place.

"Well, we at VoxTek are full of surprises, my dear," Vox chuckled smoothly as he moved to pull back the chair at your table. "It's quite a diverse company."

"I see," you murmured, a sense of intrigue coloring your tone. Taking a step closer, you sank into the plush seat, a soft hum of contentment escaping your lips as you settled in. Vox pushed you in before taking his seat across from you. With a snap of his finger, he gestured for a nearby waiter to approach.

Once the menus were presented, Vox glanced over at you expectantly. "Feel free to order whatever you'd like, my dear. Consider it a treat for all your hard work." A waiter slid over a tablet for the bill, and Vox pulled out a sleek black card which he quickly swiped. "Take your time. We have all night to go over your contract."

Grateful for the gesture, you returned a smile before turning your attention to the menu, scanning the options while Vox took a sip from his glass of wine, the scarlet liquid swirling.

Before the moment could continue, however, a sudden wave of static crackled through the room, causing the tables to tremble, drinks spilling and tabletop decor tumbling aside as the lights flickered erratically. Startled, Vox choked on his drink, coughing as he accidentally spilled it on himself.

You looked around in worry, confusion furrowing your brow as you whipped your head around to assess the situation. A few of the patrons were talking amongst themselves in hushed tones, their concern mirroring your own.

"What was that…?" you asked, your voice barely audible above the din of the lingering static.

"Second fucking time," Vox grumbled under his breath as he attempted to wipe the wine off his crisp white dress shirt, but his efforts only seemed to smear the stain further across his chest. The crimson stain stark against the pristine fabric made it look as if he was just mauled.

With a resigned sigh, he abandoned his futile efforts and without a care in the world, tossed the soiled tablecloth back onto the table. Despite the mishap, he flashed you a reassuring smile.

"I'm sure it was nothing, my dear. Just a temporary glitch in the system. I'll have my workers look into it later," he said, waving it off.

Vox clapped his hands with a sharp, authoritative gesture, summoning a few waiters to swiftly clean up your table and retrieve the menus from your hands. They rushed over with a sense of urgency, their movements swift as they began tidying up the contents, the clatter of plates and silverware echoing through the air.

Meanwhile, a tall, slim blonde receptionist approached, her steps slow as she made her way towards Vox. Her slender fingers pushed her slim red glasses up on the bridge of her nose, accentuating the sharpness of her eyes as she addressed you both with a polite nod of her head.

"Mister Vox," she began, tapping a pen along her clipboard. "I have a few tables available for you upstairs. Would you like to transfer while we get the ground floor cleaned up?"

"Do that for us, will you?" Vox nodded, standing from the table with a sigh you couldn’t hear but could see in the slump of his shoulders. Straightening up, he brushed invisible dust off the front of his jacket and suit pants with swift, agitated motions.

"This day has been nothing but shit to me. The hell even was that?" Vox muttered under his breath as he glanced down at his watch, a luxurious 10-million soul bucks carat model he had allowed himself to purchase a few moons ago. "Alright. Time is ticking. Let's not waste any more time and move somewhere else, love."

With a nod, you followed suit and stood up, mirroring his movements as you prepared to leave the table. But before you could take a step, another round of static swept through the room, much stronger this time. The vibrations pulsed through the floor, causing you to stumble and grasp onto the table for support. The lights flickered and dimmed before abruptly going out, enveloping the room in darkness.

"What the fuck?" Vox snarled, the glow of his screen casting eerie shadows in the darkened environment as he turned sharply to the receptionist, the faint illumination of his face acting as a temporary flashlight.

"Get this checked out, will you?" Vox hissed.

"Of course, Mister Vox," the receptionist nodded briskly, maintaining her composure despite the chaos unfolding around her. Her pen scratched against the paper as she made a note of his request. "I'll have someone look into it right away."

"Satan. Alright, come on, doll," Vox called for you and slipped his hand into yours, interlocking them together with a firm grip. Reluctantly, you accepted his hand, feeling a sense of unease creeping over you as you followed him towards the staircase.

Together, you ascended the steps, the lingering sensation of static still hanging heavily in the air like an ominous fog. Another wave swept through the atmosphere, causing your skin to tingle with prickles and sending a shiver coursing up your spine.

Something was off.

The second floor was eerily quiet, devoid of the bustling activity in the ground floor. The subdued murmurs of the remaining patrons echoed faintly against the walls. You noticed that some of the only patrons left were already making their way down the stairs, their hurried footsteps punctuating the hushed atmosphere as they descended the glass steps.

As you scanned the area, your eyes landed on a TV perched high on the wall. Whatever show had been playing before was now reduced to nothing but static and glitches, its wires crackling with electricity like an angry serpent. Thin wisps of smoke curled up from the tangled mess.

"Doll?" Vox turned his head, catching your wandering eyes with a knowing look.

"I apologize for all this trouble, my dear, but worry not, everything will be handled in a jiffy," he reassured you, his thumb tracing soothing circles over your skin as he guided you by the railings.

Leaning his elbows against the metal, he took your hand into both of his, kneading and caressing it as he grumbled to himself. "If I knew this was going to happen, I would have taken you out another night."

"Well, there's no way you could have seen that coming," you muttered as you turned your gaze towards the ground floor. Below, various demons and imps scurried around, attempting to manage the chaos. With a shrug, you moved to lean against the railings, the cool metal soothing against your skin.

Resting your cheek on your free hand, you continued, "I mean, there's always another day. We can even hash out the contract right now."

At your words, Vox visibly deflated, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he cast you a dry look. "Always so professional, are you?"

"Yes?" you replied with a nod, tilting your head in genuine curiosity. "Is that bad?"

"No, not at all," Vox huffed, a barely concealed smile playing at the corners of his lips as he pulled you closer to him. "It's actually quite charming."

With a yelp, you stumbled into his arms, your hands pressing against his chest for balance. Vox leaned in further, his left hand coming to rest on your back, his touch gentle yet firm as he looked deep into your eyes.

"But would it be bad to say I wanted something more?" he murmured, a pinkish gradient tint glowing softly on his screen, casting a warm and inviting glow across his features.

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden intimacy. "Something more?" you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.

His gaze softened, his thumb gently tracing the curve of your cheek, his touch tender against your skin.

"Yes, my dear," he murmured, trailing his thumb down to press and part your lips. "Something… personal."

"I-I don't really get what you're telling me," you stammered, your heart pounding in your chest. As Vox leaned in closer and closer, you found yourself backing away until you could no longer retreat, your back arching dangerously over the railings.

"Then perhaps it's best if I show you," he whispered, his voice barely above a breath, as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.

Popping the lid open, a familiar golden band sat inside, glimmering softly in the dim light of the room. Your eyes widened with recognition, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"My ring," you gasped, your fingers trembling slightly as you reached out to pluck the precious jewelry from its box. However, your hand halted in midair as you noticed an unfamiliar engraving gleaming on its honey-colored surface. A wavy symbol was etched onto it, its silver detailing standing out against the smooth gold of the ring.

"Vox, what's… what's this?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly as your eyes darted back and forth between the two sights. You could feel a hot fire starting to coil in your gut, your skin already slowly cracking. "What'd you do?"

Vox's expression remained impassive for a moment before softening with a touch of vulnerability. "It's a symbol, my dear," he explained, his voice gentle as he slowly took your hand and raised it to his lips. "A symbol of our… partnership."

"Partnership?" you echoed, your eyes tracing the movement of his lips as he pressed a gentle kiss to your fingers.

"You'd make a good wife," he blurted out, catching you off guard. Your gaze shot up to meet his, wide with surprise, as his declaration hung in the air between you. "I could provide for you. I could make you happy. Give you anything, anything you want."

A clawed hand, its digits tipped with sharp, pointed nails, delicately plucked the ring out of its velvet cushion. Taking your hand in his, he gently slipped the ring onto your finger, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. Before you could even process what had just happened, a wave of static washed over the room, crackling through the air like tiny bolts of lightning, causing him to curse under his breath.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he growled.

The room trembled again as another wave of static hit, this time with greater intensity than any of the past waves. The floors shook beneath your feet, the building groaned in protest, and you stumbled forward with a gasp, your knees buckling under the force of the tremors. Desperately, you reached out to grab onto Vox for support, clinging to him as the world seemed to tilt and sway around you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the receptionist stumbling toward you both. Her calm demeanor had vanished, replaced by frantic movements and panic in her voice.

"Sir, sir!" she huffed, her words punctuated by labored breaths as she stumbled to her feet. Her hair was disheveled, and her clothes were torn. "The building is under attack!"

"Attack?" Vox scoffed out in disbelief, his shoulders shaking from his laughter. "Who in Lucifer's name would even think of crossing me?"

The receptionist shook her head vigorously, her eyes wide with terror, strands of her disheveled hair clinging to her sweaty forehead.

"The radio demon," she rasped out, her voice barely above a whisper, laden with fear.

You froze, your hands shaking as they moved to cover your gaping mouth. Another wave of static shook the building, but your thoughts were scattered, unable to focus amidst the chaos.

Vox's grip tightened on you and the handle of the railings, his claws raking against the metal with a sharp scrape. His expression slowly shifted, the laughter fading as a dangerous seriousness settled over him. He took a deep breath, shutting his eyes briefly before looking back at the receptionist with a dark glint in his eyes, a storm brewing within him.

"What did you just say?"

Before a response could be made, an explosion thundered through the floor, sending debris and dust swirling through the air. In shock, you watched as tendrils of inky shadows began to writhe and thrash, lashing out and slamming into the walls with bone-shaking force.

A particularly powerful tendril crashed against the aquarium, its force shattering the glass and unleashing a deluge of water that flooded down through the ground floor, drowning the patrons below. The sharks were caught in the torrent, their powerful bodies tossed and thrashed about as they were swept away.

Another tendril snaked its way through the dust, wrapping around the receptionist with a vice-like grip before flinging her high into the air like a ragdoll. The desperate cries of the poor woman echoed through the room before abruptly falling silent as she slammed into a wall with a sickening thud.

"Fuck—" Vox cursed, pulling you into him. His arms tightened around you protectively as he scanned the scene, his eyes darting around in search of any functioning piece of technology that could offer an escape and allow him to teleport you both out. However, his efforts proved futile; every piece of tech in the room was malfunctioning, either from the rampant waves of static or the overflow of water from the shattered aquarium.

Creak.

Suddenly, there was a deafening sound, cutting through the air and the chandelier above you both began to tilt dangerously, its crystals catching the flickering light before it started falling. Vox's curses mingled with the din as he swiftly scooped you into his arms, his muscles straining under the weight as he sprinted away just in the nick of time. With a thunderous crash, the chandelier came hurtling down, shattering into a thousand glittering fragments upon impact with the floor.

The glass shrapnel, propelled by the force of the chandelier's collapse, began to ricochet in your direction. Reacting swiftly, Vox made a split-second decision and hurled you over the railing and onto the ground floor. Screaming, you landed with a thud, the shallow water from the shattered aquarium splashing around you, soaking your dress and sending a shiver down your spine. However, Vox's own descent was less fortunate. As he jumped to follow, a few sharp glass shards found their mark, piercing his metallic body, tearing through his frame, and exposing the wires beneath.

"Ah…" Pushing yourself off the floor, you grappled with a moment of hazy confusion before a shock of fiery pain shot up your leg, so intense that your body instinctively recoiled, nails clawing at the flooded floors. A scream threatened to escape your lips, but you bit it back, your breath catching in your throat. Your eyes blinked rapidly against the pain, struggling to adjust to the darkness surrounding you.

Everything blurred together in a mess of shadows and rushing water. Your breaths grew heavy and frantic, your heart pounding in your chest as you began to shake from the sheer intensity of the pain.

"Doll—!" Vox's voice crackled through the darkness, his form glitching and sparking from the water that seeped into his exposed circuits. Before his outstretched hand could reach you, shadowed tendrils snaked around him, yanking him away with a jolt and tossing him aside, sending him skidding into a nearby column.

You watched in horror, the dim light reflecting off the wet floor and casting eerie shadows on your face. Just then, the tendrils, like twisted serpents, slithered towards you, causing you to shut your eyes tight, bracing for the impending danger.

Time seemed to stand still as you lay there, your breaths shallow and rapid, every nerve on edge.

Still, nothing happened.

Slowly, cautiously, you dared to open your eyes, your vision blurred. As your sight cleared, you found yourself face to face with a familiar shadow.

"William?" you croaked out, your voice raspy from the exertion. William, Alastor's loyal shadow, perked up eagerly at the sound of your voice, its form undulating as it slithered around you, enveloping you in a gentle embrace.

With a weak smile, you raised a trembling hand to pat at the comforting darkness. "Hey, buddy…"

Your attention was abruptly torn away as a red blur darted towards the spot where Vox had been slammed into. Shock seized you, freezing you in place as you watched with wide eyes, feeling your pulse pounding against your chest and skull in a frantic rhythm.

William followed your gaze, his form stiffening as he silently scanned the area for any sign of danger. After a tense minute of no one seen nor heard, he turned back to you, his shadowy head tilting in confusion.

With quivering lips you uttered one name that had explained everything, "Alastor."

"Mgh!" Vox grunted as he collided with the wall. The sickening crack tore through his body as he crumpled to the floor amidst a splash of sparking wires, debris, and hanging metal. His systems went haywire, his vision obscured by flashes of glitches and static, each burst of light stabbing into his consciousness like searing knives.

Despite the system failures, Vox couldn't miss the sight of a familiar red-clad demon stalking towards him with a menacing grin etched on his face.

"You..."

Struggling to move, the overlord felt his arm pinned under debris, the weight pressing down on him like a vise, squeezing the air from his lungs. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he sucked in a breath. Each inhale felt like fire scorching his insides.

Finding the leverage, with closed eyes and clenched fists, Vox braced himself and pushed with one hand while the other pulled, every movement sending waves of torment shooting through his body like bolts of lightning.

There was a sickening crack, the sound drowned out by the deafening roar of static and electricity that erupted from him. His back arched involuntarily, nerves and sinew spasming, his body instinctively attempting to curl in on itself to shield against the onslaught of pain as he ripped his arm off. Opening his mouth to scream, Vox found no voice escaping, only a glitched, distorted wheeze.

"My, my," Alastor chuckled, his voice dripping with sadistic amusement as he watched Vox dry-heave from the pain, relishing every moment of his torment. "Good show! Ho-ho! It's always such a thrill to witness your suffering."

