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pedgito · 16 hours ago

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𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄 | Joel Miller x reader

summary | Joel hates change, but you introduced the idea that letting someone else take charge isn't always bad.

author's note | horrible summary but just know that man is dow horrifically bad. i don't think i need to explain what inspired this. i recommend a mix of father figure by george michael and i'm on fire by bruce springsteen on a constant repeat while reading this, for the vibes <3 thank you @chaotic-mystery for beta'ing and constantly making me laugh

content warning | 18+ MDNI, sub!joel, no outbreak, power dynamics (he's your boss), age gap (shocker), lots of open communication, vague plot, oral (m & f receiving), unprotected piv, creampies, cum eating, restraints, joel eating the puss with no hands, use of a cockring, joel's a real good boy, open-ended

word count — 7k

“You ever thought about lettin’ someone else take control?”

Tommy’s staring over the dirtied tupperware in his hands, the heel of his boot squeaking against Joel’s cluttered desk, who’s staring down at the mess of paperwork before his eyes flick up briefly at his brother, glaring.

“And run this place into the ground?”

“Joel, look at this place,” Tommy gestures lazily toward the space.

It is a mess—paperwork misorted, information scribbled on a calendar long forgotten underneath the pile, sticky notes scattered throughout, and Joel’s brain running a million thoughts per second on top of the physical work he’s providing throughout the company.

He’d taken on the position thinking it would be a good thing, a breather, after years of working only physical labor—extra money, more security for his daughters as they entered college, always feeling the support of him even miles away. But, it had slowly begun to overtake his life, his weekends that used to be spent watching football games and drinking in his backyard, were forced into four walls.

He can’t even remember that last time he’s had the chance to have a night out.

Gone on a date.

Hell, even sex was nonexistent.

“Hiring someone means training and you and I both know we don’t have the time—”

“That’s why you hire someone with experience—and vet ‘em. You know what, I’ll ask Maria if she can help out with finding someone. Lord knows you’ll never make a decision.”

“I am your boss, remember?” Joel threatens lightly, tossing a dry, unusable pen on his desk, mirroring his brother as he raises a foot on his desk and leans back, arms crossed over his chest, “Maybe work would be less of a pain in the ass if I jus’ fired ‘ya.”

“Yeah, but then who’s gonna deal with all your cryin’?”

Joel tosses a balled up napkin at Tommy’s head, one that he dodges with ease as it flies over his head, barely missing the trashcan on the other side of the room as it slumps to the floor.

“Just try it out—ain’t nothing bad about change, brother.”

For Joel, it meant relinquishing the control he wasn’t ready to offer up.

–

You fidget nervously in the chair in the front office, heart hammering in your chest.

First impressions were always nerve-wracking, but with Joel, and the preface you were given by both Maria and Tommy, who had led you through the hiring process, made it seem like he was nearly unbearable at times.

The door to his office creaks open right on time, not a second after.

He’s dressed up, slacks and a tight button-up paired with loosely slicked back hair, peppered with grays that dissolved into his trimmed facial hair, a permanent scowl on his face as he greets you, head down and following you as you slipped by his large, stocky frame.

As the door clicks closed, he begins with audible uncertainty, “I’m not sure what all my brother and his wife told you, but—”

You interrupt firmly, attempting to assert your unique approach at dominance when men like him, slinging your bag into one of the two chairs positioned in front of his desk.

“So—I manage the day to day. I can handle calls, within reason, unless you like doing that yourself,” Truthfully, it wasn’t his favorite thing although it was the most important—selling the company, getting the customers, Joel could be a smooth talker when he wanted, “for paperwork, I’m scarily organized and I’ll take care of all,” You look around at the tornado of receipts and contracts scattered around, “this.”

“What about lunch?” Joel inquires jokingly.

“And breakfast,” You answer nonchalantly, “Listen, I’m here to help you.”

“I’m used to handling all of this alone, so forgive me if I’m—”

“Territorial,” You finish for him, eyebrows raising inquisitively as Joel cracks a faint smirk.

You cross one foot over the other and clasp your hands together, connecting with his gaze as he stands a few feet away, hands shoved into his pockets, and he opens his mouth like he wants to argue or protest against the word, but you smile knowingly.

“I’m used to it,” You assure him, “Mr. Miller—Joel, I’m not…sure what you prefer. The goal is balance, your brother mentioned something about you sleeping here sometimes.”

“Just Joel is fine,”Joel tells you, glancing sheepishly at the messy couch, a blanket and pillow balled up on one cushion.

“That’s not happening anymore,” You assure him, “and don’t think you’re overwhelming me. I need a list of everything you want me to cover—I’m your assistant, so if helping means grabbing you breakfast every morning, I’ll do it.”

It takes an hour of conversation and convincing before you finally manage to lead Joel toward his desk, inadvertently organizing some of the paperwork as he wrote down a list that grew and grew as you talked, giggling to yourself as he would occasionally scribble out a word and then rewrite it down.

You’ve dealt with plenty of men like him, an unwillingness to hand the leash over, gripped tightly around his hand—Joel just needed a shove and some reassurance.

And within a few weeks, after you’ve managed to introduce an entirely new filing system to keep things organized, color-coded his calendar, and started taking calls while he would make his rounds to check on the employees posted at different locations around the city, he realizes that he can breathe a little easier.

It’s also a mighty big plus that he doesn’t have to spend twenty minutes in the pick-up line for a black coffee and bagel or concern about lunch before deciding to skip it entirely.

You spend most of your time with him, learning subtle nuances and quirks that help you decipher his steely expression and non-existent personality. Tommy, who was outwardly joyful and shamelessly extroverted, was the complete opposite of Joel, who was reserved in all aspects of his life.

“Forgot how greasy these damn things are,” Joel gripes lightheartedly as he pulls the paper away from the double cheeseburger, sipping at his soda as you tap away quietly on his computer, watching him briefly from the opposite side of the desk as you took up residence in his chair for the moment, “what’re you doin’ again exactly?”

You silently pass him a napkin which he grabs wordlessly.

“I’m scheduling a week off for you and clearing your schedule so you won’t have to worry about anything,” You tell him, the line returning between his brow as he chews.

“I didn’t approve that,” He says around a mouthful, wiping at the corner of his mouth with the crumpled napkin, “besides I ain’t got the time—”

“The last time you took off was,” You pause for an extended amount of time, searching back through the calendar before you spot it, “two years ago for…”

“Graduation,” He answers quietly, “for Sarah and Ellie.”

His daughters, who he always spoke of fondly, pictures scattered around his office.

You were a few years older, wondering if the reason he was so reluctant to your help was your age, wondering if you truly had the experience to handle the workload.

“Exactly,” You answer sharply, “And your birthday falls within that week, so you’re not going to argue with me.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You grin triumphantly, snatching a fry from his to-go tray.

–

By September, Joel has fully settled into having you around. It’s only been a few months and he’s already able to spend more weekends at home and occasionally get back to more physical labor when his body agrees with it, unfortunately the company was heading toward a rush, a quickly moving train with no end in sight.

It was the third late night in a week after Joel had returned from his much needed vacation and you’re working quietly at writing down a plethora of dollar amounts to work out on the white board beside his desk before he huffs, leaning back in his chair as he curls his fingers behind his head and grimaces at the stress, forehead shining with a sheen of sweat.

Oh, yeah—and the AC was broken.

They were scheduled to fix it at the end of the week, but for now, it was thin dresses and loose fitting clothing and Joel, who was sticking to jeans and a casual, worn-out shirt. Your hair was tossed over one shoulder as your head tilted, arm extended up as the marker squeaked against the board, unknowing of his eyes that dragged along the expanse of your body.

He’s never shown any interest, not really. Almost always respectful, sometimes too much.

He’s asked about your life, your interests, whether you were thinking of marriage or not—it all felt wholly casual. You knew he had never been married, that he’s raised both of his daughters alone aside from the help of his brother Tommy, and that he rarely went on dates.

You tried helping him once, even scheduling his work day around the date to accommodate and allow him the opportunity, but you were ultimately greeted with his sour expression an hour after lunch.

“She kept tellin’ me how much I reminded her of her ex-husband,” Joel had told you, your hand covering your mouth in both shock and amusement, watching as he slumped into the chair and loosened the cuffs on his shirt. You weren’t sure how anyone could pass up on that.

Now, you can sense his discomfort. Like an aura.

Lately, you’ve felt like an extension of him. He sensed it too, with you seeming to say things he’s thinking, in your own words, always knowing exactly what he needs, whether it was just a moment to himself or a day of you handling other work while he hid away in his office to handle the overload of calls.

You’re not sure why you stop writing, but you do. The pull guides you to him, moving silently, watching as he leaned forward on his desk, head slung down as he rolled his neck and quietly, your hands curl around his shoulders to squeeze, digging deep into the knotted muscles.

He’s quiet for a moment, both savoring the feeling and processing the situation.

First, he speaks your name, like a warning.

“You’re stressed, let me help,” You comfort him, watching as his shoulders relax with the effort of your hands, now completely slouched against his desk as your hand drags around his shoulder blade and back up, thumbs pressing into the base of his neck as he groans quietly, “does it hurt?”

Joel shakes his head, allowing the press to continue before he slowly pushes up, reaching blindly for your hand before you swat it away, “It’s just a massage, Joel. Relax.”

That wasn’t the issue.

He won’t admit it either, his face blushing as he leans his head back, feeling the delicious pinch of skin as you work out the difficult and stress-filled knots, eyes closed as his lips part.

You smirk slightly, watching the mess of his soft brown curls caress your breasts and he situates himself in his chair, slowly curling your fingers over his shoulder as his bottom lip quakes, shivers.

He whimpers.

He hears it, you hear it.

Joel’s eyes peel open in apology but you shush him, the cold touch of your fingers dragging along his neck, in perfect position to take hold and you’re almost positive Joel wouldn’t try to stop you.

“Don’t—don’t say it,” You nod to reassure him, dragging your other hand over his clammy skin, pushing his hair away from his face as you tug at the strands gently.

Joel nods obediently, swallowing as his hand glides over his crotch, rubbing through the denim of his jeans, cock swelling slowly underneath as he presses the heel of his palm against it for a sliver of relief.

You both ignore how quickly the lines have blurred, glaringly aware of the unlocked door to Joel’s office as the massage transforms into something much more nefarious, your fingers slipping underneath the fabric of his shirt and against his skin, through the coarse hair on his chest, not a single reaction as his right hand curls around the back of his chair to twist around your thigh, pulling your knee up on the armrest.

With the slight adjustment, you notice his hand squeezing tight at his jeans, desperately trying to avoid his obvious want, attempting to stifle the desire and not acknowledge it.

“It’s been a while, huh?” You ask softly, too scared to startle him.

Joel nods, blinking slowly as his eyes fall on your lips and the way they curl slightly over your teeth and into a thin line at his response.

“Since someone touched you like this?” You inquire further, feeling his fingers squeeze at your thigh as your hands work like magic over his skin, trailing down his chest and twisting into his hair, his eyes fluttering closed at the interaction.

“At all,” He admits, “s’been so long—m’sorry, sweetheart.”

“Don’t apologize,” You tell him, sensing the regret as it invades his thoughts, quickly quelling the feeling, “I think—I think I can help you.”

Joel sighs, breathing out through his nose, “I’m your boss.”

Obviously, you think.

“On paper, maybe—but you’ve had no problem listening to me,” You tease, the slightest hint of shame on his face at your words—he’s guilty, he knows it—”in fact, I don’t think you realized how much you liked it, until now.”

The voice trailing along the hallway breaks you both out of your trance, slowly pulling your touch away as your leg falls, Joel’s fingers yearning for a final touch as they dig into your skin.

“Easy,” He cautions, looking down at his desk as he pulls at his jeans, adjusting the obvious discomfort of his stiff cock as it waned, “not—not here.”

“Gimme your phone,” You urge, holding your hand out expectantly.

He hands it over with an air of skepticism, your finger tapping against the screen quietly before you pass it back to him, the device dwarfed in his large palm.

“If you’re not busy tonight,” You say quietly, increasingly careful as you hear Tommy’s voice carry throughout the office, “I put my address into your phone, it's in your favorites. Should be easy to find.”

An invitation.

Like dangling a treat in front of him, waiting to see if he’d take the bait.

He’s starving, fortunately.

He sits through dinner with Tommy and Maria, a regular occasion as Joel is often horrible at taking care of himself, surviving on very little sleep and a couple meals a day, often supplied by you.

He should take better care of himself. He knows that.

Regardless, he’s jittery as he pulls up to the apartment complex his phone led him to, parking in the garage attached as he sends you a single text around ten o’clock that night.

Your phone dings on your kitchen counter, finishing up pouring out your glass of wine as you pull it toward you with a single drag of your finger.

Joel: Here. Apartment number?

You chuckle at his straightforward nature that translates loudly through the tiny letters on your screen, quietly tapping out a response before you push your phone aside.

As you’re rounding the counter to head toward your couch, the deep knocks follow, wondering if he’d already been perusing and got lucky he was near.

You turn the knob and pull the door open as you press the glass to your lips, taking in the sight of a man who looks and feels entirely out of place.

His eyes follow your state of undress, assuming you were ready to climb into bed with the silk shorts that clung to your hips and the scantily cropped top to match, barely covering your breasts.

He’s changed since work, only trading the denim for a much softer material to cover his legs, a fresh shirt, his hair mused like he’s been running his fingers through it with worry and unsurety.

“How was your night?” You ask casually, moving to allow him the room to step inside your apartment, closing the door behind you as you head toward the fridge, silently grabbing for a beer—his favorite just happened to be your own, so it worked out perfectly.

“Fine,” He grumbles, watching as you hand him a now opened beer and push by him, but not before your fingers drift against his own, pulling him alongside until you reach the couch.

His fingers curl around yours without a second thought.

“You started talkin’ about football and Tommy went on one of his rants again, didn’t he?”

He’s used to it by now, how well you can assess him.

“S’almost like you were there,” He chuckles, tipping the beer to his lips and taking a long chug, “did I bother you? I know it’s late.”

You shake your head, allowing him to finish up a decent amount of his beer and your glass of wine before you’re plucking the glass from his hands and tucking it away on the table.

“Have you done this before?“ Joel asks softly, a deep gravelly timbre to his voice as your ass angles up, leaning off the couch to dispose of the drinks before you’re climbing over his lap, quietly raising your hands to cradling his face.

He doesn’t look at you for too long, not allowing the weight of the situation to settle quite yet, selfishly roving the expanse of exposed skin, feeling your hands grip his own to guide them to your hips.

“Does it matter?” You ask, dragging your thumb along his beard, rubbing at the bare patch of skin on his cheek, “Would it make you feel better if I said yes?”

“No.”

A small sliver of tongue peeks through your teeth as you bite down, grinning openly at him and his sheepish gaze.

“You’re my first—is that what you wanna hear?”

You can feel the bluntness of his nails dig into your skin at your words—oh, he that is exactly what he wanted.

“I’m just—M’not sure what I’m supposed to do here, sweetheart.”Joel responds instead, licking his lips before they pull together in a tight line.

“Would whiskey help? I got whiskey,” You respond cheekily, “I’ll get you some. Stay put.”

Joel chuckles nervously, “Yes, ma’am.”

You climb off his lap and disappear into your kitchen, reaching into the cabinet for a glass before crouching down to retrieve the liquor hidden away, hearing the soft and subtle rustling as Joel adjusts more comfortably on the couch, his shoes now removed and tossed haphazardly toward the coffee table.

“If you—if you haven’t done this before,” Joel pauses as you return, making immediately room for you on his lap as you press the glass into his waiting hand, “why’d you offer?”

“Men pay me to boss them around, plenty of men like you,” It was a loose description, but it was the one strong suit you’ve prided yourself in, corralling stubborn men, “I like it and I’m good at it.”

“Clearly.” Joel comments under his breath, a small scoff of astonishment slipping past your lips as you force the glass to his own lips in a silent command.

“I don’t make it a habit to have sex with them, f’that is what you’re really worried about. They’re all married, miserable, but married. And I don’t like the mess of getting involved. Any time I’ve moved on it’s been because of that.”

Joel continues to drink by your aid, downing the rest of it as you continue to speak.

“You’re not married, you’re not complicated. You’ve been respectful. This isn’t you approaching me—I made that move, I just gave you an offer. One, which, you can still bail on and I won’t be upset. I won’t quit, either.”

As the liquor takes hold, Joel seems to relax, the tension in his body dissipating as you slowly trace the lines of his face and body with your fingers, explorative within reason.

“I guess we should set some ground rules,” Joel grunts at the mention, slightly more handsy as his fingers meet at your back, dipping a centimeter below the waistband, “If we do this—I’m in charge, completely. That’s the only way this works, or helps you. And it should be a given, but I’m clean and on birth control. But, it that reassures you—I’d rather you hear it.”

“Jesus Christ,” Joel groans, feeling the immediate loss of his touch as he rubs his hands over his face before stretching them out over the back of the couch.

“I’m just…covering the bases, I’d rather not have the question come across when you’re an inch away from putting your dick inside me, you know?”

“Coverin’ your bases?” Joel echoes, slightly amused.

You grin, climbing off of him slowly as you reach for your phone, fumbling through your playlist before you find a slow, sensual tune to fill the quiet air.

Hey, little girl, is your daddy home?

Did he go away and leave you all alone?

I got a bad desire

Oh, oh, oh, I'm on fire

“Do you dance?” You ask curiously, wandering toward your kitchen for the open wine bottle, half-empty and begging to be consumed.

“Not much—not…not anymore,” Joel doesn’t know he words it so cryptically; he danced, just not well.

“Tommy told me how, at least, before the girls, how often you two would go line dancing,” Joel’s fingers curl around your hand as it extends, bring the wine bottle to your lips with the other, “now that I have to witness.”

“You and Tommy sure do talk a lot,” Joel notes, looking down at you as your fingers drag along the hair at his nape, “anything else he told you?”

You shake your head nonchalantly, bottom lip jutting out slightly as you sway your hips in time with the lyrics, Joel’s hand covering the full expanse of your own as it wraps around, constantly mesmerized by the sheer size.

The goal was to shake his nerves out, but he seemed to stiffen with your progressive movement as you twirled yourself around, one long gulp of wine before you set the bottle aside and relent, dragging your finger up the fabric of his shirt before you squeeze at the collar, pulling him closer.

“Either you dance with me,” You begin, “or I’m dancing for you—your choice.”

His non-answer is enough, forcing him back onto the couch before you’re shoving the table out of the way and turning up the volume to the rhythmic tune.

You’d convince him eventually, dying to see those skills come back to life, even if it was just a glimpse.

“Put your hands under your legs,” You instruct him casually, eyes tracking up as you watch his chest puff out with the motion, fitting his hands under his thighs without argument.

Huh, that was easy.

Time was a teller, though, and you were curious how long it would last.

—

He’s seen glimpses of it before, the soft hum under your breath as you sing the catchy tunes playing on the radio in his office, a subtle sway as you flip through a stack of paperwork or at his desk, the tiniest movement.

But here, now, he’s mesmerized.

He gets it, this is what you wanted.

Joel’s fists have balled up under his thighs, watching you turn away as you dance, the swaying movements pulling at the already short fabric as his eyes follow the way you bend, giving him a full glimpse of your ass.

You giggle softly at his lack of reaction, which wasn’t entirely true, watching his knees widen at the action, subconsciously making room for you despite your distance.

Yearning. He was yearning for you.

You drop to your knees, crawling toward him slow under the low, ambient light of your living room—a faint glow of pinks and purples, transforming into greens and blues, filtering slowly through colors as your hands grip his knees, sliding up the inside of his thighs tantalizingly slow.

“So…” Your finger trails around the drawstring of his pants, “at any point that this gets too much or you’re not feeling it, just say stop.”

“That ain’t somethin’ you gotta worry ‘bout.”

“Communication is a good thing, Joel,” You explain, “it’s important—to make sure we’re both benefiting from this. I’m not enjoying this unless you are, alright?”

Joel nods, a raised eyebrow offered in return.

“Yes,” His voice cracks slightly, clearing his throat, “uh—yes, ma’am.”

“A simple yes would have worked, but I appreciate the manners,” You tease him, knowing he’s always been stuck in his ways, old fashioned and polite. It comes naturally.

Your fingers fold around his waistband and tug, his hips rising at the motion and you hear the breath he’s holding release as his cock springs free, leaking at the tip and begging to be attended to. You grinned, tongue peaking out to lick along the head and around, salty precum hitting your taste buds as you look up at Joel, his eyes falling shut as his hand wraps around your forearm in desperation.

You pull back instantly, gently moving his hand away.

He seems to realize his misstep, silently tuck his hand away under his thigh again as you nod, pulling his pants the rest of the way down and off before you’re licking him from base to tip, fingertips wrapping around his shaft and squeezing alongside the delicate suction of your mouth.

He groans, so deep and guttural you think he might come now, peeking your eyes open to see his head resting back, eyes closed. The sight was too much, having to force some reprieve on himself as you worked your mouth down his cock, head bobbing at a slow, tortuous pace until your throat can relax and take him fully, nearing around eight inches and thick, feeling the stretch of your cheeks alongside the ache in your jaw.

You pull away with watery eyes, a long string of spit connecting you to him, speaking, “If you feel like you’re about to come, say it, don’t lie to me.”

With that, your thumb rubs over the slit of his head, feeling his cock pulse in your hand, squeezing at the tip while his face contorts, lips parting as he breathes out shakily.

“Oh, fuck—yes—yes fuckin, ma’am.”

He’d rip the stitching in your couch if he gripped it harder, losing his hold on reality as he watches your head move through bleary eyes, the buzz of alcohol tingling his brain as you gag against his cock, held in the back of your throat before he’s stammering out desperately, the familiar tug in his gut that proves just how long it’s been for him, ready to come after only a few minutes of your mouth on him.

He’s embarrassed, the words falling from his lips in a rush, “Stopstop—fuck, stop.”

You pull away quickly, the urgency in his voice startling you as your face contorts in concern.

“Fuck—not like, stop. Jus’ I was about to come. Sorry—sweetheart, I panicked.”

It calms your worry, nodding in response to his words.

“I’ve…actually I have an idea, if you’re okay with it that is.”

He’s suspicious of the glint in your eyes, rising on sore knees as he sat there naked from the waist down, your eyes dragging over his firm, muscled legs before they took in the sight of his cock again, standing proud as it rest against his stomach, the shirt slightly bunched at his chest.

You make the short trek to your room to retrieve the item you were looking for, coming back to Joel massaging his sore wrists, a subtle worry in his eyes that he’s done something wrong.

He eyes the bag in your hand suspiciously, brow raised.

There were a few items, but the one most notable he reaches for initially, dangling it between two fingers as he asks, “You have that just layin’ around?”

It was a cockring, flexible material that he stretched his fingers before you politely snatched it away.

“What? I picked out a few things. Besides, I couldn’t get you anything for your birthday so consider this a late gift,” He sees right through the sickeningly sweet smile, pushing the bag into his hands as you straddle one thigh, the silk material of your shorts dragging along his bare skin.

“I dunno,” Joel’s hesitant, but not entirely close-off to the idea, “s’that even safe?”

“It is,” You assure him—Joel doesn’t really question it either, “You trust me, don’t you?”

He tries to stifle the small chuckle at your act, batting your lashes as you reach for his hand, settling it against the center of your chest underneath your shirt, the soft press of your breasts squeezing his hand and Joel has to resist the urge to explore further, rifling through the bag one-handed, pulling out a thick piece of cloth, a rich, plum stained fabric.

“You’re in good hands,” You smile, leaning forward to brush your lips along the shell of his ear, “I promise.”

–

He does touch you now, though careful of his hands wandering too far, spreading you out on your bed sheet with hesitance, sensing that this wasn’t just a moment of uncertainty, but rather unfamiliarity.

“It’s been so long,” He admits, not lost on you, “I’ll try—jus’ might need some remindin’.”

Be vocal, he pleads without asking. Let me hear you.

Done and done.

His hands grip at the back of your thighs, pulling you near the edge of the bed before they’re pushing up, forcing your legs apart as he settles on his knees, stripped of his top and nude, a stark contrast to your clothed state as he pressed his face into the fabric of your shorts, his nose prodding at the seam of your pussy, teeth biting lightly into the fabric.

