#it was chapter two….. i forgot to post chapter two last night | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hereforuconnwbb · 17 days ago

Text

The Study of Us - CHAPTER 2

paige x azzi (pazzi)

au fic!

word count: 6.4k

warning: language, mention of injury

heres chap 2 guysss !!! im tryna follow the ideas u guys gave me, so im not 100% sure if its exactly what yall had in mind, but im gonna slowly build it up from here 🤞🏽 hopefully there’s no mistakes and it all makes sense cause i wrote the last bit of this chapter and read through this half asleep 😭 anywaysss hope u guys enjoy 🫶🏽

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It was still early, but the campus was already alive. The buzz of conversation, the shuffle of students walking to class, and the occasional skateboard rolling past made it feel like the world had hit play again. Paige stood by one of the low stone benches just outside the library, sunlight hitting her face while a gentle breeze played with the hem of her hoodie.

She was early, way too early, but she’d never admit she was nervous. Her phone was in her hand, thumbs scrolling through Instagram, even though she hadn’t really seen a single post. She kept checking her reflection in the dark screen anytime it dimmed. Hair was decent. Fit looked casual but intentional. Nothing screamed I’m trying, even though she absolutely was.

Calm down, she told herself for the twentieth time. It’s just tutoring. You need help. That’s all it is.

A group of students passed by laughing, and Paige looked up, spotting Caroline a few feet away walking with her coffee, headed her direction. She was with Aubrey, Ice, and KK all of them talking shit about something and laughing loudly. Paige already regretted her decision to come to this part of campus.

Caroline smirked the second she saw Paige. “So,” she said, greeting her with a little side hug. “You texted Azzi?”

Paige gave her a side-eye. “How do you already know that?”

“She told me last night,” Caroline said innocently, sipping her coffee.

Aubrey lit up. “Wait, wait, you messaged her? Already? Damn, that didn’t take long.”

KK raised her eyebrows. “What’s going on? Who’s Azzi?”

Caroline turned to her with a smile. “Azzi’s my best friend. She’s super smart. Paige needed help with some classes, so I suggested Azzi could tutor her.”

“And I said I was fine,” Paige muttered.

“And then you texted her anyway,” Aubrey said, grinning. “Knew you would. Couldn’t go under 24 hours without seeing her again.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Paige said under her breath, adjusting her bag strap to have something to do with her hands.

Ice laughed. “Hold on, is this the same Azzi girl that Aubrey said had you all flustered yesterday?”

Aubrey nodded proudly. “Yup. Paige met her once and forgot how to talk.”

“I didn’t forget how to—geez, will you all chill?”

KK leaned in toward Ice. “Now I really wanna see what this girl looks like.”

“You might get your chance,” Caroline said casually, checking her watch. “She’s got class with me in a few minutes. She’s probably walking up now.”

And almost on cue, a voice called out from behind them.

“Hey, Caroline!”

The group turned and spotted Azzi walking up to the group of girls, backpack slung over one shoulder, her braids swaying slightly as she walked. The sunlight caught on her hoops, and Paige went completely still.

Azzi looked laid-back and composed, like she hadn’t just unknowingly walked into a firing squad of nosy basketball girls. She gave Caroline a warm smile before her eyes moved naturally to Paige and paused. Her smile lingered, just a bit softer now.

“Hey, Paige,” she added.

Paige nodded quickly. “Hey.”

They made eye contact, and it was enough to set off another wave of chaos in Paige’s chest. She was hoping no one would notice, but of course, the girls clocked it instantly.

Ice nudged KK and whispered, “Yeah, I get it now.”

KK nodded slowly. “Mhm. She’s got that calm, pretty energy. No wonder Paige’s out here acting like a freshman with a crush.”

“Shut up,” Paige hissed through gritted teeth, though her ears were turning red.

Azzi looked toward the two new faces in the group, a little curious but she does recognise them. Caroline jumped in. “Azzi, this is KK and Ice our teammates. KK, Ice, this is Azzi.”

Azzi offered a polite smile. “Nice to meet you guys.”

“You too,” KK said, still smirking. “Heard a lot about you.”

Paige’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t start.”

Aubrey was barely holding it together. “We didn’t even say anything yet,” she said, laughing. “But sure, Paige. We’ll be on our best behavior.”

“Liar,” Paige muttered.

Azzi glanced at her, still smiling, and Paige felt the air shift again so subtle, but it was there. That unspoken thing sitting between them that no one was addressing. Paige quickly looked away before her teammates could start up again.

“Welp, I’ll catch up with you guys later,” Caroline said to the group. “Azzi and I have class.”

“Later,” Aubrey called as Caroline and Azzi started walking away. Aubrey turned towards Paige with a smirk so evil Paige felt it in her bones.

Paige groaned. “Don’t. Say. A word.”

“Oh, I’m saying everything,” Aubrey said gleefully. “The way you just shut down when she looked at you? Paige Bueckers, the ultimate rizzler herself, turned into a puppy.”

Ice laughed. “And she didn’t even do anything. She just said hi”

“Fuck off,” Paige muttered, but she couldn’t even bring herself to be mad. Not really. Because yeah, Azzi hadn’t done anything. And yet here Paige was, heart racing from a single look.

—-----------------------

Azzi settled into her usual seat beside Caroline in the lecture hall, her notebook already open, though the pen in her hand wasn’t moving. The lecture hadn’t even properly started yet, but even if it had, she knew she wouldn’t be paying attention right away.

Her thoughts kept wandering.

Specifically, to the text she’d gotten the night before. From Paige.

She hadn’t expected to actually hear from her, not after how Paige had brushed off the idea of tutoring like it was unnecessary, even laughable.

Azzi had stared at the message for a solid minute before replying.

Even now, she wasn’t exactly sure how she felt about it.

“Earth to Az” Caroline murmured, nudging her gently with her elbow. “You’ve been zoning out for the past five minutes. Thinking about someone?”

Azzi blinked and turned toward her, caught but trying to play it cool. “No. I mean—sort of. Just… thinking.”

Caroline’s smirk said she wasn’t buying it. “Thinking about how Paige Bueckers finally caved and texted you for tutoring?”

Azzi let out a soft sigh and shook her head. “I told you last night. I was just surprised she actually did it. She looked so confident yesterday like she was going to fake it till finals.”

“Well, she is confident,” Caroline said, half-amused, half-approving. “But academics? Paige only pretends she doesn’t care. Inside, she’s stressing big time when she’s behind. Girl’s too proud to admit it most of the time.”

Azzi tapped her pen against the edge of her notebook, thoughtful. “Yeah, I guess I didn’t expect her to be the kind to reach out. Especially to someone she barely knows.”

“She knows who you are,” Caroline said, shooting her a look. “You’re the quiet one who actually takes notes and doesn’t worship the ground she walks on. That probably intrigued her.”

Azzi gave her a look. “I don’t worship anyone. I just… don’t care about basketball or any other sports.”

“Exactly,” Caroline grinned, tapping her nails against the desk. “That makes you different. Refreshing, even.”

Azzi let out a soft laugh, unsure how to take that. “I don’t know. I just didn’t think I’d actually be tutoring her. It feels weird.”

Caroline turned more fully toward her, her expression softening. “Weird because you don’t know her, or weird because she was lowkey flustered around you?”

“I don’t think it was anything like that,” Azzi said slowly, trying to sound firmer than she felt. “She was probably just nervous about needing help. That’s all.”

Caroline tilted her head, eyebrows raised. “Sure. That’s all.”

Azzi sighed. “I don’t even know her. Like, I’ve heard of her, obviously, but we’ve never talked until yesterday. And it was barely even a conversation.”

“You don’t need to know her to notice when someone’s acting different around you,” Caroline said, her tone a little more knowing now. “I’ve seen Paige with a lot of people. She’s got this… guard. But with you? She was definitely off her game.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but she was starting to feel the flutter of nerves deep in her chest. “You’re reading into this too much. I’m just going to help her study, that’s it.”

Caroline shrugged. “Alright, fine. Just tutoring. But don’t act surprised if she tries to flirt in her weird, awkward way.”

Azzi snorted, brushing her hair behind her ear. “She doesn’t even know me.”

“That’s what makes it fun,” Caroline teased with a wink.

Azzi leaned back, glancing up at the slowly-filling lecture hall. “I’m not trying to get involved in anything messy. I’ll help her study. That’s it. No weirdness, no distractions.”

Caroline raised both hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m not saying you like her. I’m just saying… keep your eyes open. Paige Bueckers may be all cool and untouchable to the rest of the world, but around you? Something’s shifting.”

Azzi didn’t respond right away, letting the words hang between them as the professor started setting up slides at the front of the room.

She wasn’t crushing on Paige. She didn’t even really know her.

But there was something about the way Paige had looked at her outside, something a little tentative, a little unsteady, that stuck in her head longer than she wanted to admit.

Azzi shook herself out of it and looked down at her notebook again, forcing her mind to focus on the lecture.

Just tutoring. That was all this was.

Right?

—-----------------------

It was 10 minutes to 3, and Paige was sitting stiffly on one of the benches just outside the library steps, her jacket zipped all the way up despite the mild afternoon warmth. She kept pulling at the zipper down halfway, back up, then down again like it was a dial for her anxiety. Her foot bounced restlessly, her fingers twitching every few seconds to check her phone, even though it hadn’t buzzed.

Aubrey was fully stretched out beside her, taking up way more space than necessary like this was a casual trip to the beach instead of her best friend’s slow descent into chaos. One arm was draped over the back of the bench, the other cradling a half-empty iced coffee that had long since lost its chill. She watched Paige out of the corner of her eye with a grin that kept creeping up every time Paige adjusted something for the hundredth time.

“You know,” Aubrey drawled, lifting her cup to her lips, “if I had a dollar for every time you checked your reflection in your phone screen, I’d be rich enough to drop out and live off vibes alone.”

Paige didn’t even look at her. “I was fixing my hair.”

“That the same ‘fix’ you did 3 minutes ago? Or the one right after you dabbed your hoodie with water to flatten that invisible wrinkle?”

Paige groaned and let her head fall back against the bench. “Why are you even here?”

“Entertainment. I live for this.” Aubrey shifted slightly, crossing one leg over the other. “Besides, watching you spiral over a girl you met yesterday is 10 times more fun than whatever I was gonna do with my afternoon.”

Paige turned her head slowly to give her the most deadpan look imaginable.

Aubrey beamed back. “Seriously though, you’re killing me. You’ve checked your lip balm, like, four times. What’s the difference between ‘subtle shimmer’ and ‘barely there glow’? They’re the same.”

“They are not the same,” Paige snapped, immediately regretting how fast she said it.

Aubrey’s laugh rang out loud enough to make a student walking by turn their head. “You hear yourself right now?”

Paige pulled the hood over her head and groaned into it. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t. You just hate that I’m right.”

There was a moment of silence as Paige exhaled slowly, pulling the hood back off and sitting upright again. Her knee was bouncing now, the nerves nowhere near subtle.

“I just… I don’t know,” she mumbled, eyes flicking toward the library entrance. “She’s really…”

Aubrey perked up. “She’s really what?”

Paige shook her head quickly. “Forget it.”

“Nooo, no, no. Don’t back out now. Say it. I need this.”

Paige sighed and looked out across the quad like the grass was gonna give her strength. Her voice dropped just above a whisper. “She’s really pretty.”

Aubrey clutched her chest like she’d been waiting her whole life to hear it. “There it is!”

Paige frowned, eyes still ahead. “And seems smart. Like, scary smart. But not in a loud way. In a ‘makes you feel dumb without even trying’ kind of way.”

Aubrey raised her brows, clearly loving this. “Damn. You’re gone.”

“Shut up,” Paige muttered, folding her arms.

“I’m just observing. You’ve had a crush for a solid twenty-four hours and you’re acting like it’s prom night.”

“She’s tutoring me. That’s it.”

“Mhmmmm. You mean she’s ‘tutoring you’ and you’re ‘definitely not falling apart at the seams’ while trying to remember what two plus two is when she looks at you?”