"Wh-Wh-What the fuck do you want, old man?" Vox's voice glitched out as he shakily got to his knees, beads of water dripping and soaking through his suit, mingling with the blood and grime that coated his skin. The stench of metallic decay hung heavy in the air, mixed with the acrid scent of burning wires.

"You've got some nerve coming for me straight at my base," he shouted out, his screen flashing with a fierce red hue. "I've got you at a disadvantage!"

Alastor raised a brow in mocking surprise, twisting his head side to side to survey the torn-up tower with exaggerated interest. "Who's at a disadvantage?" he quipped with a shrug, his tone laced with derision as he gestured casually at the chaos surrounding them.

"I'm not the one on my knees, old pal," Alastor mused, his tongue dripping with sinister amusement as he tapped his staff against the flooded floors, the sound echoing. In one, swift motion, a shadow shot out, piercing Vox's shoulder and pinning him back against the wall, the tendrils coiling around him like a vice.

"Fuck you!" Vox hissed, his anger boiling over as he shot out wires of his own. Alastor made no attempt to dodge, staying put as the wires struck through his shoulder, flesh and muscle spraying out in a grisly display. Despite the gruesome injury, Alastor seemed unfazed, tilting his head with an audible crack, his grin widening into something unsettling.

"Sloppy," Alastor spat, blood trickling down the side of his mouth and dripping down his chin. With deliberate slowness, he raised a hand to grasp at the wires, his fingers curling around them with a sickening creak as he pulled them out.

"What the fuck are you even here for?!" Vox screamed.

"Funny you should ask," Alastor mused, his empty gaze boring into Vox's screen. Shadows wrapped around his injured shoulder, forming a makeshift bandage, while his other tendrils reached out, snaking towards Vox's ankles and forcibly dragging him forward. The demon fell onto his back, briefly submerged in the water as he was pulled towards Alastor.

Humming, Alastor slammed his foot down on Vox's torn arm, eliciting a scream of pain as sparks shot out. Chuckling, the Radio Delon hand came down hard, driving Vox's own wire into his eye with a sickening crack, causing the screen to fracture in a spiderweb of cracks.

"I'm here for my wife."

"Wife?" Vox narrowed his eye at Alastor in confusion for a moment, his screen flashing with red, blue, and yellow hues, before widening in recognition at the sight of a golden glint on Alastor's mangled, clawed hands.

Immediately, he snarled, his voice barely audible over the glitches and static, "I ain't telling you shit."

"Oh," Alastor drawled slowly, twirling his cane in his hands with a devilish grin. "You will."

Alastor moved with startling speed, lunging forward to grasp Vox's arms with his bare hands. With a vicious snarl, he began to tear at Vox's chest cavity, his claws digging into the metal casing with a sickening screech as he began to pull it off. Vox screamed in pain, his systems protesting against the assault, but he fought back, unleashing a flurry of sparks and glitches in a desperate attempt to break free.

"Old piece of shit!" Vox roared, his words dripping with venom as he punctuated them with a furious pound of his fist against the ground. Leaning up, he lunged forward, his hand shooting out to scratch at Alastor's eye with a scream of rage. "Radio's fucking dead!"

"You've got quite the fight in you, don't you?" Alastor's laughter echoed through the room as he jolted back from Vox's retaliatory strike.

With a casual flick of his hand, he wiped the crimson blood from his cheek, strands of his hair falling over the new scar that marred his face. "But I'm afraid spirit won't be enough to save your worthless life."

Alastor leaned down, his muscles tensing as his fist crashed into Vox's broken eye with a crack, causing the screen to fracture further. Lifting Vox by his collar, Alastor brought him closer to his face with a snarl.

"Radio killed the video star."

Alastor's tendrils coiled like vipers ready to strike, but before he could unleash them, a sudden crash of debris behind him jolted his attention. With a swift twist of his head, he peered over his shoulder.

Against the backdrop of the dark brick wall loomed a disheveled figure, her rosy cheeks and tousled hair framing her big, doll-like eyes. The shimmering of a necklace with a delicate rose pendant around her neck caught his attention, and in an instant, he recognized you.

Your hand pressed firmly against the wall for balance, while his shadow, William, enveloped your waist, supporting your weight. The fabric of your dress clung to your drenched skin, torn in parts, with one heel missing from your sprained foot. Streaks of makeup ran down your face, smudged by tears that threatened to spill from your eyes. You sniffled, your face flushed with warmth as a burning pain spread to your throat, choking back every sob that threatened to escape.

"Al…"

Alastor didn't know what to do with himself.

Every muscle in his body tensed, locking him in place as if he were frozen in time. In his shock, Vox slipped from his grip, crashing to the ground in a heap of metallic clangs and crackling wires.

With cautious steps, he stepped forward, testing the waters, metaphorically and literally. To his surprise, there was no barrier, no force pushing him back, and no contract manifesting before him.

"Cher?" he called out, breathless.

The sobbing wail that escaped your lips was answer enough.

Heart pounding in his chest, Alastor rushed forward and caught you in a desperate hug. His arms enveloped your trembling form tightly, as if he could shield you from the world's horrors just by holding you close. You sobbed against him, your nails digging into his shoulders, your body going limp like a puppet whose strings had just been cut. His hand flew up to cradle the back of your head, his touch both tender and urgent, his claws grazing your skin slightly in his desperation.

The smile on his face long dropped. His muscles tensed as he whispered your name over and over again like a mantra, each repetition a plea to whatever higher power might be listening.

For the first time in decades, Alastor felt fear grip his heart in its grimy claws. His eyes remained wide open, unblinking, as if he feared that closing them would make you vanish before his very eyes.

"Mon cœur," you heard the dark timbre in his voice, the faint crackle of radio static lingering in the air. Your husband drew his head back, and you winced at the loss of touch, but he immediately dove back in, pressing his lips against yours in a long overdue kiss. The taste of his metallic blood flooded your mouth, but you couldn't bring yourself to care.

Sighing against his lips, you tilted your head and pressed yourself further against him and Alastor grunted in response, his clawed hands mapping up the curve of your hips and moving up to your chest, pressing his palm flat against your heart to feel its steady rhythm. It beat for him, raced and throbbed because of him

You trembled beneath his touch, more tears slipping from your eyes, dribbling down your cheeks.

"That’s it, cher," he hushed. "My sweet girl. You’re alright. Everything’s going to be alright."

His hand reached out, cupping both of yours firmly, causing your rings to clink together. His thumb gently traced over the back of your right hand, caressing the golden band.

Alastor paused, his fingertips gliding over the unfamiliar texture of an engraving on the ring, a curious furrow creasing his brow as he moved back in to examine your hands. You hesitantly allowed his inspection, silently noting the subtle twitches on his blank expression.

Despite the tenderness of his touch, Alastor's face remained devoid of his usual smile. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, silently asking for an explanation, and you answered the unspoken question immediately.

"Vox."

With just one word, Alastor immediately understood. A fleeting smile graced his lips as he pressed a final tender kiss to both of your eyelids before his grin returned in full force. he snapped his head back to face Vox, holding you close in his arms, supporting your weight due to your broken ankle. "It seems we have some unfinished business."

"Yeah, we fucking do," a new voice interjected, causing both you and Alastor to whirl around.

Velvette and Valentino made their presence known as they stood stoically by the entrance, their disheveled appearances and visible injuries painting a picture of the struggle that had unfolded. Every bruise, every torn piece of clothing seemed to speak on its own of the relentless assault Alastor had unleashed upon the building. It was clear that they had endured their fair share of the battle.

"Come."

Velvette reached her hand out, and you felt an odd sensation of tugging at your neck. Suddenly, a hot pink collar materialized around you, and before you could react, you were forcefully pulled forward with a sharp yank. The sudden movement caused you to stumble several feet, your injured ankle buckling beneath you with a jolt. A scream ripped from your throat, the intensity of the pain washing your vision with a blaring flash of white.

Valentino immediately grabbed you by the hair, wrenching you up as though you were nothing more than a prize to be claimed. "You want her? Well, we're going to have to make a deal," he taunted.

Something primal gnawed and snarled at Alastor's insides. Even in the brief seconds since you were torn away from him, the ache for your presence already began to consume him, searing through his veins like a wildfire. It cut him deeper than any of the physical wounds he received. He had just gotten you, and now you were being torn away from him once more.

He wanted to scream, to tear at his own flesh in anguish, to rip through the barriers separating him from you until he could hold you close once more.

And if he had to paint the sidewalks of hell with the blood of these vermin to achieve that, then he would stop at nothing to see it through.

"There's not going to be a deal. I doubt anything you can offer would be of any value," Alastor's grin twisted into a snarl, his eyes flashing red. With a swift motion, he slammed his staff against the floor, unleashing a blare of crackling energy and swirling shadows into the air. "I'm going to end your fucking lives."

"Ay, calm down," Valentino snarled, his voice dripping with menace as he spread his wings, casting a shadow over the room. Dipping a hand into his coat pocket, he drew his gun and pressed it tight against your temple, the cold metal sending a shiver down your spine. Sweat beaded on your forehead as the searing burn of the barrel pressed against your skin, a silent threat hanging in the air.

You didn’t realize you were crying until you felt Valentino's thumb run across your cheek, the demon cooing at you as if you were a child. Blinking away the tears, you opened your eyes to find Alastor's figure standing out vividly amidst the chaos, his red suit and hair glowing like fire against the darkness.

Like blood.

Alastor's entire body practically shook with anger, the shadows in the corners of the room writhing and twisting.

Their tainted blood should never dare to soil your skin, nor should the gaze of these wretches ever dare to tarnish your beautiful visage. In his eyes, you were pure and untainted, and above all, you belonged to him.

Only him.

"Now," Valentino chuckled, a twisted smile playing on his lips as he reached out to pet your head with a hand, his fingernails sharp and threatening. "It's really not worth the trouble. So why don't you stop this tantrum, grab your little bitch, and get out? She's not this fucking valuable to us."

"D-D-D-Don't!" Vox's voice crackled from his spot on the floor, his one functional arm trembling as he struggled to rise.

"Oh, shut the fuck up," Velvette scowled, her nails digging into the fabric of her torn dress as she hurled your contract towards Alastor with a vicious flick of her wrist. "Do we have a fucking deal?"

Alastor's hand shot out, snatching the contract mid-air before it could reach the ground. Holding it aloft, he tore it apart with a savage rip, the sound of paper shredding echoing like thunder through the room.

"Deal."

Instantly, the chains restraining you dissolved, and Valentino moved away from you. You felt a gentle tug as Alastor's swirling shadows guided you towards him. His arm enveloped you protectively, pulling you close as if shielding you from any further harm. His wide-eyed gaze remained fixed on Velvette and Valentino, a silent warning in his stance.

"I'll make sure you regret ever crossing us," Alastor declared with a menacing growl, summoning a swirling portal of shadows behind him as he slowly backed away, pulling you along with him. Before departing, he deftly removed your engraved ring from your finger and tossed it in Vox's direction.

"Radio isn't dead," Alastor snarked as the shadowed portals began to envelop you both, their inky tendrils curling around you like a shroud, "but this broadcast is coming to an end."

With that, you and Alastor vanished into the swirling shadows, leaving the three figures standing amidst the aftermath.

The building lay in ruins, reduced to disrepair. Water trickled down from the shattered remnants of the aquarium, its glass now fractured and broken, mingling with the thick dust that hung in the air like a shroud. From top to bottom, no room was left untouched by the devastation wrought on by the Radio Demon.

Velvette stood rigid in the center of the room, her figure shadowed as she bore her intense gaze into Vox. The TV demon scoffed dismissively, his broken screen flickering erratically, casting disjointed shadows across the room.

"I'm killing her," Velvette declared.

"Who?" Vox croaked, doing his best to sit up as Valentino helped him to his feet.

Velvette clenched her teeth, her frustration boiling over as she stepped forward and forcefully slammed her heels down on Vox's legs, sending him slamming back down, the sound echoing in the room. She spat in his fractured screen, her voice dripping with venom.

"I'M FUCKING KILLING HER!"

"Don'tcha worry about a thing, sweetheart!" Mimzy chirped cheerfully, her voice ringing out above the din of the crowded bar. Balancing a huge stack of beer in her arms, she maneuvered skillfully through the maze of tables, dodging patrons and obstacles with ease. The dim lights of the bar reflected off the bottles, casting shimmering patterns across the worn wooden surface, while the faint scent of alcohol lingered in the air, mingling with chatter and laughter.

Arriving at the table, a group of men erupted in hollers and cheers. Mimzy giggled in response, her laughter joining the chorus of noise as she shot a playful wink in their direction. With a bit too much force, she shoved the tray onto the table, causing the overflowing glasses to slosh and liquor to spill onto the tabletop.

"Enjoy!"

With a toss of her hair, she sauntered away, her heels echoing against the wooden floorboards as she made her way towards the entrance. The club was delightfully full tonight, and Mimzy could practically taste the mouthwatering green of money already.

But just as she reached the doorway, a hand grabbed her, yanking her out into the darkness beyond. The blonde's cheery demeanor disappeared in an instant as she found herself shoved up against a nearby wall.

The cold grime and mysterious mold clinging to the brick surface sent a shiver down her spine, the dampness seeping through her clothes and chilling her to the bone. The dim light from the bar seemed to fade into obscurity as the darkness of the alley enveloped her, suffocating her senses. Panic surged within her as she struggled against her assailant.

"Hey! What gives—" Mimzy began, but her words caught in her throat as she realized she was face to face with Velvette. The overlord looked disoriented and disheveled in the dimly lit alleyway, her clothes torn and her hair in disarray. Her eyes, usually sharp and calculating, now held a wild, frenzied glint.

"There you are," Velvette's grip on Mimzy's dress tightened, her nails digging deep into the fabric and piercing skin, sending a sharp twinge of pain through the blonde. "I've been looking for you."

The blonde recoiled as Velvette's claws trailed up her throat, leaving a trail of stinging scratches in their wake. The metallic smell of blood flooded her nose as one of Velvette's nails grazed over her skin, catching on the delicate chain of her necklace and tugging it slightly.

With a trembling voice, Mimzy managed to choke out, "Oh! W-What do you need me for, sugar?"

Velvette's lips curled into a sinister smile, the glint of her sharp teeth shining under the alley lights.

"Oh, just a little chat," she replied, her voice dripping with malice. "Aren't you curious about what's been happening in your absence? Some skeletons in a closet got dug up."

The blonde's eyes widened, her heart pounding in her chest as she realized the gig was up.