His eyes trail up, the bottom half of his face obscured as he pressed his mouth into the heat of your cunt through the silk, awaiting your command.

“Grab,” You sigh, his kisses trailing along your thigh and down, lips kisses at the sensitive skin of your ankle, “the bag—the bag,” You point vaguely, forcing him away gently with your opposite foot.

You’d dropped it on the floor beside Joel in the mess of limbs, the bag hidden underneath his disposed shirt and as he thrusts the small paper bag into your hands you fish for the binding balled up at the bottom of the bag, tossing the rest of the bag aside as you sink to match Joel’s position, gently grabbing his wrists as you guide them behind his back.

“Just to make sure you keep your hands to yourself,” You inform him, face heating under his heavy gaze, looking up at him innocently as you knot the fabric blindly behind his back, tugging when you’re satisfied enough and rising to meet his face, nose brushing against his own at the close proximity, “Do you want a taste, Joel?”

“I’ll take whatever you give me, sweetheart.”

In this light, under the soft glow of streetlights that spilled over into your room, it was like you were seeing a different man, not at all the confident and defiant man you challenge on a day to day, but a man dedicated to you, an eagerness in his expression that you’ve never seen.

“Oh, honey—you’re gonna work for it.”

You crawl back on your hands, rising to perch on the edge of the bed with your legs spread, one foot perched against the mattress as Joel shuffled forward slowly, “Can’t taste you through those shorts, might help if you—”

“Get creative,” You urge, haphazardly pulling your top over your head and throwing it aside for incentive, breasts bouncing softly with the movement and spotting the way Joel swallows, hard.

It made him feel young, this desire that didn’t show itself often. He’s resigned himself to months, years of handling himself; jerking himself off with his hand to satisfy that urge, but never more. He rarely had time then, lucky if he could manage a full eight hours of sleep.

He leans forward, his teeth digging into the fabric at your hip as he pulls, wrestling with the material as he drags it down your thigh—innovative, you think. You giggle softly at his steadfast gaze, a stubbornness in his scowl as he rips the fabric off.

Joel doesn’t waste time, licking a long stripe through your already damp underwear, accumulated slick ruining the fabric as he greedily laps you up through the garment, but he hisses when your hand grips into his hair, pulling him back as his scowl grows deeper.

“All of it.” You demand.

You watch as his teeth gripped at the front of your underwear before he’s dragging them down, tossing them aside even more impatiently, like a dog with a chew toy, before he’s pressing his face into your cunt, leaning most of his weight into you as his strong, angular nose presses against your clit, his tongue dipping inside of you instantly, like he was trying to consume you.

A mix of a broken laugh and gasp leaves your mouth as he groans, a slight shake to his head as he attempted to force himself deeper, the movement shifting his nose of your clit in a way that has your entire body curling in on itself, his eyes closed, lost in the taste of you and the warm cradle of your thighs around his head, foot smoothing over his back as you pull him in.

He suckles at your clit as he shifts up, the wet expanse of his tongue sliding over the sensitive bud, responding with a soft noise as your fingers dig into his hair and tug, ““Fuck, you love it like this, don’t you?”

Joel responds with a noise, ignoring your question as his tongue swirls over your clit, repeating the motion repeatedly as your breath hitches, gasping loudly.

“I asked—asked you a question,” You interrupt, pulling him back defiantly, “I’d like an answer.”

“M’sorry, I do—I do,” Joel apologizes, mouth shining with your slick, his beard wet and his cheeks flushed, “jus’ taste so good, sweetheart. Wanna make you feel good—am I doin’ alright?”

“So good,” You tell him softly, your hand cradling his chin as you slide your thumb over his wet lip and through the dampness at his chin before you’re pushing your fingertip into his mouth, letting the pad of your thumb press against his tongue, closing his lips around you finger to suck, “You’re always so messy, you know that?”

Joel chuckles, pulling his mouth away as you slowly guide him back toward your cunt, pulsing around his tongue as it dips inside of you once more, like a tease before he returns the attention toward your clit, groaning as your thighs squeeze tightly around his head, feeling the creeping sensation of your orgasm as it coiled in your gut.

“A damn good meal if ‘ya ask me,” Joel comments, too entranced to chastise his comment as your orgasm spills over, the rush of fluids hitting his tongue as you cry out, his unrelenting tongue making your vision go white.

“That’s good, baby, keep doing that. Just like that,” You encourage weakly, legs shaking with overstimulation as he glares up at you through his half-lidded gaze, his nose smushed against your cunt.

Your fingers sift gently through his hair as you come down, feeling the weight of his head against your thigh as he speaks, “You’re shakin’ like a leaf, sweetheart—y’alright?”

“I am,” He can hear the elation in your voice as you rise slowly, “does it hurt?”

Joel pulls at the binding, loose enough that there's no straining or pinching, he shrugs noncommittally and answers, “If I say yes will you take ‘em off?”

You tilt your head at his subtle mischievous tone, “As long as you’re being truthful.”

“I wanna touch you, if ‘m bein’ honest,” Joel admits.

He’s such a smoothtalker, even now.

“Fine—but, I’m not finished,” You warn him, “so don’t get any ideas.”

“Oh, yes ma’am.” He agrees wholeheartedly, feigning seriousness.

It shouldn’t be this easy with him, but it was.

–

“I’m tryin’ to help you out,” You tease him, fitting the ring around his cock, settled underneath his balls as he stifles the groan of your touch against his overly sensitive skin, having been so close to the edge and losing focus that he’s fallen soft, resting back on his palms as you rub your hand over his chest and down, fingers rolling along the underside of his sack before your fingertip trails along the seam and up, following the thick vein that led to the head of his cock, “Is it good when I touch you here?”

“S’good,” He answers shakily, watching your hand press flat against your tongue before you’re gripping his cock tight, jerking him firmly, his hand flying to your hip, trailing up blindly as you press your chin against the top of his head, feeling his hand tangle into your hair, cradling your face with a desperation, “I’m fuckin’ sufferin’ here, sweetheart.”

“Not yet,” You counter, leaving his now hardened cock to bounce freely against his stomach as you reach for two items sprawled on the bed, gripped in your fists as you straddle him, his cock sliding through your wet folds and nearly sending him over the edge, “which one?”

Choices, he thinks. He hated making a decision.

Sight or touch, he debates the two items.

“If you don’t pick I’m choosing both,” You warn him playfully.

“Not bein’ able to see you feels like a punishment,” Joel admits.

You hum thoughtfully, “You’re right—and what a good boy you’ve been, huh?”

“Real good, sweetheart,” He agrees desperately, feeling his cock pulse against your cunt, fighting the restraint it was taking him not to sink into you now and plow you into the bed underneath him, but that wasn’t the point of all of this.

So, the decision is made.

Joel settles against the headboard as you restrain his arms behind his back in a similar manner, his eyes following your movements carefully as you leave soft, light kisses along his skin before you straddle his hips, hovering over him for a brief moment before you’re wrapping your hand around his cock and sinking down onto him slowly, adjusting to the stretch as his eyes flutter shut, face pinched up.

‘It’s not too tight, is it?” You ask, moving your hips at a tortuous pace as your fingers curl around the back of his neck, his head shaking at your question, focusing so innately hard he can’t answer, as much as he tries.

“S’probably the only thing keepin’ me together,” Joel forces out, “all I could think about at dinner earlier was you—this, s’fucked up, ain’t it?”

Your eagerness wins over, bouncing on his cock at a quicker pace that has him panting into your skin, a pathetic whine ripping from his chest, “And I spent—spent all evening thinking about how you’d look when you came—and how stubborn you’d be—”

Joel chuckles pathetically, moaning weakly against your chest as you grip the headboard above him, the sharp slap of skin against skin as you ride his cock.

“Turns out you’re pretty receptive,” You continue, “‘s’good—I like it.”

Joel murmurs an acknowledgment as his neck strains back, slamming against the headboard as he forces his eyes open, panting heavily as he watches your body stretch above him, one hand sliding down to spread out against your thigh as you head falls back to mirror his own, moaning loudly as his cock pulses with need, your walls fluttering around him.

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” Joel speaks drunkenly, mesmerized, “M’never lettin’ you go.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” You assure him, watching him nod as his eyes squeeze shut, that familiar ache in his gut growing as his cock throbs with the need for release.

You lean forward, working your fingers through the knot of the restraints and speak softly against his ear, “Y’gonna listen? Yeah, like a real good boy?”

Joel nods fervently, sighing with the release of his hands as they immediately latch onto you, still and unmoving but like a relief for the both of you as his hands press hot against your skin.

“What should your reward be, huh?” You coo, “Should I let you come?”

“Sweetheart, please—”

You lean back slightly, riding him with fervor as you nod your head, cradling his lulling head between your hands, “Tell me how good you’ve been,” You encourage gently, his skin damp with sweat as you slide a hand down his chest, dangerously close to the point where you’re joined together, “let me hear it.”

“So good, sweetheart. Bein’ such a good boy for ‘ya,” Joel complies, his breath hitching as he feels the tight ring around his cock loosen, thrown to the side, slipping out and back in without skipping a beat, like you’d never left.

“Right there,” He warns, “fuck—baby, I dunno if I can—”

“It’s okay,” You whisper softly, hearing the pain in his voice and the way his arms wrap around you like a vice, “I’m gonna make you clean it up, anyways.”

Joel groans at that, nearly lifting off the bed as his hand steadies behind, pumping his hips into you jerkily as he comes inside of you and coats your walls, gasping sharply at the feeling of his blunt nails digging into your skin, riding him gently through the aftershocks before he falls lifeless against the bed, panting heavily.

You sigh with elation, though exhausted, slowly moving back as you lean on your elbows and gently poke at his thigh, his hand covering his softening cock as he grunts, grumbling some unintelligible.

“You’re not finished,” Joel chuckles lowly, his hand wrapping around your ankle as he pulls himself up, eyes immediately locking on your swollen cunt, cum spilling out as your walls squeeze, your own fingers spreading through the mess before you’re dragging it toward your mouth, licking your fingers clean before reaching for his hair, mused from sex as you yank him closer and demand, “clean up your mess.”

“Gonna need you to schedule another week off for me,” Joel admits, dipping his tongue inside of you without hesitation, his hands squeezing around your thighs to pull you in, “and you.”

“Why’s that?”

Joel grins as you glance down, speaking confidently against your cunt, “Got a few messes I wanna make, that alright?”

You pause, a moment of hesitation, “I’ll consider it.”

Joel growls into you, nipping gently at your clit as you squeal loudly.

You relent quickly, swatting his head playfully.

After all, he was still your boss.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #the last of us #the last of us fic #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #my writing

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clrasecretdiary · 3 days ago

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You're just a little bit too much like me | Spencer Reid x Reader

Enemies to lovers | angsty fluff

Word count: 1755

Warnings: Normal criminal minds type of violence, mention of guns and gunshots, age gap (Reader is about 25, and Spencer is in his late 30s)

Content: Spencer being an asshole because he doesn't know how to deal with his feelings and how you remind him of his older self, past Spencer trauma (implied but not directly mentioned), self-doubt, Post prison! Spence

It was a difficult situation, only your second week on the job and the first time you had to make that kind of decision. You went alone to a location where the suspect might have been at, all of your teammates were further away so, as reckless as you now recognize it was, you went there alone, instead of waiting like Spencer and Emily asked you too. You didn't want to lose your chance, there were more than 3 days on the field at stake here, you did not want to disappoint your colleagues and just stand there waiting like a dumb newbie, so you made the decision.

“I'm going in” You warn your teammates in the radio, not waiting for a response before storming into the unsubs house.

You bust the door open with your feet, storming into the house. As you look inside, you find the unsub taking his gun from a drawer. Thinking you had an advantage as his back was facing you, you rush to try and immobilize him, but somehow he managed to turn around and shoot you.

You growled in pain as your body dropped to the ground, just before you passed out completely you heard the sound of rushed footsteps. You heard two voices, one you recognized as Emily's going after the unsub, and the other as Reid's talking to you.

“Please don’t go to sleep, we need you awake” His voice was soothing, far different from the tone he always used with you ever since you joined the team this year, but he sounded so worried, and you really did try to stay awake for him, for your team, to show that you were okay and that they needed to go after what's important, the unsub, but you couldn't. The last thing you heard as your vision got black was him yelling at his radio, “Medical, we need medical right now”. And then, everything went black.

You are now back at your first day on the job. Still at your house, confused as to what outfit you should use, so anxious about being so young at the top team of profilers, even thought it was a last year internship you hoped to impress them enough that they would hire you officially for the team, so your anxiety was through the roof wondering whether you really deserved to be there (goddamn that impostor syndrome). But most of your worries went away when you met the team, you would never imagine that the best profilers in the FBI and maybe in the world would be such good, kind and even funny people. They all welcomed you, seeming excited to be able to work with you, except from one of them.

Doctor Spencer Reid, you had read about him and his genius mind, you even went to a couple of his lectures on forensic psychology, honestly? You were a fan, and you were so excited to meet and work with someone you looked up to. Unfortunately, he didn't seem as eager to meet his new coworker. He just stood there in the back, staring at you while you introduced yourself to the team, the most he did was mutter a “morning” when you sat next to him in the briefing room.

Never meet your heroes, they say.

Now, you're back at… Where are you again?

Your eyes begin to open, you're completely adrift until you finally begin to recognize the awful white light, and the coldness of the room. You're at the hospital, no idea as to how much time has passed.

Jennifer comes into your line of vision, holding your hand, “Hey, how are you feeling?” her voice is calm, as she watches you sit up in the hospital bed.

“I'm fine, I think... I didn't even realize what happened back then. Oh shit, did you guys catch him?” You abruptly try to sit up, remembering how you couldn't get the unsub when you got shot, guilt washing over you as you started to piece together what happened

“Hey slow down, Emily went after him and made the arrest, the victim was rescued. He shot you, but it just grazed you. You did lose a lot of blood, that's why you passed out, but the doctors say you'll be fine to leave today. Don't worry.” She says as the doctor comes in to do his final checking.

You just agree with your head, lost in your own thoughts. You knew it wasn't your fault that you got shot, but still you felt so stupid. The hurt of not being able to catch the unsub might've been even bigger than the one from your wound, all of them had been in even more difficult situations than you and made it out without so much as a scratch, and you couldn't even catch an unsub that was alone?

After a few hours, you were back on the jet, finally heading home. The guilty was still bothering you, and you even apologized for the mistake. Hotch just asked you to be more careful and follow instructions next time, but overall, the team seemed genuinely happy you were fine. Except, of course, for Spencer, who ever since you got in the jet was staring daggers at you.

Later, the jet finally landed, and you were eager to get home. You quickly went to the office to get a few of your things, Unfortunately, you and Spencer were now all alone in an uncomfortable silence waiting for the elevator.

“That was reckless” Spencer mutters under his breath

“I'm sorry, what?” You turn in your heels to face him, had you heard that right? Is that the first thing he's going to tell you after you just got shot?

“What you did on the case, was reckless and naive. You should've followed our instructions, you can't just do what you feel like doing” he's looking in your eye now, his voice coming out angry but with a hint of… worry?

“I'm sorry ok? I tried to do something, I just did not want to just stay there waiting while he could be doing god knows what inside that house” Your voice comes out more shaky than you wanted it to, the weight of the guilt pressing into your chest

“Still, it was reckless and stupid, you should never just storm into, alone, a place where an unsub might be, you never know what he might do to you, what might be waiting inside.” His gaze is cold, almost as if he's not actually here talking to you, but somewhere inside his head and his memories.

“Trust me, I know that. I regret my decision, but I wasn't doing what I felt like, I tried my best, Reid.” You turn to look directly in his eye. Yes you did something wrong, but you wouldn't let him out of all people talk like that to you “I might be the youngest on the team, the one with less experience but trust me… I'm not dumb, I earned my place here.” Your voice shaky when you said that last sentence, the insecurity you felt showing through your words.

Something in his gaze shifted after that, his expression became softer, almost sympathetic. “Listen, I'm not saying you're not qualified, I'm sorry if it came off like that, just be careful… That could have ended a lot worse, trust me I know”

“ I will” The air between you two less intimidating now but still heavy with tension, you two step in the elevator, the whole way to the garage an awkward silence until you two finally reach the bullpen's garage.

Even thought you felt like now maybe he didn't absolutely want you gone from the team, you were still curious as to why he is so cold to you

“Sorry, I need to ask… Why do you hate me?” You turn to him, after finally gathering the courage to ask this question

“What do you mean, don't hate you”

“Yes you do, I mean you're not obligated to like me but since I joined, you didn't even meet me yet and just gave this cold look”

His eyebrows furrowed as he processed your words, clearly taken aback by your directness. He sighed, a hint of regret in his eyes, and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "It's not about you personally," he finally admitted, his voice softer than before.

“What is it about, then?”

He takes a deep breath before starting to talk “You're only 3 years older than me when I joined this team, I know what it does you, to your mind. I guess I just saw way too much of me, of who I used to be, in you, and it terrified me to be honest” His cold facade disappeared completely now, in its place a soft and genuine expression.

“So you were, and I'm sorry for the words, an asshole to me because you were worried?” You almost can't wrap your head around it, all this time you felt like one of your biggest references in the BAU hated you, but instead he was caring for you.

“Yes, I see how it comes out as “asshole” behavior, but my brain just went full shutdown when i saw you” His face turns slightly red when he notices what he just said – Freudian slip or just a bad choice of words? He doesn't's know for sure – His hand goes to awkwardly scratch the back of his neck “I mean… for the resemblance, of how I acted when I had just joined, of course”

You give him a small smile, and just like that your side that has been a fan and read all of this man's articles comes back to life “Of course. Thank you for worrying but maybe instead of hating me you could… I don't know, if it's not too much of a bother of course, help me? I value your worries Doc, maybe you could help me not make the same mistakes you did”

He nodded, a hint of relief washing over his features. "I'd be happy to help," he said, a genuine smile finally breaking through. "I might not have all the answers, but I can definitely share what I've learned along the way."

“I'm happy to hear that, thanks, Doc. Reid” You wave at him as you begin walking over to your car.

“Hey, just call me Spencer” He smiles warmly at you

“See you tomorrow Spencer”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x bestfriend!reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader angst #criminal minds angst

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mandarinmoons · 2 days ago

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omg i love ur account soo bad, i would rlly like to read about Spencer being jealous of Derek, for the reader to comfort him and try to help with his insecurities, lowk sad ik but pleaseee 🙇🏻‍♀️

Spencer sighed as he watched Derek from afar, talking to a group of women. Each of the girls seemed to be entranced with what the man in front of them was talking about, one of them playing with her hair while the other one kept biting her lip which turned into a not so subtle smirk over time.

Spencer hadn’t had the best luck with women, he had a few take interest in him over time, but it never grew into something serious. He blamed himself for not being the archetype of a man girls would usually want from what he saw and no matter how hard he would try to be more appealing, it just wasn’t him and he wouldn’t be able to keep up the facade for too long.

“What’s on your mind, boy wonder?”

Spencer blinked his eyes as you walked over to him and brought him out of his thoughts. Spencer wondered if he should tell you what’s on his mind or would it be something he would eventually get over after some time. It was hard to hide anything from you though, the sparkle in your eyes made Spencer crack and he’d always tell you whatever it was he was thinking of, you had never judged him for it as well, so he had his answer.

“Y/N, be honest, is there anything about me that’s… unattractive?”

“What do you mean? I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.”

“Really?”

You nodded as you took a seat next to Spencer, your hand reaching out and thumb running across the back of his hand. Spencer wasn’t one for physical touch, but whenever you showed it it put him at ease.

“Where is all of this coming from?”

“I look at Morgan at times, the way he talks to women, how he presents himself, the way he is basically and I don’t know I just… wish I could be that way.”

“I’ve always liked the way that you are. Men similar to Derek put me off at first, it makes me feel like they have other intentions, but when we first met only minutes in and you were talking about the differences between plant and human cells and I thought that it was really fascinating.”

Spencer chuckled as he remembered the day you both had met. He was scared that he had messed up his first interaction with you and that you would stay clear of him whenever you would come across in the bullpen, but you did the exact opposite. You’d always take time out of your day to go talk to Spencer, even if it was the most random subject someone could think of, but you never regretted it and kept coming back for more.

“There are people out there that adore people like you Spencer and I’m proud to say that I’m one of them. Plus, I think you’re cuter than Derek.”

Pressing a kiss to Spencer’s cheek, his eyes went wide as you waved goodbye and he watched you return to your desk, a slight bounce in your step as you strode across the room.

Spencer chuckled as his eyes met the floor, somehow your words set him at ease during times he needed it the most. He didn’t know what he had done to deserve someone like you in his life, but whatever it was he was sure he’d do it a thousand times again to have even one more conversation like this.

You can find my masterlist here!

Let me know your thoughts in the comments and like & reblog to support <3

#spencer reid #spencer reid au #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x you #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid oneshot #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid x gender neutral reader #spencer reid fluff

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slurmpinheimer · 2 days ago

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from @cyber-harpie !! spit that shit homie!! I thought this deserved to be seen because it brings up a lot interesting points—and I do agree with this, though it got me thinking again. I would like to add a few things to my initial statement because analysis and talking about Kim is fun;

(WARNING: MAJOR KIM-RELATED YAPPAGE BELOW)

I’ve watched several play throughs where (especially at the beginning of the game/if they have low psyche) people aren’t sure of Kim, or even go so far as to call him annoying, a buzzkill, or an asshole. At first I found myself getting really defensive about this. Obviously not to the point that I made any hate comments or anything, that would be silly— But just in my head, automatically dismissing it because I love him and didn’t want to hear it. I couldn’t imagine anyone disliking him, instead of thinking deeper and considering *why* people might come to these conclusions.

I believe the bits we get from Esprit and Empathy support my initial point that Harry is the perfect narrative device to meet Kim through. If I remember correctly, Kim was written specifically to find Harry funny, and Harry’s skills let us see that. and that’s IF you succeed the checks, or if you’re dedicated enough to save scum to see other possibilities/go through Fayde to see what other options might have held.

Like, before I learned about the end of the Homosexual Underground thought line, I certainly had my suspicions. I definitely thought Kim was at least queer-coded and headcanoned him as gay, but that thought trail is behind a legendary Composure check that I spent like 10 full minutes save-scumming. I had low motorics on my first run, and I only tried so hard because I had been spoiled and knew that it gave a thought called “Homosexual Underground” and needed to see where that led with my own eyes.

That’s just one example too—There’s several times that Kim Lore is behind hard checks (Ace’s High/Low, that tidbit about him smoking weed lol) or things he just refuses to elaborate on without specific circumstances. Plus there’s all the stuff that you can learn when you play a different quest line. I’ve had several people tell me that going through a fascist ends up with Kim actually being pretty open about things you don’t learn about in other questlines. I don’t even know all the details of that yet because I’ve been so busy doing the other quests and achievements that I haven’t finished a fascist run yet.

My thought process with all this is that without seeing Kim through the lens Harry, who works with him almost constantly for a week straight in a situation where deep and meaningful conversation is not just encouraged but *needed* to build a repertoire and ultimately solve the case—Not to mention the patience and care Kim treats Harry’s situation with—I can see how someone would look at Kim from the outside and find him to be… (anguish at typing out this word) …mid.

So yeah. On the surface level; Kim is a cop. He can be condescending and uptight, sometimes leading into lecturing people (something he himself admits). He plays his cards close to his chest, with both his moralist beliefs and even more so his sympathies for the rebellion—Which can make him look a bit like a fence sitter. He can be emotionally unavailable towards himself and others, making him hard to read and sometimes appear cold.

But past that, he is a beautifully crafted, deep character, and the perfect foil to the chaos that is Harry. He is the man that reaches out to shake your hand even though you ghosted him two days prior. He will pat you and give you a handkerchief when you throw up. He can be the man that sticks up for you time and time again, not just because he needs to in order to solve the case, but because if you really try, he believes you’re a good detective at heart. Past suicidal rants and nervous breakdowns, he encourages you to keep going.

He has been beaten down, ground and polished to a smooth finish by mutiple facets of oppression—from his glasses, to his race, his sexuality, all fundamental parts of himself that he cannot change. From years of working in a high-pressure, volatile work environment with low pay and little benefits other than the small satisfaction of completing a case, only to dive headfirst into the next one.