Paige glared. “You’re annoying.”

“You’re in denial.”

“I’m gonna throw your coffee across the quad.”

“I’ll buy another one. Worth it.”

Paige groaned again, running her hand through her hair. “God, what am I even doing? I’m acting like a middle schooler.”

“You’re acting like a college student with a gay panic problem,” Aubrey said with a shrug. “It’s fine. It’s cute. Just maybe stop adjusting your jacket every time someone walks by or they’re gonna think you’re shoplifting nerves.”

Paige looked down at herself and huffed, trying to smooth it down one more time before stopping mid-motion, catching herself. “Damn it.”

“See?” Aubrey grinned, nudging her. “You’re spiraling. It’s kinda adorable.”

Right then, Paige’s phone buzzed. She yanked it out like it was on fire.

2:57pm

Her breath hitched. She shot a glance at the entrance.

A flash of dark curls pulled into a ponytail appeared just inside the glass doors of the library.

“Oh shit,” Paige whispered, standing up too fast. She quickly brushed invisible dust off her sweatpants, glanced down at her sneakers, frowned at a smudge, then looked back up.

Aubrey watched with a lazy smirk. “You good?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know,” Paige muttered. “How do I look?”

“Like someone who’s about to fail basic math but win the gold in gay panic.”

“Okay, seriously. Stop talking.”

“I’m done,” Aubrey said, hands up in mock surrender. “Go learn some equations and maybe flirt like a human person while you’re at it.”

Paige took a deep breath, wiped her hands on her pants, then started walking toward the library steps.

Aubrey called out one last time, “And maybe try not to stare at her!”

Paige didn’t even turn around. She just lifted her hand behind her and gave Aubrey the finger as she reached the door.

Her heart was pounding. Her palms were a little clammy. But she was walking.

Paige let out one last breath.

The second Paige stepped through the library doors, it felt like her shoes were too loud. Like every step echoed through the entire building even though the carpet was doing its best to muffle them. She tugged her hoodie sleeve down over her palm, eyes sweeping over the rows of tables until she found her.

Azzi was near the far corner, by the window. The sunlight filtered through the glass, catching the edge of her curls and lighting up the gold tones like some kinda magic effect from a movie. She had a pencil in hand, lightly tapping the eraser against the page, her other hand flipping through a worn notebook covered in neat little tabs. She looked focused. Comfortable.

Paige was very much neither of those things.

She hovered for a second, literally just stood there, trying to remember how walking worked before finally forcing her legs to move. Her palms were sweaty again. Her backpack felt too heavy. She hoped her hair wasn’t doing anything weird.

Azzi looked up right as Paige reached the table. “Hey,” she said, a casual, soft smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Paige’s brain glitched for a second. “Hey,” she said, and it came out a little too fast.

Azzi closed the notebook and motioned to the chair across from her. “You’re on time.”

“I’m always on time,” Paige said, slipping into the seat like her limbs were made of static. She regretted the joke immediately. “I mean, usually. Sometimes. Not like always always, but—”

Azzi raised a brow, amused. “You’re good. I’m just saying I expected a minute or two buffer.”

Paige laughed nervously and tugged at the sleeves of her hoodie again. “Yeah, no. I was already out here. Early. Just, you know… prepping.”

Azzi gave her a look like she was trying not to smile. “Prepping to be tutored?”

“Exactly.”

Azzi chuckled under her breath and opened a different notebook, one already half-filled with notes. “Ok. So I looked over the syllabus and the last few slides from class. Want to start with the stuff from earlier in the week?”

“Please,” Paige said, dragging out the word like it physically pained her. “That whole section might as well have been written in some foreign language.”

“Alright,” Azzi said, flipping to the page. “We’re still on systems of equations and matrix transformations. Did you get the basics?”

Paige hesitated. “Define basics.”

Azzi didn’t even blink. “Like… what a matrix is?”

“…Is that the Keanu Reeves one or the number box one?”

Azzi snorted, shaking her head. “Okay, let’s start with the number box one.”

She turned the notebook around and slid it across the table so Paige could see. Her handwriting was crazy clean. Paige immediately noticed how she circled everything in soft, pastel highlighters—blue for definitions, pink for formulas, green for notes. It was weirdly calming to look at.

“So this,” Azzi said, tapping the first example, “is a 2x2 matrix. Two rows, two columns. Easy enough?”

Paige leaned in a little, squinting at the page like it might bite her. “Yeah. I think I remember this part.”

Azzi looked up. “You’re allowed to say you don’t. No judgment.”

“I mean, I kind of remember it. It’s more like it shows up and I recognize the face, but I don’t remember the name.”

Azzi laughed again, light and genuine. “Alright, we’ll reintroduce you.”

She walked Paige through the basics, what each position meant, how they worked when you multiplied them, the reason why flipping them could screw everything up. Paige nodded, trying to focus on the numbers, the shapes, anything that wasn’t Azzi’s voice being low and patient or the way her curls bounced when she looked down to write something.

At some point, Azzi switched to a blank page and turned the notebook so Paige could try a problem herself. She watched closely as Paige worked through it slowly, brow furrowed, tongue slightly poking out the corner of her mouth.

“You’re overthinking it,” Azzi said, voice soft. “Just take it one step at a time.”

Paige huffed and leaned back, pencil pressed between her palms. “One step at a time is how I ended up failing that quiz.”

“True,” Azzi said, grinning. “But now you’ve got me. Upgrades.”

That earned a real smile out of Paige. “Yeah. This is definitely better.”

Azzi looked at her for a second, then tapped the page. “You’re actually not far off. You just missed one sign. Wanna try again?”

Paige nodded, gaze flicking back down to the numbers.

She could do this.

Well… she could try.

And maybe, just maybe if she didn’t totally embarrass herself, there’d be more study sessions like this. Not that she was hoping for anything.

—-----------------------

The soft hum of the library was like a low lullaby, comforting in its quiet, yet full of the sort of focused energy only a place of learning could have. Books, notebooks, and pens were strewn across the table between them, yet all Paige could focus on was Azzi.

Azzi was reading the textbook aloud softly, walking her through another set of equations. Her voice was calm, steady, yet there was an underlying intensity in the way she spoke, like she genuinely wanted Paige to understand. Every now and then, Azzi would pause and ask if Paige was following, looking at her over the top of her glasses, and Paige would just nod though most of the time, her attention wasn’t entirely on the lesson.

She caught herself again, staring. Azzi’s hair was pulled back into a loose bun, a few strands framing her face, and those glasses—those damn glasses. Paige had to fight the urge to look away every time Azzi adjusted them, because the way they sat on her face, giving her an effortlessly smart, put-together look, made Paige’s stomach flutter in a way she hadn’t quite figured out.

Azzi wasn’t even trying to impress anyone. She was just sitting there, leaning over the textbook, completely engrossed in helping Paige. Her calm demeanor was almost too much for Paige to handle sometimes like the sort of quiet confidence that was magnetic.

She caught herself again, looking at Azzi’s profile as she read. The way her lips moved as she pronounced the words, her fingers subtly tapping on the page as she went through the steps in the problem.

“Paige?” Azzi asked, her voice snapping Paige out of her daze. “You still with me?”

Paige blinked and tried to clear the fog in her head. “Yeah, sorry,” she said, focusing on the math in front of her. She quickly scribbled a few numbers down, even though she was far more focused on the way Azzi was looking at her now, brows furrowed in concern.

“I said we can move on to the next problem if you’re ready,” Azzi added, voice softer now.

“Yeah, I think I got this one,” Paige lied, her words more rushed than she intended. She was trying her best to concentrate, but the math seemed to fade into the background as she found herself distracted by the soft rhythm of Azzi’s voice and the quiet rustling of pages. The way Azzi’s fingers traced the lines of the book as she found the right spot. The way her eyes would flicker from the textbook to Paige every few seconds to check in on her, making sure she was following along. It was like everything Azzi did was just too perfect, too natural, and it made Paige feel something she hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Do you want me to slow down? I know this part can be tricky,” Azzi offered, her eyes searching Paige’s face for any sign of confusion.

But the truth was, Paige wasn’t confused about the math at all, she was distracted by Azzi’s presence, her calmness, the way her voice wrapped around her like a warm blanket. She gave a small shake of her head. “No, I’m good,” she said, though her voice came out quieter than she intended.

Azzi nodded, returning her attention to the problem at hand. She explained the next step slowly and clearly, but Paige’s mind wasn’t really processing it. Instead, she was watching the way Azzi’s lips moved as she spoke, the way her fingers tapped the paper, the way her glasses slightly slid down her nose as she read the equations. Paige couldn’t help but admire how effortlessly cool Azzi seemed. She looked so unbothered, so calm in her own skin, and it was something Paige both envied and admired.

The longer they sat there, the more the air between them seemed to thicken with unspoken things. Paige could almost feel the weight of the silence, but not in an uncomfortable way, in a way that made her want to lean forward, ask Azzi about her life, about everything that made her the person she was. And yet, every time she tried to get her words together, her thoughts scattered like smoke in the wind.

“Paige, are you sure you’re following?” Azzi asked again, this time with a small frown forming between her brows. She wasn’t accusing or frustrated; just genuinely concerned.

“Yeah, yeah,” Paige quickly said, shaking her head as if to clear the distraction. She forced herself to focus, finally pulling her eyes from Azzi’s face and onto the equation in front of her. “I think I get it now. Thanks for being patient.”

Azzi smiled softly. “No problem. You’re doing great, really. You just need to take a breath every now and then. You’re trying too hard.”

Paige bit her lip, trying to suppress the chuckle that almost slipped out. “Trying too hard?” she repeated, her voice teasing. “I’m not trying hard enough for this?”

Azzi let out a soft laugh, her eyes softening as she leaned back in her chair. “Well, maybe you should try a little harder. You’re already getting the hang of it.”

Paige felt a little flame of pride in her chest at Azzi’s praise, but at the same time, she couldn’t shake the sensation of being drawn to the way Azzi sat there, calm and composed, like she had everything under control. And Paige was… well, a mess of emotions she hadn’t quite figured out yet.

She forced herself to focus back on the book, willing her mind to follow the equations instead of her thoughts, but it was getting harder with each passing second. She glanced back at Azzi, who was quietly writing out steps on the page. Azzi’s head was tilted slightly, a sign of concentration. And it hit Paige then how deeply she was starting to care for this girl. How much more than just math sessions she was starting to crave.

“Alright, I think I’ve got it,” Paige said finally, trying to focus back in, her voice steadying now.

Azzi looked up and nodded, smiling again. “Good. See? You’re getting it.” She paused, and for a moment, Paige thought she saw a flicker of something in Azzi’s eyes—something warm and unspoken. But then it was gone, hidden behind the coolness of her usual composure.

Paige nodded, forcing her eyes to stay on the page, though her thoughts felt like they were running a mile a minute.

“Alright, let’s take a short break before we do the next one,” Azzi suggested. “You’ve been at this for a while now.”

Paige didn’t protest. Instead, she leaned back in her chair and let herself relax for a moment, her gaze slipping to Azzi again, just long enough to catch her watching her with that same quiet focus. That same soft intensity that made Paige’s heart flutter in a way she wasn’t used to.

Paige didn’t mean to do it—didn’t mean to let the curiosity slip out, but the words came before she could stop them.

“So, uh, what made you agree to tutor me?” Paige asked, her voice softer than usual, as if she was treading into unfamiliar territory. She wasn’t sure what she expected, but something about Azzi seemed different. Quiet. Like there was so much more beneath the surface.

Azzi paused, her hand hovering over her bag, and then looked up at Paige. For a brief moment, there was that same familiar flicker of something behind her calm demeanor, but Azzi quickly masked it with her usual composed smile.

“I dunno,” Azzi said after a beat, voice casual, “You seemed like you needed help. And I guess I’m a sucker for helping people out, especially if they’re willing to put in the work. You seem like you actually care about getting it right.”