"I didn't—!" she started, but her protest was cut short by the sickening thud of Velvette's fist against the wall beside her. Cracks spiderwebbed across the brickwork, the crumbling debris cascading to the ground in a cloud of dust.

"Don't lie to me," Velvette hissed, as she leaned down to the blondes height, meeting her face to face. "You knew who she was. And you helped him."

"I-I didn't know," Mimzy lied straight through her teeth, trembling in her heels. "I swear, Velvette. I didn't know anything about his wife."

"Don't play dumb with me, bitch. You knew full well who she was," the overlord snarled.

With a derisive laugh, she threw her head back and added, "But you couldn't even keep it under wraps! You got fucking ratted out in less than 2 days!"

"No! No, I swear on my life, sugar!" Mimzy pleaded, her voice trembling as she shook her head, her golden curls bouncing around her shoulders. "I was just a stray bullet!"

But Velvette's expression remained cold and unforgiving, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"You fucking liar," she spat, her voice dripping with venom.

A flash of silver caught Mimzy's eye, and she flinched as she saw the dagger in Velvette's hand. The cold metal glinted with a blue glow in the dim light of the alley, its edges sharp and sleek.

It was angelic iron, and the very sight of it sent bile rushing up her throat.

It hurt her eyes to look at the dagger, its presence filling her with a sense of dread she couldn't shake. But despite the fear coursing through her veins, she couldn’t tear her gaze away. She was frozen in place, like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.

But then, there was a sudden blur of movement.

"Wait!"

A sharp, searing pain shot through Mimzy, causing her to gasp. The sensation of blood trickling down her skin sent waves of nausea through her, and she dry heaved, struggling to keep herself upright.

Her eyes remained locked on the smeared blood on the steel lodged in her, the sight both horrifying and mesmerizing. It was so revolting, so surreal, that she failed to suppress a shudder of dread as she stared at it, transfixed by the grim reality of her impending fate.

Coldness began to envelop her, seeping into her bones as the darkness closed in around her like a suffocating cloak. Dark spots danced at the edges of her vision as the edges of her consciousness blurred and faded. She felt herself slipping away, consumed by the shadows, as the alleyway swallowed her whole.

Velvette let the body drop, the dull thud echoing in the desolate alleyway. A twisted feeling of satisfaction flooded her veins, coursing through her with a sickening thrill.

The harsh glow of the streetlights cast eerie shadows across her features as she surveyed the aftermath of her actions. With a flick of her head, she turned away from the lifeless form, her cracked heels echoing against the cold pavement as she disappeared into the darkness, leaving behind a trail of crimson steps in her wake.

"And so it begins."

#sorry for the day late pst DD: tumblr didnt autosave my post so i hadta rewrite #sephiewrites #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #alastor imagine #hazbin imagine #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x you #hazbin x you #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel velvette #hazbin hotel mimzy

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silens-oro · 3 months ago

Text

Well Enough Alone: Part I

Not all fics have adult content, but this blog is 18+. Andrew "Pope" Cody x f!Reader (nicknamed Hawk) Prologue

Masterlist Pope Cody Playlist

General Synopsis: Hawk juggles her life between Julia, Julia's son J, and the Cody family. Slow Burn. Word Count: 5,335 (lmao I'm cooked) Content Warning: No description of the reader, other than the nickname. Warnings will be updated chapter by chapter. Mentions of cps, drugs, overdoses, death & prison. A/N: Thank you to everyone who gave support on the prologue (linked above). This fic is a passion project that I hope you'll enjoy! As always, my inbox is open.

The chatter around Smurf’s dinner table stopped on a dime after Hawk’s question. Has anyone heard from Pope? After a particularly upsetting visit to Julia’s, it got her thinking about him. He had been gone six months and those six months seemed to pass relatively quickly for her. Of course they did. She wasn’t locked in a cell with god knows who, surrounded by people that wanted to beat her ass -or worse. Hawk couldn’t imagine how he survived every second that passed in Folsom.

Baz, Deran, and Craig looked at Smurf, then looked at Hawk. She eyed Hawk carefully and Hawk was the first to break eye contact, knowing how the pecking order went under Smurf's roof.

“Just wondering if anyone has gone to see him is all,” Hawk muttered, going back to the chicken on her plate.

“You know we can’t visit him, baby. He’s got a lawyer, and money on his books -he’s taken care of.” Smurf tried to placate Hawk. “He does call once in a while when he’s up to it, and he’s doing the best that he can. Pope’s strong. He’ll get through this. He always does.” It didn’t sit right with her. Hawk knew why they couldn’t go to the prison to see him, she got it, but it still felt wrong. Pope was their family and they just…left him.

Abandonment when there was no more use seemed like a reoccurring Cody trait if Hawk ever saw one, though she never voiced that opinion out loud.

“Yeah, I understand.” That ended the tense conversation and chatter picked back up around the table.

It took a lot of hyping herself up for the 9 hour drive up to Folsom from Oceanside when Hawk decided to book her visiting slot. When Pope was initially locked up, Smurf had Hawk listed on his approved visitors list for emergency purposes because she was disconnected from any Cody shenanigans and had a clean record. Hawk never really thought she would actually make the trip north -not until she realized just how long Pope was destined to be up there like an animal with zero support on the outside other than a few bucks for commissary.

Hawk also wasn’t confident that Pope would even want to see her to begin with, especially if things were much worse on the inside than he was letting on to Smurf. Folsom had its reputation for a reason.

In a way Hawk always held a torch for the Pope, even as teens, but he never noticed it or chose to ignore it. Either way, the unrequited longing was still present now well into her thirties, and it wigged her out the longer she thought about it. Hawk told herself that if he rejected her visit, her feelings wouldn’t be hurt, but even the thought of that very real possibility was almost enough to make her turn around and tuck tail back home.

Pope needed support, Hawk told herself, letting the endless freeway in front of her distract her enough to keep going. He wasn’t getting it from his family and Hawk knew he didn’t really have friends -none of them did, really- and definitely not anyone who would drive nine hours to see him. It broke her heart a little. Even if he rejected her visit, it wasn’t a mistake. Showing him that she cared would let him know that he’s not alone. That there was someone on the outside who genuinely cared about him and his well-being .

To Hawk’s surprise, Pope accepted the visit. Generally the inmates don’t know who is waiting for them in the visiting room, just that they’re on the approved list, so imagine Pope’s surprise when he saw Hawk sitting on the other side of the cubicle, fidgeting as she waited for him to come out. Pope was an incredibly difficult man to read under normal circumstances, but the confusion was clear as day on his face when Hawk finally looked up from her hands and saw him coming her way. His right eye held remnants of fading bruises and the left corner of his downturned mouth had a mostly healed split.

God knows what happened to him in there, she thought to herself.

Picking up the receiver on Hawk’s end, she held it up to her ear. Pope took his time picking up the phone receiver from the other side of the glass and held it to his own ear.

“Hi,” Hawk said after a few beats. Pope didn’t respond for a few moments, but he kept his eyes locked on Hawk.

“Smurf send you?” His voice was raspy like he hadn’t used it much, and he probably hadn’t.

“No, she doesn’t know I’m here.” Both of his brows raised at this. His eyes, ever observant, were watching Hawk every move from her picking the skin around Hawk finger nails nervously, to the way Hawk’s eyes couldn’t keep contact with him for more than a few seconds at a time. She was nervous, that much he could tell.

“Does anyone know you’re here?” His eyes narrowed. She knew it was a stupid idea to take the nine hour drive by herself, but she couldn’t imagine being stuck in a car with Deran or Craig for that long -if they even wanted to go with her. Baz would’ve told her to go fuck herself for even asking.

“No.” Hawk spoke softly with a sigh, scratching the back of her neck.

“You’re a long way from home, Hawk. You should’ve brought someone.”

“I didn’t want to, and they were too chicken shit to come anyway, otherwise they would’ve already made the trip.” Hawk didn’t mean to answer so rigidly, and it got the most minute reaction out of Pope -a small twitch in his right eye- but Hawk’s anxiety was in overdrive. She hadn’t spoken to Pope and just Pope in years. There was always a buffer whether it was in the shop or at Smurfs and he never spoke to her first.

“If Smurf didn’t send you, then why are you here?” Pope leaned forward towards the scratched plexiglass, his voice lowering even further. If Hawk made the nine hour drive north, something had to have happened at home.

“I…” Hawk hesitated. What could Hawk say to him? “I spoke with Smurf the other night. I asked about you. She more or less said that none of them were coming up here for obvious reasons and it got me thinking…” Pope, ever stoic, stared unblinking as he listened to Hawk ramble. “I’m disconnected from everything and I’m already approved, so I figured I could make the drive to visit you. I’m sorry for not giving you a heads up, but I figured you could do with knowing there is someone on the outside who cares about you. I can’t begin to imagine your situation,” Pope almost laughed -situation. “If you’re fine with it, I wouldn’t mind coming up here every couple of weeks during visiting hours? But if you’re not cool with it that’s fine too. The ball’s in your court. I don’t want to overstep anymore than I have already.”

Pope blinked, studying Hawk with an intensity only he was capable of, and nodded ever so slightly after what seemed like forever. A weight was instantly lifted from Hawk’s shoulders. The timid smile she gave him made the corner of his mouth twitch ever so slightly, but Hawk caught it and she locked it away for a time she needed to think back on it.

That little grin alone made the trip worth it.

Those visits continued every two to three weeks on Saturdays or the occasional Sunday if her schedule didn’t allow it -the prison allotting four hours of visitation a month total if the inmate was on good behavior- and while Pope never really said much, Hawk knew he appreciated her being there even if it was an adjustment for him in the beginning. It was essentially a one sided yap session where Hawk updated him on Julia -only when he asked, and what was going on in her life. He never asked about his brothers or Smurf and Hawk was grateful for it. Their arrangement was separate from the family. It was something that was just theirs and theirs alone, and Pope wouldn’t let it bleed over if he could help it.

Two and a half years later and the calls and visits to Pope had become a routine. Pope knew that every two weeks, Hawk would be on the other side of that plexiglass like clockwork. The routine was good for him. It was something he could look forward to when everything else had gone to shit. He wouldn’t admit it, but Hawk was the sole reason he survived his three year lockup. It was her voice he heard when his cell was silent. It was her face he saw when he closed his eyes at night. He thought about her in every way a man could, especially when he had the cell to himself at certain points of the day. Her visits were something he looked forward to, something constant that made waking up the next day worthwhile.

The yearly parole hearings had become a routine as well, but so was their rejection. Pope didn’t expect to be released with the first hearing, but Hawk could see that he was deeply affected by it when she saw him two days after they rejected him. By the time the second rejection came, he was more settled with the idea that he wasn’t leaving. When his third year rolled around, Hawk could tell he was getting antsy when he called her to talk about the new parole hearing that had been scheduled for two weeks out.

“I don’t know why they waste their time when they already know I’m not going anywhere,” Pope told her. He was agitated before the call even connected -something had to have happened prior to the call that worked him up, and Hawk tried to get him to settle down so he didn’t have a meltdown.

“Don’t give them a reason to say no, Pope.” She warned him. “You’ve kept your head down and stayed out of trouble in there this long. That good behavior has to show for something. I’m with you either way, alright?” Hawk was stirring the contents of the pan she had going on the stove for her and J. A simple pasta with chicken and veggies in a white wine sauce was quick to throw together and her stomach growled just by smelling it.

“Alright.” Pope breathed into the phone. “Listen…maybe you shouldn’t take the trip out to Bakersfield this time.” It was Hawk’s idea to drive halfway to Folsom when Pope had his hearings. She’d book a hotel room in Bakersfield, and she’d wait for his call to hear what the parole board had to say. If he was released, it would be an easier four and a half hour drive to get him and if he wasn’t, then Hawk only had half the distance to drive back home. She made the time in her schedule and she had the means, but Pope still didn’t like her doing it.

“Stop, Pope. Don’t start with this. You still have two weeks before anything happens. I know it’s hard and it sounds cheesy as shit, but you have to stay positive. They can’t keep you in there forever, not with the charges you had. You’ll get out. You just have to hold on til then.”

J walked through the door right on schedule as she turned the burner off. He waved, but bypassed the kitchen and went straight to his room. Hawk pulled the phone away from her face and called out “Five minutes!” to which J yelled back with a ‘K!’ as she pulled some plates down from the overhead cupboard.

“What was that?” Pope asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

“I’m watching a friend’s kid while she’s out of town.” Hawk explained, a little white lie. “Nothing to worry about.”

“She’s not waking up.” J’s voice was oddly calm when Hawk answered her phone from a deep sleep a few days after her call with Pope. She rubbed her eyes, sitting up in bed, and looked down at the clock on her phone before bringing it back up to her ear.

“What?” She yawned, groaning as she sat up. J explained that he went to grab something from Julia’s apartment before school when he found her unresponsive on the sofa, arm extended over the edge and a used syringe on the floor under it.

“What do I -do I call an ambulance? Her lips are blue, Hawk. She’s…stiff.” Hawk jumped out of bed, pulling on the first pair of shoes she saw as she stumbled through her house and out to her car. She and J had close calls with Julia too many times in the past to keep track of, but J’s voice sounded different this time around.

“Is she breathing at all, J? Any sign of life?” The other line was silent, then a whispered “No.”

“Alright. I need you to go outside for me, okay? Stay outside. I’ll be there in five minutes. Just…stay put and stay on the line with me. I’m going to get an ambulance on the way, just hold on.” Tears lined her eyes and her throat started to choke up. Hawk mentally prepared herself over the years for this day that she knew was going to come sooner or later, but for it to actually happen was another thing entirely.

Hawk spoke to the coroner when she got to the complex, and explained Julia’s situation. The scene was quick to process. Overdoses were frequent in this neighborhood, and at this complex in particular. Police, ambulance, CPS -everyone was at the small complex documenting the scene -talking to her and J, separately.

“I don’t need to go with you. I’m seventeen-” J started to argue with the officer and CPS case worker who were talking to him about thirty feet away from Hawk. All she could see was J shaking his head, pointing in her direction, and his mouth moving a mile a minute.

J pointed to Hawk again and all she could do was stand off to the side and watch as he was escorted to the back of the awaiting CPS van. Her chin dropped to her chest as the tears broke free in a steady stream.

The full body scream Hawk let loose was so intense that she felt her teeth vibrate. Her forehead smashed down on the steering wheel once, twice, then a third time and she ripped at her hair. Anger, frustration, desperation, and grief all swirled together through her like some kind of fucked up cyclone, pulling every bit of sanity she had left out of her.