He pushed aside his lofty dreams of the skies to be down with the rest of us in the dirt and mud, trudging, struggling through life until we all inevitably burn away the fuel reserves and are nothing but smoke, a memory in the mind of fire.

Beyond that carefully constructed exterior, past his wall of professionalism (and habit of using his notebook as a shield) hides a goofy nerd, a lover of crosswords and cars, of silly radio stations, and a deep appreciation for beautifully bearded muscular men. He is an expert user of sarcasm and master of cryptic jokes, some even philosophical or political in nature. At his core, he wants to make things better for the people around him. He wants to believe he can make a difference, no matter how long it takes or how small the change is. Even if working for the RCM destroys him before he can see it come to fruition.

He is wonderful. He is amazing. He’s probably my favorite character all of fiction, and I don’t think there will ever be a day in my life that I stop loving him. That’s pookie you’re talking about. I’ll always have space in my heart for him.

He will live on as long as we do, as real as The Man From Hjemdall is to Roy because Disco Elysium *made* him real, handcrafting him, giving him life between margins and pixels. And that is worth everything.

Kim Kitsuragi is a fascinating character because there's not that much fun or interesting or compelling about him. And yet somehow over the course of playing Disco Elysium the game rewires your fucking brain around him. He's the middest man you've ever seen in both appearance and personality but at some point he says something kind to you or something critical of you and you feel like you just got hit by a truck and you need his approval like you need oxygen and like how tf did this happen. what are you

#I did not expect to be writing that long #Um #enjoy if you like yapping about kim ig #LMAO #disco elysium #kim kitsuragi #text post

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specific-dreamer · 2 days ago

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thinking about the early days when their parents first died and ponyboy is turning to soda for comfort more and more because he knows soda gets it because sodas crying so he won’t judge pony for crying. one night pony wide awake crying leftover tears from a nightmare and the general “how come darry don’t like me no more” and sodas comforting him and trying to convince him otherwise.

after a particularly rough day and rougher nightmare he asks soda “how come darry never cries? ain’t he sad too?”

soda who really ought to keep his mouth shut sometimes says “of course he’s sad. i caught him crying in the shower the other day. i think he just don’t cry in front of us; kinda like dally. you know he was upset but instead of crying like the rest of us, he found more trouble.”

pony’s quiet for moment. “why don’t he ever cry with us though? he didn’t even cry at the fune- at the church”

soda sighs. ponyboy isn’t gonna get it; no matter how hard he tries pony won’t get it because he’s not older than anybody. he won’t understand the instinct to protect someone.“you remember in comic books how the superheroes never cry; they just box up their feelings until they explode?”

“yes?”

“…darry’s kinda like that. he’s our superhero; i don’t think he cries because he dont want to scare us. if he cries it kinda proves that we’re all scared and, i don’t know about you, but i’ve never seen darry scared or in a situation he couldn’t handle.”

“i don’t know soda, i think it’s scarier that he doesn’t cry.” his voice trails off but soda knows him well enough to know pony’s holding back from saying something else. “when is darry gonna blow up?”

“huh?”

pony huffs. “you said the superheroes that hide their feelings blow up; when’s darry gonna blow up?” there is no mistaking the fear in his voice asks and now soda kinda regrets that metaphor (analogy? it’s one of them, soda always mixes them up).

soda sighs and shrugs his shoulders. “i don’t know, honey.”

pony sits up and looks at soda incredulously. “what do you mean you don’t know! i thought you told each other everything?”

soda sits up too. “well not everything. how do you even know that— are you reading my journal you little shit?”

“yes but that isn’t the point okay!” pony blushes and shakes his head widely.

“fine.” soda huffs and lays back down. he’s a little shit for reading his stuff but pony was right; him and darry did tell each other everything. but since everything it’s almost like a flip switched and darry decided he had to keep all his emotions bottled up and he couldn’t depend on anyone. “i don’t know ponyboy. he doesn’t talk to me anymore, he doesn’t talk to anyone.”

“…because he doesn’t want to scare us?”

“i think so yeah.”

“soda?” pony asks after about five minutes of silence. he’s lying back down now with his head on sodas chest.

“yeah, honey?”

“i don’t like this darry.”

soda can feel his heart cracking and his stomach dropping. “what do you mean?”

“i want my darry back.” pony’s about to cry again, soda can hear the quiver in his voice asks he tries not to. “i don’t want darry to be our guardian if he’s not my brother anymore. i want my brother, i want my darry!”

as soon as he finishes speaking, pony breaks into sobs again. this time soda doesn’t really know how to comfort him besides holding him closer and stroking his hair. “i know, honey. it’ll be okay.” he repeats those two phrases like a mantra until pony falls asleep.

#this was meant to be a headcanon #i don’t know what happened #the outsiders #outsiders musical #<- bc i had jason!soda and brent!darry in mind #as always though i had movie pony on the brain though #darry curtis #ponyboy curtis #sodapop curtis #the outsiders fanfiction #ig this counts #might polish it and put it on ao3 if if any one wants me to idk #specific dreamer’s fics

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ddeonghwa-s · 3 days ago

Text

a moment between infinity .ᐟ.ᐟ

reuniting with your soulmate in the space between one life and the next.

꒰୨୧꒱— jeon wonwoo x reader

꒰୨୧꒱— wc is approx. 2.5k.

꒰୨୧꒱— genre : themes of love, romance; angst

꒰୨୧꒱— tropes : reincarnation, reuniting after life, soulmates

꒰୨୧꒱— cw : themes of life and death, discussion of physical separation, missing life events due to death, lives cut short.

꒰୨୧꒱— tw : for discussion of dying young/living life unfilled

꒰୨୧꒱— notes : thank you lexi @heechwe for beta reading! this sounds depressing but i swear there's tons of love in there!

you see wonwoo as soon as you step out from beneath the shade of a tree you don’t remember walking under. the sun, for a fleeting moment, is overly bright. it pierces your eyes with its light, horribly brilliant and blinding.

you don’t want to look away from wonwoo; don’t want to close your eyes for even a second.

the pain you feel from the sunlight is immense, and before you can comprehend the desire, the most rudimentary of all wants, so much so that it’s a need, you are blinking your eyes against the cruelty of the sun.

he’s still there when you open them.

(he wasn’t the last time you blinked at him.)

(a moment of stillness, of a deep breath taken before plunging into freezing waters; of the last gasp for clean air before being consumed by flame; of a desperate choke for life as death swings its decisive sword.)

(you remember this.)

(and yet you don’t.)

(it’s weird, you think between the pauses of forever, between one breath and the next, how everything and nothing exists so closely intertwined.)

wonwoo smiles. it isn’t that blinding smile of pure exhilaration you so distinctly remember the twelfth time as the two of you looked down from the bow of the ocean liner, waving down at the citizens of south hampton that had come to bid the ship farewell. instead it was his soft, slowly-growing smile that took you back to the second time, to that little ger on the eurasian steppe, holding your first ever son.

wonwoo opens his arms.

naturally you go into them.

the world is made up of pairs, you know, the wisdom of nothing and everything, of finity and infinity, surrounding you. north and south; up and down; sky and earth; you and wonwoo. two things, concepts, beings so closely intertwined that to force one from the other is to break the thin threads of the cosmos.

and so, like the sky embracing the earth, you go into wonwoo’s arms.

he’s wearing the outfit you saw him last. his auburn corduroy shirt jacket smells of gasoline still (for him the last sixty years were a mere handful of hours; for you, a lifetime. and so the scent of death still sticks to him as if no time had passed at all, despite.) and when he lifts his arms to wrap them around you, to envelope you into his body, you can see the turquoise scrunchie he had kept on his wrist for you peak out from his sleeve.

“i’m sorry,” he says. his voice is as deep as you remember. wonwoo presses his nose into your hair. you burrow your face into him, seeking out this natural scent, trying to bypass all the smells of death. “you said we didn’t need more tape, that it’d be fine.”

“i said we didn’t need tape,” you agreed. there had been moments you felt such overwhelming anger towards wonwoo for going despite you arguing otherwise. this, between nowhere and everywhere, was void of such feelings. instead you pressed your nose deeper and deeper, hands grabbing at his shirt.

“i wanted to make sure we could finish wrapping presents before your mother arrived,” wonwoo said. “i wanted everything to be perfect.”

they found a ring on him, after; a simple silver band and diamond.

“i know.”

you shifted.

wonwoo sighs into your hair. “i’m sorry. i wish – i have a thousand wishes. a thousand wishes for a thousand lifetimes. would you ever forgive me?”

you hum. you think of a land impossibly far, of a lifetime where you sobbed as wonwoo explained he had to leave, had to fight; how easy it was for you to resume that rage once he returned from the war, missing an arm and a chunk of his ear but still breathing and smiling.

(sometimes he didn’t return.)

(sometimes you didn’t return.)

(those times, you knew, were seldomly seen. your universes, your forevers, were large, ever-expanding tapestries sewn by the threads of your lives. more often than not, nearly always, the threads revealed a beautiful picture of life and love and contentment; of a small forever trapped within a shared lifetime.)

(seldomly did the threads show another picture.)

(you think back to that ocean liner. to how cold it was; to how he disappeared for a heavier jacket and never returned, to how you slipped and fell and were submerged in a cold unlike any other –)

“i forgive you each and every time,” you mumble into his shir.t. “just as you do me. i don’t think we’d have as many lifetimes together if we didn’t at least like one another.”

“ew,” he says, voice still gentle despite the teasing sentiment of his words, “you like me?”

as if you hadn’t fallin in love with wonwoo for fifteen generations in a row; as if your soul hadn’t sought his; as if you didn’t press yourself into his arms with every breath between lives, trying to memorize his scent and soul before the both of you take the plunge into the next life.

“you have to stay with me next time,” you say. you try to keep your voice from cracking; it doesn’t work. you’ve shed a million tears for a million lifetimes – fifteen, to be exact, but math isn’t the sort of thing one worries about in places like this, places where everything of the past exists and nothing of the future; where you bear the weight of fifteen lifetimes on your shoulders knowing none of it will matter.

“you can’t leave me,” you cry into his shirt. you can feel his chest heave underneath you, can feel the earth and not-earth shift beneath the two of you as wonwoo wraps you tighter in his arms. “you can’t leave me this time. not to fight a war that isn’t yours; to get a jacket; to pick up tape. you can’t leave me alone. i can’t handle another lifetime without you.”

wonwoo’s sob is the quiet, heart-wrenching of one that bubbles out despite all attempts to quell it. you can feel his body lurch against you from the force of it. his weeping is ugly, the sounds of his gasps in your ear loud and wholy unpleasant.

the two of you cry against one another, clutching at one another. you’ve lived more lives together than apart, have memorized the wrinkles that line the corners of his eyes the older he gets, have learned the breathing patterns of his sleep.

but still –

the thought of parting is one you never bear. perhaps if you were a stronger soul it would be easier; perhaps if your soul loved his less it would be easier.

you think back to the past sixty years. and then you think of your lives from the far past. only a few had forced either of you to live without the other, but the pain of them drowns out the happiness of any other. happiness, you have learned, is a golden thing that only seems to truly glow when the moment has long past, when you look back and think ah, that was an evening well spent.

pain, on the other hand, is brilliant and loud and sharp. it demands its victim to focus on it. and so despite the lives you and wonwoo have spent beside one another, growing to old, shriveled ages in contentment, the pain of loneliness, of the heartbreak of knowing you would lie without the other half of your small universe, of living without your moon or sk or true north, of the other half of your pair that made up the galaxies and cosmos; of knowing you would never be whole.

that is why the two of you cry.

“i won’t leave you,” wonwoo promises. neither of you mention how the promise is empty. he cannot and will not remember any word said in this infinite space, during this small and endless moment between infinity.

he won’t remember the press of your body against his. he won’t remember how you’re crying against him, how he vows to you, himself, and the universe he won’t leave you stranded in a lifetime again.

(you remember the first lifetime. you remember the tall grasses of your village, of how you and wonwoo would duck down into them to press full-mouthed kisses to one another’s skin, ignorant and naive and happy in your first life.

you force yourself not to remember how it felt when your uncle agreed to your marriage to a village that would take nearly a year for you to travel to. how it felt to know that despite the fact your love for wonwoo was greater than any force in the cosmos the two of you still answered to those on earth.

you had promised yourself you would never leave him again. that your second lifetime and all the ones after it would be spent at his side and no one else’s.

you promise yourself this once more.

the universe says nothing in reply.)

wonwoo leans back, sniffling. his nose is red. he raises his hands up to your face, shaking. when wonwoo kisses you it’s wet and there’s spit and snot, but you lean into it as if it were the sealing kiss of a wedding.

“tell me what you loved,” he begs. “you loved after me. tell me.”

you nod. heartbreak lasts forever, and so does love. love is not something that begins and ends with one person; it is everlasting and multifaceted, existing in the smallest, most inconsequential of things.

“jungkookie got me a puppy,” you say, voice still wet from crying. “i told him it was too much, that i didn’t have the energy for it. he said that was what i needed.”

wonwoo grinned at the mention of his brother. he leaned forward, tucking his forehead into your neck. “what was it’s name?”

“it was a mutt,” you say, “but i remembered how much you love that movie, the fox and the hound. so i named it copper.

“it was black,” you carry on, grinning at wonwoo’s chuckles that he presses into your skin. “jungkookie said it was a lab-shepherd mix. i couldn’t tell the difference.”

“copper the black pup,” wonwoo says. “what else?”

the sun is gentle in its caresses against your flesh, the breeze sweet in its dance. you and wonwoo settle against grass, curling into one another. you can’t raise your voice too much due to the close proximity, and so each word is a tender thing.

you tell wonwoo of the red forbidden palace jungkook’s son took you to see during a school trip and how, despite the fact you could hear cars honking, it felt as if you were transported hundreds of years into the past.

you tell wonwoo about the little bookstore that opened up next to his father’s dentist shop. of the tall, towering bookcases; of the cats that lived within; how as soon as you stepped inside you were met with the smell of real wood.

you tell wonwoo of a little stray kitten you found in your forties, of how you named it romeo for how clingy it was.

(“i still say we should’ve forced that bastard to write in an acknowledgement that it was our story he was writing,” wonwoo says, tracing the curve of your cheek. “he gets far too much recognition for his genius as it is.”)

he laughs when you tell him about seeing warwick castle for the first time in this lifetime, about the feeling of having been there despite not remembering. he teases you for it with memories of your tenth lifetime, of running down stone halls with you.

“we’ll go again,” he says. he presses his nose against yours. you grab his hand, lacing your fingers together. “we can get married there just like we did back then.”

you huff a laugh. “if it’s still there. you said that about persepolis.”

“how was i to know that damned macedonian prince would burn it to the ground,” wonwoo laughs. he grows somber, staring at you with deep brown eyes. “how much time do you think has passed?”

you shrug, thinking. time exists and it doesn’t. here, in this sunny pasture, it’s as if time doesn’t exist at all. that cannot be said for when you wake.

either a year has passed or two hundred; this cannot be said for sure.

you and wonwoo both were born within five years after the sinking of the titanic, of dying those horribly cold and wet deaths. you died, the two of you would later realize, thirty years before the destruction of persepolis and were reborn five hundred years later.

and so that is how time flows.

“well,” wonwoo says, “it’s not like it matters.”

“no?”

“as long as there’s still trees and air we’ll be okay.”

you gasp, having expected something horribly romantic. you’re not sure why you expected this. you gently shove his shoulder all the same, scolding wonwoo for his jest.

later, though neither of you can say how much time later, you stare up at the sky. the clouds move. the sun keeps at the same position.

“when do you think we’ll find one another?”

“you know we can’t decide that.”

“guess anyways,” you demand.

wonwoo wiggles against the dirt. “you’ll move schools in high school,” he announces, “and i’ll be utterly bewitched by the new girl. she’ll be beautiful and sweet, and i won’t say anything at all.”

“that’s not a very good love story.”

“but then we’ll meet again,” he carries on, eyes tracing the fluffy curves of a cloud. “and i’ll be older and more confident. it’ll be at a college bar. you’ll still be beautiful, of course. and i’ll go up to you and say ‘hey, i knew you in high school.’ you’ll smile at me despite not quite remembering. then we’ll meet again and again, and our lives will become intertwined.”

you look at the blue infinity above you as if it could reveal anything. you wanted to know the secrets of it; how to live for forever with wonwoo, how to meet him earlier and spare no time loving one another.

you want there to be a forever of this. of being by wonwoo’s side, of having him there beside you. you don’t know how many years you’ve spent without him in total; how many have been spent with him. whatever the answers are, you know it’s either too many or too few.

there’s somewhere, you want to believe, where you and wonwoo can spend eternity side by side without separation; without life or death pulling you from each other’s side. there’s somewhere, you have to believe, where you can spend every happy moment with wonwoo. where you don’t have to spend this small infinity telling him about the little joys you’ve encountered in the years since he’s passed.

you close your eyes. you can feel tears sting at the corners of them. the breeze muses your hair. all you want is to be with him, to have him at your side, to hold his hand every day and for the rest of the days.

where your promises if i won’t leave you mean something, where they do more than just shift the air around you.

you take a deep breath, filling your lungs with pure air.

and then

#svthub #k-vanity #keopihausnet #[jupiter is writing]#svt fic #svt oneshot #jeon wonwoo fic #jeon wonwoo oneshot #wonwoo fic #wonwoo oneshot #seventeen fic #seventeen oneshot #svt #seventeen #wonwoo #jeon wonwoo

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darthannie · 3 days ago

Text

purpose statement

part two of thesis statement

Pairing: professor!Jim x f!reader

Summary: After spending the night at your professor’s house, you’re left wondering what the hell you’re gonna do next.

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: 18+ please for the love of god, age gap (reader is 24, Jim is 43), morning sex, kissing, praise, dom!Jim, p in v, oral, budding d/s relationship(?)

a/n: I’m back. Kinda! I'll make a post about it! But, here's part two of thesis statement! Read the first one if you'd like. Jim english professor confirmed (to me lol). I might turn this into a series but I'm not too sure yet. This one ends with kind of a cliffhanger, so there might be a part three. Anywho, enjoy!

A leg drapes over yours.

A hand grabs your stomach.

Warm air hits the back of your neck.

His nose softly brushes across your shoulder as he presses a kiss there. And all through this, you’re just barely awake. You sigh into the feeling, pressing your back against his chest. You didn’t know what time it was, and you couldn’t care less. He tightend his embrace. You try to scoot closer to him as if that was even possible. You wanted to be completely engulfed by him. You had a ton of questions, but for now, you were mute. This was as good as it was going to get. After a minute, you manage to turn around and face him before burying youself in his chest.

“Mornin’”, he sighs.

“Ugh, what time is it?”

“Doesn’t matter.” He kisses the top of your head as silence settles around the both of you.

“What’s going through your head?”, he asks.

“Why were you in the shop that day?”

“Well… It was part dare and part curiosity. And another part of me wanted to try out a toy for the first time.”

“You left in quite a rush.”

“Well, yes a certain student graced me with her presence.”

You blush and meet his eyes, remembering the interaction. “Did you go back?”

“Oh, no.” he chuckles.

“Why not.”

“I have my toy right here.”

“Jim…”, I said faining annoyance and rolling my eyes at him

“Sorry, sorry that was lame. However, you have to admit it’s true,” his voice darkens, “Are you gonna go home and touch yourself or would you rather have the real thing?”

Your breath hitched. “I-I’d rather have the real thing.” You placed your hand on his chest as if to confirm his existance. He was real and you were indeed in bed with him. In bed with your professor.

He kissed your forehead, “Right. That’s exactly right… Class is cancelled by the way.” He said it so matter-of-factly. Like it was as easy as that. And, apparently, it was.

“Check your email.”

You rolled over and grabbed your phone that was magically plugged into a charger, Jim’s doing. You opened up your email and there it was. Among spam emails about the latest 20% off sale at the campus store was an email from Jim.

“Due to unforeseen circumstances, class today is cancelled. See you all next week ready to work. Best, Jim”

You dropped your phone on the bed. “Jim… What? Why?”

“Because I would rather spend my day in bed with a beautiful woman.” He pulled you into a kiss. “Is that a crime?”

“Well, I just thought-“ You’re cut off by a hand reaching down to you hip. His other hand squeezes between the mattress and your body. You yelp as he guides you to straddle him. You help him along and he looks up at you, teasing you as he cocks his head to the side. “You thought what?”

Your hands lay on his chest. You feels him hard under you. “I thought it was a one night thing. I thought that was it.”

“Oh, no, love I meant it when I said you were mine. I mean. If you want to be of course.”

“What like a friends with benefits situation?”

He tilted his head side to side as if weighing his options. “Yeah, something like that.”

You jaw unhinged to speak but no sound came out. You sat back on his lap, feeling him dig into you a bit more. He spoke before you could muster anything up, “You don’t have to make a decision right now. I don’t want to force you into any type of arrangement or anything. However-“

“However,” you grinded your hips, “what?”

He held in a groan, “However, I really want to be inside you right now, love… Please…” His hands rested on your thighs and he lifted his hips to show you how much he wanted it. He pulled you down into a kiss and wrapped his arms around you. You ran your fingers through his hair and pulled him away to make room. You moved down to kiss his neck. His breath got caught in his throat as you liked a stripe up his neck and reached down under the covers. He let out a hiss as your hand went under his underwear and wrapped around his cock.

“How are you already so hard?” You woke up ready to tease and he only bucked his hips up in response as you released him.

“Baby, please-“

“Please what?”

He moaned again. “I need-“

“Need what?”

He exhaled, “Fuck.” He flipped her over so she was on her back. He hungrily kissed her neck and nipped at her ear. He grabs onto one of her tits and feels the weight of it in your hand. He moves down to suck on it as she moan his name. He pulls back up and kisses your lips. “Tell me I can take what I want.”

“Jim, I-“

“Tell me, love. Tell me I can take whatever I want.”

You have never been more turned on in your life. You looked him in the eye and say “You can take whatever you want.”

You didn’t even realize he was lining himself up with your wet hole. He plunged into you right as you finished your sentence. He moves in slow thrusts and focuses on you, wanting to see take in you expression.

He looks down at your body. He wants nothing more than to worship every inch. Everything about this is wrong. It should have been avoided at all costs, but instead of focusing on that he focuses on draging his hand the curve of you hips. He focuses on how your breast fits perfectly in his hand. He focuses on the taste of your lips. It doesn’t matter how wrong this is. He wants all of you.

You’re sweating. Your hair is messy. Nothing about you is put together, and he thinks you are the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because you are so fucking gorgeous.” He kissed her right as he finished his sentence.

“You’re amazing,” he kissed your cheek, “and you’re a damn good writer.”

He whispered the last part into your ear and kissed your neck. Your giggle turned into a moan as you felt him shift to a new spot inside of you, suddenly hitting where you needed him most. A groan left him as he repositioned himself, thrusting harder and moving to cup your face. Desperate. He was desperate for you.

You pulled him closer to you, needing to feel his body against yours again. He picked up the pace when your fingers laced through his hair, guiding his mouth to your neck. Your other hand firmly held is arm to brace yourself for an orgasm that has yet to come. He nipped at your neck, careful not to leave marks. All the sensations at once motivated you to let go of his arm and reach for your clit. He chuckled and removed your hand from between your bodies, earning him a whimper. He pinned your arm above your head.

“Ask me.” You only whimpered in response.

“Go ahead, use your words. Ask me.“

A quiet “please” was all you could utter.

“Please, what? Please stop?” he said as he slowed his pace.

“No!”

“Then, what? What do you want to do, love?”

“I want to rub my clit while you fuck me.” You spoke barely above whisper and he heard you, but it didn’t matter. He wanted you to beg.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

You groaned, growing more needy and annoyed as every second passed. “Please…”

“Say it, babygirl.” He thrust suddenly. Hard and deep.

“Ah! Please, let me rub my clit while you fuck me. Please, please, please!”

He grinned and gripped your wrist. He moved your arm in between your bodies and you immediately began touching yourself. Your head tilted back as your eyes rolled back and closed. It was better than anything you could have imagined. You opened your eyes to find Jim looking down and staring where your bodies met. He slowed down and watched as he entered you.

“Jim, please, don’t stop. I’m so close.”

He pulled out and watched your expression twist from one of pleasure to one of desperation.

“Jim,” you drew out his name, “fuck, why!”