Paige nodded, appreciating the honesty in Azzi’s voice. “I do. I just… get distracted sometimes.” She chuckled softly, but the sound felt more nervous than anything.

Azzi smiled again, a little warmer this time. “Yeah, I noticed.” She shrugged slightly, picking up her notebook and tucking it into her bag. “I like helping people. I used to tutor a lot when I was in high school. It just feels good, you know?”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “What else? You seem like you’ve got other stuff going on. What do you do for fun when you’re not helping people like me?”

Azzi hesitated for a moment, clearly considering whether to answer. Paige almost regretted asking, but then Azzi sighed, almost reluctantly.

“Well, it’s a bit of a random fact, but I used to play basketball. Like, competitively.” Azzi glanced up at Paige, her eyes not quite meeting hers. She continued quietly, “I stopped playing a few years ago. Tore my ACL in a game, but that’s not the reason I quit. I just… lost the love for it, I guess.”

Paige blinked, surprised. She hadn’t expected that. Azzi, with her calm confidence, so different from the athletes Paige was used to, didn't seem like the type who would’ve played a sport like basketball. “You played? For how long?”

Azzi shrugged, her fingers tapping against the desk idly. “Since I was a kid. But by the time I hit high school, I wasn’t really feeling it anymore. It wasn’t about the injury. I could’ve come back after the rehab. But after a while, I just realized it wasn’t my thing anymore.” She paused for a moment, eyes flickering to Paige, then away again. “I guess I was just… over it.”

Paige couldn’t help the slight frown that tugged at her lips. She knew how much basketball meant to her. The idea of walking away from it, losing that love—she couldn’t imagine it. “So, what did you end up doing after that?”

Azzi gave a small smile, almost wistful. “I got more into school. Focused on things I could control, you know? It’s where I found my rhythm again.”

It was almost like she was shutting that chapter down, not wanting to revisit it. But Paige didn’t press further. It was clear that basketball, once a major part of Azzi’s life, had faded into something she didn’t want to talk about too much.

“Sounds like you figured things out,” Paige said softly, leaning back in her chair, watching Azzi carefully. “I respect that.”

Azzi finally met Paige’s gaze, her expression softening a little. “Yeah, well… I guess everyone finds their own way eventually.” She gave a slight shrug, as if brushing the conversation aside, before turning her focus back to the textbook in front of them. “We should get back to it. I think we’re almost done with this chapter.”

Paige hesitated for a moment, a thousand questions swirling in her head, but she could tell Azzi wasn’t quite ready to share more. And for now, Paige was okay with that. She’d already learned something important—that Azzi was much more than the quiet, composed classmate/tutor sitting across from her. There was depth to her, layers that Paige would have to be patient to peel back.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Paige finally said, refocusing on the math in front of her. “Let’s finish this up.”

As Azzi started explaining the next set of equations, Paige felt a little more settled. They were getting somewhere, and for the first time, Paige wasn’t just focused on the math in front of her. She was focused on Azzi, her presence, the way she spoke, the little things she hadn’t noticed before. It wasn’t just about the lesson anymore. It was about being with Azzi, understanding her in ways that went far beyond equations and textbooks.

—-----------------------

They finished the last practice question with a shared sigh of relief. Azzi leaned over, checking Paige’s final answer with a quick glance, then nodded in approval.

“Yep. You got it.”

Paige blinked down at the scribbled page. “Wait… I did?”

Azzi chuckled, a genuine laugh that made Paige’s chest feel weirdly warm. “You’re improving. You just need to stop second-guessing yourself.”

“Easier said than done,” Paige muttered, setting her pencil down and rubbing at her temple. “But I’ll take the dub.”

Azzi started to neatly organize everything back into her bag. “I think that’s enough math for one day.”

“Agreed,” Paige said, stretching again. “My brain’s officially fried.”

Just as she grabbed her water bottle and leaned back in her chair, a voice cut through the quiet hum of the library.

“Yo, Azzi.”

Paige looked up and instantly regretted it.

Strutting toward them like he owned the place was Jace McCallister—tight end on the UConn football team, cocky smirk permanently etched on his face, confidence dripping off him like cologne. Paige knew him. Everyone did. He was loud, flashy, and flirted like it was a full-time job. The kind of guy who wore his jersey to class and thought everyone should thank him for showing up.

Azzi glanced up, face unreadable. “Hey.”

Jace leaned casually against the edge of their table, not even glancing at Paige. “Just wondering when our next session is? You free this week?”

Paige’s brows knit. Our session?

Azzi nodded politely, unfazed. “Yeah, I think tomorrow. Same time?”

“Perfect.” He flashed her a grin. “Can’t say no to learning from the smartest girl on campus.”

Azzi’s lips pulled into a tight, polite smile. “Well thank you.”

Jace chuckled and finally glanced at Paige, as if just noticing her. “Oh. Hey, Bueckers.”

“McCallister,” Paige replied, voice flat.

He raised a brow. “Didn’t know you needed a tutor too.”

“She doesn’t,” Azzi cut in smoothly before Paige could answer, her tone calm but firm. “We’re just going over some extra stuff.”

Paige didn’t say anything. She just watched the exchange, something unsettled building in her chest. She knew Jace. Knew his reputation. And the way he was looking at Azzi now, like she was the next thing to win over, made her stomach twist.

She shouldn’t care. It was just tutoring.

But still.

Jace winked, then tapped the table. “Catch you later, Azzi.” He turned and walked off, not a single ounce of subtlety in his swagger.

Paige stared after him, jaw tight.

“Ugh,” she muttered under her breath.

Azzi looked over. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Paige said quickly, shaking her head. “Just… don’t like that guy.”

Azzi tilted her head, curious. “Why not?”

“He’s a walking ego,” Paige said, grabbing her stuff. “And he’s a player. Like, in every sense of the word. He’s not exactly subtle about who he hits on.”

Azzi didn’t say anything right away. Just zipped her bag and stood up. “He’s harmless.”

“Sure,” Paige muttered, a little sharper than she meant to. “Just be careful, okay?”

Azzi blinked, surprised at the tone. Paige ran a hand through her hair, sighing.

“Sorry. That came out weird. Just forget it.”

Azzi gave her a long look, something unreadable in her eyes. Then she nodded. “Okay.”

They walked in silence toward the library exit, Paige internally screaming at herself. ‘It’s not that deep. She’s not yours. You’re literally just studying.’ But no matter how many times she told herself that, her clenched jaw said otherwise.

As they stepped out into the afternoon sun, a small group of girls standing near the library steps caught sight of them—specifically Paige.

“Oh my god, that’s Paige Bueckers,” one of them whispered, eyes wide.

Before she could even react, one of them stepped forward, all smiles and nervous energy. “Hi! Sorry, we don’t wanna bother you, but could we maybe get a picture? We’re huge fans.”

Paige blinked, caught off guard but immediately smiled.

“Of course,” she said, already stepping toward them, voice warm and friendly. “What’s your name?”

One of them nearly melted. “I’m Sam. This is Ava and Kayla.”

“Nice to meet you guys,” Paige said, handing her phone to one of them after snapping a few selfies together. “You guys coming to the game on friday?”

“Yeah! We can’t wait! Good luck!”

“Thanks,” Paige said sincerely. “I’ll try to put on a show for y’all.”

They grinned, waved, and scurried off giggling, still whispering to each other as they walked away.

Azzi stood a few feet back, arms loosely crossed. Watching.

Paige turned toward her and raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Azzi shook her head slowly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I just… didn’t expect that.”

“Didn’t expect what?”

Azzi’s eyes flicked up to meet hers. “You being… like that. With people.”

Paige tilted her head. “Like what?”

Azzi gave her a soft shrug. “I guess I thought you’d be more… I dunno. Big-time athlete energy. Standoffish. You’re not.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, amused. “So you thought I’d be a bitch?”

Azzi smiled. “I didn’t say that.”

“You thought it, though.”

Azzi’s smile widened just slightly. “Maybe. A little.”

Paige laughed. “Damn. That’s cold.”

Azzi’s gaze lingered on her, more thoughtful now. “You surprise me. In a good way.”

And Paige couldn’t help the flutter in her chest as they started walking again, side by side.

They walked in silence again for a bit, the quiet not uncomfortable—just filled with a weird hum Paige couldn’t place. It clung to her like static, buzzing beneath her skin every time she glanced over and saw Azzi walking next to her, face calm, unreadable as always.

When they reached the small fork in the path outside the library, Azzi finally slowed to a stop.

“This is me,” she said, shifting her bag on her shoulder.

Paige stopped too, a little slower. “Right. Yeah.”

Azzi looked up at her. “That wasn’t too painful, was it?”

Paige snorted. “I mean… there were a few moments where I considered setting my notebook on fire.”

Azzi smiled. “But you didn’t.”

“Thanks to you.”

There was a beat of quiet. Paige swallowed and scratched at the back of her neck. “So… when do you wanna do this again?”

Azzi tilted her head, thinking. “I’m free Thursday evening. If that works?”

Paige nodded too fast. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s perfect.”

Azzi gave her a small nod. “Okay. I’ll text you.”

“Cool,” Paige said, trying not to sound weird. “Coolcoolcool.”

Azzi’s brows lifted just slightly. Paige looked down at the ground, internally facepalming.

Azzi smiled again, more to herself this time. “You’re kind of strange.”

Paige looked up. “Rude.”

Azzi started walking backwards slowly, smirking. “But I mean that in a good way.”

Paige watched her go, lips twitching. “Sure you do.”

Azzi turned around and gave a small wave over her shoulder. “Later, Paige.”

Paige stood there for a second too long after she was gone, staring at nothing in particular. Then she finally exhaled, rubbed her hands over her face, and mumbled under her breath.

“Fuck.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #paige x azzi #pazzi #pazzi fics #uconn #uconn wbb #uconn women’s basketball #uconn huskies #wbb #ncaa wbb #wnba basketball #wnba #dallas wings

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valeisaslut · 12 days ago

Note

is joel married? 😖

who is ellie's mother? what happend to her? was ellie even planned?!!! 😭😭😭😭

Is her official name ellie miller? is ellie williams just a pseudonym?!!

WOW LIDDY I LOVED THIS QUESTION!!!! i've been waiting to REALLY unravel ellies past and i was wondering when were yall gonna ask ab it lmao

COLLIDE ROCKSTAR!ELLIE'S BACKSTORY: DYSFUNCTIONAL FAMILY EDITION!

so!!! ellie was the product of one of joel’s wild rockstar one night stands. very much not planned. her mom dipped super early on—like, didn’t even try to stick around—and basically left her with joel, who, despite being a complete mess of a man, actually did raise her. but ellie always knew she wasn’t exactly “wanted” by either of them. not in the traditional, soft-family-photo-on-the-fridge kind of way. she never knew her mother, never wanted to. didn’t feel like she was missing anything and just didn’t care.

but the pain of her mom’s abandonment still lingers, quiet and buried deep in her mind, like a bruise she never touched but never actually healed.

joel and ellie had a really good relationship when she was younger. as good as it could’ve been. he wasn’t perfect—not super affectionate or emotionally open—but he showed up. he did his best. he taught her to play guitar, made pancakes every sunday morning, and called her “kiddo” like it meant something deeper than just a nickname. and she loved him for that. still does.

ellie grew up inside a damn rock music museum. joel’s mansion was less “home” and more shrine to his own legacy—walls lined with platinum records, grammys catching sunlight, mtv moonmen posted up like they were part of the family. every room had a poster of him at some legendary venue: madison square garden, glastonbury, the o2.

his name in lights. the biggest of the biggest musicians scribbled messages on his guitars, which he had over fifty of—lined up like they were sacred artifacts.

and yeah, he was a legend. ellie would sit on the stairs at night, listening to him blast his old albums on the surround system like he forgot she lived there too. sometimes she hated it. sometimes she’d mouth the lyrics and pretend she wasn’t proud. but mostly? it just made her feel like she’d never measure up. like no matter how loud she got, she’d always be chasing a ghost with a grammy in each hand.

joel never really understood ellie’s world. or her pain. and as she got older, things shifted. she started the fireflies. she got famous. she felt the weight of being “joel miller’s daughter” and her own person.

people had opinions about her—too loud, too angry, too queer, too much. and that pressure? that scrutiny? it ate at her. she started numbing herself very early on—drinking, using, pushing people away. joel tried to talk to her, tried to help, but it always came out sounding like disappointment. like judgment. and she couldn’t take that. so she pushed back. harder. until eventually they stopped talking. not because they didn’t care—because it hurt too much to try and fix it.

there was no final fight. no door slam. just a slow fade. calls unanswered. messages left on read. it’s one of those heartbreaks that doesn’t look like a heartbreak unless you know what to look for.

and still—she loves him. god, she does. but she carries so much shame now. so much guilt. and joel? he’s scared. scared of what she’s become, scared of saying the wrong thing, scared that maybe he already did. figures to the prologue, chapter two, four and specially five.

and the last name thing? yeah. “williams” just sounded good. she liked how it looked on a poster. people always assumed it was her mother’s last name or something deep but it really wasn’t. she just didn’t want to walk into every room and be immediately tied to joel. didn’t want to hear the whispers of “oh, that’s joel miller's kid.” didn’t want to live in his shadow, even if she still carries all of his fire, his temper, his sadness, in her blood.

it’s messy. it’s layered. but there’s still love under all that wreckage. even if they don’t know how to say it right now. even if the silence is louder than anything they ever screamed at each other.

and for everyone asking, yes. joel will make an appearance on chapter 8.