“That can’t be right,” Hawk insisted, leaning over Sandra the Social Worker’s desk. “Janine wanted nothing to do with Julia or J for the last seventeen years. She can’t be the next of kin.”

“Janine Cody is his legal next of kin per the State of California. I’m sorry, but there is nothing more I can do at this point. She’s already been contacted and she’s willing to take him in. That’s all I can tell you.”

“But I’m his emergency contact for everything. I have been since he was two. He can’t go to those people, Sandra. Janine isn’t fit to care for him, much less any child. J’s never met her and his mother kept it that way for a reason. He already has a room in my house. I am more than equipped to take care of him -I’ve been doing it the last fifteen years.” Hawk was desperate. “I have a business, I can pass a drug test, I’ve never been arrested. I can do…uh I can do home visits as often as you need them done. I-I own a home, I have a college fund for him. I’ll jump through any hoops you need me to because you can’t uproot him to give him to strangers, Sandra. How-how is that supposed to be what’s best for him?” Sandra held her hand out to stop Hawk from continuing.

“I know this is difficult to navigate, but this is the law. Had his mother gone through the proper channels and made you co-guardians, we’d be having a different conversation. That being said, because you have been caring for him for so long, there are routes for you to take that can get you in front of a judge to plead your case if that’s the direction you need to go.” She handed Hawk a pamphlet and told her that was all she could do for her. That entire conversation felt like a punch to the kidney.

Over.

And Over.

Hawk couldn’t take Smurf to court. Financially she could, but Smurf would sooner drown her in a toilet before they even saw the first court date. Hawk couldn’t take on Smurf and win, not while she had her boys to protect her, and that was a hard pill to swallow, but for J’s sake she did. Hawk wasn’t any use to him if she was dead and she’d do anything in her power to protect him. He was legally Smurf’s for less than one year, then he’d be eighteen and off to college as far away from Smurf as he could possibly go.

Hawk held herself together as best as she could as she stood up, thanked Sandra for her time, and beel-ined it out of the CPS office doors to her car so she could meltdown in relative peace.

“I’m so sorry, Julia.” She whispered against the steering wheel as she cried.

Hawk’s house had never felt so empty in the fifteen years she lived in it. It was stifling, uncomfortable. Grabbing a bottle of white wine from her wine fridge, she popped the cork and took it outside to the back porch. Hawk sat on the outdoor sofa, her legs twisted under her, and sipped straight from the bottle as she stared at the endless horizon for the next couple of hours. She was about three quarters of the way through the bottle when her phone rang, breaking the tranquil silence as she watched the sun set.

“Shit,” Wiped at her eyes and took a deep breath. She didn’t want to answer it, but she never missed a single call from Pope. Not once. Her emotions were all over the place and she was teetering over the edge of buzzed, toeing the threshold into the worst drunk night of her life. She couldn’t talk to Pope when she was like this, but she couldn’t just let it ring. With one more deep breath, she swiped on her exhale.

“This is a collect call from Folsom State Prison on behalf of-“ “Andrew Cody” Pope’s voice interrupted the automated message before it continued. “Do you accept the charges to connect the call?”

“Yes.” It rang once, then connected. “Hey, Pope." Hawk’s voice was raspy and airy, her vocal cords damaged from her trip to the CPS offices earlier in the day. He clocked her immediately.

“Are you okay?” His tone was all business. Pope was the first person to ask her that since everything went to ship and she wanted to tell him the truth. No, she wasn’t okay. She was grieving, she was devastated, and there wasn’t a single soul she could talk to about it. Pope asked, but Hawk couldn’t unload on him -especially when it was about his sister. She doubted Smurf clued him in to all that’s happened in the last week and Hawk didn’t want to drop this kind of news on him when he still had another week until his parole hearing.

Her mourning would remain between herself and the wine bottle for now.

“I’m fine, Pope. Just had a…really rough couple of days, but I don’t need to complain to you. You’ve got enough to worry about without me adding anything to it.” Her words had a slight slur and Pope knew she wasn’t a drinker, not anything more than a glass of wine at dinner or a beer here and there. Hawk didn’t get drunk, so to hear her teetering was just alarming enough for Pope to keep her on the line as long as he was allowed to. Hawk tried to hide a small sniffle as she wiped her nose on her sleeve, but nothing got by him. She was crying, or had been at least. Something was very wrong.

“You gotta let me in, Hawk.” His voice rasped, his brain working overtime to figure out the best way to navigate. “I called because I wanted to hear your voice. Talk to me.” He coaxed. “About anything. I just want to hear you.”

Hawk was clicking through the channels on the hotel’s tv when her cell rang. Pressing the mute button on the remote, she was quick to answer her cell.

“This is a collect call from Folsom State Prison on behalf of-“ “Andrew Cody” “Do you accept the charges to connect the call?”

“Yes.” Tossing the remote into the bed, Hawk put the phone on speaker. It rang once and then Hawk could hear noise on the other end as it connected. “Hello?”

“They did it.” Hawk swayed on the bed, blinking as if that would help process what he said.

“They did it? Are you serious?” Of course he was serious. Pope was only serious. Hawk couldn’t believe what she was hearing and needed him to confirm it.

“Three years and nineteen days later, yeah.” She fell back against the mattress in relief. “You in Bakersfield? If not, I can take a bus-”

“-I can be there in four hours, tops.” Hawk cut him off. “Been gnawing off my goddamn fingernails waiting to hear from you. I’m just…really happy it’s good news this time around, Pope”

The remainder of Hawk’s final ride to the prison was filled with jitters and absolute silence.

Pope was getting released.

Pope was free.

The four hours passed by quicker than Hawk would’ve liked, anticipation gnawing so badly at her stomach and chest that she was sure she was developing an ulcer. She sat parked outside of the prison for another hour and a half -waiting, continuing to mindlessly gnaw at her already raw fingertips before a buzzing sound filled the immediate area. Hawk caught movement coming out of a secured gate to the right of where she had parked and within seconds, Pope was walking out, his eyes scoping the lot.

Trying to play it cool, Hawk kept herself seated against the hood of her small SUV, but the reality was that she feared she’d make an absolute fool out of herself if she seemed too eager to go to him.

Seeing Pope for the first time in three years without a sheet of bulletproof Plexiglas between them was jarring. Seeing him not in an orange jumpsuit was also jarring. He had definitely put on muscle in his time locked up. Not that he was beefy, but he was sturdy, strong, immovable. Solid.

Pope didn’t carry anything other than a manila file in his hand. He stopped walking when he spotted Hawk, eyes squinting in the harsh California sunlight. Hawk took that as her que to start walking towards him. They both looked each other up and down, assessing the other before Hawk stopped just before him. Pope’s mind went to their call from the previous week, the call Hawk was definitely drunk for. He could see it on her face, whatever she was going through had taken the spark that she had when she came to visit him. Pope couldn’t see her eyes past her dark sunglasses, but he could tell she was slightly off. Pope didn’t mention it out loud, but he did take a mental note.

Hawk held out her hand, his sunglasses perched in her palm on offer to him. She was mindful to swipe them from Smurf’s when he went up for parole the first time and held onto them with a little pile of his belongings. His head dropped down and he smiled. Not a tilt or a minor lift -a genuine smile, Simple’s on full display, then he looked at Hawk with an emotion that she couldn’t register, but he was happy and that’s all that mattered in that moment. It was a win for her after so many losses. Pope took the shades out of her palm gently and placed them on his face, a small ‘thank you’ leaving him.

“Can I?” Hawk’s question was hesitant as she tested the waters, giving him the opportunity to initiate any contact. Pope raised a brow, but lifted his arms just high enough to let Hawk know he was alright with it. With all the relief and joy in Hawk’s heart, she wrapped her arms around his waist and held him tightly. His body immediately tensed at the contact after going so long without, but when Hawk went to let go he wrapped his arms around her shoulders to pull her back to him. Hawk felt Pope’s chest expand as he nuzzled his face to the crown of her head, breathed in deep, held it and then exhaled.

“It’s good to have you back, Pope.” Hawk spoke softly into his shirt before letting him go. She felt the pinch of tears starting to spring, but willed herself to hold them back. “Come on, let’s get you to the hotel. I have the room for the night anyway and it’s a long drive back. Doubt you’ll want to sit in the car that long.”

“You could drag me behind it the whole way home and it wouldn't hold a candle to being in there.” He nodded to the prison with a grimace.

“Hold onto that thought,” Hawk chuckled, “For now, we’re going to Bakersfield. You hungry?” This brought another grin to his face.

“Starving.”

“Does anyone know you’re out?” Hawk popped a fry in her mouth as Pope savored his second burger, bypassing the fries. The sky was shades of periwinkle and pink as the sun began to set. They were currently sitting at a table outside of an In-N-Out that was halfway to their hotel so Pope could enjoy his first meal out in the fresh air before the sun set for the first time in three years.

“Nope.” Not knowing what to say, Hawk just nodded slowly knowing his unexpected return to the Cody residence in the morning was going to be a shit show.

“Alright.“ They finished their meals in relative peach. Pope would glance over to Hawk behind his sunglasses. He wasn’t trying to hide it. Three years in prison for anyone would do just about anyone in when it came to consensual intimacy.

When they got back to the hotel Hawk could feel Pope’s eyes on her the whole time they were in the elevator and as Hawk led him down the hall until they reached the door. It was familiar, a little unnerving, but otherwise comfortable.

“This extra key is for you,” Hawk handed Pope the duplicate. “Not sure if you’ll get restless and want to wander a bit.” He took it and stowed it away in his front pocket. “Room 426” Hawk said out loud as she tapped the keycard against the mechanism. A burst of air conditioning hit Pope and he closed his eyes at the feeling. When he opened them again Hawk was standing inside, holding the door open for him patiently.

“I haven’t claimed a bed yet, so pick whichever one you want” Hawk offered as he stepped through the threshold. The bed closest to the door was the obvious answer for Pope as he sat on the corner of the mattress. He nearly groaned at the softness of it. His brain went to Hawk’s safety first, not that he was expecting anything to happen. This was one of the nicer hotels in the area, but it was still Bakersfield and he would -without a second thought- put himself in harm's way for her if need be. Of that he was absolutely certain.

“I’ve been collecting some of your things from Smurf’s since you told me about the hearing that was coming up -just in case. I felt good about the odds this time around.” Hawk placed a small duffel on his bed with a gentle smile and sat on her bed opposite of him. “I didn’t go through your stuff or anything, just your clothes and some things I thought you’d want for tonight and tomorrow.” Pope unzipped the bag and poked around in it, checking out what she brought. A change of clothes, underwear and socks, a new razor and shaving cream, stuff for a shower, and a pair of sneakers.

“How’d you get this out without Smurf noticing?” Hawk’s sly grin made the corner of his mouth tilt.

“I’ve been known to have sticky fingers in my youth. While I may be out of practice, I’m unseen when I need to be.”

“You?” Pope didn’t look convinced. “Little Miss Five Finger Discount?”

“I was a troubled youth.” Hawk laughed. “And stupid. Don’t need me to tell you that.”

“Nah,” Pope shook his head, his voice soft. “You were never stupid. Probably the smartest out of all of us.”

“That’s not saying much.” She joked, getting a ghost of a chuckle out of Pope. “I only smartened up before I could get caught.”

“Getting caught was more of Julia’s thing.” Hawk’s stomach sank at the mention of her friend and Pope noticed a change in demeanor, though she tried to mask it. He was more observant than the average person, Hawk had to remind herself, especially watching his own back for three years. Pope could read people and she felt entirely exposed in front of him. He was right about her eyes when they were outside of the prison.

“What happened?” Hawk took a moment to compose her thoughts.

“I really don’t know if it’s my place to say or if this is where I should say it.” Hawk’s eyes didn’t meet his.

“Did something happen to Julia?” Pope’s feelings about his sister were complicated and conflicting. She was a junkie and she betrayed the family -abandoned Pope. He cut contact with her the day she bailed out of Smurf’s house and only got updates through Hawk when Hawk wanted to give them. Hawk only spoke about Julia, never her son. They knew of J’s existence, but not his name, and J didn’t know about their’s -other than that they were out in the world. J didn’t know their names, how old they were, what they looked like. Well, he did, but he didn’t know that they were related to him. Even at her worst, Julia stressed to Hawk that he couldn’t be a part of their world and Hawk had failed her miserably.

Hawk leaned her elbows on her thighs and dropped her face into her hands for a moment before sitting up straight.

“She’s gone, Pope.” Hawk’s voice was just above a whisper, so soft he almost didn’t hear it. Pope’s expression didn’t change, but Hawk saw a shift in his eyes.

“OD?” Hawk nodded. It was always a matter of when with Julia, not if, and it hurt Hawk’s heart to think that even if it was true. Pope blinked a few times, his jaw clenching and unclenching. “When?”

“About a week ago. Funeral’s in two days. I didn’t want to tell you before the hearing in case it went south and I didn’t want you to focus on anything other than possibly getting out, ya know?” He nodded, jaw clenching harder, and stood with the duffel bag. He looked down at Hawk, the space between his brows pinched like he wanted to say something, but took the bag and made his way over to the bathroom. “Pope?” He stopped, but didn’t turn around. “I’m really sorry.” He ultimately stepped forward without another word, without acknowledging Hawk, and locked himself in the bathroom.

Hawk’s head dropped back down into her hands. Pope didn’t know the situation with J -yet, and Hawk had no idea what he was going to do when he did.

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#pope cody x reader #animal kingdom imagine #andrew pope cody #pope cody #animal kingdom tnt #shawn hatosy #well enough alone universe

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simpxxstan · 11 months ago

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HELLOOO!!! CONGRATS FOR THE 550 FOLLOWERS ON TUMBLR I HOPE U GET MORE FOLLOWERS BC UR WRITTING?? DELICIOUS 💗💗

But I would like to request seungcheol + dilfism ?? Like have u SEEN that man??

Thank you!! Have a good day!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY FAVOURITE MAN <333 thank you for sending this in! LOVED writing dilf cheol. i swear this man and his sexiness of 30s will be the death of me. inspired completely by his new glasses look at caratland 2024.