“I need to taste you.” He started to move down.

“Jim, please. Just-“

“Are you my good girl?”, he challenged you

You nodded and he shook his head.

“Words.”

“I’m a good girl.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm, I’m a very, very good girl.”

“Then let me eat this pussy.”

He moved down til his face was between your legs. He licked from your wet hole to your clit. You moaned as he licked and sucked. After a few seconds he stopped.

“Do you deserve my cum, baby?

“Yes! Please. Please, I deserve it!”

“Tell me you want me. Tell me how bad you need me.” His voice was low. He needed to hear you say it.

“I want you. I really, really want you.. Fuck, I need you.” You let out a long moan as he went back to your clit with more determination than before. You pressed his head deeper between your legs as he devoured you. He reached up to grab your free hand, lacing his fingers with yours. You bucked your hips up and he moved with you.

“I want you inside me. I want your cum inside me again. I want it over and over and over again.”

He pulled back for air, cursed under his breath, and quickly lined himself up again.

You kissed him as he entered you slowly again. The kiss was messy and wanton. You tasted yourself on his tongue. His thumb rubbed your clit and your hips absentmindedly met his.

“Jim,” your voice thin, “I’m gonna-.”

“Let go, love. I’m right behind you.”

He let you ride your high before he finished inside you. Spent and panting he didn’t dare move. You were sweaty, exhausted, and experiencing pure bliss. His hands caressed your sides as he soothed you. It was only when you both came down that he pulled out and dragged you towards him, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and kissing the top of your head.

“You were so good,” he whispered, “You were so good for me. So perfect for me...”

You hummed and cuddled into his chest. You felt a bit of awkwardness starting to creep in. You didn’t know how to feel. Submitting to him even the tiniest bit felt like a burden on him, even if he indulged in your every desire. You racked your brain, trying to figure out what to even say in return to you were “so perfect”. You went a little rigid and moved away from him just enough to lift your hand.

“Thank you. Nice job. Go team.” You mentally facepalmed. You couldn’t figure out what else to say, so you landed on something you’d say after a corporate team building exercise. Or, at least, it felt detached enough that you wouldn’t have to confront your feelings for him.

He laughed and obliged the high five. Then, he laced his fingers with yours and gave the back of your hand a kiss.

He playfully rolled his eyes, “Darling, why are you getting awkward on me now?”

You looked up at him and lost yourself in his eyes. He stared back at you with a newfound curiosity. He was searching for a way into your head so that he could finally have some clarity in his life. He just wanted to know if he was right about something, someone, this time.

“I’m not getting awkward I’m just-“

“Deflecting.” His look said “I’m right aren’t I?” and you half rolled your eyes.

He sighed and rubbed his thumb against your shoulder. “You, my dear, need some advice.”

“Dear god, here comes Professor Ji-.”

“Let. Go.” The soft smile on his face made you feel safe instantly.

You exhaled though your nose, “Pardon?”

“Let go. Give into… this, whatever this is. Just let go. Let it happen. I’ll be here to catch you.”

“I… How do I know you’re not lying?”

“You don’t. But, I’m asking you to trust me.”

“I trust you.”

“No, not me as your professor. Me as your-“

“As my what? What are you to me exactly? You’re not my partner. We’re not dating. So you as my what?” His comment through you for a loop. You were apprehensive. The last thing you wanted to do was get too attached.

“As your escape.”

He was right. You desperately needed this. It was an appitite you could never satiate. Yet, you laid with the only person that ever fulfilled your needs and you wondered how much more he could do for you. You wondered how much further you could go, how much deeper this dynamic could go. How much of himself he was willing to give to you? Not to mention, how would you keep this life separate from your life at school? You were both adults, but things like this cloud a persons judgement.

He continued, “I know you. I can tell what you enjoy just from your writing. You write about romance and relationship dymanics often. I can tell what you’re into based on your word choice alone. I believe it was you that wrote “There’s a certain type of desperation that takes over when you give yourself, your body, to someone else.” I know you, darling. I know what you need and I know how to give it to you. Just let me.”

#jim delinquent season #jim the delinquent season #jim the delinquent season x reader #jim delinquent season x reader #cillian murphy fic #cillian murphy x reader #annie writes #cillian murphy smut #cillian x reader #jim delinquent season x f!reader #cillian murphy imagine #cillian x fem!reader #cillian fanfic #cillian murphy #cillian fic #i proofread this but no one is perfect

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fairmerthefarmer · 2 days ago

Text

Thanks so much for the tag! I would have done this sooner but then blanked on who to tag cause technically this is a side blog and so idk if I’m actually mutuals with anyone on this one specifically. Also social anxiety apparently.

Last song: Curses by the crane wives

Favourite colour: deep/rich forest green (jewel tones in general)

Last book: shit I need to read more, I honestly don’t know.

Last movie: Wicked

Last show: Severance/Ghosts US

Sweet/Spicy/Savoury: Savoury

Relationship status: single

Last thing searched: Kathryn Hahn but I can’t remember why

Current obsession: I feel like I’m in between obsessions right now, it’s just a little bit of many things but none of them are like, hyperfixations like I normally have at least one going on. Like I don’t even have a food fixation right now. I was putting a lot of time into Skyrim recently (first playthrough ever) but I’m already losing some of the bonus dopamine from it. Hades 2 probably will be an obsession again when the next update comes out

Looking forward to: season 2 of severance, also ordering myself some Wicked Barbie dolls whenever I next make a “for fun” purchase

Tagging: @knife-wife @writerxwren @opposite-massive @violet-moonstone and honestly anyone who follows this blog! A good portion of my followers I don’t think are real people so anyone who’s here and a person if you want to participate please do!

Ten People I’d Like to Get to Know Better

tagged by: @orphiclovers

last song: It’s all been Christmas retail crap or if you count the radio on the drive home playing Avril Lavigne

fav color: this pale seafoam green for things or white for clothes

last book: Eclipse by Wilder (poetry)

last movie: Deadpool & Wolverine

last show: N/A

sweet/spicy/savory: sweet and savory

relationship status: 4 people proposed to me this year. 1 meant it fr 🥹 (engaged irl) otherwise I have a harem on AO3 going.

last thing i googled: how big is a wintermelon?

current obsession: cooking and Infinity Nikki

looking forward to: I’m planning a road trip with the girls later this week!!

Tagging: @auuwmk, @ssunfish, @ajhaijma, @stoneclaw, @quiteboared, @kiwiandmint, @dgeneralacc, @rex44201, @readingdreaming4951, @thottykunikida

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margotw10bis · 24 hours ago

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Friendly Marriage.JJK Drabble 2

bestfriend!Jungkook x female reader

Genre: drabble; fluff (non-idol Jungkook)

Words: 1.8k

Synopsis: You accompany your best friend for his first tattoo because, well, he can't take an important step in his life without you.

"Precious and Inked" drabble from Friendly Marriage (this takes place before the main story)

You clearly remember when Jungkook’s appeal for tattoos appeared. You were six and it was summer. It was a hot day, almost unbreathable which spurred your parents to drive to the beach, willing to enjoy the faint breeze from the sea.

Obviously, you weren’t the only ones seeking to cool down and the beach was full. But as your parents were settling your stuff, Jungkook grabbed your hand and urged you to go near the salty water to play with the wet sand. It’s when your best friend saw him. The man was about twenty year old and he had a confidence that made people looked at him with curiosity — or envy. Moreover, his black swimsuit allowed the crowd to have a full view on his numerous tattoos, something that was quite rare to witness in Korea at the time. His torso, arms and back had some ink patterns here and there, without a real coherence but the whole was harmonious.

Jungkook’s doe eyes grew bigger than normal and a whispered ‘wow’ escaped his lips. It wasn’t too hard to notice his admiration and the fact was confirmed by the uncountable times he talked to you about ‘the cool drawings’ the following days. Annoyed by his sudden lack of attention to your sand construction, you slammed his arm and yelled at him to focus.

And thirteen years later, here you are.

You should have known your best friend enough to know that he would, one day, get a tattoo on his own. Somewhat you hoped he’d wait a little longer as an unconscious fear — of this decoration on his body changing his personality — has been growing bigger and bigger even since he share the date of his appointment.

“You know that your mom is going to kill you, right?”

Your remark provokes a laugh from your best friend. You know that there is no point in trying to convince him right now, as Jungkook has been bawling about getting a tattoo for months, strategically waiting for his nineteenth birthday to finally put ink on his skin. It’s not that you don’t think he hasn’t thought seriously about it but you know him: sometimes, he tends to make decision too quickly and you’re afraid he’ll regret.

“With the look in your eyes, I feel like it’s you who’s going to kill me” He teases you, his wide bunny smile on his adorable face

You sigh as you don’t understand how chill he is about such a big commitment while you, a mere witness, are stressing. A lot.

“Kook”

“I know, I know” He reassures you — just like he is able to read your mind — and wraps his arm around your shoulders “I swear I’m not going to change my mind. And it’s just a tiny tattoo, I’ll stop after that”

You both know that he won’t — and the future will give you right. You throw him a doubtful glance but how can you resist his cute pout? You cannot. And Jungkook knows it way too well.

You don’t have time to argue as the tattoo artist steps in the small and dark room you’ve been waiting. He calls out your best friend’s name and a single look at him tells you how excited he is. Just to see him as happy makes all your worries vanish and in one second, you don’t care if Jungkook decides to cover his whole body with black ink if it means he’ll get to smile like that.

“You wanna come with me?” He offers right before entering the room at the back

You hesitate but finally accept in case Jungkook would like to squeeze your hand if the pain is too much. Yet, you regret when you move the black curtain away and discover a dark room filled with a chair similar to the one in medical centers, a small stool with wheels and a table full of small cup of inks — black, blue, red, pink and every other colors. The walls are covered with sketches and the skull ones are terrifying, sending shivers down your spine.

“You want one?” The tattoo artist asks you when he notices you are looking at his art pieces

You have no problem admitting his talent, yet you absolutely don’t want a skull on your skin! You are quick to shake your head and take place next to your best friend who has taken off his shirt. You are trying your best not to look at his defined torso, not that you haven’t seen it already anyway given your numerous afternoons at the beach but Jungkook has been hitting the gym very diligently lately and well… he is hot — and this is a thought that you should absolutely not have about your best friend so you choose to focus on the material the tattoo artist is preparing.

Jungkook and the tattoo artist talk for a while, trying to find the right spot and size for the tattoo and they finally settle for the junction between the shoulder and the biceps. With that, Jungkook is pleased to lay down.

“Are you okay?” He asks and you suddenly feel stupid: you should be the one asking

“Are you?” You reply

“Yep!” He exclaims, offering you one of his reassuring smiles

The tattoo artist informs your best friend that he is going to start and the buzz sound of the machine fills the room. You are watching with attention his movements, trying to detect any unusual thing — just like you knew anything about tattoos. You just want to take care of Jungkook, he is your best friend, that’s normal.

Jungkook, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to care at all about the needle in his skin. He is looking at you with an amused smile, especially when you wince as the tattoo artist stretch out a spot to apply more ink.

“Can I hold your hand?” Jungkook asks you

You immediately squeeze his fingers, worried that he is in pain.

“Does it hurt a lot?” You can’t help but question

“Yes”

Your heart tightens in your chest. However, Jungkook is not in pain at all — he only feels a mere tickling on his skin. He can’t even explain why he lied. He simply noticed that he has looked for any opportunity to hold your hand lately. Maybe it’s just because he is stressed about leaving Busan to head to the capital with you, afraid that something will change between you two, that you won’t be as close as before even if you attend the same university.

You bring Jungkook out of his thoughts when you gently pat his head, trying to soothe the imaginary pain away.

“I swear I won’t tell anyone if you cry” You whisper to him, deadly serious

If Jungkook didn’t want to expose his lie, he would have scoffed to that. Instead, he nods and thanks you. Actually, his gratitude is real: he does feel lucky to have you by his side. He knows that you are always here for him, even when he is in trouble. And most importantly, you are always here when he faces a new important step in his life.

You stay for a few hours next to him, holding his hand, caressing his head from time to time when you notice that the tattoo artist insists on one particular spot. What you don’t notice is that your best friend has not once looked at the tattoo artist: his eyes were left on you. He can’t explain — neither does he want to. He just wants to appreciate your presence next to him while he is taking such a big decision as marking his skin for life.

Turning off the machine, the tattoo artist states that he is done and he invites Jungkook to look at the artwork in the mirror. At this moment you realize that you were so focused on your best friend’s well being that you didn’t really look at the tattoo itself.

You try to tilt your head, contorting your upper body to have a peak too but Jungkook’s body is way too imposing for that. It’s only when Jungkook says that he is very satisfied and turns around that you finally get to see the freshly made tattoo and your eyes grow big.

“Kook” You whisper, breathless

“You like it?”

Jungkook notices that he really, really wishes that you do. Growing up, he’s learned not to bother about people’s opinions but you, it’s not the same. It’s not that he is seeking for your approval but he knows that he is disappointed with himself when he disappoints you. Equally, he tends to like something more if you like it too. And for this tattoo, his first tattoo, he truly hopes that you like it as it is very important for him.

“It’s… stunning!” You say after trying to find the right word but you are too moved for that

The ink piece is very delicate, objectively very beautiful but what touches you so much is the pattern: a crane. The top of its head is red, just like the one saw with Jungkook when you were young. It is one of your most previous memories. The winter of your five years old, your and Jungkook’s parents took you to the mountains. It was the first time you saw snow and you were so excited that you couldn’t sleep the first night. You spent hours looking through the window, watching the tiny snowflakes falling from the sky. At some point, a huge white bird appeared and landed close to the window. You wanted to wake up your parents so they could see but you were afraid to make too much noise and scare the bird away. And when you turned your head to spot anyone with whom you could share the show, Jungkook was there, all sleepy. You guested that he wanted to go the bathroom and you whispered-yelled his name, urging him to join you but in silence. Your best friend was amazed, just like you. His black doe eyes were so wide and shiny that you could almost see the reflection of the crane in them and, for the first time, you found your best friend very cute. You watched the crane together, elbows touching each other’s, until it flew away. The next day, you told the story to your parents but they didn’t believe you, stressing that cranes only come rarely to Korea and even less in winter. Since then, the crane was like a secret between Jungkook and you, a precious, almost intimate moment you two shared together outside the rest of the world.

“I don’t even know what to say, Kook, it’s just… perfect” You add with tears in your eyes and reaching out to squeeze his hand to share your gratefulness to have immortalized this ephemeral and secret instant

“I think it was the most magical moment of my life, and it was with you. It’s always with you, Y/N” Jungkook says with a voice thick of emotion “Thank you for coming with me today”

Read "Steal My Girl" Drabble here

I'm sorry for being inactive, this is just a little something to thank you for your patience 🩷

#bts fanfic #bts #fanfic #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jjk #jjk x reader #friendly marriage #friendly marriage drabble #margotw10bis

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cherryxbooo · 2 days ago

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Most important part of my life

Summary: Pedri's secret relationship is tested by rumors with a new media colleague, leading him to publicly declare his love.

Reader x Pedri

Genre: fluff/angst

Being in love with Pedri González felt like cradling a secret so luminous, so extraordinary, that unveiling it to the world might scatter its magic like dandelion seeds caught in the wind.

It wasn’t just the fact that he was one of the most recognizable footballers in the world, gracing the pitch at Camp Nou with effortless grace.

It was the way he looked at me when we were alone, the quiet strength of his love, and the unspoken promise in his touch.

Our relationship grew like wildflowers in the shadows, away from the glaring lights of stadiums, the endless buzz of fans, and the relentless click of cameras desperate for a glimpse of his personal life.

When we first started dating, the decision to keep things private was mutual, though it came with layers of complexity.

Pedri had been upfront from the beginning.

"I want you to feel safe with me," he said one evening, his brown eyes searching mine for reassurance.

He wasn’t just asking for patience, he was offering me trust, a sanctuary in a world that rarely afforded him the same.

The privacy was liberating in ways I hadn’t anticipated.

We could wander hand-in-hand through unfamiliar streets in cities where Pedri’s face wasn’t plastered on billboards.

We could spend entire evenings tangled up on the couch watching old movies, his laughter filling the room as I teased him about his terrible popcorn-making skills.

In those quiet, unguarded moments, I discovered who he truly was, not just Pedri the footballer, but Pedri the person I fell in love with.

Still, keeping our love a secret wasn’t without its sacrifices.

There were nights when I longed to post a picture of us on social media, to scream to the world how much he meant to me.

But I knew the cost of such exposure.

Pedri’s life was a constant whirlwind of matches, media obligations, and the ceaseless adoration of fans who believed they knew him intimately.

I’d seen the toll it took on him, how even the smallest misstep could spark a wildfire of speculation.

Sometimes, being in love with him felt like standing at the edge of an untamed sea. His life was the tide, vast and unstoppable, threatening to pull me under if I wasn’t careful.

I remember one particularly tough evening when he was away on a grueling road trip, the distance between us amplified by the silence of my apartment.

I stared at my phone, scrolling through a sea of articles about him, wondering if I’d ever fit into his world.

But Pedri always had a way of grounding me.

He called late that night, his voice warm despite the exhaustion that laced his words.

"I miss you," he said simply. "You’re my calm, mi amor. Don’t forget that."

It wasn’t a grand declaration, it didn’t need to be.

It was enough to pull me back, to remind me that what we had wasn’t just a fleeting romance but something deeper, something worth navigating the storms for.

We had our own rituals, ways of carving out space for us amid the chaos.

Pedri loved to write little notes for me, tucking them in places he knew I’d find later: a pocket in my coat, the inside of a book I was reading.

Once, I found one on my bathroom mirror that simply said, "You’re my favorite part of every day."

It was these small acts of love, these intimate gestures, that made me feel like the luckiest person alive.

Who would've thought that footballers could be so romantic.

And yet, there were challenges I couldn’t ignore.

Being with Pedri meant learning to share him, not just with the fans who adored him, but with the game that consumed so much of his time and energy.

There were moments when I felt like a spectator, watching him shine while I stood in the shadows.

I’d be lying if I said it didn’t sting sometimes, but then he’d find ways to remind me that I wasn’t an afterthought.

One evening, after a particularly intense match, we sat on his balcony overlooking the city.

The air was cool, the distant hum of Barcelona serving as our soundtrack.

Pedri reached for my hand and pulled me close.

"You know," he said softly, "everything I do out there, it’s for us. For this."

His words settled over me like a warm blanket, and in that moment, I knew that no amount of distance, scrutiny, or secrecy could diminish what we shared.

But that feeling didn't last for long...

It all began when FC Barcelona announced their newest hire, Valentina.

She was young, vibrant, and clearly eager to make her mark as the team’s new media coordinator.

Her job was to handle interviews, create social media content, and give fans a closer look at the players they adored.

At first, I didn’t think much of it.

Pedri had mentioned her in passing, a new addition to the team, someone he was helping adjust to the job.

I’d nodded, smiled, and asked a few polite questions, not giving it another thought.

But then the content started appearing.

At first, I convinced myself it didn’t matter.

Pedri was just being himself, kind, warm, and approachable.

It was part of what made him so magnetic, not just to me but to everyone around him.

This was the man I fell in love with, after all.

How could I fault him for being the very person who stole my heart?

But as the days turned into weeks and the “shipping” online intensified, I felt my confidence begin to waver.

It started subtly, like a shadow creeping into the edges of an otherwise sunny day.

A fan edit of Pedri and Valentina laughing during an interview would pop up on my feed, the caption declaring,

“The chemistry is undeniable!”

I’d roll my eyes and scroll past, telling myself it was harmless.

But the comments below were relentless.

"They’d be such a cute couple!""Honestly, Valentina and Pedri give me life!""Look at the way he’s smiling at her, come on, that’s love."

I’d catch myself staring at my screen, rereading the same comments as if the sting would lessen with repetition.

It didn’t.

Instead, it gnawed at me, a quiet whisper in the back of my mind that grew louder with every passing day.

The first time Pedri showed me one of the videos, I forced a smile, feigning indifference.

“Look at this,” he chuckled, holding up his phone.

“They’re making compilations of every time I’ve talked to the new media girl. Fans are wild.” (brother can't be this clueless omd)

I leaned over, barely glancing at the screen, and shrugged.

“Yeah, wild,” I muttered, keeping my tone neutral.

“You okay?” he asked, tilting his head to look at me.

“Of course,” I lied, standing up abruptly.

“I just remembered I need to finish something. Be right back.”

I didn’t meet his eyes as I left the room.

How could he not see the true intentions behind those edits? (ugh men smh)

The little things began piling up.

Each new fan theory, each edited clip, felt like a pebble being dropped into an already overflowing jar.

I told myself it was silly, irrational even, to feel this way.

After all, I knew the truth. Pedri loved me, not her.

But logic and emotions rarely danced in harmony.

It wasn’t just online, either.

At a recent game, a group of fans behind me had spent the entire first half discussing Valentina and Pedri.

“They’d be perfect together, don’t you think?” “She’s got that bubbly personality, and he’s so down-to-earth. Total power couple vibes.”

I gripped the edge of my seat tightly, my nails digging into the fabric. I wanted to turn around and scream,

“You have no idea what you’re talking about!”

Instead, I stayed quiet, plastering on a strained smile for the rest of the match.

Back home, my silence began to speak louder than my words.

“Hey, how was your day?” Pedri asked one evening as we sat at the dinner table.

“Fine,” I replied, not looking up from my plate.

“Anything interesting happen?” he pressed, his tone light but curious.

“Not really,” I mumbled, shoving a forkful of pasta into my mouth to avoid elaborating.

Pedri frowned, setting down his fork.

“You’ve been quiet lately. Is something bothering you?”

I shook my head, forcing a smile that didn’t reach my eyes.

“Just tired. Long day.”

He nodded slowly, clearly unconvinced, but he didn’t push further.

Instead, he reached across the table to take my hand.

For a split second, I felt the warmth of his touch, the comfort it usually brought me.

But then I pulled away under the pretense of needing my water glass.

The hurt that flickered across his face was brief, but I saw it.

My chest tightened with guilt, but I couldn’t bring myself to explain.

One evening, the tension between us became unbearable.

We were sitting on the couch, a movie playing on the TV, but neither of us was paying attention.

Pedri’s hand rested on his thigh, close enough to mine that the absence of contact felt glaring.

Without warning, he paused the movie and turned to me.

“Alright, what’s going on?” he asked, his voice soft but insistent.

I stiffened, my heart pounding. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been distant,” he said, his brows knitting together.

“You barely talk to me, you pull away when I touch you… something’s wrong.”

“It’s nothing,”

I replied too quickly, the tightness in my throat betraying me.

“It’s not nothing,” he countered, leaning closer.

“I know you, amor. Something’s bothering you, and I want to help. But I can’t if you won’t talk to me.”

I looked away, my gaze fixed on the coffee table.

“It’s stupid,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

“Then let me decide that,” he urged gently.

“Please.”

I hesitated, the words caught in my throat.

How could I explain something that felt so petty?

How could I tell him that seeing him with Valentina, innocent as it was, was eating away at me?

“I’m just tired,” I said finally, standing up before he could press further.

“I’m going to bed.”

“Wait—”

But I was already walking away, leaving him sitting there, confused and worried.

In the quiet of my room, I replayed the moment in my mind, hating myself for the walls I was building.

But as I scrolled through my phone later that night, another video of Pedri and Valentina popped up.

The comments filled with speculation and admiration for their supposed connection.

I turned off my phone, buried my face in my hands, and let the tears fall.

Not knowing it was about to become worse.

The next evening,

It started like any other evening.

I was curled up on the couch, scrolling through my phone, half-distracted and trying not to think too much about the growing distance between Pedri and me.

But then the headline caught my eye, bold and damning:

“Are Pedri and Valentina More Than Colleagues? Here’s What We Know.”

My thumb hesitated above the screen, my heart already sinking, but I couldn’t stop myself.

I clicked.

The page loaded, and my stomach twisted with every word I read. The article was a masterclass in speculation.

Blurry photos of Pedri and Valentina laughing together accompanied captions like,

“Too much chemistry to be just friends?”

A still from a video of her hand casually resting on his arm had the writer waxing poetic about

“intimate body language” and “the undeniable proof of a budding romance.”

Every word felt like a small dagger, but it was the comments that truly gutted me.