171 notes · View notes

evangelical04 · 1 year ago

Text

A Single Daffodil || 4

Summary: Getting arranged to be married to your long-time crush wasn't exactly the fairy tale romance you were hoping for. Nor is the dynamic of the marriage, with your husband treating you like you don't exist. But you're going to make this work, whether he cares about you or not. And he definitely doesn't...right?

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Rating: 18+ minors DNI

Word Count: 12.5K

Genre: angst, romance, unrequited love, smut, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage au, businessman yoongi

Warnings: parental trauma, sibling trauma, toxic parents, unrequited love, explicit language, alcohol usage, yoongi's kind of mean, future smut, body image issues

Author's Note: sorry this is being posted almost a month later! i was on a road trip with my friends but I wanted to get this out before my birthday (it's on the 17th eek!!) but I hope you guys like it! as usual, please tell me what you guys think! i'd love to hear your opinions <33 also I'm sorry if this chapter seems kinda boring, but the next one is gonna have some drama!! oooo

Taglist:

@yoongisducky @kam9404 @sumzysworld @tarahardcore @viankiss @babystarcandylovejk @ktownshizzle @futuristicenemychaos @igot7fairlyoddparents @baechugff @pb89nv @peachytokki @ratherbfangirling @themwordsblog @daisies-and-dandelionpuffs @kimmalik @honeyypages @captainchrisstan @khaimahfe @yoongibaybee @kooklovee @whoa-jo @familiarlikemymirror3 @blueberriesm @llallaaa @weareatthebadlands @purpleheartsandarock1 @lillmeowmeowsblog @this-most-assuredly-counts @kayleefriedchicken @ur-grandmum @praetae @sylviamuela

previous / masterlist / next

Waking up in an unfamiliar room was jarring, initially. It took you a couple of rounds of rubbing your eyes to realize that you were no longer in your cozy two-bedroom apartment with soft lighting and warm-colored pillows. You awoke to harsh sunlight hitting your face, blank walls, and beige furniture. You leaned back against the light brown headboard of your bed and ran your hands through your messy tangles of hair, having forgone brushing it out the previous night. Glancing at your phone beside you, you noted the time being only a bit past nine.

You needed tea, warm tea.

You shuffled out of bed, feeling the cold air nip at your bare legs, but you couldn’t find the motivation to change into warm clothing. You tied your hair into a messy ponytail, deciding to attend to it later, and exited your room, facing the cold and unfriendly hallway. There was a faint sound of quiet jazz from the kitchen, likely Mrs. Lim, and you descended the stairs. As you reached the bottom, you groaned internally, lamenting the fact that your favorite teas were still in your apartment.

Rounding the corner into view of the kitchen had you stopping in your tracks. Yoongi was sat atop one of the counter stools, peacefully scrolling on his phone in the same clothes you’d seen him in last night during your discussion. The unexpected sight had you stumbling backwards, bumping into the large recliner that sat behind you. The sound alerted him to your presence, his eyes turning to find your form.

“Um, hi,” you stuttered, “I didn’t expect to see you this morning.”

Yoongi hummed, eyes trailing up and down your figure, mouth upturned. You shifted your weight onto the other foot, feeling uncomfortable, before crossing your arms over your chest. You shouldn’t be this comfortable to walk around braless yet, you internally scolded.

“Well, it is the weekend,” Yoongi mused, still not taking his eyes off your chilled form. You laughed awkwardly, nodding, “Yeah, I suppose it is, isn’t it? I’ll be right back, actually, I forgot my phone upstairs.”

You didn’t wait to see his response before turning around and rushing back up the stairs. Reaching your room and closing the door behind you, you breathed heavily. What was that? You buried your head in your hands, sliding down the door to sit with your knees pulled to your chest, you should’ve expected him in his own goddamn house. Your cheeks burned at the memory of his eyes tracing your silhouette. How embarrassing. You wallowed in your self-pity a bit longer before rising and entering your large closet.

You picked out a simple cropped grey sweatshirt and black sweatpants, not finding a need to appear any more formal. You wanted to appear casual after the embarrassing display you started the morning off with. Plus, if Yoongi said this marriage meant nothing, you could walk around his house in loungewear. As long as your mother didn’t find out.

The thick cotton felt much more comfortable and warm, considering the slightly chilly air in the house. Yoongi must like it to be a bit colder, you thought absently. As you finished your morning routine, brushing your teeth and combing through your hair, making sure to pat on some moisturizer and acne treatment, your thoughts wandered back to seeing Yoongi earlier.

The way he had been looking at you was strange, much like Hoseok had mentioned. You weren’t dense, you knew the intention hidden behind a gaze like that, you’d been on the giving and receiving end before. What had you so puzzled was why Yoongi would be looking at you like that. Wasn’t he the one to draw such a clear line between you two?

Aside from the reason as to why he would be tracing the edges of your curves with his eyes was the effect that it had on you. Frustratingly, Yoongi’s hungry gaze sent warmth through your veins, and excitement pooled in your stomach. It was an embarrassing response, considering how he’d treated you before. At the same time, it felt expected. You had been pining after this man for so long and now he was showing the slightest bit of reciprocation, albeit, with more physical intentions than you. It only felt natural that it would leave you giddy with warm cheeks. It made you happy to think that Yoongi could be seeing you in a similar light.

Your dizzy smile faded as you looked in the mirror at your flushed face. What were you doing? The last eight months had been spent trying to drill into yourself that Yoongi would never like you that way because you couldn’t afford to get your hopes up. Why were you entertaining the idea again after one sultry stare? You felt pathetic, you had folded so easily as you always did when it came to him.

Smacking your cheeks a couple of times, you readied yourself to head back downstairs. He was just a man, no matter how attractive. Descending the stairs once more, you noticed Yoongi had moved to the couch, leaning back with his coffee on the table next to him, scrolling away on his phone. He hadn’t noticed your reentrance just yet and you awkwardly hovered by the edge of the couch, trying to get his attention.

Awkwardly clearing your throat did the trick and his gaze turned toward you, an eyebrow raised at your changed appearance.

“Do you, um, do you have any tea,” you mumbled out, avoiding his intense stare. You heard him hum, likely considering his kitchen inventory, before answering, “Sorry, no, just coffee. Would you like me to order some? There’s also coffee and juice if you want that instead.”

You quickly shook your head at his offer of ordering tea, “That’s fine, I’ll just have some warm water, thanks,” and quickly made your way into the kitchen, reaching the fridge. The metal box was massive, towering over you and quite wide, with a sleek, silver finish. There were no magnets or pictures adorning the exterior, though. Pulling it open, your eyes raked over the full contents, spotting a pitcher of what seemed like orange juice, but no Britta Filter or something of the like. Glancing at the sink, you noticed a second spout seemingly for filtered water. Shrugging, you supposed that Yoongi would be able to afford that and not have to have a water filter jug.

Next, you hunted for a kettle, which wasn’t too difficult to find, placed in a corner of the countertop. You took it out, setting it on the counter next to an outlet, but soon realized you had no idea where the cups were. The sheer amount of cupboards was overwhelming and you had no idea where to start looking, never mind the embarrassment of rifling through the kitchen in front of Yoongi.

Opening up cabinets as quietly as possible was not the easiest task when you could so heavily feel Yoongi’s presence in the living room. The anxiety in your chest built as you couldn’t tell whether or not he was watching you struggle to find a single mug. Coming to another cabinet above you, you opened it, spotting a mug or two on the edge of the top shelf portion. Just your luck. You hadn’t spotted a step stool anywhere and you were far too embarrassed already to climb on top of the counter to reach it. Your arm stretched out as you stood on your toes, fingers grasping at the edge of the shelf before you felt warmth envelop your back.

Freezing in place, you quickly identified Yoongi behind you, evidently assisting you in reaching the mugs. He didn’t seem quite tall enough either, you deduced, because he lifted his heels slightly, pushing further into you. Your breath stuttered and you almost had to brace yourself against the counter, you hadn’t really been this close to him before. You could feel his warm breath against the top of your hair, making your nape break out into goosebumps.

His fingers finally curled around the handle of the mug and he set his feet fully on the ground, but not moving away from you. You turned to face him, steadying your hands by grasping the edge of the countertop and lifted your head to look at him.

“Um, thank you,” you stuttered, unable to make full eye contact, instead opting for looking straight at his ear. He was too close and you couldn’t handle it. His other hand rested on the countertop, just beside yours, and his face was only inches away. How were you supposed to focus? Your gaze only lowered further, making your head turn slightly away. There was a second or two of just silence.

“No problem,” he responded bluntly, moving away and placing the mug down on the other counter that sat in the middle of the kitchen. You let out a heavy breath, finally being able to breathe something in other than Yoongi’s subtle cologne. Resisting the urge to question his sudden close proximity, you instead opted for, “Would you like some as well?

Yoongi only raised an eyebrow and gestured towards the living room where his coffee mug sat waiting. Your mouth clamped shut and you stuttered a nod, “Right, well I’ll just, um, finish doing this.”

God, could you be any more awkward?

Yoongi simply nodded and walked back to the living room, leaving you in the kitchen with warm cheeks and many regrets. You went through the motions of filling the kettle and starting it, waiting for it to boil before pouring it into the mug. The warm water was at least comforting in the chilly atmosphere, despite having no flavor. You stood in the kitchen, unsure of where you should go. Should you join Yoongi in the living room or go back to your room? Or should you stay in the kitchen? Nothing in your life had prepared you for the social expectations in a situation like this.

You decided on your room, not wanting to spend more time in Yoongi’s presence after the embarrassing display in the kitchen. As you made your way to the stairs, walking past Yoongi’s form on the couch, he called out to you.

“Y/N, can you sit for a moment?”

You turned towards him and nervously nodded, taking a seat on the same loveseat as the night prior. It was quite comfortable even though you had been the epitome of uncomfortable each time you’d sat in it so far. You looked up at Yoongi, silently gesturing for him to continue.

“Some of my friends are coming over tonight, the same that made up my groomsmen. If you don’t mind, are you able to stay in your room?”

“Oh, sure,” you nodded, that was all? You were nervous for nothing.

“Thanks,” Yoongi almost smiled at you, “They’ll be here around seven.”

“Sounds good,” you said while standing up, you couldn’t get out of there quickly enough. In your rush to get back to your room, you didn’t notice Yoongi’s gaze lingering on your retreating form.

Closing your bedroom door behind you, you breathed a sigh of relief. What a day, and it wasn’t even noon yet. Adjusting to life with Yoongi was definitely going to be a learning curve.