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

genre: smut, enemies to lovers, age gap, dilf!seungcheol, lawyer au.

word count: 13k words.

warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 18+ nsfw content. 13 YEAR AGE GAP, mention of suicide, single dad!seungcheol, a ton of legal terms (not vouching to be accurate because i am neither a lawyer nor a law student nor is my research perfect), seungcheol is a bit selfish and toxic (but there's a redemption arc), ANGSTY angst, but A LOT OF FLUFF TO COMPENSATE. smut warnings: protected sex, oral receiving (f and m), mild dirty talk, implicit size kink, implicit spit kink.

"it's my first case!" you whine in surrender, slumping on the shoulder of your friend, as you both re-read the case file in front of you for the n-th time this morning. yoona pats your head, but she knows even she can say nothing to console you. it must be either sheer bad luck or some unknown person's vengeance, that you're against choi seungcheol in the very first case of your life.

y/l/n y/n: the lawyer of the plaintiff, hwang seola.

choi seungcheol: the lawyer of the defendant, KNT enterprises pvt. ltd.

nothing can save you from losing your first case in the worst way possible. not even the stellar letters of recommendation from your professors. not even your exceptional performance in the national lawyers examination process. not even your diligence during your interning years that's earned you the title of golden rookie. everyone expects you to make it big, including yourself- but that's clearly not going to happen if you lose the very first actual case you have to face in your life.

"at least no one will mock you for losing," yoona says in a meek voice. you scoff indignantly, "as if that's any comfort. still doesn't change the fact that i'm going to start off my career on the worst foot possible. why does my luck have to be so shitty?"

"hey, think about the positives. imagine how much of a learning experience it'll be. i know best how much you consider seungcheol as your idol."

you sigh. five years ago, when seungcheol had blown up across the country because of his historic debut in the court of corporate law, winning case after case and setting precedents that were welcomed with open arms, you'd looked up to him. five years ago, he'd walked into your college for an invited seminar during your first semester and blown your mind away. five years ago, you would cry in joy at the opportunity to even spend a minute in the same courtroom as seungcheol and see him in action. five years ago, he'd been the ideal man of your dreams- perfect in every damn way possible.

the only issue with that is that he's still the ideal man in your eyes. even if losing the case against him won't make your nervous, just being in close quarters with him for long hours will make you infinitely nervous.

"maybe i should recommend boss to let you take up the ca-" you tease yoona, and she squeals, whining protests instantly. "no thank you!" you laugh, hoping to lighten the tension of the moment. but the relief is only temporary, and the weight of the upcoming case lingers in your mind for hours later.

the first trial of the case is a week later. before that, you decide to change your mindset to a better thought process- even if you simply assume that you're going to lose this case, you're still going to give in your 100% so that you can step away with no regrets and only more knowledge gained. the first step to that, of course, is speak to your client personally, without the intermediation of the firm you work at.

mrs hwang turns out to be a woman just a few years older than you. the primary reason why she's suing the company her husband used to work at is because her husband had been driven to suicide by the constant pressure in his workplace to keep some illegal activities and fraud under the covers, which had not only harmed his mental health and morals but also affected the way his superiors judged his work performance. she may be young, but she's lost her husband merely three years after their marriage, and just one look at her face makes your heart ache in sympathy.

this isn't the first time you've seen such a case. during your years of study, you've studied plenty of cases involving companies ill-treating their workers and leading them to take up drastic steps in desperation. not only does this case come under a serious mistreatment of employees under labour laws, but also violates laws governing corporations which demand them to steer off illegal activities and maintain integrity. it's a very interesting case, and you're highly intrigued and instantly drawn into the case. there are several nuances that you know you may miss out by a hair's breadth if you're not careful. but you cannot take chances. if you have to even put up a fair fight against choi seungcheol, you're going to have to leave no stone unturned.

at the end of your discussions with mrs hwang, you're fully convinced that the company is indeed at fault here. however, you're going to have to prove it in court with the meagre evidence you have- which is low anyway, considering how big companies use their financial and social capital to turn such cases remarkably in their favour. the primary example of that being them getting seungcheol, the country's top corporate lawyer, to represent them, while mrs hwang can only hire you, a rookie lawyer at a lesser reputed firm.

however, as you walk into the courtroom, you convince yourself to not think about how the odds are against your favour from the first moment itself, to calm your nerves. you're here to debut with a bang, and you will fake it till you make it.

it doesn't work.

it doesn't work because the moment you enter the courtroom, you see choi seungcheol sitting next to the defendant's CEO on the other side of the room, dressed in the most immaculate suit, his glasses perched on his nose as he inspects the documents you've submitted in court prior to the trial as preliminary evidence. when you walk towards the bench you're going to sit at, he looks up at you.

it's a careful, measured glance. a glance of confidence, a glance of self-awareness. he knows he's going to win. and yet, he smiles at you indulgently.

moments later, he meets you halfway across the room.

"good morning. i'm seungcheol," he extends his hand for a shake, his nose upturned as he looks down at you with an aura that nearly blows you away. you wish that you hadn't worn heels tonight- because if he keeps looking at you like that, your knees are going to give up.

"of course, who wouldn't know you?" you steady your voice mustering a smile.

seungcheol's smile does not change. "it's nice to meet the golden rookie finally."

his words send shivers down your spine. there's just something about meeting your idol from so up-close that you want to submit instantly to his infinitely higher knowledge and experience to you. there's also something particular to him that's affecting your mind and body- because if seungcheol at thirty-one was handsome, he's absolutely godly at thirty-six. he's aged like fine wine- the rimless glasses sitting firmly on his nose, tiny wrinkles around his eyes, and a few graying hairs around his sideburns.

you don't get a chance to respond as the judge enters the court and you're pulled away to your bench, sitting next to a very nervous-looking mrs hwang. you forcefully drag your eyes away from seungcheol, who still has that tiny smile on his face as he talks to his client, and focus on your client, giving her much-needed confidence boosts (needed both by her and by you).

as anticipated, the first trial does not go well. it's just your fucking luck that the judge knows seungcheol already- but then, it was wrong of you to not consider that already, knowing how famous he is. on top of it all, mrs hwang breaks down in the middle of seungcheol's questioning, shaken completely by his straightforward questions and uncaring gaze, and the court gets adjourned, leaving you stranded without any proper progress against seungcheol's stronger case. the next trial is scheduled for a week later. you wish you could think that your work has been cut out for you, but it's far from that.

the second trial comes quickly- but it doesn't let you progress much further. seungcheol looks even more nonchalant on the second trial- dressed in another suit, he's less fierce today during his questioning. you don't notice it, because you're too flustered with your own work, but his eyes stray towards you more often. his eyes glaze over with something soft every time you make eye contact, and you immediately look away, like you've been caught in the act. but seungcheol doesn't let it slip- he keeps up his passive aggression when he's shaking hands with you before exiting the courtroom.

"tough luck, rookie. focus between the lines more."

his words make you even more nervous than before, but you put on a brave face for seola's sake. this motivates you to change your gameplan, and you decide to stop focusing on existing evidence, which is scarce, and use more verbal reports of other employees who have willingly stepped up to speak the truth after the suicide of their friend and colleague. by the time you're just three days before the third trial date, you have a solid set of verbal witnesses who will provide evidence on your side, but every time you feel slightly more confident than earlier, seungcheol's voice rings in your ears and you lose all hope.

on the morning of the fourth day, you receive an email from your boss.

y/n, please attend a lunch meeting on my behalf with some of our older clients (whose list i have attached below) today.

you jump to the opportunity- being provided a chance to interact with the old clients of the firm is a lucrative opportunity to impress those who've stayed with the firm from the beginning (and naturally, have graduated into stakeholders at the firm).

so it's safe to say you're in for a rude shock when you reach the lunch spot at a five-star restaurant along the banks of the han river, and find none of your clients but instead you find seungcheol waiting for you.

"close your mouth and stop drooling," jeonghan's voice somehow appears in his mind when he sees you enter the restaurant. "you make it obvious how hot you find women in suits."

but seungcheol cannot take his eyes off you. hasn't been able to for the last two times he's seen you. even if the courtroom is no place for indecency, he's had plenty of indecent thoughts whenever he's seen you, dressed in your suits and blazers, your curves prominent and your hair tied up in a practical ponytail. he should not think like this about you- he knows it. you both are set up at natural odds because of the case- but somehow, that makes him more interested in you. and seungcheol would not have it any other way. he looks forward to each trial of an otherwise boring case just to see you- the passion on your face whenever you're arguing your case, the way your mouth opens in shock whenever seungcheol casually dismisses a piece of information you've clearly worked hard on, the way you stare in exasperation at the witnesses when they speak against your stance, the hunger in your eyes whenever you're questioning his client, and the fire in you that burns you to work harder before each trial. seungcheol hasn't seen a lawyer as passionate as you in many years- most would have given up even before starting just due to his formidable reputation, but you're not even intimidated by his on-brand dead stare that works on everyone.

"i was told i'm here to meet clients of my firm. i didn't know you hired our firm for your personal needs," you cock an eyebrow as you stand in front of him, and seungcheol smirks. that attitude does nothing to filter his thoughts.

"would you have come if i'd invited you personally?"

you open your mouth to say something but he beats you to it. "have a seat, please. let's enjoy lunch."

you do so immediately. submissive. "but i still don't understand why i'm here." bratty.

he places a finger on his lips as the food he's pre-ordered arrives. the smell of the delicious food breaks your frigid attitude, it obviously helps that seungcheol's ordered your self-proclaimed favourite dish on your public instagram account. "i'm sure you must be hungry." seungcheol digs in himself, his eyes on yours as he carefully licks the spoon clean. your eyes flicker to his lips instantly before you're staring back into his eyes, defiance laced in your gaze. you pick up the spoon and start eating as well. seungcheol smiles.

i'm a dad to two daughters. i know how to tame brats.

after a few minutes, he finally speaks. "do you know the first step to winning a battle, rookie?"

you look up and tilt your head slightly in question.

"knowing your opponent."

"i already know you."

"that's what you think. that's why you're not going to win."

your eyes flash with anger. "are you just going to rub that into my face? is that why i'm here?"

"so what? you don't want to win? isn't the most loved story of human history the tale of the underdog?"

"frankly, my opponent isn't even you. it's your client, who isn't even here. so i don't understand the point of this meeting."

"so much can be learnt merely through observation, rookie. you can't know someone by looking at their annual reports and how much money they pay their employees."

"i don't need to know anything more than that! unlike you, i don't wish to meddle in people's personal lives to win cases. i don't need your brain games."

seungcheol chuckles. "the courtroom is nothing but brain games, rookie. think how far facts can take you, and then think how much further imagination can take you."

you gasp, pinching your nose. "i'm sorry, what? imagination? i'll win on evidence and evidence only. i used to admire you as an icon of law. but now, when i see you defend an obvious criminal with such blatant stubbornness, i'm having second thoughts."

"obvious criminal? are you telling me you've obtained the evidence you need to prove my client guilty in court?"

"and what if i do?"

seungcheol sits back, squaring his shoulders to his full stature. "you shouldn't tell me about it then, rookie."

"when you'd walked into my law school five years ago for a seminar, this wasn't the choi seungcheol i'd grown to love as an icon."

fuck. five years ago? just how young were you?

"i'd advise you not to get emotional about the case. the courtroom is no place for admiration or lov- or any other emotions."

"and yet, you have no desire to live up to the expectations of hundreds of law students like me who look up to you? you don't care about the youth you're letting down with this attitude?"

"why should i? i'm surviving just fine, aren't i?"

by this point, seungcheol can see the way your nails dig into your own palms in frustration. it's so amusing, how emotionally you're dealing with this. in a world of black and white, seeing you behave gray in every scenario makes seungcheol think he's lived thirty-six years of his life incorrectly.

finally when you cannot come up with any rebuttal, you stand up, dragging your chair on purpose to make noise. "there's absolutely nothing more for me to talk to you about. i hope you've learnt about me today, choi seungcheol. i've certainly learnt a lot too." and you walk away before he has the opportunity to say anything.

lunch with seungcheol leaves you shaken and stuttering. even as you open the door of the cab outside and ask the driver to take you to the office without a second thought, you spend the entire journey lost in your own thoughts. every little moment of the meeting lingers in your mind, unsettling your confidence. from the way he calls you rookie to his quiet arrogance and confidence, everything about him is so frustrating and yet... he draws you in. your perception about him has definitely changed after today, but even with the added understanding of just how selfish choi seungcheol can be, you can't ignore the sheer attraction you feel towards him.

it stays on your mind through the next three days. and on the morning of the third trial, you're stuck with two different thoughts plaguing your mind.

the first: a genuine concern about how the third trial is going to pan out. it's likely to be your last chance to even bring the judge's opinion to your side, because if you can't present good enough evidence today, there's no way to sway the jury to your side.

the second: choi seungcheol is a man who annoys you but you also have this innate craving to impress him. your respect for him hasn't changed, but your conversation with him has revealed to you just how cutthroat the world of law really is. and his suave attitude, the confidence with which he's so sure he's going to win, and his infinitely superior experience to you makes some part of you so desperate to seek his attention and impress him. show him that you can do well too. show him that you're not going to make beginner's mistakes. show him that you're more than a mere rookie.

but when you walk into the courtroom, seola next to you, your sunglasses perched on your head, you stare at the empty bench behind you. it was supposed to be full with the four witnesses you'd invited today and were relying on to sail through the the third trial. frantically, you ask your colleague who's assisting you in the trial, "where are the witnesses? are they running late? can you ple-"

"they're not going to come today, y/n."

seungcheol's icy voice cuts through the chaos and reaches you sharply. you spin around to find him dressed immaculately in a midnight blue turtleneck that shows off the stubble growing down his jaw.

"sorry, what?"

"you heard me the first time. none of them are going to come today."

"and how do you know?"

seungcheol smirks as he shrugs and takes a step closer towards you. "i have my ways, rookie."

you're fuming at this point, but you really can't speak your mind because seola breaks down in tears right next to you and you can't help but shift away your focus from seungcheol's dangerous eyes and take care of her.

it's honestly a miracle that after the complete sweep that seungcheol presents in the third trial, with no new evidence nor substantial evidence from your end, you still get another chance at a fourth trial, scheduled two weeks from now, in a pitiful announcement from the judge, imploring you to use this final chance to collect as much as evidence as you can.

when the trial ends, you ask seola to go home, and you lock yourself up in a bathroom stall in the court building, trying to come to terms with everything that's come to pass today. it's been an overwhelming morning and you're still shaken badly by it all. every moment you spend in this world with seungcheol, he seems to make it his personal mission to show you that there's no place for softness or emotions in this cut-throat world.

when you exit the washroom, you find seungcheol standing outside, an unlit cigarette between his lips.