"I knew it! They’re perfect together!""Pedri deserves someone like her. She’s stunning and sweet!""Finally, the couple we’ve all been waiting for. #Pedritina"

My hands trembled as I set my phone down, but the damage was done.

I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

It didn’t matter that I knew the truth.

It didn’t matter that Pedri had never given me a reason to doubt him.

The narrative was there, glaring and insistent, and it felt like it was pulling him away from me, like I was losing him to a story that wasn’t even real.

That night, I couldn’t bear to look at him.

The weight of my emotions was too heavy, threatening to spill over if I let him get too close.

“Hey,” he greeted me warmly as he walked into the kitchen, where I was furiously scrubbing an already-clean countertop.

“What are you up to?”

“Just cleaning,” I said curtly, not turning to face him.

Pedri leaned against the counter, his eyes following my frantic movements.

“It’s nine at night,” he said with a soft laugh.

“The kitchen’s spotless mi amor. Come sit with me.”

“I’ll be there in a bit,” I replied, my voice clipped.

He frowned slightly, stepping closer.

“You’ve been… acting different lately. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I lied, still not meeting his gaze.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice gentler now.

He reached out to touch my arm, but I stepped away, pretending to grab a dish towel.

“I’m sure,” I said firmly, my tone leaving no room for further questions.

Pedri watched me for a long moment, his brow furrowing in concern.

“Alright,” he said quietly, though his voice carried a hint of defeat.

“I’m here if you want to talk.”

I nodded but didn’t respond, and he left the kitchen, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the unbearable ache in my chest.

I threw myself into meaningless tasks for the rest of the evening.

Folding laundry, reorganizing the spice cabinet, rearranging the books on the shelf, anything to keep my mind and hands busy.

But no matter what I did, the article and its comments haunted me, looping endlessly in my mind.

What made it worse was how vividly I could picture it all.

Pedri’s laughter as Valentina joked with him, the way he always leaned in when someone spoke, giving them his undivided attention.

I knew it was innocent.

I knew it was just who he was.

But knowing didn’t stop the jealousy and insecurity from creeping in, filling the cracks in my resolve.

By the time Pedri came to bed, I pretended to be asleep, my back turned to him.

He sighed softly as he slipped under the covers, and for a moment, I thought he might say something.

But he didn’t.

Instead, the room fell into silence, broken only by the sound of his breathing as he drifted off.

I stayed awake long after, staring at the wall, tears slipping silently down my face.

For the first time in our relationship, I felt like I was losing him.

And the worst part? I didn’t know how to stop it.

The next day,

Meanwhile, Pedri was wrestling with his own frustrations.

The training session had wrapped up, but instead of heading to the showers with the others, he lingered in the locker room, sitting on the bench with his phone in hand.

His thumb hovered over the screen, but his mind was elsewhere, replaying the strange tension between you two over the past few weeks.

Every clipped response, every missed kiss, every moment you pulled away lingered in his thoughts, gnawing at him.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

“Yo, Pedri,” Ferran’s voice broke through the quiet, light and teasing as always.

He strolled in, a towel slung casually over his shoulder.

“Why do you look like someone stole your boots? You alright?”

Pedri looked up, his frown deepening.

“Not really,” he admitted, tossing his phone onto the bench beside him.

“It’s… Y/n. She’s been acting different. Distant.” He shook his head, as though trying to shake off the confusion.

“I don’t know what’s going on with her. I’ve tried asking, but she keeps saying she’s fine.”

Ferran raised a brow, a knowing look spreading across his face.

“Different how?”

“She barely talks to me anymore,” Pedri said, frustration clear in his voice.

“When we’re together, it’s like she’s somewhere else. I don’t even know what I did wrong.”

Ferran leaned against the locker, crossing his arms.

“You sure it’s something you did?”

“I don’t know,” Pedri muttered.

“Maybe? She’s never been like this before.”

Ferran hummed thoughtfully before his eyes lit up as if a lightbulb had gone off.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and began typing something.

“What are you doing?” Pedri asked, sitting up straighter.

Ferran didn’t answer immediately, his focus on his screen.

Then he turned the phone around, holding it out for Pedri to see.

“You seen this yet?” Ferran asked, his tone cautious but pointed.

Pedri frowned and leaned closer, his gaze locking onto the screen.

It was an article, the bold headline instantly grabbing his attention:

“Are Pedri and Valentina More Than Colleagues? Here’s What We Know.”

“What is this?” Pedri asked, his tone sharp.

“Just read it,” Ferran said, handing him the phone.

Pedri swiped through the article, his jaw tightening with every word.

The photos, blurry snapshots of him and Valentina during team interviews and moments caught on video, accompanied captions that painted an entirely false narrative.

Phrases like “unspoken chemistry” and “undeniable connection” jumped out at him, making his blood boil.

“This is…” Pedri trailed off, shaking his head in disbelief.

“This is ridiculous.”

“You think that’s bad?” Ferran said, leaning over to scroll down.

“Check the comments.”

Pedri’s frown deepened as he skimmed the comment section, where fans had enthusiastically declared their support for the supposed couple.

"They’re so cute together!""I ship them so hard!""Finally, Pedri’s found someone who matches his energy!"

Pedri tossed the phone back to Ferran, his frustration palpable.

“None of this is true,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair again.

“Yeah, well,” Ferran said, pocketing his phone,

“if Y/n saw this, it might explain why she’s acting weird. Can’t blame her, man. This article’s painting a pretty convincing picture.”

Pedri exhaled deeply, leaning back against the bench.

“She didn’t say anything about it.”

Ferran shrugged.

“Would you, if the shoe was on the other foot? Imagine reading something like that about her. You wouldn’t even need to believe it to feel like crap.”

Pedri rubbed his face with his hands, guilt beginning to creep in.

“I didn’t think this could be bothering her. I didn’t even know about this until now.”

“Well,” Ferran said, giving him a pointed look,

“now you do. So what are you going to do about it?”

Pedri didn’t hesitate.

“I need to fix this,” he said firmly, determination sparking in his eyes.

Ferran gave him a pat on the back.

“Good. Go home, talk to her. Don’t let this article ruin things.”

As Ferran walked away, Pedri stayed seated for a moment longer, his thoughts racing.

Now it all made sense, your distance, the way you avoided his touch, the sadness in your eyes.

He couldn’t stand the thought of you hurting, especially because of something so far from the truth.

He stood abruptly, his mind made up.

He had to make things right.

When Pedri came home that evening,

I was sitting on the couch, my laptop open in front of me, but my mind was far away, drifting aimlessly through thoughts I couldn’t quite organize.

The quiet hum of the apartment felt heavy, like it was pressing down on me, and I couldn’t escape it.

I had been trying to keep myself busy, just so I wouldn’t think too much about the distance that had been growing between Pedri and me.

But it didn’t help.

The more I tried to ignore it, the more the emptiness crept in.

The quiet space between us had only grown, and every little thing felt like a reminder of how lost I had become in my own insecurities.

I couldn’t keep pretending.

Every time I saw him laughing with Valentina, or when I came across fan edits of them together, the nagging feeling in my chest had gotten harder to ignore.

The worst part wasn’t even what people online were saying. It was how much I had started to doubt myself.

Doubt us.

When Pedri stepped into the living room, I felt the change in the air.

His presence filled the space, but something about his posture, his eyes, told me he had noticed something was off.

His gaze locked onto mine instantly, and I felt my stomach tighten in anticipation.

He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there for a moment, as if weighing whether he should bring it up.

His expression softened, but I could see the concern brewing beneath the calm.

“We need to talk,” he said, his voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of determination.

My heart skipped a beat.

“About what?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

He sighed, the frustration and worry clear on his face as he walked toward me.

He sat down beside me, his body close but not quite touching.

It was like he was giving me the space to open up, but I wasn’t sure I could.

He reached for my hand, and for a brief second, I considered pulling away.

The distance between us was still too fresh, the hurt too real.

But I didn’t.

I let him take my hand, his fingers threading through mine in the most familiar, comforting way.

But I could feel the weight in his touch, the uncertainty that had settled in his chest too.

"Why have you been pulling away from me?" he asked gently, his voice carrying a soft sadness that made my heart ache.

I glanced at him, feeling a lump form in my throat.

I had been trying to bury everything inside, trying to make it through without having to confront it.

But now, here we were, facing the truth of what had been building for weeks.

I swallowed hard.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

I had to look away from him, unable to bear the rawness in his gaze.

“It’s just... everything that’s been happening with you and Valentina... I can’t help but feel like I’m losing you. I don’t know if I even matter anymore.”

The words left me in a rush, tumbling out before I could stop them.

The weight of them felt like a confession, a cry for help.

Pedri’s eyes softened as he took a deep breath, and I could feel the tension in his shoulders as he gently cupped my cheek with his hand.

“Cariño,” he whispered, his thumb brushing away a stray tear I hadn’t even realized had fallen.

“You matter more to me than anything in this world. I hate that this has made you feel like you don’t.”

His words wrapped around me like a lifeline, but they didn’t take away the pain.

I had watched, day after day, as the rumors built up.

The comments. The speculation.

The way people thought they knew something about us that we hadn’t even shared.

“It just hurts,” I whispered, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to fall again.

“Seeing those pictures. Reading the comments. Watching them ship you with someone who isn’t me... It’s like you’re slipping away, and I can’t do anything to stop it.”

Pedri’s thumb brushed against my cheek again, wiping away the tear that had fallen this time.

“I never wanted you to feel like this. I never wanted you to feel invisible,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

He moved a little closer, pressing his forehead against mine.

“I’m so sorry you’ve felt like you had to hide, or that you weren’t enough. You’re everything to me, Y/n. Please don’t ever doubt that.”

I closed my eyes for a moment, just taking in his words.

They were exactly what I needed to hear, and yet... something was still missing.

There was so much more I wanted to say, but the fear of making it worse held me back.

I took a shaky breath and looked up at him.

“It’s not about not being enough. It’s just... this whole situation. The rumors. The fans. They have this image of us, Pedri. And it’s like I’m not even in the picture.”

Pedri’s eyes darkened with frustration, and I could see the anger brewing beneath the surface.

But it wasn’t directed at me.

It was directed at everything else, the media, the fans, the narrative that had been spun around us without our consent.

“You’re not invisible,” he said fiercely, his voice unwavering.

“You’re not on the sidelines, Y/n. You’re the most important part of my life."

"I can’t stand seeing you hurt because of something that’s not even true.”

I let out a shaky breath, my heart starting to settle just a little, even though the ache hadn’t completely gone.

“But what are we supposed to do? How do we fix this?”

Pedri looked at me with such intensity that I felt like I was being pulled into his world, where nothing else mattered except us.

“I’m done hiding, cariño,” he said, his voice steady and filled with conviction.

“I want the world to know about us. I want everyone to see who you really are to me. You’re not a secret, and I’m not going to let the media or anyone else make you feel like you are.”

My breath caught in my throat.

I could hardly process what he was saying. It was so big, so bold, yet it felt like the most natural thing in the world coming from him.

He wasn’t just speaking out of anger or frustration; he was speaking out of love, and it made everything in me feel like it was finally falling into place.

“Are you sure?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

“This is... this is a huge step, Pedri. Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

His eyes softened again, and he reached out to touch my cheek, his thumb tracing gentle circles against my skin.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” he said.

“I don’t care about what the fans think. I care about you. About us. And I’m done hiding us.”

I felt tears well up again, but this time, they weren’t from hurt.

They were from relief, from the overwhelming love that suddenly felt so certain, so real.

“I love you,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion.

“I love you too,” Pedri replied, his voice full of warmth and sincerity.

He leaned forward, pressing his lips softly against mine.

For the first time in weeks, I felt like we were finally back on the same page, ready to face everything together.

pedri posted on Instagram!

Liked by yourusername, gavi, ferrantorres and 112,452 others

pedri El amor de mi vida.

View all comments

yourusername Love you the most 🩷

pedri Yo también te amo mi amor ❤️

ferrantorres 👏👏👏

pedri 💪

pedri_and_me6 I’m honestly shocked! Didn’t see this coming Pedri and his girl look cute together 🥹

barça_love_89 Pedri be scoring on and off the pitch dayuum

pedriclosetclothes8 Forrealll he bagged a baddie 💅

pepilvr8frv Wow I thought Pedri and Valentina were really together this is so unexpected but I’ll always ship Valentina and him. 🤷‍♀️

frbtogethergavi30 Girl stfu you don't even know them 🙄

brcculer8 Not you rooting for something that doesn't exist 🤦‍♀️

blueredlyy7 I just know it stinks girl get out of here 🥱

lvlybarca8630 Pedri that's our girlfriend now 🤭

delulu4pedri8 Ew he deserves better 🤢

chichiclassypepi8 Really living up to the name

fnzygvi6 He isn't going to acknowledge you stand up sis 😒

The end

#pedri x reader #pedri imagine #pedri fluff #pedri gonzalez x reader #pedri x you #pedri fanfic #pedri x y/n #pedri angst #football x reader #football imagine #football fanfic #fc barcelona x reader #barcelona x reader #barca x reader #pedri gonzález x reader

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midnightry · 9 hours ago

Text

Sukuna the big softy.

Synopsis: After a random deal, Sukuna is around you more and more. However his usual abrasive personality softens in your presence…THE KING OF CURSES IS A SOFTY?!?

CW: fluff, cuddling, softy Sukuna, usage of nicknames.

Word count: 454

The King of Curses is a creature of chaos, infamous for his power-hungry wrath. He's intense, unpredictable... but when he's with you, all of that seems to fade. Sukuna softens in your presence, though he’d never admit it aloud (because, let's be real, he’s a big baby).

You first crossed paths on a mission, and somehow, you ended up making a deal with him. Now, he’s around more than you’d like. Or... is he?

As time passes, you begin to notice how comfortable he’s become around you. The once loud and abrasive Sukuna—always driven by his desire for power—has shown a quieter, more vulnerable side. It’s subtle, but it speaks volumes.

After a long day, you finally arrive at your apartment, ready to indulge in the luxury of your soft sheets and cheesy romantic dramas. The deadlines are behind you, and tonight promises to be perfect. You unlock the door and let out a contented sigh. The familiar scent of pine and fresh laundry fills the air—far more comforting than the office or battling curses. You set your keys down and shed your heavy winter coat, cheeks flushed from the cold.

"And the mortal returns," a deep, hypnotic voice calls out. You glance up to see Sukuna lounging on your couch, feet propped up as if he owns the place.

"Sukuna... why are you here?" you ask, your tone a mix of curiosity and annoyance. "I don’t remember inviting you over."

"I can do as I please," he replies, his eyes scanning your form. It's not a lustful gaze but one that says, I missed you, I'm glad you're home. For a moment, he looks like a contented kitty—and oddly, it’s kind of endearing.

Ignoring your racing thoughts, you kick off your shoes and slump down onto the couch, sinking into the plush cushions with a long, drawn-out sigh.

“There goes my perfect night alone,” you grumble, though a part of you is teasing. “Seriously, why are you even here?”

"I'm here because I want to be. What else do you expect me to say to you, woman?" His words are sharp, but his tone is unusually calm—almost soothing. There's a certain softness in his baritone voice that you’ve never noticed before.

You can't help but smirk. "Aww, did you miss me, kitty?" you tease, reaching out to gently touch his spiky pink hair. You expect him to snap, but instead, he looks at you for a brief moment before practically pouncing on you. With a contented sigh, his face burrows into the crook of your neck, his body relaxing against yours.

“Shut up and let me live,” he mutters, his voice muffled.

Maybe, just maybe, having him around isn't so bad after all.

………………………….

Thank you so much for reading!!! Feedback is appreciated.

❤️

-R

#jjk x you #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #jjk #jjk fluff #jjk sukuna #sukuna #king of curses #cuddles #sukuna x reader #sukuna ryoumen x reader #sukuna ryomen #fanfic #short fiction

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artaxlivs · 18 hours ago

Text

Sometimes you see art that is so READY for a story that you just can't help yourself....

“Come on, come on. So slow,” Eddie laments under his breath as Gareth and Freak drag out the already slow process of unloading Gareth’s drum set from the van.

“Ed, man, what’s your hurry?” Gareth asks him, leaning far enough into the back of the van to grab his fallen drumsticks that he has to prop his knee against the bumper. He's just barely managed to scoot back when Eddie reaches across him and slams the doors shut. “Whoa!” He stumbles back an extra step to give Eddie more room, “You got a hot date?”

Whirling away from the back of the van and letting his feet carry him swiftly to the driver’s side, Eddie shouts over his shoulder, “Shut the fuck up, you know I don’t.”

But he does.

He does.

Starting up the van, Eddie has to bite down on his lower lip to contain his stupid happy grin because he’s meeting Steve Harrington at the park. And yes, they saved the world together and they’ve been friends for months but that had graduated into hanging out, movie nights, sharing secrets and hand holding, then getting shakes at the A&W and now they kiss. They kiss a lot. And today they’re letting the Party in on the secret.

Does this mean they’re boyfriends now?

Eddie honestly doesn’t know. This feels like boyfriends, right? Steve is the first thing he thinks about when he wakes up and the last thing he thinks about before he falls asleep. He wants to, like, live inside his skin. Is that weird? Like, he is so full of unbridled joy every time he sees Steve or thinks about Steve. So much that Eddie just wants to tackle him to the ground and kiss his pretty, perfect fucking face off.

“You can, you know,” Steve had said last night when Eddie had told him that, “you can tackle me and kiss me and I’ll just be like, hi!” Famous last words in Eddie’s book. Sounded like Steve was just begging to be arrested for public indecency because Eddie has no self control on a normal day but a day with Steve? Pssh. Be prepared Harrington.

Pulling up to the park, Eddie flounces out of the van. The boys and Max and El are all playing on the basketball court. Well, actually just Mike, Lucas and Max are on the court with a ball. Dustin is reading a book while El and Will are laying in the shade giggling with their heads pressed closed together.

Eddie’s eyes swing to the left and right, finally catching sight of Robin sitting on the tabletop of a picnic table nearby, throwing something at Steve who’s sitting on the grass a few feet away from her. Steve leans to one side, catching whatever she’s thrown with his mouth and then grinning wildly at her.

He’s just so…so. Sigh.

Even from where he’s standing, like 40 yards away, Eddie can appreciate how the white cotton of Steve’s polo shirt is pulling tightly across his broad shoulders and muscled forearms. That the white of his dumb, freshly cleaned sneakers is almost blinding and his khakis - who wears khakis? - are probably too tight across that glorious ass of his. And his face? That beautiful face? Well, Eddie understands why an entire war broke out over Helen of Troy. He’d do a lot of things just for the right to kiss that face.

He grins like a madman when he remembers that not only does he have the right to kiss that face, he’s been given permission to kiss that face whenever and wherever. Leaving his van behind, Eddie strides purposefully across the park, focusing on his goal and nowhere else. Even when the kids shout hello, he doesn’t look away from his target.

By the time Steve notices him, there’s no escape. Steve tries anyway though, laughing nervously as he scoots away on his ass - probably gonna have grass stains, Harrington. Oh Stevie, you knew what you were getting yourself into, Eddie thinks to himself just before he tackles Steve, gently pushing him flat on his back and bracketing Steve’s hips between his knees in the cool grass. Cupping Steve's head, he tilts it up so Eddie can get his mouth on him.

With a whine that bleeds into a sigh, Steve’s hands come up to Eddie’s hips to hold on as the kiss deepens and Eddie sucks Steve’s bottom lip into his mouth. Pulling back eventually, Eddie smiles down at Steve; a soft, fond smile spreads across Steve’s lips before they part and he whispers, “Hi.”

Leaning back down, Eddie lets the curtain of his curls shield them from the M&M’s that Robin is still throwing at Steve even though he’s in no position to catch them anymore. With a happy, satisfied sigh, Eddie smiles against Steve’s lips and breathes, “Hi back.”

a little speedpaint

#art that inspires is the best kind #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #Eddie just loves Steve #Steve never thought he'd be so lucky #happily ever after #stranger things #ficlet

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junplusone · 16 hours ago

Text

i'll always say it's you ; yoon jeonghan

summary: you always used to think that even the end of the world couldn’t keep you and yoon jeonghan apart; you’d find your way back to each other somehow. ten years later, you start to wonder if that’s such a good thing after all.

contains: childhood best friends to ??? to ???, swearing, drinking (+ underage), talk of joshua and cheol's arm muscles, mention of drugs in a joke like once i think, caffeine addiction, peak delusion, jeonghan cheating in games as always, hella yearning

word count: 12.98k

a/n: this is lowkey a mess and probably kind of inaccurate loll but i hope u enjoy! feedback always appreciated xx

the me of today hopes for the you of tomorrow

“What about you, Y/N? Have you ever been in love?”

Hearing your own name slowly zones you back into the conversation at the table. You pause at the question, a drop of soju splashing out of the glass in your hand.

“What?”

“Come on, it’s just a silly question,” the young intern says, rolling his eyes. “You’re no fun, Y/N. We’re off work right now! It’s fine,” he drawls, swaying a little in his chair.

You can’t really remember his name right now, downing the glass in one go, but his bold innocence bothers you. Maybe his demeanor, full of life and promise, is what gets on your nerves.

Were you like that when you were fresh out of college, too? It’s so unthinkable to you now, at twenty-nine. It feels like ages in the past.

“So? Are you —”

“I hardly think this is an appropriate conversation,” you say quietly, zipping your bag shut. “I think I’m going to head out, anyways. It’s quite late already.”

“But —”

“Chan, just stop asking questions and drink this, okay?” His friends try and calm him down with a glass of water. Amidst the chatter, you decide to slip away, silently pushing in your chair and leaving the bustling restaurant.

Dinners like this always end up making you feel worse, anyways, like an outlier at a table of people with fervent hopes and dreams of their own.

You make it two blocks until your phone begins to buzz in your pocket, and you fumble to answer it, knowing there’s only one person who would call you at nine o’clock on a Friday night.

“Hello?”

“Oh, you answered,” Yeonju says, evidently surprised. “I thought you’d still be at work.”

“I’m on my way home now,” you tell her. “Why, did something happen?”

“Kind of,” you hear rustling on her end of the line. “Jeonghan called.”

“Huh?”

You had stopped abruptly at Yeonju’s words— foolishly in the middle of the road, and you rush to the sidewalk, still reeling. It’s been so long since you’ve even heard his name that it sends your mind into a tailspin when she says it again.

“I thought you knew,” she says, “He said he tried calling you first, but you wouldn’t pick up.”

“I don’t answer calls from numbers I don’t have saved,” you remind her. You haven’t had Jeonghan’s number saved on your phone in a long time. There was no need to keep it if you never used it anymore.

“I think you should talk to him.”

“Yeonju,” you shake your head. “Why would I? There’s nothing to talk about.”

“There is, and you know it, too,” she doubles down. “You won’t say it, but I know you agree with me.”

She’s right, as much as you want to pretend otherwise. When has Choi Yeonju ever been wrong about you? Sometimes it scares you how good she is at reading your mind, but as always, she delivers reality checks right when she feels like you need them.

“Maybe,” you admit begrudgingly. “But things are just easier without him.”

“Yeah, well, nothing is ever easy,” she points out, “but take your own time, no rush. And take care of yourself, Y/N.”

“I will,” you say with a faint smile.

“OK, perfect. Call if you need anything else, yeah? I gotta go now.”

“Okay, Yeonju, take care.”

“Bye!”

She hangs up just as you unlock your front door, shutting it behind you and kicking off your shoes. The peace and quiet of your apartment welcomes you, and you sigh in relief as you sink into your couch.

Pulling out your phone again, you scroll through your call log. There are a few unsaved numbers, likely just spam calls, but when you see the same number four times in a row, there’s no doubt about who it might have been. Your finger hovers over the screen; should you? Shouldn’t you?

No, it’s easier to just stay angry. It’s easier to pretend his name means nothing to you anymore.

But even as you toss your phone to the side, Chan’s question still haunts you, like it’s a reminder that maybe you need to retrace your steps and do something different this time.

God, you had finally been able to go a few days without thinking about him, but today just took you right back to square one.

“Have you ever been in love?”

When you close your eyes, all you see is him.

first time feeling my heart race, never thought it'd beat so fast

TEN YEARS AGO

“Yoon Jeonghan, delete that right now or I’m going to kill you.”