Since you were off work for the next two weeks, you weren’t exactly sure what to do with your time. You couldn’t exactly relax in the living room and watch a movie, not with your husband occupying the couch. Things certainly felt stifled in Yoongi’s home. His presence was overwhelming and nerve-wracking, you couldn’t relax around him at all. The earlier interaction in the kitchen still weighed on your mind.

Why did he get so close to you? Wasn’t he the one who proposed that the two of you stay as far apart as possible? Maybe he didn’t see his closeness to you as something that went against that principle. You sighed. It felt impossible to read him or know what he was thinking at all. His impassive expressions and ambivalent demeanor were starting to get to you.

Even though you’d resolved to take on an emotionally removed approach like him, you still craved some sort of transparency in his confusing actions that stirred mixed emotions within you. Some of the things he was doing would point towards him harboring some sort of affection toward you but he had been so adamant in keeping your lives separated. What you needed was a clear message from him about how he felt and actions that aligned with that.

Not that you thought that was going to happen.

After setting your mug down on your bedside table, you collapsed onto the soft comforters of your bed. The ceiling above you was plain unlike the one in your apartment and you found yourself missing the nights of tracing along the popcorn pattern in your warm and comfy bed. Speaking of your apartment though, you thought, you should probably check in on how Hoseok’s doing.

You patted your hand around for your phone, finding it beside you, and dialed Hoseok’s number, setting it to speaker and letting the phone sit beside your head. It only rang twice before he answered.

“Well, hello Mrs. Min,” came his teasing voice.

You groaned, kicking your legs up in the air, “Shut up, don’t remind me.”

“Aren’t you living the dream, though? Married to your long-time crush?”

“Hardly,” you scoffed, recalling your husband’s cold and calculating exterior.

“Well, what’s up, how’s the first morning? Are you sore,” Hoseok questioned, you could hear him shuffling around, likely lying down on the bed himself.

“I guess? My calves are kind of sore, those heels fucking hurt after the first hour,” you responded, massaging your aching feet.

“No,” Hoseok laughed, “Are you sore from your consummation? Tell me how it was!”

“Gross,” you exclaimed, sitting up on the bed incredulously, “We did not have sex! I can barely look at him for fuck’s sake, how am I supposed to sleep with him?”

“That’s your fault for not taking advantage of the situation,” he hummed on the other end, “The opportunity was right there.”

“Dude, c’mon, he can barely stand me. We wouldn’t have been sleeping together even if I could look him in the eye.”

“You’ll get there,” Hoseok chimed optimistically, making you desperately want to change the subject.

“How’s your apartment hunting going,” you asked, grasping at any other topic you could.

“Smooth,” he laughed but acquiesced and answered your question, “Good, I think. I’ve got a couple of showings in a few days that seem promising. Rent here is way more expensive than Busan though.”

“Yeah,” you sighed, “Tell me about it. I don’t know how Yoongi affords this place.”

“He probably owns it.”

“Damn, you’re probably right. Should a peasant like me even be allowed in here,” you half-joked.

Hoseok only scoffed in response, “As if you’re not literally the daughter of chaebols.”

You hummed, nodding, “Touche.”

“Oh, I did talk to my old boss and he said there was an old student of his in Seoul who was also looking to open up a dance studio. Apparently, he’s just finishing up his MBA so I’m going to talk to him and see if he wants to become partners,” Hoseok excitedly detailed.

“That’s so cool! I’m sure he’ll say yes,” you responded happily. Hoseok deserved to succeed after how hard he’d worked and if this other guy knew anything, he’d say yes to Hoseok in a heartbeat.

“How is everything else,” Hoseok asked, prompting you to sigh.

“It’s fine, I guess,” you said tiredly, wondering if you should divulge what had happened during the wedding and this morning.

“Tell me about it,” he said quietly, encouraging you.

“Alright,” you huffed, settling in for the long haul of recounting the previous day and the conversation when you’d gotten to Yoongi’s penthouse. You finished by detailing the events this morning and the fact that his friends were coming over later.

Hoseok listened diligently, making sure to have the appropriate reactions at the right moments. When you finished retelling the events of that morning, Hoseok laughed, “How cliche. This really feels like your own movie romance.”

You shook your head, laughing along, “I guess it was pretty cliche. Everything feels so cliche with him, like the first time I’m falling in love as a teenager or something. It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s not embarrassing to like someone, Y/N,” Hoseok says, changing his tone to be a bit softer, “Having a crush isn’t all that immature, it’s the way you act on it that can be.”

“You’re surprisingly profound,” you joked, but you knew he had a point. You had been beating yourself up about feeling anything for Yoongi and feeling embarrassed whenever you became flustered. It felt childish and you hated feeling so vulnerable and disadvantaged.

“Well, I have my moments,” Hoseok chuckled, “But seriously, don’t be so hard on yourself. Let yourself feel and then choose how to deal with it. If that means moving on, then do that, slowly. And it’s okay if it means keeping the feelings, as long as you're not hurting yourself or anyone else.”

“Thanks, Hobi,” you smiled, he really did have his moments.

“Anytime, Y/N-ie,” Hoseok responded fondly, making you smile widen at the affectionate nickname.

“But I do have to go now. I’ve got some calls to make about my old apartment. They’re trying to keep my deposit,” he huffed.

“Yikes, good luck with that, let me know how it goes,” you give him a sweet goodbye before hanging up. The conversation with Hoseok had cleared your head some, leaving you wondering what your next move should be. You promptly decided on a nap.

After a few hours, you awoke, stretching in your bed, feeling slightly groggy, but well rested. Your head felt clearer than ever and you actually felt ready to live in this penthouse.

Sitting up, you took a look around your room before sighing. The beiges and whites were really starting to get to you. You dragged yourself out of your bed and towards your bag from the previous night. After digging around for a moment, you triumphantly located your laptop and its charger, plugging it into the outlet near your desk. Booting up your laptop only took a few moments but you occupied yourself by making a mental list of the decorations you wanted to purchase or bring from your own apartment. After logging in, you dejectedly realized you weren’t connected to the wifi.

You should’ve asked Mrs. Lim for the wifi password, you thought scornfully, why had you been so careless. Now you had to ask Yoongi. Your mission of avoiding him at all costs was going poorly.

Reaching for your phone, you opted instead to text him to minimize the interaction, feeling proud of your solution.

You:

Hi Yoongi-ssi, would you mind giving me the wifi password, please?

You quickly set your phone face down on the desk, dreading the reply. What if he thought you were an idiot? What if he didn’t give it to you and you had to use a hotspot for the rest of your life and spend hundreds on your data charges?

Your spiraling thoughts were interrupted by your phone vibrating against the desk’s surface.

Yoongi:

Sure. It’s worldwidehandsomesvacationhome. No capitals.

You let out a confused chuckle, what a weird name. You had a nagging feeling that Kim Seokjin had something to do with it.

You:

Thank you. Have fun with your friends.

You threw your phone against the desk and launched yourself into your bed. Was that too much? Oh god, what if you had royally messed up and crossed a boundary? You stayed in your bed for a few minutes before rising, noting that your phone hadn’t vibrated with a response. Hesitantly approaching your phone, you turned it over to see a blank screen with no notifications. You checked the message thread to see it the same as you left it except that you had been left on read.

Well, I guess there’s nothing I can do about that.

You shrugged and retook your seat at your desk, entering the wifi password on your laptop and phone. Finding a successful connection, you spent the next few hours browsing through online stores for fun decorations and decals for your room and office in the penthouse. The search took your full attention and you bought multiple items, saving a few of the more expensive purchases for other credit cycles. At the end of it all, you’d bought multiple pillows, a throw blanket, some cute decoration trinkets off of Etsy, a couple of cute flower lamps, a comfy-looking lounge chair, and some lilac curtains. Decorating your room in some fun colors and trinkets would make it feel more like home, or at least, that’s what you hoped.

Sitting on the desk next to your laptop was a small notebook that held a list of the items you planned to purchase, mainly a TV for your room so you could watch movies and use your console, a larger and cuter desk, and a comfier desk chair, as well as transferring a number of other items from your apartment like your plants, books, and other decorations.

Coming out of your reverie, you noticed that the time had passed quickly, being a little after seven, and your stomach grumbled, reminding you of your forgetting to eat lunch. Cooking in the kitchen wasn’t an option, noting the laughter downstairs likely meaning that Yoongi’s friends had arrived already, and you didn’t know what ingredients were there anyway, or if you were allowed to use them.

Sighing, you instead decided to order delivery. You browsed through the local restaurants before settling on a fried chicken restaurant that you frequented that had a location close to your apartment and another near Yoongi’s. Selecting your usual order, you almost checked out before realizing that you were about to order it to your apartment. Grinning, you imagined Hoseok opening your door to a crispy chicken delivery and having no second thoughts about eating your food.

You couldn’t remember Yoongi’s address, so you resorted to looking at your maps app to figure it out, and your previous texts with Mrs. Lim for the internal building directions. A rush of content flowed through you as you placed the order, eagerly awaiting your hearty meal.

To pass the time, you grabbed your Switch, loading in whatever game you had been playing previously, some indie puzzle game. You settled into the relaxing and cute gameplay and drowned out the noise of Yoongi’s friends further into the penthouse.

After a while, your phone vibrated with the notification that the delivery was here, and you jumped up, eager to receive your food. Quickly opening your door, you entered the hallway to make your way to the stairs before hesitating. You could hear Kim Seokjin’s signature laugh in the living room.

Oh, that’s right, Yoongi didn’t want you to come down.

You tittered around the banister, unsure of whether you should go down before you felt your phone buzz with the driver asking where you were.

Ah, fuck it.

You quickly descended the stairs and tried to discreetly go through the back end of the living room to avoid Yoongi’s group drinking and playing some sort of game on the coffee table. Of course, you were unsuccessful, spotted by Seokjin immediately.

“Yah, Seo Y/N,” he shouted, pointing at you, clearly quite drunk already.

You froze in place, turning toward him and sending him a shy wave.

“Why are you over there,” Seokjin slurred, “Come join us! You need to drink!”

You began shaking your head before you were interrupted.

“Noona!”

Jeongguk’s bright voice and wide smile brought a smile to your own face, and you mouthed a small hello in his direction.

“Come join us, noona, please,” Jeongguk pleaded, shooting lethal doe eyes in your direction. Your heart melted and you almost agreed, but you felt your phone buzz in your pocket again, making you restart your steps toward the door, “Sorry, Jeongguk-ah, I just came down to get my delivery.”

You ignored his and Seokjin’s protests to open the door and pay the driver, leaving an extra tip for the wait they endured, and taking the food.

“Woah, is that fried chicken,” you heard from over your shoulder, turning to see Jeongguk suddenly there, eyeing your takeout bag. You chuckled, nodding, before beginning your trek back to the stairs.

“C’mon Y/N-ah, join us, Yoongi doesn’t mind,” Seokjin attempted once more and you took the moment to search out his face. Yoongi was sitting in the loveseat you had earlier, eyes resting on you in an unreadable expression. Taehyung was on the floor where Jeongguk was previously and Namjoon was on the couch with Seokjin. Yoongi’s stern expression seemed out of place among the group of happy and buzzed faces and it only made you feel worse.

“Sorry, oppa, I think I’m just gonna head up. I’m kind of tired,” you responded, shying away from Jeongguk’s insistent touch and multiple attempts to snag a piece of chicken.

“You’re so boring, Y/N, you’ll need to join us soon enough, so why not now,” Seokjin slurred, body swinging to lean on the other end of the couch. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Yoongi open his mouth to say something but was beaten by Namjoon.

“Let her be, hyung, you can’t force her,” Namjoon smacked Seokjin’s shoulder before sending you a kind smile and gesturing towards the stairs.

You shot him a grateful smile before ascending, deliberately avoiding Yoongi’s icy stare. Seokjin’s cries faded into the background as you quickly climbed the stairs and reached your room.