"did you bribe them?"

he turns to look at you, his eyes clearly wide in surprise. "what are you saying?"

you take a step closer to him, your entire body shaking with fury. "did you bribe the fucking witnesses?"

"we're in public, woman, control your tongue."

"i'm not ashamed of anything i'm saying though, are you?"

seungcheol's lips twist in distaste and he drags you away from the public place to a quieter spot secluded near the parking lot. "i understand you're frustrated because of that no-show today, but you're speaking nonsense-"

"i'm speaking perfect sense, seungcheol! only you knew that i was going to bring in witnesses today."

"only me?"

"except two people at my firm, one of who is my best friend, and the other is a colleague who's assisting me in the case."

"who knows? maybe your friend's the snitch-"

you step closer to him, seething in anger. "don't you fucking make false allegations, choi seungcheol!"

"you're the one making false allegations here, really."

"you'll have to admit it, seungcheol. someday. if all your fame and reputation has been through such cheap tricks and under-the-table dirty business, you'll have to pay for it-"

"or what?" seungcheol puts back the cigarette between his lips, and lights it with a lighter. he takes in a big puff, and exhales right into your face. "or what, y/n? maybe you should take my advice instead. and stop making rookie mistakes."

as he walks away from you, you shout behind him, "i'm going to expose you, seungcheol!"

"empty threats, la la la." his voice trails back, sending shivers down your spine, as you're left alone in the dark parking lot, wallowing in your own pathetic helplessness.

your search for further evidence has led you to a complete dead-end. the most important thing that you need, the one that will clinch the case for you absolutely, is any - even one- document directly coming from KNT to seola's husband. unfortunately, you've gone through his emails and fax multiple times, but found nothing. nothing on his laptop, no hard drives, no soft drives, no external devices, nothing on his mobile phone or other such devices either. today you're searching all his belongings again and again, but it's still the dead-end. you realise that there's no point looking for more witnesses because seungcheol's just going to drive them away by whatever tricks he's using. and you're confident that seungcheol's thinking a step ahead of you- so any new evidence sources that you might come up with now might have already been dismissed by seungcheol through some back-up plan of his.

"seola, i need you to think once more, please. did he use any other device apart from the one at his office and the one at home? any laptop or any other mobile phone?"

"no... i can't remember anything else, really. we couldn't afford anything more too..."

you grimace. "i hope you don't get offended, but i'm sure he received quite a bit of money from whatever services he was providing KNT. enough to motivate him to keep quiet and hold on for so long. otherwise an honest man like him wouldn't want to get into this mess, would he?"

seola doesn't reply immediately, tears silently dropping down his cheeks.

you sigh and place a hand on her shoulders, rubbing softly as she breaks down into more tears. in the last few weeks, you've become surprisingly quite close. you've comforted her through her worst moments, feeling compassionate both as a woman and as a lawyer. and she, in turn, has helped you without any qualms, in not just the case but also lent a patient ear to you whenever you've wanted to rant, made ramen for you whenever you've worked till late, and let you stay over at her place whenever the rain outside's become too torrential for you to take the bus back home.

after a few long moments, seola is finally able to gain back her composure. "y/n.... he did mention something about an outstation office... towards the outskirts of the city. he used to go there twice a month. he told me it was for sending out packages to the other branches of the company... but maybe you could see there once?" your eyes light up with excitement as you hear seola's words. is this finally the breakthrough you'd been looking for through high and low? is this finally going to be your trump card to win the case? your rational side tells you to not become overjoyed immediately, but something in you is desperate to see that cockiness wiped off seungcheol's face, and bring him down to earth from whatever higher place his arrogance has placed himself at.

"seola, can you give me any tentative location for it? i'm going to go check it now."

"now? but the forecast is showing there's going to be thunderstorms tonight! there's so much thunder grumbling out there-"

"it doesn't matter, seola. i can't afford to lose any more time."

seungcheol's been stuck in traffic for almost an hour now, and the windshield wiper is absolutely useless in preventing the rain from cascading on his front window. the rain is relentless- just like the thoughts tormenting his heart. the reason he's returning home so late is because there had been a dinner party at the workplace cafeteria, hosted by his colleagues and closest friends, jeonghan, joshua, wonwoo and minghao. they're all lawyers with their own reputations, and the only friends they all have now. the point of the dinner? celebrating seungcheol's (upcoming) win in the KNT vs mrs hwang case. (and also to get seungcheol's mind off y/n, who's distracted him from his work all week, ever since their encounter at the parking lot of the courthouse.)

it'd been a mistake to stay out for so long. a sheer lapse of judgement, and seungcheol has not choice but to curse at himself right now. his daughters have called him already, their voices sleepy as they stay up for their father to return home to eat ice cream with them, before they fall into bed.

"and yet, you have no desire to live up to the expectations of hundreds of law students like me who look up to you? you don't care about the youth you're letting down with this attitude?"

y/n's words ring in his mind.

as the rain pours down cruelly, seungcheol's heart lets out silent cries.

he's a failure.

he's failed his family. thirteen years ago, when his parents had cast him out of their house after he'd failed to get a job at a good law firm.

that attitude's gonna get you nowhere, kid! stop running your mouth and focus on your work!

he's failed his first love. nine years ago, four years before he'd finally made his mark in the country's law scene, his wife had divorced him and left their children with him, because he'd not been able to earn enough for her.

stop being such a social activist, seungcheol! the world isn't soft like you. stop being so stuck up and emotional!

and now he's failing his daughters. day after day, they'd stay up late, waiting to spend some quality time with their father. night after night, they'd end up sleeping alone because seungcheol's insomnia didn't let him sleep with them. month after month, he'd promise to take them to their long-due vacation, but he was always too busy to take leave for two weeks at once. year after year, they'd wait for him to come to sports' day but seungcheol could never make it.

appa, if you can't take us to jeju... can we go for the school trip this year to jeju? all our friends are going to go for it...

all these painful thoughts triggered simply by one person- you. you're an unprecedented variable in his life, someone he couldn't even imagine to be a part of his life even a month ago. and yet, you've made him feel so many emotions, that had become dormant for years, in such a short span of time.

he's disappointing you too.

he doesn't know why it hurts what you think of him. seungcheol had thought that at thirty-six, he's finally ascended from these petty thoughts. but somehow your judgemental gaze, your innocent words and your fresh perspectives have shaken him to the core.

or perhaps he does know why, and he doesn't want to acknowledge it.

you remind him of himself.

but you're far better than he was. he'd been a coward, a loser, too quick to give up, and too hasty to drown in his own pity party. you're a fighter, a challenger, not accepting the cruelties of status quo, and too passionate to give up your sense of justice just to fit in with the cut-throat dirty reality.

you're 10 times the lawyer than he could ever be, and something about that makes him so inexplicably drawn to you.

because you're the person he's always wanted to idolised.

no wonder that when you'd told him that you'd looked up to him as an idol, he'd laughed at himself.

the traffic jam disperses slowly, and seungcheol breaks out of his daze. the clock shows 10.30 pm, and the rain shows no sign of stopping. thankfully, the traffic is now moving smoothly.

after almost half an hour of standing at the bus stop, waiting for something to pass by, there's finally a car with a very bright beam slowing down in front of you. it's a private car, but you hope it can give you a l-

"what are you doing here?!" the words escape your mouth as soon as you notice who's in the driver as the car window rolls down.

"get in, rookie."

you consider hesitating, but seungcheol's car looks warm... and safe. so you do get in, hating how there's water everywhere you're touching, spoiling the clearly expensive leather of the seats. but seungcheol doesn't say anything even as you shuffle in and finally settle on the passenger seat.

he thankfully doesn't ask you anything as he lets you take a breath and get warm enough. so about five minutes pass before he asks you, "what were you thinking, standing out there in this rain?" his voice is low, almost cracked, but laced with serious concern. you notice that he's still dressed in his typical suits. is he returning from work so late?

"i had work here," you say carefully avoiding the connection about the case.

"so late at night?"

"it was important."

"that it couldn't wait till the morning?"

"no."

you're aware by the way his jaw is clenched that he's getting annoyed by your short answers. but you have no option except to be as vague as possible- his mind works too fast for you.

"where's your home?"

you tell him the locality, and he sighs. "that's on the opposite side of town."

"i know, just... maybe you can drop me at a more crowded bus stop? the one where i was waiting was a bit remote, but a more crowded one will definitely have more frequent buses-"

"you're out of your mind."

"huh?"

"just because you're irresponsible doesn't mean i will be too. i cannot and will not leave you in the middle of the road in this rain so late at night."

"seungcheol, i don't want to barge-"

"you're not barging into anything. you'll come home with me, change into drier clothes and sleep in for the night so that you don't fall sick."

"y-your home?"

"yes. do you have a better idea?"

you gulp, his gaze stern. you don't have a better idea, in fact getting to change into warm clothes and get into someone's house sounds divine right now. the only problem is that it's.... seungcheol's home. if you can't handle him in his everyday suits, you wonder what thoughts seungcheol in his natural abode will spark in you.

"i'll always be grateful to you."

seungcheol nods, and the rest of the journey is silent.

seungcheol doesn't know yet if it's a good or a bad idea. he did it as an impulse- perhaps some part of him hopes he's still redeemable in your eyes, so he wants to do the right thing for once. but he won't know if it's the right think for everyone until he reaches home.

when he parks the car and takes you up to his flat, he can hear the television blaring harry potter from outside the flat, and he can see the way your eyebrows furrow at the sound. so he slowly unlocks the door, to reveal his two daughters sitting on the couch, undoubtedly watching their favourite harry potter movies again, wearing identical pyjamas specially designed for the identical twins.

he can hear you gasp as you step into the house, and the girls come into your view.

there's an awkward moment of silence and staring, before sol comes running to him and wraps herself around his waist. "appa! we're right at the last scene of prisoner of azkaban, your favourite part!"

seungcheol almost tears up. how can they welcome him so warmly every night even though he's come home so late?

he clears his throat. "sounds like you've been having fun, girls. but first, say hello to y/n unnie-"

"imo," you whisper next to him, your figure shrunk with the cold.

"no unnie," he whispers back. "this is choi sol, our maknae, and that's choi byul, my eldest." the girls wave and shyly say hello, their dimpled smiles flashing politely as they bow. you bow back, "hi sol and byul! sorry you're meeting unnie in this state~"

"are you also a lawyer?"

"did you get caught in the rain?"

"do you work with appa in his office?"

"do you want fresh clothes?"

you giggle at the contrasting questions from the two girls, their starkly different personalities evident. "yes, yes, no, and yes please, if you could be so kind," you smile back, your dainty lips curving into a pretty bow that takes his breath away. sollie shifts from where she'd been wrapped around seungcheol to take your hand gently. "do you think my clothes will fit you? i think byul's clothes will. she has a very warm nightdress..." and she drags you away to her room, welcoming you in without even a single moment's hesitation. byul is more reserved in her welcome, but still warm. she follows the two of you shortly, and seungcheol is left at his doorstep alone, but filled with such a flurry of emotions in his heart that leaves his soul warmed unlike he's felt in years.

about twenty minutes later, he comes out of his bathroom after a refreshing warm shower, his hair soft after the shampoo. he can hear voices from the kitchen, loud-pitched voices of his daughters and the softer, lower voice that he recognises as you.

"unnie, do you want to have ramen?" byul's voice rings out. "we were going to have ice cream but you might feel too cold for that." sol adds, "did you eat dinner, unnie? didn't appa eat dinner with you?" "no, w- we- he picked me on the way when he saw me stranded in the rain. we didn't have dinner... together."

seungcheol's heart breaks and heals a little at the same time. he's taken the right step for now... but seeing his little girls like this have generated images and thoughts in his mind that he had shelved away forever.

the idea of a family.

the idea of giving them a new mother figure.

as he walks towards the kitchen, he can see the way sol and byul cling to you although they've met you barely half an hour ago. perhaps it's because they don't have any cousins and you feel like a sister? perhaps it's because they like bossing over adults, especially since they boss over him so much? perhaps it's because they've already been charmed by your magnetic appeal- your softness and your innocence, mingled with an intelligence that lets you befriend everyone.

"are y'all annoying y/n already?" byul immediately faux pouts, and he can see your eyes light up. "seungcheol, she looks exactly like you," your voice whispers with the revelation. "yes, she's my daughter. kinda expected, don't you think?" he laughs. it's sarcastic of course, because sol and byul actually resemble him more than any other father-daughter pair he's seen in his life. it's almost like they haven't gotten any of their mother's genes. and seungcheol doesn't really regret it. it's been nine years, he's gotten over that pain. his only regret is to not be able to provide a second parent to his children, who'd grown up in spite of being cut off completely by their mother. and his busy life has left him with no space to date or even think of marriage...

except right now.

right now, when he sees you wearing byul's nightdress that barely reaches your knees, cooking ramen with sol sitting on the kitchen counter next to you, chatting away about harry potter, and byul carefully carving out ice cream into bowls for the four of them, seungcheol thinks maybe it's time.

maybe he's found the one.

and maybe, he's already fallen beyond scope to return.

you didn't get much chance to talk to seungcheol last night, but when you wake up on the guest bed the next morning, you can see him as soon as you open the door. he's sitting in the balcony, sipping a cup of tea, reading a newspaper, his glasses sitting prettily on his nose.

"morning," your voice is still raspy in spite of your sleep being perfectly fulfilling.

he turns to look at you, his gaze uncharacteristically soft, much different from how he sees you at court.

"hi. tea?"

you nod, and wobble over to sit next to him. the tea clears your throat a lot, and you can finally open your eyes wide enough to see the glorious view from his balcony. so you soak in the nature for some time, while seungcheol buries his nose into the newspaper again.

"i didn't know you were a father."

seungcheol hums. "did you like them? my girls? they liked you a lot."

"can't help but not like them. they balance each other so perfectly- as if they're your twin personas."

"that's deep."

"but it's true."

seungcheol chuckles and goes back to his newspaper. the morning air hits your face and you feel so much more alive than you'd normally do on a thursday morning. "when do you have to get to work?" he asks you.

"i still have about an hour and half left."