Jeonghan shakes his head vehemently, still cackling at the picture of you on his phone. This is nothing new to you; over the years you’ve gotten used to him finding the absolute worst angles of you whenever you fall asleep in class, or on the bus, and it never fails to get you fuming.

In fact, if Jeonghan has one talent, it’s probably pissing you off.

“Not my fault you dozed off like that during lecture! Even Yeonju would have bullied you if she was there,” he teases. “I’ve been collecting bad Y/N photos since we were sixteen and in high school, why would I stop now?”

“You’re evil.”

“Thanks, I know.”

“Dinner’s on you, by the way.”

“What?!”

“Do you want to keep that horrendous picture or not?”

“Okay, fine,” he concedes immediately, slipping his phone into his pocket. “But we’re going back to my dorm first because I left my wallet on my desk.”

"Why would you not have that with you? Dumbass," you scold.

To anyone else, you might sound angry, but somewhere in the unspoken words, you and Jeonghan have already reconciled.

The weather is chilly and perfectly November-esque, and if not for the thick scarf around your neck you’d be shivering by now. Having Jeonghan by your side adds to the warmth spreading throughout your body, a little piece of happiness found in his company.

You’ve never needed to explain yourself to him. Somehow, whatever you’re feeling, whatever’s going on, he just knows, and it’s perfect. You couldn’t ask for anything more.

Not much to your surprise, Jeonghan’s roommate is there when the two of you walk in, blankets piled over him as he hunches over his laptop.

“Hey, Josh,” you greet him. “Everything okay?”

“No,” he frowns, rubbing his eyes, “I may have procrastinated a little too hard on this paper and now it’s due in a couple of hours and I’m totally fucked.”

“This is why I told you to drop that philosophy class at the beginning of the semester,” Jeonghan says, pocketing his wallet. “You don’t even need to take it.”

“Just trying to knock off my humanities electives, but honestly, this one kind of backfired on me,” Joshua admits, defeated. “Where are you guys headed?”

Jeonghan points at you accusingly. “This one tricked me into buying her dinner earlier.”

“I did not!” you gasp. “You walked into that one, stop blaming me for the consequences of your actions! Also, I want ramen, which means we’re going off campus, so you’re driving.”

He narrows his eyes at you as he reaches for his car keys. “You are so evil.”

"Takes one to know one, Hannie."

What throws you off is the way Joshua’s eyes flit between the both of you as you bicker, the way he tells you to have fun in that singsong voice of his as you step back out into the cold, like he knows something you don’t.

You still remember the day you first met him, when Jeonghan left to go grab something after introducing the two of you, and the question that immediately followed.

“Are you guys together or something?”

And of course, Joshua meant no harm — nobody ever does, when they ask something like that. You and Jeonghan have been fielding questions like that since the start of your friendship. Everyone’s wanted to know exactly what it is that you are to each other, and the answer has always come without missing a beat.

Friends, you’ve always said.

Friends in the way that you can’t go anywhere alone in your hometown without being asked where the other one is, the way that your parents always set out an extra plate and ask if he’s joining for dinner as usual.

The right word for it would be ‘inseparable’. Sometimes, though, you wonder if that’s all that it is.

Like now, as you notice the cold has Jeonghan trembling next to you. His teeth are chattering, long lashes framing his eyes that are now narrowed in displeasure.

When you unravel your scarf from around your neck and reach to drape it around his, they go wide in surprise.

“What are you doing?”

“You never wear enough layers, idiot.” You tuck the ends into his jacket and the way he’s staring at you steals the breath out of your lungs.

You can’t run from the fact; your best friend is undeniably attractive. It’s a simple truth, down to his soft but sharp features, the slope of his cheeks, and the hair that frames his face so perfectly. It’s dark out, but Jeonghan’s eyes are lit up like stars. You don’t even realize it until you start to hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

“Thanks,” he says with a faint smile. “What would I do without you?”

“Freeze, probably,” you reply flippantly, but you look away, unable to take the intensity of his gaze on you.

Just think about the way he looks at you, Y/N.

Was Yeonju right? You have no way of knowing, and you don’t want to tip the scales by bringing any of it up now.

“Alright, let’s go,” you say instead, tugging him along to the parking lot. “It’s late, I’m hungry, and you promised.”

“Why do you always seem so excited to drain my bank account?”

“It’s my favorite hobby,” you quip. “Shall we go?”

“We shall, m’lady,” he says as you get to his car, pulling open the door for you with a wink. Your cheeks burn as you get in, his defined features etched into your brain.

Yes, he’s your dearest, oldest friend, but Yoon Jeonghan has a certain way of making your head spin that throws that very title into question.

when half of me is gone, how can i live as one?

PRESENT DAY

It’s been exactly three days since Jeonghan called you, and you haven’t heard from him since then. You don’t know what you were expecting. Another call? A text?

No, it would be quite stupid to hope for such things after everything that’s happened.

It’s a quiet Monday night, and your brain decides to take an involuntary trip down memory lane. Ten years ago today, you’d probably be doing homework frantically, most definitely an assignment you’d put off until the night of. Ten years ago today, Jeonghan would be by your side.

Oh, how some things change over time.

After another hour of mindless TV and doing whatnot on your phone, your conscience finally wins the moral battle against your pride, and you scroll down through your call log again. Taking a deep breath, you decide to call him back before your brain can convince you otherwise.

All the words evaporate out of your mouth when he picks up on the first ring.

“Y/N?”

God, it’s been so long since you’ve heard his voice. Just the sound of your name from him is enough to make you tear up.

“... Jeonghan?”

Silence. After a few seconds your heart sinks, thinking maybe he’s hung up on you and gone radio silent yet again.

Then you hear it, just barely whispered into the phone: “I’ve missed you.”

Those words tug at your heart so badly you press your eyes closed to prevent your tears from welling up. “Jeonghan, don’t do this.”

“I’m sorry, I—”

“I haven’t heard from you in over a year,” you cut him off. “A year, Jeonghan. Do you really think you can just ‘I miss you’ your way back into my life whenever you want?”

“Don’t say that,” he implores. “You’re my best friend.”

“Yeah, right.”

“It’s true. I mean it.”

“I’ve heard the exact same line from you so many times,” you tell him, the rest of your words dying in your throat.

You have many more things to say to him, so many unspoken feelings, but now doesn’t feel like the time. Instead, you swallow your anger like you’ve done every time he finds his way back into your life.

“How… how have you been?”

“I’m okay. I wrote a new song,” he says lightly. “Shows have been pretty alright, things are looking up… just the usual.”

“Oh, I see.”

“What about you?”

“I’m okay, too.” A blatant lie. “Jeonghan… why’d you call me on Friday?”

“Oh,” he starts, like he’s surprised you even asked. “Um, I’m actually in town for a bit, so… I was just wondering if you wanted to meet and catch up again. Y’know, like old times.”

It’s the flippant edge in his voice that stings more than anything else, as if he doesn’t care that your friendship hasn’t been the same for years. Do you mean that little to him now?

But, like always, you have a hard time saying no to Yoon Jeonghan.

“Okay,” you agree. “Just tell me where, I guess. And when.”

“Okay.”

It’s not for a few seconds that you realize your cheeks are wet. Jeonghan feels so far away now, the distance hurts like a piercing pain and you have to slap a hand over your mouth so he doesn’t hear you sob against your couch, the stoic wall you put up crumbling away with every passing moment.

“Y/N,” his voice is shaky now. “Y/N, please don’t cry.”

Feeling caught and cornered, your brain enters fight or flight mode, and promptly chooses the latter. “I’m not,” you blurt out, and immediately end the call, tossing your phone across the room so you aren’t tempted to call him again.

If time traveling was an option, you’d go back to a decade in the past without a question. For some reason it hurts more that after all this time, Yoon Jeonghan is still the one that knows you the best.

You wake up the next morning horribly late for work, with a blinding headache and a notification from Jeonghan on your phone.

xxx-xxx-xxxx: is tonight @ semicolon cafe ok with you? after you get off work?

xxx-xxx-xxxx: i won’t take up too much of ur time, i promise

xxx-xxx-xxxx: i’m so sorry y/n

you: its ok. that works, see u then

It’s well past nine o’clock when you finally enter the office. You almost make it to your desk unnoticed until your boss glances at you sneaking in.

“You’re very late,” Seungcheol observes, leaning back in his chair. His gaze is always stern, and today it makes you even more anxious than usual.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologize. “Things just… everything kind of worked against me today. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“I believe you,” he says, casting another concerned look at you as you nearly drop your laptop going to your desk. “Is everything okay, Y/N? This really isn’t like you.”

“Yeah,” you lie through a tight smile. Damn Yoon Jeonghan and his stupid face for ruining your whole day. “Everything’s fine.”

Looking back, it’s quite impressive how you manage to keep your composure throughout your whole workday. You know you’ve accomplished a feat when even Junhui doesn’t really notice anything’s wrong.

Despite how oblivious he comes across at first, your colleague is easily one of the most perceptive people you’ve ever met, as you’ve learned in the past five years you’ve spent at this company.

“Long day?” Junhui swivels around in his chair as he catches you taking a break from your screen.

“Yeah,” you admit, glancing at the clock. Almost five. “Even longer when we get asked to fix all of the intern’s mistakes. How do you just forget to write a whole method?!”

“God, I hope Lee Chan never gets hired as a backend developer. Love the kid, but I’m not sure how he got through college with his code looking like this.”

“Hard agree.”

“Hey, do you have plans after? Me and the rest of the team are probably gonna get dinner together. None of the interns,” he clarifies with a grin. “We need some peace and quiet. I think Wonwoo’s genuinely at his final straw, he’s been downstairs with them all day.”

As tempting as that sounds — Junhui has a knack for finding the best spots in Seoul — you have something more important on your plate for the day.

“Maybe next time,” you decline. “I have to meet someone after work.”

“Oh?” A sly grin spreads across his face. “Someone special?”

“It’s not a date,” you insist, face heating up.

“I never asked if it was, Y/N, you’re just outing yourself at this point.”

“It’s not!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he teases, turning back around. “Keep me posted!”

You roll your eyes.

The end of the day couldn’t have come any slower. Usually, you’d get so engrossed in whatever you were working on that you’d end up staying late, but today you shock everyone by packing up when the clock hits five, bidding Junhui a good night as you almost run to leave the building.

(“Someone’s in a rush,” he remarks when you turn your computer off. “Don’t be late on a first date, it’s not very polite!”

“Fuck off,” you respond, when Seungcheol is safely out of earshot.)

The walk home almost freezes your fingertips, and you have to shove your hands deep into your pockets to keep them from going numb. You make a note to dress accordingly for the biting cold later.

At least the weather matches your mood today.

The idea of a hot shower turns out to be a little too inviting, though, because when you finally step out, hair wrapped in a towel, it’s 6:28, and you have a text from Jeonghan waiting to be opened.

xxx-xxx-xxxx: i’m here, i snagged a table in the back

“Fuck,” you curse under your breath, pulling on an old sweater and some jeans. You don’t have time to fully dry your hair, so you just run your round brush through it a couple of times, hope for the best, and throw it into a claw clip, praying it stays up.

You’re officially twenty minutes late when you finally get to the cafe — it’s not too far from your apartment, thankfully, but you still had to book it — and you approach Jeonghan slightly panting and out of breath.

(If Junhui was right and this was actually a date, you would be royally screwed.)

“Here, sit,” he pulls out your chair, a little alarmed by your flushed face. “Were you running?”

“Yeah. Sorry I’m late,” you answer, and then you look up at him and the air is knocked out of your lungs as if you weren’t already winded from getting there. He’s even more beautiful than the last time you saw him. “Wow, you…”

“I?”

You’re not even sure what the rest of that sentence was going to be, the words slipping out before you could even think about them. Snap out of it.

“Nothing,” you say quietly.

“How have you been?”

“You already asked me that.”

“I want to know more.” He’s looking at you like he’s trying to memorize your features; it’s hard to ignore.

“I don’t have anything interesting going on,” you deflect. “Tell me about what’s going on with you. You said you wrote a new song?”

Jeonghan’s face lights up when you say it. “I did. I spent around nine months rewriting and perfecting it. It’s kind of like my child, in a way.”

“Yoon Jeonghan, a father. I never thought I’d see the day.”

He laughs, and it feels like a part of your old selves is back. “Want to listen?”

You nod, and he passes you an AirPod and his phone. “Imperfect Love,” you read out loud. “That’s deep.”

“It came from a pretty raw place,” he confesses. “Something that’s kind of been on my mind for a while.”

“Something or someone?”

Jeonghan’s face reflects something akin to panic. “What are you talking about?”

“This seems like a song about unrequited love,” you deadpan. “Doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.”

“Well, it’s not,” he huffs. “Don’t assume things.”

“This is the kind of update I was waiting for. You didn’t tell me you’d found someone!”

“I didn’t!” he insists, concealing a smile. “Will you just stop asking questions and listen already?”

“Alright, Mr. Unlucky in Love,” you tease, securing the AirPod in your ear and pressing play.

The instrumentals are beautiful, and Jeonghan’s angelic voice fills your ears a few seconds later. You haven’t heard him sing in a long time, and you’d forgotten just how ethereal he sounds when he’s pouring his heart into the mic.

The sunlight that happily illuminates this dark world

Becomes a star when night comes

Come down to me

There are many, many things shining in this world

But among them, you’re the only one that’s precious to me

Jeonghan is watching you nervously, like he’s anxious for what you will say. You make the mistake of catching his eyes, because immediately you falter — they are gorgeous, he is gorgeous, and it feels like you lose time with every second you spend admiring him.

Even if I can’t be the perfect weather for you

Will you still love me like this?

It feels like a silent plea — you wonder what kinds of things have happened to him in the past year that you missed, all the things you don’t know about.

Together we become old and worn out

Even if you come to me, who’s useless

At the end of a shining day

I’m happy that it’s you every day

The song comes to an end, and you hand Jeonghan’s phone back to him. His eyebrows raise, like a question.

“Did you like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” you tell him honestly. “I love it.”

A smile breaks out on his face. “That’s good to hear.”

“I’m still convinced you have a secret crush that you’re not telling me about.”

“Oh, not with that again,” he grumbles, waving off your curious questions.

What you don’t tell him is that you’ve missed hearing him sing and watching him perform, that the look in his eyes when he’s doing what he loves most is something you adore. There are a lot of things like that you want to say to him, and as good as the both of you are at acting like nothing’s wrong, the situation feels awfully different this time.

“Hey.” Jeonghan has a glint in his eye, the one he usually has when he’s up to something. “Do you wanna leave and go get tteokbokki and fried dumplings at the night market stands instead?”

Your favorites, from when you were a broke college student and couldn’t afford anything nicer. How did he still remember that?

“Yeah,” you say, already grabbing your things and standing. “Let’s go.”

You had forgotten that it was cold as fuck outside.

You had also forgotten that the food stalls were in the opposite direction of your house, so now you’re stuck walking twice the distance in the freezing weather.

“Are you warm enough?” Jeonghan asks, a bit worried. Stop looking out for me, you want to scream at him. Stop caring. Stop making such a fool out of me.

“I am, but I know you’re not,” you scold instead. “I’ve been telling you for years to dress for the weather.”

“Eh, what’s a little bit of cold?” he jokes, but you catch him shivering violently out of the corner of your eye, and you can’t just watch as he suffers.

“Here.” You pull your scarf off of your neck and hold it out to him. “Wear it.”

“Are you su—”

“Wear it before I take it back.”

You wait until Jeonghan’s listened to you, the warm fabric wrapped around his neck. A part of you thinks you’ll always feel the urge to look after him.

Stop it.

“You still haven’t told me about yourself,” Jeonghan starts hesitantly. “I know I’ve probably missed a lot of things in the past few years.”

“Eight years,” you correct him. “We graduated and then you disappeared.”

“I didn’t disappear, things just got really hectic,” he tries to explain. “Like, all of a sudden everything was on my shoulders, and I had to spend all my time working towards what I wanted. That or it was all just gonna go to waste.”

“Right,” you leave it at that, not wanting to start an argument on the road. This always happens — you’ll run into Jeonghan somehow, you’ll somewhat reconcile, fight, make up, and then it’s radio silence from him again. A year after you graduated college, you stopped looking for news articles on him entirely, actively avoiding any headlines with his name in them. It hurt a little too much to bear. “Well, what do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

You suck in a breath at the quick response.

“Yeonju’s doing well,” you start, even though he probably knows that already. “She has a cat now, actually. She adopted him a couple of months ago.”

“Really? What’s his name?”

“Mandu, because she says he’s round and fat like a dumpling.”

Jeonghan snorts. “That’s like when Josh told us his dog’s name was Bingsu.”

“Oh, I remember that,” you say, faintly reminded of his college roommate. “Um, there’s not much else, honestly. Junhui is still a major pain in my ass, that definitely hasn’t changed.”

“Your work friend, right? I thought you two got along pretty well?”

“Yeah, we do,” you admit. You don’t need to explain any further, because Jeonghan knows that your sarcastic remarks are reserved for those you cherish the most.

“It’s been a really long time since you introduced us,” he muses. “But I still remember him pretty clearly.”

He remembers you, too, you think to yourself, recounting all the times you’ve ranted to Junhui about all the times Jeonghan got on your very last nerve. Just not as fondly.

“Oh! Wonwoo actually joined the same company two years ago. I think I told you this already,” Jeonghan confirms with a nod, “But it’s really nice getting to see him again, I missed when we used to hang out in college.”

“Aw, that must be really nice.”

“And the three of us still work for Seungcheol,” you conclude.

“I remember him, too. The one with the huge ass biceps,” Jeonghan says, a bit miffed. “I don’t think he liked me very much.”

“He doesn’t like randoms coming in during work hours, which is what you did, Han.”

“Oh. Right.”

Despite his short response, you know Jeonghan is smiling to himself right now, and you kick yourself mentally for letting the decades-old nickname slip. The two of you may be on a truce right now, but that doesn’t mean you’ve forgiven him.

A few minutes later, the lanterns and lights of the night market come into view. A little piece of childhood memory burrows its way into your heart. The vendors and stalls may have changed, but you used to love visiting this street with Jeonghan when you were still students.

“I really feel so old right now,” Jeonghan remarks as he follows you through the narrow walkways. “I feel like the last time I’ve been here was when we were eighteen.”

“It probably was,” you say. “Oh! Tteokbokki!”

You don’t even realize the way you’re holding on to the sleeve of Jeonghan’s sweater as you pull him along with you in excitement. He doesn’t say anything, just chuckles to himself as he walks behind you.

“Two cups, please,” you request the vendor when you finally get to the cart, and reach for your wallet. Jeonghan stops you before you can get to your pocket.

“No way,” he says firmly. “This one’s on me.”

“Jeonghan.”

“That voice isn’t working on me this time.” He hands the vendor a couple of bills with a friendly smile. “Just let me buy dinner tonight.”

You cross your arms. “No.”

“Why not? You had no problem doing it back in college.”

“Don’t bring that up now,” you say sharply, stung by the familiar memory. Jeonghan senses the shift in your attitude and drops the subject immediately.

“Wait here,” he tells you. “I’ll be back in a second.”

What are you supposed to do with yourself? Oh, you’re a mess, you realize, the way your feelings haven’t been in check for the entire evening. You were supposed to be so calm and collected, and now you’re anything but.

“Here you go,” the vendor hands you two steaming cups of the spicy rice cakes. “One for you, one for your friend.”

“Thank you.”

The man nods towards Jeonghan, making his way back through the sea of people. “Never let go of someone who cherishes you that much,” he says offhandedly, stirring the tteok in the pot.

You just blink, confused. “What?”

Before the vendor can answer, Jeonghan’s already caught up to you again. “There was nobody in line for fried dumplings,” he tells you excitedly. “Here, have some.”

“Thanks,” you say as you exchange with him for the tteokbokki, ignoring the awkward encounter you’ve just had. “We should probably get out of the way and find somewhere to sit down.”

“Yeah, we should.”

There are a few benches at the corner of the street, and you pick the empty one under one of the streetlamps, a hazy yellow glow cast over it. Sitting down, you bite into the first dumpling, the flavor flooding into your mouth.

“Jeonghan.”

“Yes?”

“Is this shrimp?”

“Yes?” He looks adorably confused in the dim light. “You prefer seafood over pork, right?”

Your heart feels like it’s beating at double the pace. “I do,” you reassure him. “It’s really good. Thank you.”

“Try the tteokbokki, too, it’s just the right level of spicy.”

“I will.”

Just being there and enjoying the food in silence reminds you of how easy it is to just be around Jeonghan. There’s no pressure to break the quiet; it’s comforting and peaceful.

You watch him savor the tteokbokki sauce and smile to yourself when he winces slightly. He’s always had less of a spice tolerance than you.

“Jeonghan?”

“Hm?”

“Are you going to vanish on me again when you leave Seoul?”

The question stops him in his tracks. He doesn’t seem to have the words to answer, and the lack of a response makes your heart sink.

“Why are you thinking about that right now?” he says instead, chiding you gently. “Did you finish eating?”

The way you’re looking at him now, your eyes are imploring him. Please don’t make me empty promises again.

“It’s rude to answer a question with another question.”

Jeonghan rakes a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “I’ve never vanished, Y/N, it’s just hard for me to leave my work that often,” he insists, “and besides, you’ve got Junhui and Yeonju and Wonwoo to entertain you in the meantime —”

“None of them are you!” Several people passing by glance over at you, but you can’t help that your voice is rising when you feel the anger bubbling up. “You’re my best friend, Jeonghan, do you have any idea how hard it’s been doing life without you?”

“Y/N, we’re past our youth,” he tries reasoning with you. “We don’t have to be attached at the hip all the time.”

Every word he says is like a knife to your chest. “You shouldn’t have asked to meet up today, then.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” Jeonghan shuts his eyes, trying to think of the right words. “I just can’t be there for you all the time in the way that you want anymore. You’re stable, you have a solid job, but my livelihood depends on my music and whether people like me or not. That’s the harsh truth of it. And I’m not getting any younger, either.”

“I’m not asking you to be there for me all the time,” you snap. “All I ever wanted was the occasional message. A few updates. Whether you’re doing okay, how your life is going, things like that. Don’t give me bullshit excuses. I know you have thirty seconds to text me back letting me know that you’re alive.”

And stop playing with my heart, you want to add. Whether you’re aware of it or not.

“Fuck,” Jeonghan swears under his breath. “Y/N, let’s calm down and talk about this inside —”

“Don’t you dare tell me to calm down, Yoon Jeonghan.” Your fists are clenched right now. Jeonghan knows this about you; you don’t get angry quite often, but when you do, you are a force to be reckoned with. “It’s always a goddamn cycle with you. You show up, make all these promises, and then abandon me again. What am I supposed to do with that?”

You’re on the verge of tears, but you can’t cry in front of him. Anywhere but here.

“Y/N, I’m sorry,” he pleads with you. “I don’t know what more to say other than I’ve been trying my best, I really have been.”

You’re not having any of it. “Yeah, right,” you scoff, averting your eyes so you have time to blink the tears away.

“I mean it. I want to be there for you, but…” he trails off, voice shaky. “It’s just been so difficult.”

“Save it, Jeonghan.” You don’t think you can be here for a minute longer without totally breaking down. “I should really get going now.”

“Y/N, wait —”

“If you took the subway, there’s a station down that street if you keep walking for a few minutes.”

“Wait,” Jeonghan insists, standing. “Let me at least walk you home.”

“No need,” you retort, turning around and setting off towards your apartment. It’s even colder now that it’s completely dark out, and you start to regret your choice of coat as your teeth chatter quietly. All you can do is thug it out for the remaining three blocks to your apartment building.

The wind stings your eyes and you tear up anyway, despite your attempts to keep it down for now. Why did you think today was going to go any better than every other time this has happened?

Stupid. Your fault for thinking anything would have changed in eight years.

It’s not until you approach the entrance to your building that you hear the quiet shuffling of footsteps. You whirl around, ready to fight, but you stop short when you see Jeonghan standing several feet behind you.

“Just to make sure you got back okay,” he says quietly, walking over to you. You accept gingerly when he places your scarf back in your hands. “It’s late.”

You don’t even know how to feel; you’re too high-strung with too many lines of thought in your brain at the same time. “Thank you.”