Closing the door behind you, a sigh escaped your mouth. How stressful. You hoped that Yoongi wasn’t upset with you for interrupting, you were just quite hungry. You set the bag down on your desk, mouth salivating at the pleasant aroma. You could almost say the intense encounter was worth the heavenly bite of fried chicken you took.

The next week went by rather smoothly, mainly because you had barely seen Yoongi at all. He hadn’t come out of his room much the following day after his friends had come and then resumed work afterward with the week starting up once more. You relished the opportunity to set up your room and office in a style more akin to yours and filled the rooms with plants and flowers you adored.

Mrs. Lim had been happy to help you set up your rooms, citing boredom from the countless greys and blacks that Yoongi’s decor tended to lean towards. You had developed a close bond with her in the week since your arrival in the penthouse and she was a comforting presence in the face of Yoongi’s frosty exterior.

“Ms. Seo, I think your TV is here!”

You sat up from the intense building of your desk, wiping a line of sweat from your forehead. All of the moving around and lifting had you quite warm and you had changed into a loose crop top and shorts. While the work wasn’t necessarily difficult, it was tedious to do alone but you didn’t have much of a choice. You couldn’t ask Mrs. Lim with her bad back to crouch and bend to help you put it together, Joohee was going out to a work dinner with her colleagues, and Hoseok was off to another apartment showing. Unfortunately, you couldn’t figure out anyone else you could call on a Friday evening to help.

“Coming,” you shouted down to Mrs. Lim and rose to your feet, having to lean slightly against the wall. You took a glance at the TV stand you had already snagged second-hand from Joohee after she had decided to mount hers and confirmed it was in the spot you wanted. Heading down the stairs to the living room, you noted Mrs. Lim’s conflicted stance, hands on her hips.

“What’s wrong,” you questioned, rounding the corner of the couch to see the large box the TV had arrived in. The box was quite large and seemed to be rather heavy, which would make it extremely difficult to carry up the stairs by yourself. Immediately, you knew this was going to be an issue because you couldn’t ask Mrs. Lim for help. You’d managed thus far, with your desk arriving in multiple boxes that were more lightweight, your chair being fairly easy to drag up the stairs, and Joohee helping with the TV stand. Crossing your arms, you studied the box before wrapping your hands underneath to test the weight.

It lifted slightly, but you soon had to release it, the edge slipping from your fingers. There was no way you’d be able to get this up on your own.

“Don’t try it by yourself, dear,” Mrs. Lim soothed, “You’ll hurt your back and end up just like me.”

You chuckled, brushing the hair out of your face once again, “Yeah, at least one of us needs to be able to reach the bottom shelf in the kitchen.”

Mrs. Lim playfully smacked your shoulder, “What happened to respecting your elders? You’re quite warm though, would you like some cold water?”

You nodded appreciatively, “Yes, please. Thank you!”

Mrs. Lim waved you off as she walked into the kitchen. Turning towards the box, you huffed, staring it down. What should you do?

Suddenly, you heard the door unlock and it popped open, hitting the box in the process, stopping it from opening fully.

“Mrs. Lim,” came Yoongi’s voice, “Is there something in the doorway?”

“Oh, my bad,” you exclaimed, quickly bending to push the box out of the way. After you’d pushed it aside, you stood to greet Yoongi.

He was running a hand through his hair, staring at the box before his eyes trailed to you and up your legs to your face. You felt your cheeks heat before sending him a small bow and nod.

“What’s all this,” he questioned.

“I’m just getting some stuff for my room, sorry for all the trouble,” you wrung your hands together nervously.

Yoongi shook his head and opened his mouth, only to be interrupted by Mrs. Lim arriving with your water, “Oh, Mr. Min, you’re home!” Handing you the glass, she continued, “Ms. Seo was just trying to figure out how to bring this box up to her room. It’s much too big for just her to handle and I can’t help because of my back. So unfortunate, isn’t it?”

You cringed internally, taking a sip of water to give yourself something to do. Yoongi only nodded, looking at you once more before moving out of the doorway. He started towards the stairs, leaving you breathing out in relief and gulping down more water.

Just as he began climbing the steps to his room, he turned and faced your form, “Give me a couple minutes to change and I can help you bring that to your room.”

You almost choked on your water as you stumbled through a nod, surprised at Yoongi’s offer to help. He didn’t spare you another glance as he retreated to his room and you were left standing cluelessly as Mrs. Lim sent you a sly smile.

“Well, I’ll just leave you to it. Your dinner is already prepped, there’s japchae and banchan to cool you down. It’s just about time for me to head home anyway,” Mrs. Lim said, clapping her hands together and starting to untie her apron.

You pounced, stopping her hands from undoing the knot, “Mrs. Lim, maybe you can join us for dinner?” You were desperate in your attempt to not be left alone with Yoongi, looking up at Mrs. Lim with pleading eyes.

She only chuckled, gently removing your hands and finishing releasing the knot, her apron falling loose around her front, “Use this as an opportunity to get to know him better. I promise Mr. Min is a nice, young man.”

You almost scoffed, everyone seemed to be trying to convince you of that except for Yoongi himself.

Mrs. Lim put her apron away and gave your cheek a gentle pinch before opening the door, “Besides, I have a dinner date with Mr. Lim. Good luck!” She closed the door behind her and you were left wondering how to navigate the upcoming interaction. Yoongi didn’t give you much time to prepare, appearing at the top of the stairs only seconds after Mrs. Lim’s exit. He was now dressed in a casual grey t-shirt and black sweats, posing a stunning contrast to his earlier neat and tailored suit.

“Where did Mrs. Lim go,” he asked, starting his descent to the living room.

“Um, she left to go home. She said there was dinner already prepped and she had to have dinner with her husband,” you answered awkwardly, avoiding his intense gaze.

Yoongi simply nodded, “That’s fine. Shall we get started, then?”

You nodded, rushing to one end of the box as Yoongi took his place at the other.

“I’ll walk backward, so just let me know when I’ve gotten to the stairs,” he said, making you nod in response, finding it difficult to speak. You both lifted, the box becoming much easier to carry with two pairs of hands.

You kept your gaze firmly trained on the view behind Yoongi, refusing to make eye contact. You were nervous it’d make your grip slip. Warning Yoongi when you had reached the stairs, the rest of the trip had been fairly easy, quietly giving him directions to your room. Thankfully, your door was open and the two of you entered, setting the box down and breathing slightly heavily.

You looked up to express your gratitude to Yoongi but found him looking around your room instead. You supposed it would be his first time in here since you’d arrived. It had changed quite drastically since you had moved in, sporting much more color and silly accessories. Your bed now had a lilac comforter and a white throw blanket, along with multiple cute, fuzzy throw pillows in fun shapes like clouds or mushrooms. The lounge chair had been set up in the corner with a few other pillows and Pokemon plushes you already had. The lilac curtains you ordered had already been set up, currently open to let some light into the room. A few of your favorite tote bags sat hanging on a hook you’d stuck on by the entrance and there were small crocheted and artsy trinkets plastered or hung around the room. Taking a look around it now, for the first time, your aesthetic felt silly and childish in comparison to Yoongi’s sleek, grown-up look.

“Um,” you started, wanting to take Yoongi’s gaze off of your colorful and immature decorations, “Thank you for, ah, helping out.”

Yoongi’s head turned toward you, finding your worried face, biting your lip.

“No problem,” he responded, “I like your room.”

You looked up at him questioningly, not expecting such a response. You had assumed he would think of it as childish and express his distaste, or just ignore it altogether.

“It’s cute.”

You felt your lips part in surprise at his seemingly earnest reaction to your newly decorated room. It made you feel a bit guilty for assuming he wouldn’t like it before. Furthermore, describing it as ‘cute’ seemed so unlike him. You weren’t sure how to respond. Smiling awkwardly, you nodded, “Thanks, I’m glad you like it.”

You’re glad he likes it? What kind of response is that? You groaned internally, now it seemed like you were pining for his validation. Why couldn’t the ground just swallow you whole?

Yoongi hummed in response before dusting off his hands on his sweats, “Would you like to have dinner then?”

You looked at him in slight shock. The two of you hadn’t had a meal together since you’d moved in, yet here he was offering as if it was a normal occurrence for you.

“Unless you’re eating later,” Yoongi’s eyebrow raised at your delayed response.

Quickly, you shook your head, “No, no. I’d love to have dinner now.”

Way to sound over-eager.

The both of you made your way downstairs, unpacking the meal that Mrs. Lim had prepared for you. The cold noodles felt soothing to your overheating body and Mrs. Lim’s kimchi was the perfect balance of fresh and sour. She had even made cucumber kimchi, one of your favorites as she’d learned in the past week, which you happily devoured. While the food was delicious, the atmosphere surrounding the dinner table was awkward. The meal was largely silent, save for the sounds of eating and happy tummies. Distantly, you wondered which of the two of you was going to be the one to break the silence. Surprisingly, it turned out to be Yoongi.

“Were you told about the gala tomorrow evening?”

You nodded, your mother had called you a few days ago to notify you of it. That hadn’t been a fun phone call. She’d made sure to tell you exactly what she expected you to wear and how to act around Yoongi during the gala. You were just relieved that it started at eight, there was an art gallery that you had been wanting to check out that opened at three.

“We’ll go together, we’ll leave at 7:45, does that sound good,” Yoongi asked, glancing at his phone between bites of japchae. You only nodded, trying to map out your schedule for the next day so that you could go to the art gallery and still have enough time to get ready.

“Alright then, that’s settled,” Yoongi stated, taking his last bites of food.

“Oh, wait,” you interjected, remembering your conversation with your mother, “Do you have a dark blue tie?”

Yoongi’s eyebrow raised, “Yes, I believe so. Why?”

Your cheeks heated, “My mother wanted your tie to match my dress. Sorry.” It was quite embarrassing and your mother had not listened to reason. Apparently, she wanted to solidify the image of you two as a couple at this gala, despite the fact that the only people who matched dresses and ties were high school kids going to dances.

Yoongi nodded, picking up his phone and rising from the table, “That’s fine. I’ll be sure to wear that tie then.” With that, he exited the dining room and headed upstairs, with you catching a glimpse of him entering his upstairs office.

Sitting back in your chair, you groaned audibly. Could you get through a single day without making yourself look like a fool in front of Yoongi? You flailed slightly in a mini tantrum at the day’s events before gazing at your plate. Opting for more food, you shoveled it into your mouth in an attempt to soothe your aching ego. After finishing admittedly more than a couple of servings worth, you gathered both yours and Yoongi’s plates and put them in the dishwasher. You filled up your water bottle before climbing the stairs to your room.

You wanted nothing more than to collapse in your bed but your unfinished desk lying in pieces on the floor was weighing on you, in addition to the large TV box that sat inconveniently in the middle of your room. Sighing, you dropped down into a cross-legged position beside the mess of wooden planks and screws and continued putting together the desk, not looking forward to the long night ahead.

At least you had the gallery tomorrow to look forward to.

When you awoke the next morning, it was just past eleven. The bedsheets were crumpled around you and your hair was a tangled mess, but your desk and TV were set up prettily. You must’ve worked late into the night because you didn’t remember getting into bed, much less finishing the desk or setting up the TV. You still had to attach your console and Blu-ray player anyway.

Blearily, you pulled yourself out of bed, stumbling down the stairs and into the kitchen for a cup of tea. Your eyes were barely open so you didn’t notice the way your cropped shirt had slipped down your shoulder with its wide neck, nor Yoongi sitting on the couch with a coffee mug in his hand. You squinted through the cupboard to find your favorite mug and picked it out, grabbing the lavender-infused tea that was a regular of yours before setting the kettle to boil. As you waited for the water to boil, you rubbed your eyes awake, finally noticing Yoongi staring at you from the couch.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you bowed slightly, “I didn’t see you there. Good morning.”

Yoongi only nodded, raising his coffee mug to you before returning his gaze to his phone. You were still too tired to feel much embarrassment so you only shrugged and turned back to the kettle. Surprisingly, Yoongi wasn’t done interacting with you, startling you to face him.

“Do you have any plans for before the gala?”