"will you go home and then-"

"yeah. the office is really close to my place, like a minute's walk. so i'll leave soon, don't worry-"

"you'll stay for breakfast." seungcheol says firmly. "the girls will want to see you before you leave."

and you can't turn that down. so you simply nod in agreement, carefully taking a look at the man sitting across you. seungcheol at home is so unimaginably different from seungcheol at court. if he's fire in the courtroom, then he's water at home. he's cold and practical in the real world, but with his daughters, he's the most gentle person you've met. something about the soft smile he gives when he indulges his girls. something about the way his eyes light up whenever they talk to him about anything, even if it's trivial. something about the way he's taken care of you since last night, not just giving you a shelter during a terrible night but also giving you so much warmth from his personal life. it's all made you see a completely different side to seungcheol than you'd met at the courtroom, and it's changed the way you've grown to see him completely.

now you know that seungcheol was not harsh to you that day at lunch, he was simply being realistic. his cockiness and arrogance is just self-confidence, it doesn't define who he is as a person. and he's still a man you can look up to and admit, without shame, to yourself that this is the ideal man in your eyes.

your phone pings right then, and you open it to see the mail that's arrived.

the cup of tea almost slips and falls from your hands as you jump up in your seat in joy. seungcheol looks up at you in alarm, "what happened?" your smile is bright, just like the sun this morning. "i have an emergency at work, i'll have to leave now! please say goodbye to sol and byul from my side!" and you rush into your room to change into your clothes from last night, still damp but at least cleaner, and you literally run out of the house, waving and thanking seungcheol again and again, leaving him very very confused indeed.

seungcheol feels incredibly at peace the next day when he walks into the courtroom. even though you'd disappeared suddenly like that without any explanation, he's quite sure that he's back in your good books. not that it matters much- because what really counts is how he's feeling about himself. and after many years, he's feeling good. the usual guilt that engulfs him as a whole every day as he wakes up to face a new morning, isn't bothering him. he feels like he's achieved something, he's done something right, and he's going to get better from now on.

but as soon as he pushes open the doors of the courtroom, he feels like he's missing something out. everyone on his side of the bench seems flustered as hell, papers rumpled and expressions distraught. but he doesn't get an opportunity to ask what's going on because you catch his attention first.

"seungcheol, can we talk for a second?"

"not right now, i have to talk to my team-"

"this is urgent. you'll want to hear this, i promise."

seungcheol lets out a long sigh as he takes in your words. there's a crisp confidence in your words today that intrigue him. "okay go ahead," he finally replies.

"in private, if you please." he follows you wordlessly out of the room, and you lead him out towards a small isolated office in the corner of the building, that's totally deserted. seungcheol leans back against the closed door, completely silent as he waits for you to settle your papers and finally look up at him.

"so what's this about? you wanna kiss me or someth-"

"you're going to lose the case today. i've found enough evidence to prove the absolute guilt of KNT, and the ceo will go to jail by the end of the court session today."

"you're bluffing me."

"i can show you the evidence, but i'd rather you'd see it in court."

"then why are you telling me this now? to pity me?" seungcheol's mouth fills with bile as a dread settles over him. the tables are turned- now he feels as rattled as he had seen you feel that day at lunch. what if you're being serious right now? what if you've actually found incriminating evidence? but he's gone through all potential sources of evidence with his client, left no stone unturned to hide all tracks-

"so that maybe you can step off the case in time. do you really want your daughters to find out you've been defending your client for so long knowing you're defending a criminal?"

seungcheol's heart skips a beat.

"do not bring them into this."

"i'm not bringing anyone into anything. this is just me being nice to you because i know what it feels like to be disappointed by someone you look up to."

"do you hear what you're saying, y/n?" he takes two steps closer to you. "this is borderline blackmail. i don't even know if you're bluffing or not, and you're already blackmailing me using my daughters. have you fallen to the same crude level i'm in? are you going to disappoint me like this?"

his words have the expected effect on you. he can see your cheeks flush pink. "seu-seungcheol, don't twist my words." you take a step back, your back straightening as he sees confidence seep back into your face.

"and maybe you should stop worrying about my morals and worry more about how badly you're going to lose the case. from next time, don't make rookie mistakes." your finals words, before you leave the room, ring in his ears and cause goosebumps to erupt all over his skin.

as soon as you're gone, seungcheol slams the desk in front of him, his brain running at a hundred miles an hour. what might have slipped from his sight? what might he have missed? he immediately calls the ceo of KNT enterprises.

"what have you been hiding from me?"

"oh? mr choi, what happened to greetings? good morning to yo-"

"nothing's good about today morning, mr kim. what have you been hiding from me? i'm not going to ask you again."

"nothing! i've bared my entire soul to you for the case."

"mr kim, there's a fresh piece of incriminating evidence that's been found, and i cannot do anything to stop mrs hwang's lawyer from submitting it to the court unless you tell me what it is exactly."

"mr choi, you're mistaken, there's nothing left to be wiped-"

"the first rule of a client and lawyer relationship," his voice is seething and snarky, volume rising with each word, "is that you should never lie to your lawyer." seungcheol knows if mr kim was in front of him right now, he'd be quaking in his shoes. he can imagine a similar situation on the other side of the phone too. he knows he's intimidating enough when he wants to be.

"i didn't think it would be important-"

"you're not the person to judge what's important and what's not, mr kim."

there's a sigh and the voice becomes shaky.

"there's an outstation branch..."

the case ends unceremoniously. there are no paparazzi waiting for you outside the courtroom, ready to capture your life's first win. there are no cameras flashing on you, no historic moments being documented, no crowds gathering to celebrate this win for the masses.

there's just seola's happy tears and a wildly beautiful feeling of victory in your heart as realisation ultimately sinks in for you. it's a clean win- the evidence showing unmatched proof of orders coming from KNT to mr hwang, detailing all sorts of illegal activities and even records of payments being made to mr hwang. it's really crazy how it's not been eradicated cleanly already by seungcheol. clearly, either he or his client had underestimated you.

but you'd proven them wrong.

yoona's the only who comes to see you outside the courtroom after the win. there's a bright smile on her face as she hugs you and congratulates you. seola promises that she's going to take you out on a treat right now. other colleagues from your workplace call you to congratulate you on the win.

and yet you feel empty.

seungcheol's gone. he hadn't come for the trial. he'd not been in the courtroom for the final statements, his aide quoting something about a family emergency. he'd run with his tail between his legs, ashamed of his failure and finally realising his stupidity. this thought should be giving you satisfaction, but surprisingly, it doesn't. it leaves you feeling empty, still wanting something even though you've won the case just now.

but there's no way to reach out to him. you don't even have his number for god's sake, and it would be awfully awkward to go to his house. and what would you say? that you missed seeing his sad face in court when the verdict was announced? that you wanted to see if he'd be proud of you for winning the case? that you wanted to impress him by beating him in the case cleanly without any dirty tricks? so you go to eat out with yoona and seola, and decide to stop thinking about seungcheol any further.

it's about seven in the evening when you make it back to your tiny flat in a shabby part of town, the house dark as you'd left it in the morning after rushing home from seungcheol's place. you smile to yourself when you unlock your home using the password on the door, thinking of how you'd been with seungcheol's adorable daughters last night, and how much fun you'd had with them.

your bag falls from your hand as you open the door.

"seungcheol?!" your voice is a shaky whisper, shocked to see him inside your house. "how the fuck did you get in?"

he's still wearing the suit he'd worn in the morning, and yet he looks divine in the dim reflection of lights from the world outside the window.

"your password's your birthday. got it on my first try."

"and how do you know my birthday?"

he takes a step closer, his body towering over yours. "shhh. it's called knowing your opponent."

there's something so oddly intimate about seeing him in your flat, in the shadows of your home. the street light illuminates one side of his face, and you can't breathe because of how gorgeous he looks.

"why do you know my birthday, seungcheol? really it's not going to help you in any way-"

"it did help me get into your house."

you lightly pick up the bag from on the floor next to you, and you walk past him. "which brings me back to the first question. why are you here?"

you're purposely avoiding his gaze, the intensity making you feel things. there's a plethora of emotions in your heart right now- finally the emptiness in your heart dissipates as you can feel yourself surrounded by seungcheol. you're taking off your blazer, untying your hair, walking over to the sink to wash your face... but you can't ignore the way you can feel seungcheol's eyes on your back. his heady scent clouds your senses, and you feel weak in your limbs. first he's intruding your house, and now your heart too?

"i have a question to ask you." he speaks after a long time, when you've finally cleaned up and taken out a cup of strawberry yoghurt from the refridgerator.

"you could've asked me on the phone." you lean back on a wall, putting yourself as far away from seungcheol as possible in your tiny flat. he's in the darkness, you're in the light, but you're still feeling small and vulnerable under his gaze.

"i couldn't. it's serious." he starts walking towards you.

"seungcheol, if this is about me trying to expose your shit, i'm not going t-" seungcheol puts his hand on your lips, pushing you against the wall.

"fuck that. this isn't about that."

you cock your eyebrow, mumbling against his hand, "then what is it about?"

seungcheol doesn't answer at once, his gaze continuing to pin you against the wall, and a hand comes around you to trap you between his bigger body and the wall. "seungcheol?"

"answer me honestly, okay?" his voice is raw, slightly wobbly, and you're getting more and more curious. you nod slowly, encouraging him to say whatever's on his mind. but he doesn't say anything. a few minutes pass just like that- or maybe an hour. his scent makes you dizzy, you can't think of anything but how his big figure is over you totally.

"when you said you looked up to me in college... i know i ruined that image. b- but... can you... fuck. wait. canyoueverforgiveme?"

"what?" you ask, confused at what he just said. he removes the hand from your mouth, standing even closer than before.

"can you ever forgive me? will you let me show you a better side of me? can i ever get in your good books again?"

your breath stops for a second. why does this matter for him? doesn't he already know the state he's left your heart in since last night- ever since he'd brought you into his car, he's already been promoted to your ideal man again.

"show me a better side of you? what do you mean, seungcheol?"

he sighs for a second, before straightening his posture, becoming impossibly even bigger.

"will you ever see me as a man, y/n?"

your knees almost give in. the fuck is his implying? are you dreaming this? is this a fever drea-

seungcheol leans in and kisses your cheek, close enough to your lips, his breath falling on your skin, and making your body tingle. "will you let me show you myself to you like this?" on instinct, you tilt your head away to give him more access, your body shivering with the intimacy. so he kisses your cheek again, closer yet to your lips, and you turn your head slightly to capture his lips, but he moves away.

"y/n, don't leave me hanging please. i know you might find this odd... but i've come to feel things for you that i didn't even know remained in me. you're an extraordinary woman, one of a kind. in all my life, i haven't met anyone like you. not even my ex-wife. you don't know this yet but you're the ideal image of perfection i've always thought of."

then he stops talking for a second, clearly expecting an answer from you. but your mind can't form words, not with the way you have tunnel vision on his face right now, your eyes drifting to his pretty cherry lips, to his long eyelashes, to the beautifully expressive eyes you've fantasised about since your college days.

"y/n, say something please." his voice is desperate, and you break out of your daze.

"you're my ideal man too, seungcheol. you have no idea for how long." there's a blush creeping on your cheeks, but in the dim yellow lighting, you can see an identical blush rise on his cheeks too. so you lean in and finally kiss his elusive lips, feeling the taste of his chapped but pretty lips on yours, feeling the way his body steps even closer to yours, one arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you to him, and your body melts as you feel the warmth from his body. the kisses slowly grow in pace, the momentum rising, as he kisses you more and more hungrily, his tongue entering your mouth too, as he begins to bite your lips and leaves you breathless and moaning just from a few kisses.

"god, rookie. you sure know how to kiss."

"i know how to do a lot of things, seungcheol." you know you're bad at dirty talk, you've never really succeeded at it during your few college experiences of sex. but somehow, seungcheol's eyes roll back at your words and you feel his heartbeat quicken up too. maybe it's working on him?

you try to test your hypothesis by gently wrapping your hands around his neck, slowly untying his tie, slipping it to the floor. once it's off, you rub your hands all over his chest, feeling the pure hard muscle flex under your muscles. his breathing is as hot and heavy as yours, and you slowly untuck his shirt from his pants, unbuttoning it carefully.

"must you torture me like this, y/n?" his eyes are glazed over, but you look up at him innocently. "what, seungcheol?" "fuck it, you're such a tease, princess." princess. he pushes you against the wall and kisses you again, one hand wrapped around your hair as he pulls you in, and another hand helping you unbutton his shirt and get it out of the way. seungcheol doesn't stop kissing you even when he begins to unbutton your own shirt, but his hands wander all over the skin he slowly unravels. it's like his own adventure mission, the gentle but urgent way he touches your skin, almost worshipping.

"you're so perfect, y/n." you whimper when he cups your breasts from over your simple black bra that does nothing to flaunt your tits, but somehow seungcheol's appreciating it all. are you really his perfect woman?

"do you mean it, seungcheol?" your voice is so weak, but it takes seungcheol aback. "what do you mean, y/n? you don't think i find you beautiful? is that why i've been dreaming about you every night these days? is that why you're always on my mind? is that why i died and came back from heaven last night when i saw you with my kids?" your breath hitches as he tilts your face to look at him. "you're the most perfect woman i've ever met, i told you. you've gotta believe me, y/n. or do i have to show you?"

"maybe, yes?"

he groans at your words, and his eyes become darker. "fuck, where's your bedroom, babe?"

seungcheol's touch is like moonlight caressing the ripples of a pond at midnight. a soft, gentle touch that lights up every inch of your skin that he touches. as the moonlight kisses the water and makes it ebb and flow with it, seungcheol's movements guide your body too. he's laying you out on a bed, his hands wandering all over your skin. as he takes in your figure, you let him, because he's making you feel so good. he kisses all over your body, your limbs tangling as you can't get enough of each other. seungcheol is all muscle, his hard planes flexing against your supple skin. he pins you against the headpost of your small double size bed, one hand wrapped around your waist, and the other caressing your breasts, making sure there's not even a single inch of your skin that's left untouched.

"did i tell you i think you're perfect?" his words are feverish, and leave you lost for words. so you can't reply to him, hoping he gets the way you feel about him too through your desperate whines and moans, pulling him closer if he puts even a hair's distance between your bodies. something about him being so big and engulfing your smaller stature is so hot, you can feel yourself getting aroused by the minute.