“One more thing.” Jeonghan hands you a small plastic bag. You peer inside.

“What is this?”

“Tiramisu,” he says, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly.

“Oh,” you’re confused. “Why?”

It should make you even more furious that he has the audacity to give you a soft smile, but for some reason it doesn’t.

“Happy birthday, Y/N.”

The realization hits you belatedly — how did you manage to forget? — that you were so swamped with work commitments, it had totally slipped your mind today. (So that was why your phone had been constantly buzzing with notifications from Yeonju before you’d put it on silent.)

Jeonghan’s gesture, though, comes as a complete surprise, and it starts to dissipate the irritation from earlier.

“You remembered.”

“Of course,” he says simply, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I never forgot.”

just friends, that's not enough for me

EIGHT YEARS AGO

Normally, you are not someone who is criminally inclined.

However, it’s currently five in the morning on a day where you don’t have class until noon, so whoever is calling you at this time is most definitely going to end up six feet under.

You answer without checking who it is first, eyes still closed. “Hello?”

“Happy birthday!”

“Huh?” You lift your head just to be sure you heard correctly. “Yoon Jeonghan, it’s five a.m!”

“I know!”

“Why are you awake?”

“To tell you happy birthday?”

“Thank you, but cut the crap,” you tell him.

“I pulled an all-nighter to finish a project,” he admits. “Worth it, though. I’m the first person who told you, right?”

“You keep forgetting I live with Yeonju,” you point out, glancing over at your sleeping roommate.

“Damn it, Choi Yeonju!”

You grimace at his loud exclamation. “Jeonghan?”

“Yeah?”

“Do me a favor and let me go back to sleep.”

“Okay, but I’m waking you up at ten so you don’t skip your linear algebra class.”

“That class is at noon!”

“Yeah, and you take centuries to get ready, dumbass.”

When ten o’clock does roll around, you’re wide awake already. Yeonju is still fast asleep, so you try to get ready for class as quietly as possible.

jeonghan: i’m outside ur building

jeonghan: hurry up i’m hungry

you: ??? when u said u were gonna wake me up i thought u meant u would call

jeonghan: uhh surprise?

“Are you serious,” you mutter under your breath, haphazardly throwing an outfit on and rushing downstairs. Quickly, you press your key card against the reader and push the door open to the sight of Jeonghan leaning against the side wall.

“How long were you waiting?”

“Long enough. God, you really take forever, but I guess you get a pass because it’s your birthday,” he says begrudgingly, gesturing for you to walk with him.

The weather is quite bleak, but the slight smile on Jeonghan’s face is enough to chase the dreary atmosphere away, like your very own sun.

“Did you sleep at all?” you question, noticing the dark circles under his eyes.

“I tried, but by the time I finished the project it was already seven and Joshua was up, so I just didn’t bother. That guy’s a freak, I’m telling you. I don’t know anybody else who wakes up that early just to go to the gym.”

“Well, you don’t go at all. Maybe that’s why he has those nice muscles and you don’t.”

Jeonghan’s mouth drops open in surprise. “Are you kidding? Is this why you keep coming over? To ogle Joshua Hong’s arms?”

“Yeah, cause Joshua Hong is my best friend,” you deadpan. “Is it such a crime to just appreciate a nice set of muscles?”

“Okay, okay, stop talking about Josh when you’re with me and get in the car,” he urges, fishing out his keys. “Or we’ll be late and you won’t make it to that class.”

“I don’t even go half the time,” you point out. “And you still haven’t told me where we’re going.”

“What I can do is promise you will be happy and fed by approximately half past eleven.” Jeonghan starts the car, adjusting his mirrors. “Is that good enough for you?”

“Deal.”

It strikes you then, beneath the dim sunshine, how good he looks when he’s driving. His eyebrows are furrowed as he focuses on the road, humming along to the song playing through Bluetooth. For all the jokes you throw at him for never being seen at the gym, his arms are quite toned, subtly flexed as he makes a turn with one hand on the wheel.

God, you are so done for.

A few minutes later, Jeonghan pulls into a relatively empty lot. The building is quite unassuming, but you recognize this cafe as the one you frequent during exam season for your coffee fix.

“I love this place!” you exclaim, beaming at him. “How did you know?”

“‘Cause you never shut up about it,” he quips back, grinning.. “Stay here, I’ll just be a minute.”

You hum quietly to yourself as you wait for him to come back, content where you are. There couldn’t have been a better start to your day, aside from Jeonghan’s early morning call, and you think you’d be happy to spend the day just like this, peacefully with him and your closest friends.

In truth, you aren’t really sure how to navigate things with Jeonghan at the moment. Your relationship has always been labeled as strictly platonic, but lately there have been things that make you want to think otherwise. A few stolen glances, the way he looks out for you a little extra… you think you’re going insane.

That, and the way your heart has been reacting when you make eye contact with him lately has been a bit unsettling.

(“Don’t be so delusional,” Yeonju had told you a week ago. “You have a lot to lose here if anything happens. Plus, it’s Yoon Jeonghan, everyone thinks he’s flirting with them.”

“Yeah,” you’d replied flatly. “You’re right.”)

But maybe you’re allowed to be a little selfish. Maybe those sunlit smiles and most vulnerable moments are memories reserved just for you.

The car door opens again, and Jeonghan pokes his head in, handing you a plastic bag as he gets in.

“Sustenance,” is all he says. “Eat before you go to class or I’ll have to deal with your hangry whining after.”

His words sound annoyed, but his tone is soft with you, like it usually is. You flash him a grateful smile before pulling the boxes out.

“What’s this?”

“Avocado toast, but yours has egg on it.” He wrinkles his nose with displeasure at the combination. “Plus a little sweet treat for your caffeine addiction.”

“This is beautiful,” you hold up the tiramisu box. “The caffeine is speaking to me, Hannie. We are one and the same.”

“One would think you’re on drugs.”

“One would think living with a chemistry major would teach you that caffeine is a drug,” you tease, sinking your teeth into the golden toast. You hadn’t realized just how hungry you were until now — maybe you shouldn’t have skipped dinner last night. “Wow, this is good.”

“It is,” Jeonghan agrees, “but I’ll stick with no eggs for now.”

“You’re just ignorant and have bad taste.”

“Again, free pass only because it’s your birthday.” Jeonghan waits for you to swallow, then asks, “So, does twenty-one feel any different?”

“Nope,” you say decidedly. “Why would it? The only thing that’s changed is that drinking is legal now.”

“Oh, and you can gamble.”

“Right, but I don’t have enough savings to do that.”

Jeonghan laughs to himself at a stray memory. “Remember when I turned twenty-one? I’ve never had a night more disastrous than that one.”

“I do remember! Anyone would assume you were a raging alcoholic,” you snicker. “Even Soonyoung felt the need to sober up and help me get you back to your place. Do you know how impossible that is for him?”

Jeonghan looks like he’s questioning his whole life. “Yeah, that is pretty bad,” he admits. “Good thing it hasn’t happened since and I’m a responsible alcohol enjoyer now.”

“You drank a whole bottle of soju before your exam last week because you ‘needed to pregame’ or you’d fail it.”

“... Right.”

The two of you eat in silence, careful not to drop crumbs in his car, enjoying the midday quiet with each other’s company and nothing else. It’s moments like these with him that you cherish the most.

Yeonju’s Don’t be so delusional echoes in your head, like a silent rebuke.

“Hey, we should start heading back,” Jeonghan says, glancing at the time. “Let this be the day that Y/N graces the lecture hall with her presence.”

You groan, not wanting to spend another hour and a half trying not to doze off listening to who is possibly the most boring professor at your entire university. Jeonghan pats your back empathetically.

“It’s okay,” he consoles you, “Just think about how you’ll feel later when it’s all over and done with.”

“I’ll feel like it was a huge waste of time and I could have just asked Wonwoo to catch me up,” you grumble.

Jeonghan’s smile falters a little bit at the mention of your classmate, one of Soonyoung’s friends and therefore a part of the friend group. You still can’t figure out why Jeonghan isn’t too fond of him, but you just assume they haven’t had the opportunity to connect as much and brush it off.

“He got me through data structures last semester,” you offer, trying to defend your point. “Or I’d probably have failed.”

“Right, I remember,” Jeonghan says absentmindedly. You don’t say anything more until you’re back on campus again, picking up on his sensitive mood. When you start making your way to your lecture hall, he follows you, and you let him.

“I’ll walk you to class, I have to print something out at the student center, anyways,” he explains, bag on one shoulder. “Also, you left this in the car. Eat it after class, or whenever.”

You take the plastic bag he hands you, the faint scent of coffee filling your nose. “Thanks.”

Jeonghan fills your ears with silly stories about his friends over the short walk and you listen carefully, always happy to hear about the boys. It’s been a while since you’ve seen them anyways; you’ve been swamped with work, and time that all of you have free together is quite rare.

“I should go in now,” you tell him when you reach the hall. You wish you didn’t have to be here, but you might as well, and Jeonghan can easily read the annoyance written on your face. He pats your shoulder gently.

“It’s okay,” he consoles you. “Come over later so we can all eat cake and listen to you rant about your god-awful professor.”

“Okay.”

“And so you can get an eyeful of Joshua’s arms, you freaking pervert.”

You gasp. “Am not!” you screech, punching his arm.

“Ow!”

“Take it back!”

“Not afraid to speak my truth,” Jeonghan says instead, feigning injury. “This is literally abuse.”

You roll your eyes. “Get out.”

“Go in.”

“Fine,” you huff, pulling open the double doors, but you look back over your shoulder before you let them close behind you. “See you later?”

Jeonghan nods, a twinkle in his eye.

(You won’t know it now, but this is the look on his face that you’ll remember for the rest of your life.)

“See you later.”

Choi Yeonju is, you discover, the lightweight of all lightweights.

That title had belonged to Soonyoung up until now, but tonight even he’s watching her in disbelief from where he’s perched on Joshua and Jeonghan’s couch.

“I only gave her a shot,” he promises you, eyes big and pleading. “I swear on my life.”

“I know,” you sigh, grabbing her sleeve and pulling her away from the wall she’s about to faceplant into. “It’s okay, I’ve got an eye on her.”

“Sorry,” Soonyoung offers sheepishly. “I know you were planning on getting wasted tonight.”

You were not, in fact, planning on that at all. “Who told you that?”

“Jeonghan?”

“That evil bastard.”

The evil bastard in question is currently deeply immersed in a card game with a couple of others at the small kitchen table. The subtle flush on his face tells you he’s a couple of drinks in, and if you squint enough, you can see the silhouette of cards hidden in the sleeve of his jacket. Typical.

“Y/N!” Yeonju taps your shoulder urgently. “I need to tell you something.”

“Yeah? What’s up?”

She grins. “I wanna go to the bathroom.”

“Alright, come on. You gotta stand up,” you inform her gently when she doesn’t budge from her spot on the sofa.

“Comfy,” is all she says, mumbling into the furniture.

“Do you still need to go to the bathroom?”

“No.”

Soonyoung just looks at you in total confusion and shrugs.

“Nothing to do about it until she asks again,” he says before sinking into the couch beside her. He still looks relatively sober — sober enough to handle the situation if Yeonju decides to walk into a wall again — so you tell him you’ll be right back and decide to check in on the game going on.

You walk in on a crime scene.

“You!” Seungkwan throws an accusing finger at Jeonghan, who you can tell is playing innocent through his surprised expression. “You rigged the game!”

“I didn’t do anything! I won fair and square!”

“Count the cards,” Seungkwan tells Wonwoo vengefully. “There won’t be fifty-two, I’m telling you!”

Jeonghan stands suddenly, laying his hand on the table. Everyone else is too busy yelling amongst themselves, and Wonwoo seems to be content with watching them argue, but you catch the way Jeonghan slips the cards in his sleeve into the pile unassumingly.

“Excuse me, boys,” he says smugly, “but I’m going to go on a little victory walk. Don’t mind me, enjoy!”

Seungkwan grumbles, but lets him go in favor of helping Seokmin back into the chair he’s just fallen off of. In the meantime, Jeonghan sidles up to you, faintly smelling of tequila.

“You seem very sober,” he observes.

“I am,” you laugh. “Not entirely, but sober enough to notice the cards you stashed during the game.”

Jeonghan’s face morphs into one of surprise, then mirth. “Shh,” he winks, placing a finger on your lips. That alone short-circuits your brain, so you nearly miss his next words. “It can be our little secret.”

“Oh, you are tipsy tipsy,” you murmur, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t know if you’re up for that victory walk you were talking about.”

“I am! I’m so up for it,” he announces, tucking his arm in yours. “Let’s go take a walk outside.”

“Are you sure?”

“Very.”

“What’s four plus four?”

He rolls his eyes. “Ninety-two,” he says sarcastically. “Please, I’m not a lightweight like the rest of our friends.”

You cast a glance at the couch; Soonyoung has been roped into listening into whatever story Yeonju’s telling him very animatedly, sitting attentively with his back unnaturally straight. He looks a little scared of her energetic narration, which is a first for someone like him.

They should be fine, right? You don’t plan on being gone for long — usually you wouldn’t think twice about leaving Soonyoung and Yeonju together, but in their current state you’re not sure how chaotic they’ll get.

“They’ll be fine.” Jeonghan mirrors your thoughts as if he’s read your mind. His voice feels a little too close, like his lips are right by your ear. Too close, too close — you’re faintly aware of your breathing accelerating, heart running on sheer adrenaline.

By the time you snap out of it, he’s already at the door, turning to find you when he realizes you’re not next to him. “Are you coming?”

“Yeah,” is all you can manage before you grab your coat off the hook and follow him out the door. A part of you wishes Yeonju was sober so she could slap the delusion out of you.

Jeonghan opts for the stairs — “We’re only on the second floor!” — and is waiting patiently at the main door for you. The smile he greets you with is blinding, and his eyes crinkle a little more when you return it.

“Did you bring your keys?”

“Right here.” Jeonghan pats his pocket reassuringly and pulls the door open. “After you, m’lady.”

“Thank you, kind sir,” you laugh, reveling in the moment.

It’s windy outside, and you glance over at Jeonghan, satisfied to see that he’s dressed warmly for once. His hands are stuffed in his pockets and for a man his size, his thick sweater is draped over his body in a way that makes him look a little smaller. It’s adorable, and it just makes you want to reach over and squish his cheeks.

“You’re awfully quiet for a man who just won a game against Boo Seungkwan,” you tease gently. Jeonghan chuckles, rubbing his hands together to warm them up.

“Nothing new,” he says. “Seungkwan just has bad strategy and won’t admit it.”

“Or you just enjoy cheating a little too much.”

He gives you a knowing smile. “Touché.”

You’re not exactly sure where you’re going; you don’t think Jeonghan does, either, but the two of you fall in step together perfectly on the sidewalk. It’s not too late yet, maybe nine or ten, and the streets are relatively crowded, as expected for a college city.

“Do you think we’ll be really different when we’re thirty?”

You look at Jeonghan, a bit surprised at the question. “What do you mean?”

“Like, we’re twenty-one now,” he explains, “Remember when we were sixteen? We had so many ideas about what we were gonna be, and we’re already there. Five years passed so quickly.”

You nod, reminiscent of your childhood days. “We’re gonna hit thirty before we know it.”

“Do you think I’ll be bald by thirty?”

“If you are, I’ll take lots of pictures of you and your shiny head,” you joke. “For memories.”

“Noo, not my hair,” Jeonghan laments theatrically. “My gorgeous, gorgeous hair.”

You can’t even counter that, because it’s true: Jeonghan must have won the gene pool because his hair has always been soft and silky. It’s longer now than it used to be, curling a little bit just under his ears and brushing the back of his neck.

“Soonyoung’s been campaigning for you to go platinum blond,” you inform him. “He keeps saying if you do it, he’ll dye his whole head bright yellow.”

“Highlighter Soonyoung is really not something I want to see.”

The more the wind picks up, the tighter Jeonghan has his arm looped around yours. His lips are pursed, like he’s preoccupied with something else.

“Y/N.”

“Yes?”

“Are we still gonna be friends when we’re thirty years old?”

The subtle, vulnerable tone in his voice surprises you a little bit. Drunk words are sober thoughts, you suppose.

You try to cheer him up, saying, “Why, did you think you could get rid of me that easily?”

“No,” he shakes his head firmly. “Everything is so much easier with you.”

Don’t be delusional, don’t be delusional, is the mantra in your head as you attempt to ignore your rapid heartbeat. The truth is that you agree — the way Jeonghan just gets you makes things so uncomplicated and free.

It’s been this way since middle school, when twelve-year-old you found home in the boy who always helped you sneak snacks from your desk during class when the teacher wasn’t watching.

Jeonghan has always been the first person you think of in a sticky situation; he’s always been reliable, above all, because he knows you would do the same for him without even needing to think about it. He’s been by your side for so long, you can’t even picture what a life without him would look like now.

Your next words would never see the light of day had Jeonghan been sober, but you suppose you can get away with erring on the side of honesty.

“Me too,” you tell him quietly, holding onto him just a little bit tighter. “I like life a little better when it’s with you.”

because i love you, because saying i love you isn't enough

PRESENT DAY

The office is quiet when it’s late at night; there aren’t many people who enjoy staying past their stated hours, but you figure it can’t hurt to finish some additional tasks when you don’t really have much to go home to. You can’t remember the last time you had a day to yourself without worrying about deadlines; the lines of code haunt you in your sleep and fill every waking hour. Every night spent working overtime is a testament to your determination, though it crumbles it a little each time.

Today, though, you’re joined by Junhui and Wonwoo, the three of you working under the dim light. The rest of your team packed up and left hours ago, so it’s just you on this floor of the building.

“I feel like my eyes are melting in their sockets,” Junhui complains, stretching for the first time in what you think is a solid eight hours. “I don’t know how Wonwoo does it.”

“He’s a machine,” you joke. He’s got headphones on, most probably noise canceling, so you know he can’t hear you two. (Or he’s choosing not to.) “I just don’t want to go home with this stuff unfinished because I know I won’t stop thinking about it all night.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve pulled an all-nighter in the office.”

“Unfortunately.”

Junhui frowns. “You need to take time for yourself,” he expresses. You let him lecture you, even though he’s younger. “Do stuff that you enjoy that doesn’t involve writing code. You know, enrich your personal life.”

“Maybe,” you sigh, putting your head in your hands. “There’s barely any time as of now.”

“Speaking of personal lives, I still can’t believe you won’t tell me about your date,” he sulks. “You’ve always come back with stories about your dates.”

“There haven’t even been that many,” you say at the same time Wonwoo turns around with his headphones off of one ear, asking, “Date? Really?”

You give the man a look. “You didn’t hear us say your name, but that was what caught your attention?”

“Well, Jun’s always talking, but the last time you went on a date was two years ago, so this is news to me.”

“It couldn’t have been that bad,” Junhui reasons. “Everyone has bad dates. It’s a universal experience.”

“Okay, first of all, it was not a date,” you clarify. “I just met up with a friend from college.”

This piques Wonwoo’s interest. “Wait, really? Who?”

“Right, I keep forgetting you guys went to college together,” Junhui mutters under his breath.

“Did you see Yeonju again?”

“It was nobody,” you lie through your teeth, kicking yourself internally for your choice of words. As much as both men know about your ongoing tug-of-war situation with Jeonghan, you don’t really want to bring it up in conversation, and definitely not now of all times. “It went fine, just some catching up.”

“So it wasn’t a date?”

“You really need to stop believing everything Junhui tells you without fact checking it first.”

“Damn,” he says. “And we thought you were finally getting some action.”

“Wonwoo!”

The conversation is interrupted by the low rumble of your stomach in the few seconds of silence that pass afterwards. Both men turn to look at you expectantly.

“I haven’t eaten all day,” you admit, a little embarrassed. “I’m starving.”

“I’ll order takeout,” Wonwoo volunteers, already reaching for his phone. “Is kimchi fried rice okay with you guys?”

“Fine by me.”

“With pork?” Junhui asks hopefully.

“Done.”

The three of you promptly get back to work, aiming to maximize the amount of work you get done before the food arrives and you inevitably break focus. By the time the delivery notification goes off on Wonwoo’s phone, you’ve knocked off about three quarters of your to-do list for the day.

Good enough, you reassure yourself, pulling the sticky note off of your desk and flicking it into the trash can.

Junhui eats in a record time of ten minutes — you swear you’ve never seen him scarf down food this fast before — and starts packing up at his desk, dropping off a couple of notes on Seungcheol’s desk for tomorrow morning’s meeting.

“My girlfriend is going to be so upset if I’m not home soon,” he says ruefully, slinging his bag over one shoulder. “Take care, guys! And thanks for dinner, Wonwoo, I owe you one.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

You and Wonwoo finish not too long after, and you take your time cleaning up the place, making sure everything is thrown away and in its place.

“Are you ready to lock up and go?”

“Yeah, let’s head out.”

It’s not until you’re in the elevator, heading to the parking garage, that Wonwoo speaks up again. A little hesitantly at first, but the concern in his tone is still evident.

“Hey, has everything been good with you lately?”

“Hm?” You look at him curiously, wondering what it was that made him ask. “Yeah, why?”

He shrugs, looking down at you through thick-rimmed glasses. “Just haven’t checked in with you in a bit. Seungcheol’s needed me all over the place lately, so it’s been a while since I caught up with you guys.”

“Right, you’ve been in back to back meetings with the design team,” you muse. “Seolhwa was talking about how chaotic it’s been in the restroom earlier.”

“Yeah, it’s been pretty tough.”

The elevator opens with a ding! and you follow him out, fishing for your keys that are probably somewhere in one of your pockets.

“I parked a little far,” you tell him, “so I’ll get going now. But I’ll see you at tomorrow’s meeting, right?”

Wonwoo just looks at you gently, like he’s seeing right through you.

“Jeonghan’s the one you met up with, isn’t he?”

You freeze. “What?”

“I had a feeling, but it was a little more obvious when you started getting defensive,” he chuckles. “Plus, I think you forget I’ve known you for nearly a decade now.”

You allow yourself to breathe, relaxing the taut muscles in your neck. “I didn’t want to make it awkward,” you admit. “I know you said you guys still keep in touch sometimes. I don’t want to make it weird.”

Wonwoo raises his eyebrows. “Just for birthdays and things like that. We weren’t really that close in college, either.”

Not really knowing what to say, you stay silent, eyes glued to the ground. He seems to sense this and drops the matter, reaching over to pat your shoulder.

“I won’t pry,” he says lightly, “But if you ever want to talk about it, just know you can always call up an old friend.”

You smile. “Thanks, Wonwoo.”

“Take care, Y/N. Get home safe.”

The drive home is numbing. The playlist you have on dulls into background noise as you focus on the road, fighting the urge to yawn. It’s nearly eleven o’clock at night, and all you want is to be back in your bed.

At the back of your mind, all you can think about is the text you woke up to this morning.

yoon jeonghan: hey, i just wanted to tell you tomorrow is my last day in seoul

yoon jeonghan: i don’t know if you want to see me or not, but i’ll be at semicolon cafe working for most of the day. pls drop by if you have some free time. i really miss you.

So typical of him, to leave it up to you to go find him. And yet, you would — if it came down to it, you would go to the ends of the earth if he asked you to.

Yeonju would be furious if you told her you were even considering it, you scold yourself. After all, she’d only told you to speak to him once for your own peace of mind. Last week should have given you all the closure you needed.

Still, your conscience is swayed at the idea of being able to see him again.

You shake the thoughts out of your head, as if the subtle action could erase the pain and longing you’ve felt for the past eight years.

The traffic light turns green. You step on the gas and don’t look back.

even if i can't be the perfect weather for you, will you still love me like this?

SIX YEARS AGO

Jeonghan has been in the studio for hours.

Nothing seems to sound right, and the frustration makes him want to pull his hair out. He can’t even remember the last time he got out of the chair, but he doesn’t want to lose even a little bit of whatever workflow he’s managed to maintain while he’s been in here.

Occasionally, when the weather is just a little dull and time seems to tick by too slowly, he wonders if he made the right choice. Maybe he should have stuck with his career, actually put his degree to use, instead of setting it aside in the name of passion.

He’s vocalized these thoughts to his manager many times, and Jihoon is awfully good at raising his spirits, but the self doubt seeping into his soul is very hard to ignore.