“Yes, I’m going to an art show nearby. But I’ll be back in time to get ready,” you rushed to answer.

Yoongi took a sip of his coffee, his eyebrows raised and eyes staring into you from behind the rim of the cup.

“Oh, sorry, I would ask you to come along but it’s a ticketed event and they’re sold out,” you stuttered, figuring that was why he was still looking at you questioningly.

Yoongi set his mug down, eyes flickering over your form, “I wasn’t planning on going anyway.”

“Ah, right,” you awkwardly said, internally scolding yourself for the embarrassing display.

Of course, he wasn’t asking to go with you, how dense could you be?

Your body felt hot with humiliation and you willed the water to boil faster. Somehow, the gods answered you and the kettle went off, making you rush to pour out the water into your mug. You opted to let it steep in your room, ready to get out of the shared space where Yoongi’s judgemental gaze lay.

Nodding a quick goodbye, you rushed up the steps and entered the oasis of your room. You set down your mug on your desk, letting it steep, and entered your closet to pick out an outfit for the gallery. You ended up choosing a short, brown, corduroy dress to layer over a collared white blouse, feeling quite cute in the outfit. You set the clothes aside, sitting down to drink your tea while reading a bit more of the fantasy book you’d recently picked up. You had made sure to note down your wide collection of books to be part of the things you brought from your apartment. You hadn’t managed to fit everything, but you had brought a significant portion of your favorites and ones you were currently reading.

Once you finished your tea, you set your book aside and began to ready yourself for a shower. After brushing through your hair and grabbing some undergarments, you entered the shower, making sure to take your time and shave for both your dress now and later tonight. The shower was warm and soothing, relaxing your body underneath the steaming stream of water.

After exiting, you did your normal post-shower routine of moisturizing, making sure to add a little extra care to your face. Not for any reason, in particular, you told yourself, just to feel a little pretty. After finishing, you donned your dress and blouse, adding shorts underneath just in case, and began styling your hair. It didn’t need too much as you decided to leave it open, parting it slightly to one side and ruffling it a bit to give it some volume. You finished off with some light makeup and simple gold jewelry, satisfied with your final look. You didn’t get dressed up too often, but you liked doing it for events like galleries, partly for the pictures but mostly just to feel cute.

You snapped a quick picture of your finished look in the mirror in your closet and sent it to the group chat you had with Joohee and Hoseok.

To: Milf Club (est. 2014)

You:

image attached

art gallery fit 💪

Hoebi:

you look like my wife

*future wife

Joo-nie:

omgg step on me queen

so when are you attending the met gala 🤨

You:

omfg it’s just a dress you guys

also i better see you at the gala tonight joo

bring hobi as your date

Joo-nie:

ew no

you can bring him as yours tho

You:

i have a literal husband who’s my date

Hoebi:

girls girls, don’t fight there’s enough hobi to go around

Joo-nie:

die

You:

nevermind, you can stay home

Hoebi:

you guys are so mean 😭

i was planning on touring a potential studio space anyway so go have fun being rich

Joo-nie:

omg good luck! let us know how it goes!

You:

yes def do

i’ll see you tonight joo

Glancing at your watch, you noted the time being around 2:30. It gave you enough time to stop by a cafe by the art gallery to grab a snack since you hadn’t eaten yet. You opted for your crocheted tote bag, not really caring about it making the look more casual, and stuffed your phone, wallet, and a small water bottle inside. You were planning on walking to the gallery so you didn’t need to bring your keys. Lastly, you pulled on some socks and headed downstairs.

Yoongi was still sitting on the couch and you felt his eyes follow your form walking to the door. As you slipped on your shoes, he called out to you, “Going to the gallery?”

You nodded, “Yeah, I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

Yoongi nodded in response, still looking at you, “You, uh,”

You stood fully, finished with your shoes, and looked at him to continue.

“See you then,” he finished, leaving you slightly confused at his odd demeanor but smiling politely nonetheless. Just as you opened the door and began to exit, you heard his voice once more.

“Have fun.”

You turned to face him, sending him a genuine smile, “Thanks, I will! See you tonight.”

With that, you closed the door behind you and headed to the small cafe near the gallery. The walk was pleasant with warm weather that wasn’t too hot and a slight breeze to cool you. Soon, you reached the cafe, a cute and quaint spot that had been around for around ten years at that point. You visited often with Joohee on Saturday afternoons when the two of you had plans later in the day.

You opened the door, it jingling in response to your arrival, and the employee at the counter looked up. The one working that morning was Daehwa, a college student who had been working there for a couple of years now. He knew your order well and often engaged you in conversation if the cafe was empty. There was a bit of a crowd today so he quickly entered your order without you having to say anything, and began making it while you waited off to the side. Once he presented you with your iced tea and croissant with a wink, you sent him a grateful smile, and quickly tore through the croissant, noting the time getting closer to three.

You finished your snack in record time and quickly stood, clearing away your space and waving a quick goodbye to Daehwa, who sent you a grin in response. The gallery was just across the street and had a small line outside, which you quickly joined. You sipped the last of your tea, looking around for a trashcan near you so you didn’t have to bring it inside the gallery, but only saw one close to the entrance which meant you’d lose your spot in line. The idea made you frown and you considered keeping the empty cup in your bag until you moved forward in the line.

“Seo Y/N?”

You turned at the mention of your name to find Kim Namjoon standing behind you in a light brown sweater and collared white shirt underneath, with a darker brown corduroy blazer and khakis. He had round, wiry glasses on and wore a stunning smile that showed off his deep dimples.

“Oh, Namjoon-ssi, I didn’t realize you’d be attending this as well,” you said, smiling and bowing politely.

“Yeah, I’ve been following this artist for a while now and saw a couple of months ago that they were doing an exhibition. Do you like Cha Heewon too,” he asked, putting his hands into his pockets. His kind gaze on you and sweet smile made your cheeks feel warm as you tucked a piece of hair behind your ear.

“Yeah, I’ve been following them for a few years now so I was really excited when I saw the location for this show. I was lucky to get tickets, they sold out so fast!”

“I know, right? I was basically refreshing the page the day they opened up trying to be the first one in,” Namjoon chuckled and his baritone voice reverberated through your bones, almost making you sigh.

“Yeah, but at least we’re here now,” you smiled, about to turn back around.

“Would you, uh, like to walk around the exhibit together,” Namjoon asked, scratching the back of his head.

You hesitated for a moment, wondering if this would be crossing a line with Yoongi, but you steeled yourself. He wasn’t allowed to dictate who you became friends with. You clearly bumped into Namjooon by coincidence and have a shared interest, so why wouldn’t you two walk around together?

“I’d love to,” you responded, feeling proud of your steadfastness in not letting Yoongi mandate your choices or social interactions.

Namjoon smiled widely in response, nodding, “Great, none of the other guys want to come with me to these kinds of things. Sometimes, Tae does but he’s super flaky.”

You chuckled, “Same here, Joo always complains about how boring it is and Hobi wasn’t even here, but he wouldn’t enjoy it either.”

“Hobi, that’s Hoseok, right? The one who worked in Busan,” Namjoon recalled, scratching his chin.

“Yes,” you nodded, “He’s planning on moving back here so he’s all busy trying to get that sorted.”

“Well, maybe we can go to these things together in the future,” Namjoon proposed, smiling down at you.

You felt your cheeks heat, being around handsome men wasn’t good for your health. You looked up at Namjoon, smiling in response, “I’d really like that, Namjoon-ssi.”

Namjoon cringed, his mouth turning up into a frown, “You can drop the formality, we’re the same age, right?”

You nodded, laughing slightly, “I guess I’m just used to it. I’d really like that, Namjoon-ah,” you emphasized. Namjoon chuckled, turning away for a moment. You could’ve sworn you saw his ears go pink at the edge.

The line moved forward fairly quickly and the two of you were soon inside the exhibit, with you throwing away your cup at the entrance. Namjoon gave thoughtful commentary on each painting you stopped at, with you providing your thoughts as well. You found yourself quickly becoming comfortable in his presence and the two of you were soon joking around and making very pleasant conversation.

At one point, an older woman stopped the two of you, stating, “You’re such a cute couple, I love your matching outfits. I hope you’re having a fun date!”

The woman walked off before you or Namjoon could correct her, so you ended up trying to laugh off the encounter. Her words made your cheeks burn and you worried that it had offended Namjoon, especially considering that Yoongi was his friend. If it bothered Namjoon, he didn’t show it, instead carrying on like nothing had happened.

Namjoon’s company was quite enjoyable and you relaxed into his smooth voice, feeling yourself becoming less and less stiff. The conversation flowed easily and you both bonded over your love for art, with Namjoon mentioning other artists that you noted down to look up later. He seemed much more experienced in this area than you and you found yourself enraptured by his explanations and passionate rants.

A couple of hours passed and the two of you exited, with Namjoon insisting on walking you to Yoongi’s building. Your conversation from inside the gallery continued as you walked, and you found yourself not wanting to return to Yoongi’s apartment in favor of Namjoon’s calming presence.

“I noticed you weren’t wearing your ring,” Namjoon mentioned, making you stumble in your step.

You glanced down at your hand before scratching the back of your head embarrassedly, “Yeah, I guess I’m still getting used to it. It’s kind of weird, being married that is.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Namjoon smiled reassuringly, “I’m sure Yoongi hasn’t been the most receptive either.”

“Understatement of the year,” you laughed, a tinge of annoyance present in your tone, “He’s so hard to read.”

“He’s like that with most people. He takes some time to open up. I promise he’s a really great guy once you get to know him, he’s just a bit uncomfortable in the situation. He’ll warm up to you, eventually,” Namjoon said, patting your shoulder.

“Eventually,” you repeated, twisting your hand around your ring finger. You should really put it on.

You had reached Yoongi’s building at this point and had stopped just outside the doors. Namjoon must’ve noticed your solemn mood because he added one last thing before leaving, “You know, as much as Yoongi’s dragged his feet throughout this whole marriage process, I haven’t seen him without his ring once since the wedding.”

You looked up at Namjoon, lips slightly parted at the surprising statement. Namjoon only winked before turning around, “I’ll see you at the gala tonight, Y/N.”

Nodding mutely, you waved, before entering into the building and taking the elevator up to Yoongi’s floor. You weren’t really sure what to make of Namjoon’s words.

Adding the final touches to your look felt simple enough, you’d dressed for these types of galas before. The dark blue satin dress felt nice against your skin and the cowl neck flattered your bodice and neckline. You chose a thin necklace that dipped into your cleavage with matching earrings, deciding to keep your hair down to avoid having to style it. After donning your “rich people” watch, as Hoseok had dubbed it due to its stark contrast to your usual digital watch, you felt that your look was complete. Taking one last look in your mirror, you scrutinized yourself, trying to find anything that would make you seem undeserving of Yoongi.

It wasn’t a train of thought you were comfortable with, but your mother had made sure to emphasize its importance. You needed to look like someone worthy of being at Yoongi’s side. You certainly didn’t feel like it, but your mother didn’t really care about that. Just like in everything else, the outward appearance and how you were perceived by others took the utmost importance.

Your reflection stared back at you, solemn and lonely. You had tried to hide your tiredness with makeup, but you still felt that you could see the exhaustion in your face. You felt drained.

Everything was tiring.

You didn’t have time to wallow in self-pity, though. After tapping your cheeks lightly to give yourself some encouragement, you headed for your door. You were just about to open it, catching a glimpse of your hand encasing the doorknob, feeling that your finger looked empty.

You considered for a moment whether you should really display your relationship or not, but Namjoon’s words circled inside your head. Shaking them off, you turned around, grabbing your wedding band off your desk, and slipping it on. You did say that you should wear it more regularly, you told yourself.

You headed down the stairs, catching sight of Yoongi in his regular suit with a dark blue tie that was similar enough to the shade of your dress. He looked stunning with his dark hair combed back and suit fitted to his slender waist. Your eyes trailed up his form, appreciating his full visual before reaching his face, who was looking at you with wide eyes.