"seungcheol, i w- want to... touch you," you finally whisper out, and he pulls away from where he's been kissing your neck. "but you are?"

you shake your head and shove him lightly until he's on his back, and you're hovering above him. he's still wearing his pants while he's stripped you naked, so you do the honours for him. "what are you doing," his voice is strained. "want to touch you there," you focus on taking his trousers off until he's just in his underwear under you- his bulge quite obvious to you. if you weren't wet enough earlier, seeing the massive wet patch on his grey boxers leaves your own underwear soaked. is he this aroused because of you?

seungcheol seems to read your mind as he brings your face towards his own, whispering with hot breath, "do you see what you do to me, princess? got me wrecked and ruined." his confession is so raw, you lean in to kiss him again. as you do, your hand wraps around his clothed dick, and he groans into your mouth. "fuck fuck fuck," he curses as you begin to rub it softly. "i'm going to cum right now if you do that- babe, p-please!" he finally gets your hand off his dick, eyes large.

and then you giggle. something about seeing seungcheol so desperate triggers something off in you, makes you more determined to ruin him. so you pull off his boxers and take his erect, red cock straight into your mouth. seungcheol's body trembles with surprise, your name leaving his mouth in broken moans as he cannot take the pleasure of your mouth sucking him off in an excruciatingly slow speed. and you don't stop, even when his hand comes around the nape of your neck to keep you in place, even when you feel his entire body tense up with the imminent orgasm. you don't stop until he comes inside your mouth, spewing string after string of his hot seed, and you swallow it all. his breathing is laboured as he watches you lick off the last bits of the orgasm from his dick.

but your self-satisfaction of having the upper hand only lasts for so long. seungcheol's competitive side kicks in soon and he quickly flips over to pin you under him on the bed, his teeth nibbling at your chest, leaving pretty hickeys all over.

"let me return the favour, darling."

you don't know what he means right then by return the favour, but never in your wildest dreams, did you think it would include seungcheol burying his face into your cunt, his nose rubbing against your clit as his tongue laps up your wetness.

"fuck! no- seungcheol- pl-please, cheol!"

"do you want me to stop?" he asks you, his face barely moving up inches from your pussy to look into your eyes.

you hesitate before answering, so he softly kisses your stomach. "tell me, princess."

"i've never done this before..."

"what? sex?"

"no. oral. like no one's ever gone down on me before..."

and seungcheol doesn't waste another minute. he uses his teeth to push aside your panties and inserts his tongue right into your sloppy cunt, and you scream out his name. he doesn't go slow, and you don't want him to go slow. he's showing you all the stars in the sky, so you grab onto his hair to move his head back to a particularly good spot, and he moans incoherently when you tug at his locks. and within minutes, you're reaching your high, your screams getting stuck in your throat as you close your eyes and arch your back off the bed.

thankfully, seungcheol gets his face out of your cunt and hovers over you to take in your writhing figure under the impact of the orgasm.

"so how was your first experience?" he asks you when you finally open your eyes and look at him, his lips smeared with your essence and his body.

"heavenly," you whisper, before pulling him into you, and kissing him again. you can get drunk on his kisses. he's leaving your lips abused and raw, but when he's spitting into your mouth, you wrap your legs around his waist to pull him closer, feeling the toughness of his back muscles shift under your touch. this position ends up making his cock graze against your clit, and you jerk in overstimulation. but you can feel how hard he's getting with the kissing and the way your hands are tugging his hair. the heavy length rests on your stomach, and seungcheol pulls away.

"need to be inside you now, princess." his words have this rawness to them- long gone is the smooth-talker lawyer choi seungcheol. it takes several moments for you to process that you've caused him to descend to this desperation.

"do you have a condom?" he asks you.

"hmm, i do." you point towards the dresser next to your bed, and he casually bends away to take it out from the dresser. you're getting more turned on by his easy flexibility, and as soon as he's got the condom rolled on to his dick, you pull him for kisses again.

"patience, baby," he laughs, as he pulls away again after kissing you, to nudge the tip of his dick on your folds. "nooo, need you now. need your lips." "did my kisses break you?" "i think so," your voice is a whisper and he leans in to kiss you again, a beautiful smile showing off his dimples.

and then he's slowly pushing inside you, making you whine out his name as you feel him stretch you. it's not an easy fit, but his kisses make the pain easier to bear. when a tear escapes your eyes, he asks you, his eyebrows furrowed in concern, "is it very painful?" "not very but it's been a while." he leaves kisses on your hairline. "i'll be gentle, princess."

you grip his locks tighter, pulling his face away to make eye contact.

"you better not dare, choi seungcheol."

something breaks in him. his hips begin to move faster, as he pushes your hands above your head, holding them as if handcuffed, and he's biting hickeys all over your neck. he's thrusting harder now, and your second-hand bed is already making noises. but it seems to arouse you more for some reason. something about him shaking everything around you and moulding you and everything about you to him makes you want him more.

you can't stop moaning his name, as he whispers into your ear, "i can feel how close you are baby. can feel your cunt clenching around me." "pl-please, cheol. need you more, please!" "more? faster?" you nod feverishly, and he pulls away, biting his bottom lip in concentration, one hand gripping the bed, and the other your leg around his waist, as he fucks into you.

you take in his full form, towering over you like adonis. beads of sweat falling down his pecs and his hair falling into his eyes. the sight is so beautiful that you cum right then, even as seungcheol fucks you through the orgasm.

you can feel that he's close, his dick twitching inside you, as he's making your eyes roll back. even after one orgasm, he keeps fucking you. "give me one more, baby. cum with me." and then he shifts one hand to rub your clit, and you moan under the additional touch. the last straw is when you clench around him so hard that he lets out a strangled moan and reaches his climax too. you can feel the condom become warmer, and you tremble all over as you cum again because of that sensation.

when your eyes open again, seungcheol's pulled out from you, but he sneakily lets in a finger in between your folds and licks it clean.

"seungcheol?" your broken whisper makes him look up at you.

he smirks. "you taste like nectar, baby."

seungcheol's insomnia doesn't let him get a full night's sleep on most nights. if he's lucky, he'll sleep for four hours at once, dreamless rest that leaves him fully charged for the next day. on other days, he'll stare into the night sky for hours, sleep eluding him. some nights he'll go to his daughters' room, and watch them sleep, his heart filling up with a warmth that's comforting like chicken soup. on other nights, he'll open his laptop, put on his glasses and finish his case files.

everyone wonders how seungcheol is so efficient at his profession. only he knows why.

but ever since you've come into his life, everything's changed.

he can no longer focus on work. he's distracted, making silly typing errors and forgetting details. but he's sleeping the best ever in a long time. he doesn't remember when was the last time he'd slept this well. it must've been before the fights had started with his ex-wife.

today, seungcheol sleeps for eight hours straight.

and he knows why.

it's because he's wrapped around you, your body melting into his under the duvet. your head's resting on his arm, but his arm doesn't hurt at all. your hair shines with the sunlight streaming in through the gaps between the curtains, but you sleep through the slight pouring into your eyes. you look particularly angelic today morning, and he feels his entire being shiver with the new-found affection for you.

you're his.

finally.

well, hopefully.

jeonghan had told him yesterday when he'd told him about his feelings for you, you've not been turned down until you've been turned down. so shoot your shot.

and oh, he had shot his shot. shot it too fast in fact. the clarity of the morning makes him suddenly worry if going straight into your bed last night had been too quick and you'll think poorly of him now. then there's the worry about you going to sleep without eating dinner last night- what if you wake up angry? another worry crops in his head as he realises it's a saturday. he doesn't have to go to work today, but you might have to. what if you get upset at him for not waking you up on time? the warm, glorious light in seungcheol's heart dims slightly as he realises you have so many reasons to turn him down.

so he lightly shakes you, whispering your name in your ear, until he feels you whisper out a soft five minutes. it makes his heart melt again, but he's more worried about you missing a work day.

"wake up, princess, you're going to be late."

as if hearing a magic word, you jolt awake, staring right into his eyes.

"late?! what's the time? fuck, it's nine-thirty!"

"it's saturday though. do you have work today?"

and then you fall back on his arm with a huff.

"saturday! of course i don't have work today. why did you wake me up!" you whine and turn around so that you're now snuggled into seungcheol's bare chest, your hair only slightly tickling him. the warm light in his heart shines bright again as he feels you cling to him.

"i didn't know if you work on saturday or not." seungcheol leaves a kiss in your hair, and you let out a satisfied sigh.

"now you know. never forget, okay? never wake me up on weekends."

never forget.

"i won't." another kiss in your hair. another sigh that makes his chest buzz. another kiss. and then you open one eye to peer at him, and he smiles at your cuteness. so there's another kiss, and then another, and then-

"stop!" you move out of his arms, giggling, your eyes finally open.

"i can't. you're too cute."

"shhhh!" you lean in to kiss him on the mouth, a gentle peck, and seungcheol takes the opportunity to wrap you in his arms again. "don't go far away." he's more serious that his tone implies, but somehow you realise that too. so you snuggle in closer, your head almost on his chest now. "i won't."

after a few long minutes of you being still in his arms, and him smelling your scent through your hair, you finally shuffle and pull him down so that his head is now resting on the pillow and you're resting your head on your palm, perched on the pillow using your elbow as support, looking down at him with clear fondness in your eyes.

"you're very romantic today, mr choi."

"do you not like it?"

"no. on the contrary, i love it."

at your words, he smiles, and you let out a fake gasp. "the rabbit has dimples!" and you attack his face with kisses, leaving him giggly and blushing as you smother him with love.

when you're finally done, he pulls your face in for a kiss and then you go back to your position to look at him from above.

"come lie down next to me."

"no this view is prettier."

seungcheol scoffs, hiding the way his heart is racing with your words. it's been years since anything barely romantic- a few dates here and there. but this is teenage seungcheol again, falling head over heels for a girl with a pretty smile and a cute way of speaking her mind.

"this view is the prettiest," he says and he's rewarded with your pretty smile again. so he spends a minute staring at the view, taking in your beauty.

you've not been turned down until you've been turned down. so shoot your shot. somehow jeonghan's nagging voice comes up in his head again and makes him remember that he's yet to ask you properly.

so he counts to three and says it.

"i like you, y/n. a lot. as i told you last night."

a strawberry latte blush taints your cheeks.

"and as i told you last night, you're pretty much my dream man, seungcheol. i've been crushing on you since my freshman year."

well that was easy.

"that long?" seungcheol feels his confidence cruise back, a smirk on his lips.

"don't laugh at me."

"i'm not. it's just unbelievable that you liked me back then. i wasn't even well off back then."

"who even cares about that! you were confident, manly, intelligent and passionate about your work. and so, so handsome. how could anyone not like you?"

"am i not handsome now?"

"of course you are, silly. that's why i still like you." you roll your eyes, as if it's so obvious. "i couldn't even date guys for a long time because i kept comparing them to you in my mind."

seungcheol's eyes go wide. "wait, really? that's kinda sad."

you laugh. "maybe, but who cares? none of them were nice in the end. that's why i kept going back to crushing on you." you lean in to kiss the mole on his cheek.

"how long has it been since your last relationship?"

"hmmm, about seven months? broke up before i graduated."

"and sex?" he hopes you can't see the way he's holding back his breath as you answer. "about a year."

and then he lets out his breath.

"and you?" you ask him, running your fingers through his hair.

he hesitates before replying. "nine years," his voice is weak.

and then you do what he's been fearing for so long.

you laugh.

"wow. that's like... that is long." but your expression changes into a serious one soon. "but you haven't lost any of your technique yet. so it's a win in my books. i don't even have to be jealous of anyone else. who was your last lucky lady?"

"my ex-wife." seungcheol winces as he mentally prepares himself for all the reasons you might turn him down.

but you don't. your serious expression remains even as you're surprised. "you were married? is she the mother of sol and byul?"

"yeah."

you nod your head slowly, digesting the information. after a second you say, "i can't fathom why anyone would leave you and your two perfect little girls."

seungcheol's smile turns bitter. "she did. but it doesn't matter. she's found a better life now, after moving away to the US with her new husband. and i've found a better life too, moving away from her."

you nod again. "you're very brave, cheol." and you kiss his cheek again, and seungcheol's heart swells at how maturely you've handled this conversation. but there's yet more reasons for you to reject him.

when you pull away to look at him again, you softly ask him, "are your daughters okay with the idea of you dating again?" dating. there are tingles all over seungcheol's body as you finally quash all worries from his mind. "i haven't explicitly discussed this with them," he says with some hesitation. "that being said, i think they like you a lot. you made a very strong first impression. and trust me, for ten year olds as stubborn as mine, a first impression is all that matters."

"they're just like you," you giggle, your hand fondly cupping his cheek. "but seriously. they like me as a friend... as your colleague. what if they don't like me as your... girlfriend?"

girlfriend. seungcheol wants to flip you down on the bed and make love to you all over again, but he resists his urge. he settles for wrapping his hand around your hips and caressing them. "they'll love you, princess. they've longed for a mother figure for long enough." after a pause he says, "i'm worried they'll not see you as a mother figure but as a sister."

you burst out laughing. "what?!"

"i'm much older than you, y/n."

"so?"

"i'm thirty-six, y/n."

"that's not old. i'm twenty-three."

seungcheol chokes on his own words. "exactly. i'm literally old enough to be your father, y/n."

"well, you'd have to become a father really really early then," you say, laughing.

"y/n, be serious."

"i am being serious. i've met men who're twenty but act like they're forty. what really matters is what you've got here-" and you poke at his chest where his heart's supposed to be.

"i'm going to die thirteen years before you!"

"darling, i don't think that's how death works."

darling. seungcheol's heart hammers against his chest as he pulls you in for a deep kiss. and then you pull away from him. "you're a dilf, seungcheol. that's like 80% of why i'm attracted to you. bet i wouldn't be attracted to twenty-three year old you." there's a teasing glint in your eyes, but seungcheol still whines as he feels upset at your teasing words. "babyyyy!" you laugh at his deepening pout, and lean in to kiss his pout in a peck, before getting out of bed.

seungcheol's mouth falls open as he takes in your soft curves which look even more alluring in the daylight. something about the way your ass sways as you walk makes his dick twitch in interest, but seungcheol curses himself. he can't be thirty-six and this hormonal, for fucks' sake.

you open the closet door to pull out a loose t-shirt and shorts, wearing them without any underwear. "do you want to stay for breakfast?"

a lazy grin spreads on seungcheol's face as he stretches his body in bed, relishing the way you ogle his stretching biceps, and he casually pushes the blanket away from his hips to reveal his toned stomach to you too.

"i want to stay for the rest of my life, rookie."

he's left with no doubt of reciprocation of his feeling as he sees the blush on your face as you hide and run from him at his cheesy words.

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