Reluctantly, he presses the play button again, whatever he’s conjured up in the last couple of hours playing in his headphones again. It doesn’t sound any better this time.

Yes, he could swallow his pride and ask Jihoon for help, but after a year and a half of unsuccessful ventures in the music industry, he wants to be able to do something on his own.

Prove himself; to Jihoon, the world, and you.

Jeonghan will never forget your only words to him when he’d first revealed his plan to switch career paths, just a month or two before graduation.

(“I always believe in you,” you’d said, following it up with a comforting hug.

“Always?”

“Always.”)

And when you said that with such conviction, placing all of that trust and belief in his hands, he knew there was no way he could turn back on what he’d set his sights on. In truth, on days where things just seem so bleak, you are his strength, and he wishes he could tell you that.

But when your name comes through on his phone, he falters.

What is he supposed to say? All he can give is excuses, that nothing’s really worked, nothing has panned out in his favor yet. As it is, the two of you haven’t spoken that much since graduating, both of you occupied with your own goals and careers, and at times like these he feels your absence a little extra.

Is this what it means to grow up and grow apart?

For now, he ignores the buzzing, telling himself he’ll come back when he’s snagged his first real achievement. You’ll be proud of him, and he’ll finally make something of himself.

Jihoon walks into the room, closing the door quietly, right when he’s about to listen to the track for maybe the hundredth time.

“Oh, hey.” Jeonghan can hear the exhaustion in his own voice. “What’s up?”

“Wondering when the last time you slept was.” Jihoon sinks into the chair beside him, trying to lighten the mood. “You look like a zombie.”

“Yeah, I feel like one.”

“You need to spend less time in here,” Jihoon advises gently. “Or you’re going to lose your mind. Trust me, I’ve been there.”

“I just can’t figure out what it is I’m missing,” Jeonghan sighs, evidently frustrated. “It’s like, almost there, but not really. It’s been killing me for days.”

“You know, these things do take time.”

“Or maybe I’m just not cut out for this and I should just go work for a news channel instead.”

Jihoon watches him carefully, picking up on his slumped shoulders and tired eyes. “And then you’ll spend the rest of your life wondering what would have happened if you held on just a little bit longer. Do you really want that?”

Jeonghan doesn’t really know what else to say. He’s been hearing the same things from everyone around him — his parents, his sister; everyone talks of a future where he’s already succeeded, but that isn’t set in stone. Nothing is promised, he knows.

“I need a miracle,” he mumbles instead.

“You need to eat,” Jihoon corrects. “I just placed an order for dinner, and I know you like sundubu-jjigae, so you have no excuse to bail on me this time.”

Jeonghan considers this for a moment, then gives in. “Fine,” he says, “but I can’t stay too long.”

“Good.” Jihoon rises, and then places a hand on his shoulder reassuringly. “I’m proud of you. You’ve been working really hard.”

“Thank you.”

He’s alone again, when the door closes behind the shorter man. It’s something he’s had to get used to; he’s learned to rely on himself over the past year or so, but when the reality of loneliness sinks in, it breaks his heart just a little.

Even more so knowing that it’s his fault that he’s pushed everyone away, including you.

Your name is still burned into Jeonghan’s brain, and his fingers itch to respond, but he ignores the urge. His phone is left forgotten as he slips his headphones on again, tinkering with the unfinished track.

And the thought of you dissolves into the music.

we used to be best friends, i remember you said you can be yourself when i'm around

PRESENT DAY

Today is the day that Choi Seungcheol learns that you are full of surprises.

In all your five years of working for him, he’s never once had you call in sick for work or ask for a day off. You’ve always been hard-working, maybe too much at times, but he sounds like he definitely didn’t anticipate this.

“Oh,” is all he says when you request the morning off. “Yeah, sure. Are you feeling alright?”

“Not really, but I will be before the client meeting at three, so I’ll be present for that.”

“Oh, all right. We’ll see you then.”

“See you.”

It weighs on your conscience that the first time you request time off also happens to be the first time you blatantly lie to your boss, but you’ve already deliberated this enough with Yeonju over call last night.

(“I’ve been such an honest worker,” you said dramatically, “and now I’m running all that to the ground.”

“Don’t be so theatrical. Choi Seungcheol can afford to give you half a day of paid leave.”)

Now that you’ve settled that, you grab your heavy winter coat, setting out into the morning cold. Damn Yoon Jeonghan for making you move your whole day around for him. You had predicted correctly that Yeonju would berate you for it — you sat through a lecture over the phone last night — but that hadn’t deterred your resolve to see him again.

Who knows? His behavior is so erratic that even you, who knew him like the back of your hand at one point, can’t predict him anymore. Today could very well be the last time you see him for another few years until he decides he has the time for you again.

Whatever, you huff to yourself as you walk briskly, knowing that as upset as you get, the soft spot you harbor for him will never go away.

You had worried that it would be a little too early, since it’s only eight in the morning, but you have no problem finding Jeonghan in the sea of caffeine-deprived corporate workers getting their fix in the small establishment. He’s engrossed in his laptop, and he doesn’t realize you’re there until you take the seat across from him, waiting for him to look up.

“Oh,” is all he says, pushing his screen down. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

You sigh. “Yeah, I didn’t think I would, either.”

Jeonghan gives you a sorrowful look, hair fluffy like a halo around his face. “I’m trying, I really am.”

“Jeonghan —”

“I’m juggling so many things at once,” he says quietly. “And I never wanted you to think any less of me. I wanted you to be proud of me..”

“I was. I still am.”

“But I still haven’t done anything.” He sounds more agitated as he speaks. “I haven’t gotten anywhere, I’ve barely made a name for myself. Nothing I do is paying off.”

“You’re trying, though,” you tell him. It saddens you to see him like this. It’s not often that Jeonghan talks about how he feels, especially not now that you’ve grown so distant. “And you don’t have to go off and accomplish great things for me to be proud of you. I already am.”

He’s quiet, like he’s dwelling on something.

“I’m sorry,” he says a few seconds later. “It’s just all been such a mess.”

“That’s okay.”

In the silence between those two words are many more that don’t need to be spoken for him to understand. You’re doing okay. Everything will turn out okay.

“I wish things could go back to the way they were,” he says again, eyes a little shiny when he looks back at you.

Nostalgia fills your brain, all of those treasured memories with him resting in a well-lit corner of your heart.

“You know, it really hurts, Han, to keep doing this push and pull with you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too.”

“Don’t apologize,” he laughs wistfully, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Shit, I never meant to hurt you, Y/N, honestly. And I’m really trying to be better about it. Things are looking up now, I think. It’s getting a little easier than before.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” You offer him a reassuring smile. “I knew you could do it.”

“How…” Jeonghan starts tentatively. “How long are you here for?”

“I’m not sure,” you reply, fidgeting with one of your bracelets. “Not too long.”

“Are you going to have something to eat?” An olive branch.

“I have food I meal-prepped at home.” A subtle denial.

The silence is loud. You try to think of something, anything to say to fill it, but you come up blank. There’s not much else to be said in the fraught air between the two of you. Not now, anyways.

“I’m sorry, I should let you get back to work,” you say suddenly, eyes landing on his half shut laptop. “I didn’t mean to take time out of your day.”

“That’s okay,” he says softly. “I’m really glad I got to see you.”

“Have a safe trip to… wherever you’re going.”

He chuckles. “Just Jeju, but thank you.”

Before you leave, you reach for the scarf loosely wrapped around your neck — your favorite one you’ve had since college, the plaid cream-colored one — and you set it down on the table. He just looks at you questioningly.

“Why…?”

“It’s cold,” you say with a faint smile. “You haven’t changed, Yoon Jeonghan.”

“Thank you.”

You take the time to memorize him — the curve of his face, the soft look in his eyes, the one reserved for you and the ones he holds close. If you could etch his features in your brain here and now, you would.

“Well,” you start, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Don’t be a stranger, Han. The next time I see your name, it better be a call from you instead of another news headline.”

Jeonghan nods, eyes forming crescents. “I’ll do my best.”

And there is something to be said about the love in looking back, for sure, but there is also love in not looking back, in choosing to keep your eyes trained on the path before you. There is love in knowing your weaknesses, that if you turn around you might not be able to walk away after all.

You don’t release the breath you’re holding until you walk out the door. It’s raining, you realize with a start, the previously clear sky clouded over. It seems that your overcast heart has been mirrored by the earth.

The rhythmic droplets provide a strange sense of comfort as you let yourself get soaked, for lack of an umbrella. It works in your favor, anyway, because nobody will assume anything’s amiss if your face is already drenched.

Pit, pat. The smell of wet soil rises in your nostrils, and you let the tears fall.

no matter where i am in the world, i'll say it's you

FOUR YEARS LATER

The lights are blinding, and the sounds of the camera shutters are incessant. But this is the life Jeonghan has always dreamed of, so he doesn’t dare complain.

In truth, he doesn’t care for a lot of the interviews he’s been asked to do — he can’t be bothered by the mundane, mind-numbing questions he gets asked over and over again. Nothing ticks him off like the insensitive digs into his personal life they always ask him, searching for information he doesn’t wish to disclose.

But he does it, anyway, because what choice does he really have? It’s good for your image, Jihoon always tells him, adding another event to his schedule. It’s for your public platform.

“So, you’ve come out with another hit single,” the interviewer starts, beaming at him. His teeth are so artificially white, they seem to reflect the bright studio lights. “How does it feel to accomplish such a success yet again?”

“It’s really great,” Jeonghan answers honestly. “I’m very grateful to my manager, producer, and my beloved family. And, of course, all of the wonderful fans. I couldn’t have done any of this without them.”

“A touching answer as always, Jeonghan-ssi.” The man flashes a smile at the cameras. “Your new single To You was really well received by fans, especially for its fresh and passionate take on what it feels like to be in love.”

The blazer feels stiff now, under the heat of the lights. Jeonghan tries not to dwell too deeply on the true inspiration for the song he’d written late at night a couple years ago, overcome by his own heart.

“I’m really glad that everyone’s been enjoying it so much. That really was the intention,” he says, “to have a song that makes you feel like you’re floating.”

“And it does!” the interviewer laughs. “A lot of viewers really appreciated the sincerity of feelings that was conveyed through the song. Which raised the question; have you ever been in love before?”

Something akin to a late realization suddenly hits Jeonghan right there in the hot seat, under all those lights and cameras. His hand comes up to toy with the end of the scarf he’s wearing, a keepsake of treasured memories.

“Maybe,” he says with a wistful smile.

Wherever you are in the world right now, there’s a small part of him that dares to hope you’re watching.

“Maybe I have.”

thank you for reading! if you have any feedback, i'd love to hear it :) much love, ashi xx

#jeonghan x reader #svt #seventeen #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #svt one shot #svt fics #svt jeonghan #yoon jeonghan #jeonghan #jeonghan friends to lovers #jeonghan one shot #jeonghan fics #kpop fanfic

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x1un4rx · 3 days ago

Text

| A Night to Remember | (No Outbreak) |

Pairings: Bf!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: A quiet night out with Joel turns into a meaningful and intimate experience for the reader. After a cozy dinner, the two of them escape to a peaceful spot to stargaze, enjoying each other’s company. It’s a night of connection, comfort, and a little bit of unexpected tension, all under the stars.

Warnings: mild language, fluff, jealousy, mild possessiveness, light romance.

A/N: I had fun (also suffered) writing this one! I wanted to make it sweet, soft, and a little steamy—because who doesn’t love a little romance, right? Hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Let me know what you think! <3 (I didn't proof-read this properly, so apologies if something sounds weird/doesn't make sense.)

Word Count: 2,8k+

Credits: @cafekitsune for the lovely dividers <33

(edit: I made changes with the dividers. Also for future references that I've forgotten to clarify, please don't reblog my work as I always edit it, thank you. I have now added it.)

The house was unusually quiet tonight. No sounds of Ellie barging through the door with her usual energy, no music playing from her room, no chaos over something small that you both would inevitably laugh about later. It was just the two of you, alone for the evening, and it felt like a luxury. Sarah was in college now, juggling her studies and figuring out life away from home and Ellie was at a friend’s house for the night—a sleepover, her first in weeks, and the quiet was strangely comforting.

You were standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom, adjusting your hair for the third time. It wasn’t a special occasion or anything—just a romantic dinner date with Joel. But you’d been looking forward to it, especially after the week you’d both had. You were used to the small moments with him—the late-night talks, the quiet mornings—but tonight, you wanted to feel a little more… put together. The soft fabric of your dress hugged your figure just enough, nothing flashy, but enough to make you feel good about yourself. You didn’t need anything extravagant to remind you of how far you’d come with Joel. But maybe, just maybe, tonight felt different.

You caught your reflection in the mirror for a second too long and realized you were smiling at yourself. You could hear Joel’s low, familiar voice from behind the door.

“Everything alright in there?”

You rolled your eyes, still trying to get the perfect look. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just making sure I don’t look like a disaster.”

Joel’s chuckle came through the door, warm and teasing. “You can’t not look good, babe.”

You felt a smile tug at your lips. That’s Joel. The man who knew exactly how to make you feel like the most beautiful person in the room—even when you weren’t trying. His words were like a secret confidence boost you never asked for but always appreciated.

You gave up trying to get your hair perfect and called out to him. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Miller.”

There was another soft knock on the door, followed by the sound of the door creaking open. Joel’s face appeared, and you immediately had to suppress a laugh. There he was, looking like he’d just stepped out of a magazine. His jeans were perfectly worn in, his shirt a little more pressed than usual, sleeves rolled up, showcasing his forearms—those strong, calloused hands that always made you feel safe.

“You still gonna be in there forever, or what?” Joel grinned, crossing his arms, leaning against the doorframe with that cocky, laid-back expression you loved so much. “I was startin’ to think you were gonna leave me hangin’.”

You raised an eyebrow, eyes scanning him up and down. “Dramatic much?”

Joel smirked, pushing off the doorframe and stepping inside. His eyes didn’t leave you for a second. He always had this way of looking at you like you were the only thing in the room. It wasn’t like he had to try—it just happened.

“Yeah, yeah. Dramatic. You ready yet, or am I gonna have to keep waitin’ for you?” he asked, moving closer, wrapping him arms around your waist and his head on your shoulder, breathing on your neck.

You felt your chest flutter, and despite the teasing in his tone, you could tell there was something softer in his eyes. Something different tonight. He reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You always know how to make everything look effortless, don’t you?” His voice was lower now, more sincere than teasing.

You laughed softly, feeling your cheeks heat up. “You’re just saying that.” Joel looked at you through the mirror, looking at you in utterly disbelief. "I would never lie to you, my love."

Joel then pulled away from you and just smiled, a quiet, affectionate smile, before extending his hand. “C’mon, let’s get outta here before I forget we actually have a reservation.”

The drive to the restaurant was easy, comfortable. The quiet between you was never awkward—just the gentle hum of the engine and the music playing softly on the radio, songs that you both recognized. You didn’t need to fill the silence with anything more.

But when you pulled up outside the restaurant, a new energy seemed to shift. Joel straightened in his seat, his fingers drumming absentmindedly on the steering wheel. It wasn’t just a dinner to him. He had been planning this for awhile, putting in the effort, and you could feel the anticipation coming off of him in waves.

“Ready?” he asked, eyes glinting as he turned to look at you.

You met his gaze, that familiar warmth spreading through your chest. He didn’t just ask if you were ready for the evening. He was asking if you were ready for the next few hours—just the two of you, away from everything.

He always had a way of making everything else disappear.

“I’m ready,” you said, leaning over and pressing a kiss against his cheek. It wasn’t big or showy—just a quiet, simple gesture—but you saw the way his grin grew in response.

“You’re too good lookin’,” Joel said, "You sure you don't want me to start the truck again, head home and have fun in bed instead?" his voice laced with fondness and teasingness.

You gave him a look, "No love, let's go have a lovely dinner, instead of being cooped up at home and eating leftovers."

He held your hand as soon as you both climbed out of the truck, keeping you close to him as you made your way toward the restaurant. There was a quiet protectiveness in the way he kept his hand around yours, like he didn’t want to let go, even for a second.

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at him. “You gonna hold my hand the whole night, or what?”

Joel flashed you an exaggerated pout, that teasing look never leaving his face. “What can I say? You’re way too good lookin’ to let go. Gotta keep you close just in case.”

You laughed softly, the warmth of his touch grounding you. You could tell that tonight—tonight, he wasn’t just the guy who looked out for you. He was all in, fully present, and it made your heart beat a little faster than usual.

Dinner passed in a blur of delicious food and even better conversation. Joel was as charming as ever, effortlessly making you laugh with his lovely, dry humor and his little sarcastic remarks. But it wasn’t just the jokes—it was the way he’d lean in a little closer when he spoke, the way his hand brushed against yours under the table, the quiet glances that spoke volumes more than words could.

It was comfortable, easy. The kind of night that made you feel like you were the only two people who mattered in the world.

And then, just as dessert was being served, Joel excused himself to the bathroom. You were left to your own thoughts for a moment, the buzz of the restaurant fading into the background.

That’s when the guy, whom seemed like he was from the bar across the road due to his wobbly footing, was walking up to you, had caught your eye.

Your not in the mood for this. You wanted a lovely dinner with your man, but this guy had to rock up... amazing.

“Hey, beautiful. Can I sit with you?” His voice was too smooth, too confident. He leaned against the edge of your table, his body angled just a little too close.

"I saw you from the bar across the road, thought I might take a chance with a pretty girl like you." He said, eyeing you up and down. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat.

You blinked, taken off guard. “Uh, I’m waiting for someone,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

The guy didn’t move, just smiled, and leaned in a little more. “Oh, come onn, we could share a drink or something. I’m sure the bloke you came with won’t mind.”

You raised an eyebrow, more uncomfortable now. “No, really. I’m fine.”

But he didn’t back off. He just kept smiling like it was all a joke, a game. “You sure? I think you’re missing your chance here pretty, you positive you wouldn't want a drink with lil' ol' me?” This man was gradually becoming more disgusting and annoying by the millisecond.

Your patience was wearing thin, and you didn’t want to make a scene, but his persistence was starting to piss you off. Just as you were about to speak again, you saw Joel coming back from the bathroom.

You felt the relief flood through you, but it was short-lived. Joel’s eyes scanned the room, landing on the guy standing far too close to you. He didn’t hesitate for a second.

“Everything okay here?” Joel’s voice was low, calm, but you could see the shift in his body, the protective stance he was taking.

The guy hesitated for a moment, his smirk faltering. He clearly hadn’t expected Joel to show up so quickly, and when he saw the way Joel was looking at him—there was no mistaking the intent. Joel wasn’t backing down.

“Yeah, yeah, no problem,” the guy muttered, giving you a final look before retreating.

Joel didn’t take his eyes off the guy until he was out of sight. Then, he turned to you, his expression softening as he reached for your hand.

“You okay? Did he do anything to you darlin'? ” His voice was quieter now, almost apologetic. He was the kind of guy who didn’t like confrontation, but when it came to you? He’d do anything to make sure you felt safe.

You smiled at him, grateful. “Yeah, just didn’t know what to do. Thanks for stepping in hun.”

Joel squeezed your hand, his thumb gently brushing against your skin. “Ain’t no one gonna mess with you when I’m around, sweetheart.”

After dinner, Joel’s truck rumbled down the quiet road, the noise of the city faded into the background, it was like stepping into another world altogether. The quiet of the woods wrapped around you like a blanket—peaceful, uninterrupted. Just the sound of your breaths and the rustle of leaves in the distance.

The air was cool, carrying the fresh scent of earth and pine, the kind of crisp evening breeze that settled into your bones, making everything feel clean and new. When Joel finally pulled off the main road, heading into a small, secluded patch of woods, you couldn’t help but feel your heart beat a little faster. There was something about the stillness of nature that always made you feel both small and incredibly alive, especially with Joel beside you.

He parked the truck at the edge of a grassy hill, surrounded by nothing but open land and a sky full of stars. It was perfect—just like he’d planned.

You stepped out of the truck, inhaling the cool air deeply, letting it fill your lungs. The night seemed to expand in every direction, endless and vast. You walked a few paces away, and then, for a moment, you simply stopped and tilted your head back. The sky was so clear, so wide, that it took your breath away. The stars shone like diamonds scattered across a velvet canvas, each one brighter and closer than you’d ever seen in the city.

You could see the Milky Way, a faint but beautiful streak across the sky, and the constellations you’d learned about as a kid suddenly seemed more real, more tangible. There was something magical about being here, so far from everything else. The stars felt almost like they were there just for you, like they were a secret shared only between you and the universe.

Joel’s voice broke through your thoughts, warm and close. “You alright?”

You turned toward him and smiled, already knowing he was watching you with that soft, caring expression. The kind that made you feel like you were the only person who mattered in the world to him. "Yeah, just... it’s amazing out here."

Joel chuckled lightly, walking over to you and placing a hand on your back, guiding you to the blanket he’d set out on the grass. “I thought you might like it,” he said, that grin of his tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You did mention it when we first met." You looked at him, smiling slightly. "You remembered it?" You were surprised he remembered something from 3 years ago.

You sat down on the blanket, and Joel followed, stretching out beside you. His hand brushed against yours, fingers intertwining, his warmth against your side, a steady presence that grounded you. You both lay back, the sky opening up above you, vast and endless, and for a moment, it was like everything else melted away. The truck, the world, everything. It was just the two of you, the stars, and the cool night air.

As you settled in, your head found its place against his shoulder, the steady rhythm of his breathing lulling you into a peaceful calm. Joel’s arm draped casually over your body, his fingers lightly brushing the skin of your arm, as if he wanted to be as close to you as possible without even trying. You could feel the gentle pulse of his heartbeat beneath the fabric of his shirt. It was a familiar sound, comforting and safe, and you let yourself sink into it.

“The stars look different out here,” Joel said, his voice a soft rasp in the stillness, like he was marveling at the view for the first time too. "They look...prettier."

You smiled, your eyes tracing the patterns above you. “Yeah,” you said, your voice quiet, almost in awe. “They’re... more alive. Like you can actually see them, y’know? The way they’re all scattered across the sky, like the universe just decided to let us in on its secret.”

Joel let out a soft hum of agreement, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your arm. “Guess there’s a whole lot more out there than we ever see, huh?”

You nodded, unable to look away from the stars. “It’s... it’s incredible. Sometimes I forget how big the world is, how much of it we don’t even know about.”

For a long time, neither of you spoke. There was something peaceful about that silence, a comfortable kind of quiet that wasn’t awkward but full of understanding. Just the gentle rustle of the grass beneath you, the breeze moving the trees in the distance, and the faint hum of insects.

“I used to come out here a lot,” you murmured, your voice soft but steady, as if the night made you want to share more than you usually did. “When things were rough, I’d just lie on my back and look up at the stars. It always made me feel like... like I wasn’t as alone as I thought I was.”

Joel’s fingers paused in their movement, and you could feel him turn his head toward you, his gaze soft in the darkness. “You were never alone darlin',” he said quietly, his voice firm but gentle, like he wanted to reassure you that you were never carrying the weight of the world by yourself.

You met his gaze, finding the sincerity in his eyes. It made your heart skip a beat.

“Yeah, but... it’s different now,” you whispered. “I have you. And I’m not just looking at the stars alone anymore.”

Joel smiled at that, a little crooked grin that made your chest feel warm. “Well, we got a hell of a view tonight, don’t we?” He nudged you gently with his elbow, his voice laced with affection.

You laughed softly, leaning closer to him, your fingers brushing his again. “We do. It’s perfect.”

His arm tightened around you slightly, pulling you just a little closer, as if he couldn’t help himself. “Yeah… it’s just right.” His voice dropped, almost to a whisper, like he was speaking to you alone, like the night itself was a secret between just the two of you. “Just us. Right here.”

You nestled your head a little deeper into his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body against yours and the steady, comforting beat of his heart. The stars seemed to shine even brighter when you thought about how far you’d come, how much you’d shared and how much more you still had ahead of you.

For a few moments, you let yourself drift, your eyes closed, breathing in the night air. You didn’t need words. You didn’t need anything more than this—the quiet company of someone who understood you, the peaceful presence of the stars above, and the promise that no matter what, you’d always have this moment to hold on to.

In that moment, it wasn’t just about the stars or the quiet, but about everything that had led up to this. How far you’d come. How much you had, just right here, with him.

- lunar <3

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