Suddenly, you felt embarrassed, maybe you had tried a bit too hard. A nauseous feeling began building up in your stomach as you descended the staircase, feeling heavily self-conscious of your appearance. Did you try too hard? Not enough? Did you look ridiculous? You bit the inside of your cheek, not wanting to mess up your lipstick, maybe you should’ve tried for a different dress. The sickly feeling grew as you approached Yoongi at the door, avoiding making eye contact. You didn’t have time to change now, but you sure wished that you had a large coat to cover yourself.

You really didn’t want to go to this gala.

As you finished slipping on your heels, clutching at your stomach to push away the ill sensation, you stood fully, facing the door. Yoongi hesitated for a moment in front of you before opening it and leading you to the elevator. The ride down to the garage was silent, save for Yoongi shifting about in his suit. You wondered if he was as uncomfortable as you, but quickly pushed the thought away. He had no reason to be uncomfortable.

The drive over to the banquet hall was equally silent, with the only words being exchanged between Yoongi and the driver who was waiting in the garage. Your fingers were constantly picking at invisible seams in your lap and your eyes stayed trained on the window beside you, trying your hardest not to think about Yoongi on your other side.

He hadn’t said anything to you since you left the house, but you swore you could feel his eyes on you, which only made you more anxious. You had to continuously wipe your palms against the leather seats of the car and your dress to wipe off the sweat and his stare dug into you every time. Every few minutes or so, you’d consider trying to strike up conversation with him before thinking better of it, not wanting to face a judgemental or disgusted expression if he wore it.

After what felt like forever, you finally arrived at the building the gala was being held at, the driver politely informing you that he would be back to pick you up at your request. Yoongi exited first due to you having to adjust your dress so you could exit gracefully, and he surprised you by opening your door and offering his hand for extra balance.

The action made your cheeks heat before you remembered that you were in a public place now and he had to act the part of your husband. Reality crashed down on you, washing over you in a wave of bleakness, but you plastered on a submissive smile all the same. You took his hand, exiting the car, noticing Yoongi staring at your finger. You were about to question him before his gaze turned to you and his mouth formed a small smile.

“You look beautiful,” he said, quietly, much too quiet for anyone around you to hear. The words sent warmth straight to your face and leave you stuttering out a ‘thank you’. Yoongi didn’t release your hand as you walked into the banquet hall, nodding your greetings at the guests you see first. Your mother spotted you immediately and waved you over, with you and Yoongi obediently following.

“Good to see you could make it,” your mother said curtly, surveying your outfit. She only turned away afterwards, so you took that as your approval and discreetly tugged on Yoongi’s hand so you could move on. He got the hint, thankfully, and led you through the other standard greetings and pleasantries that were involved in events like these.

The questions were repetitive, to say the least.

“How are you two doing as a newly wedded couple?”

“How’s the business, Yoongi?”

“When are you two thinking of having kids?”

“Are you still working for that game company?”

It was exhausting, but Yoongi’s warm hand grasping your own grounded you. After about an hour, you’d made the rounds throughout the hall and Yoongi still hadn’t let go of you. But you weren’t complaining. A few times, you were offered champagne by a passing server, but you refused each time. Yoongi’s musky cologne was intoxicating enough.

Finally, you reached a point where you could relax, no longer having any old men or women to dish out backhanded compliments and you having to awkwardly laugh through them. Yoongi seemed to also feel the tension release, noticing his shoulders sag slightly and a deep breath exhale from his lips. He released your hand, making you frown, feeling like your palm was empty now, but you couldn’t protest aloud.

You figured that was the end of Yoongi’s image maintenance regarding your matrimony but his hand slid down the open back of your dress, erecting goosebumps in its wake. His fingers rested at the small of your back, gently guiding you to the group where Kim Seokjin, Kim Namjoon and Joohee stood talking. It rendered you speechless and you opted for silently following, with your brain working overtime to understand what was going on.

You arrived at the group, Joohee immediately sending a look regarding the placement of Yoongi’s hands, but you were unable to respond, still too flustered by the warm of his skin against your back. You bowed mutely in greeting to the rest of the people there, smiling at Namjoon who returned it widely.

“Where’s Yeonhee noona,” Yoongi asked, the mention of Seokjin’s wife pulling you into the conversation.

“She’s at home with Hwannie,” Seokjin responded, smiling brightly at the mention of his wife and son. Yeonhee had given birth a few months ago to a beautiful baby boy, Hwansoo, and Seokjin hadn’t really shut up about him since. You’d seen Yeonhee at your wedding and she’d looked equally as elated, practically glowing. “I wanted to stay back too, but she mentioned something about wanting me out of the house for quality time with Hwannie,” Seokjin finished, earning a laugh from the group.

Joohee was trying to silently communicate with you, asking whatever she could through shifts in her eyes and small head movements about your close proximity to Yoongi, but you had no answers. You hadn’t been expecting it either, Yoongi had taken the initiative to make physical contact. You could tell she was getting frustrated with your continued subtle shrugs before she looked behind you and cringed.

“Great, mom wants me to go over there, probably for another marriage talk,” Joohee groaned, inching behind her brother to avoid her mother’s piercing gaze, “I think that’s Lee Hyunsoo, too! Gross! He’s an ass.”

You frowned at the mention of Hyunsoo, a common figure among those who belittled you in your youth at parties just like these. You felt Yoongi shift beside you before speaking, “Yeah, he is an ass, he kept making weird comments to me throughout the reception last week. Good luck with that.”

Yoongi’s comment only made you frown further. You hadn’t really noticed Hyunsoo during your reception, much less him talking to Yoongi. You couldn’t think on it for long, though, having to wave a solemn goodbye to Joohee who began her trek over to her beckoning mother. Yoongi continued his conversation with Seokjin, talking about some sort of business thing happening, nothing you cared too much about, and you were left staring blankly around you.

“You look really pretty,” Namjoon said, drawing your attention, making you blush pink at his words.

“Thanks, so do you, Namjoon-ah,” you teased in response, making him grin and show off his deep dimples. You instantly relaxed in his comforting presence, but you were still aware of Yoongi’s burning palm against your skin.

“Oh, I meant to mention earlier today, you said you like plants, right? There’s this great plant shop in Samcheong-Dong that you should check out,” Namjoon began excitedly, making you recall your earlier conversation in which you had mentioned your plants at your apartment in passing.

“We should totally check it out! I’m always down to get more plants, although I probably shouldn’t,” you joked, letting yourself ease into the easy conversation.

“You can never have enough, or at least, that’s what I tell myself,” Namjoon chuckled, “There’s also another show next month for one of my favorite artists. Do you think you’d be up to check it out?”

You nodded, “Yeah, of course, I’d love to. Just send me the details.”

“I don’t think I actually got your number earlier,” Namjoon mentioned, scratching the back of his head and outstretching his hand holding his phone.

“Oh, right, that would probably help,” you smiled, taking it and entering your number. You handed it back to him, smiling, but noticed the troubled expression on his fact, looking just beside you.

Yoongi had stiffened next to you and you had been so absorbed in your conversation with Namjoon that you hadn’t noticed, or noticed the fact that Seokjin was gone now, talking to some other old businessman at another table.

“Have you two gotten close,” Yoongi asked, though he didn’t really sound like he was looking for an answer, with gritted teeth and his hand pushing into your back.

“Oh, um, we met at the art show earlier,” you said, looking at Namjoon to continue your thought.

“Ah, yeah, we ended up walking around together and we became friends,” Namjoon laughed, though it seemed a little stilted, “Your wife’s really nice, hyung.”

“Thanks,” Yoongi said curtly, before releasing you and stepping away, “I have to go speak to a couple other people. Could you keep an eye on her, Namjoon?”

The question made you gawk, feeling anger rise from your trembling fingers. You didn’t need someone to keep an eye on you, you were a grown woman, for God’s sake. You moved to retort Yoongi’s absurd request but he was already walking away. What even was that? Why was he being so weird? Maybe his niceness earlier was just a fluke. Turning to Namjoon in a huff, you took in his sheepish smile.

“I don’t really think you need babysitting, but I would like to talk more,” he offered kindly, making you release a breath and smile in return.

“Yeah, that sounds nice,” you agreed, following him to a nearby table where you spent the rest of the evening. The conversation was pleasant, almost making you forget Yoongi’s odd behavior, but your anger for him had only simmered. He had no right to act like you weren’t your own agent, no right to treat you like a child. His earlier pleasant interactions with you and electric contact against your back left you even more confused, only adding to your anger. His moodswings were beginning to give you whiplash.

You tried your best to focus in on your conversation with Namjoon for the rest of the night but you found your gaze drifting back to Yoongi. He was speaking with other men your father’s age, shaking hands and exchanging practiced polite smiles. He looked tired.

But what did you care? You shouldn’t care, he had been so rude earlier, but you knew you couldn’t help it. Maybe you’d ask Mrs. Lim to make his favorite meal on Monday when she came back.

The rest of the evening carried on uneventfully, with you and Namjoon making countless plans for shopping outings and art shows galore. He’d even managed to score tickets to an evening historical art museum tour, something you’d been wanting to attend for a while. Eventually, he had to leave, though, citing an early morning the next day, and hugged you goodbye. As he was doing so, he whispered in your ear, “I saw you put on the ring, I’m glad.”

His hot breath on your ear made your brain stutter but you mumbled out an acknowledgement, and he soon released you, waving goodbye as he walked toward the exit. The rest of the attendees were beginning to leave too, signalling the beginning of the end of the night. You sat glumly at your table, noting that Joohee had already left, having had a quiet argument with her mother that caused her to storm out.

You brought out your phone, making sure to message her asking if she was alright. Feeling a tap on your shoulder, you looked up to see Yoongi staring down on you with an impassive expression.

“Are you ready to go?”

You neglected to respond, still feeling upset with his earlier words, and simply stood, waiting to be led to the car. Yoongi obliged, not flinching at your cold demeanor, and you both soon entered the car, riding home in silence.

During the drive home, your mind swirled with all sorts of questions regarding Yoongi’s behavior. His actions would likely point to jealousy surrounding Namjoon, but how did that make any sense? How could Yoongi harbor affection for you if he barely knew you? Especially if he seemed so opposed to the idea as well.

You like Yoongi even though you barely know him.

Your mouth upturned at the unwelcome thought. That wasn’t a fair comparison, you didn’t outwardly show any jealousy toward Yoongi’s other conquests. And there wasn’t even anything between you and Namjoon to begin with.

Well, mostly. You couldn’t deny the excitement you had when you saw him in the hall or the way you enjoyed speaking with him about everything and nothing throughout the art show and gala. But you weren’t going to think about that too hard right now.

The only logical conclusion you could draw was that your close friendship with Namjoon made him uncomfortable. He did say that he didn’t want you to mix personal lives at all. You almost empathized with that before remembering his condescending words earlier that evening, making anger surge through your blood once more.

Well, Yoongi could suck it. He didn’t get to dictate who you became friends with and he didn’t have any claim over his own friends, making them off-limits. You weren’t responsible for dealing with his childish feelings and immature attitude. That was all up to him.

It’s his problem to figure out why he’s acting so bizarrely.

Why was Yoongi acting so bizarrely?

He couldn’t understand. Why did he feel so possessive over you? It’s not like he felt any romantic attraction, he was the one to set the open relationship boundary after all. Why did it bother him so much that you were evidently so close to Namjoon now?

He breathed out a sigh, sitting idly in his studio upstairs, tired from the gala. Namjoon was one of his closest friends, they made music they’d never release together. He shouldn’t be upset that you’re becoming friends with him. He knew this rationally, but why did it still make him so uncomfortable?

As Yoongi leaned back in his chair, head upturned to the ceiling and eyes closed, his mind wandered to the few times he’d seen you in his home since the wedding. The morning after, you’d looked stunning, coming downstairs in nothing but the same shirt and shorts he’d seen you in the night prior, the cold air making him realize you weren’t wearing a bra. He’d averted his eyes at that point, feeling like he was encroaching on your privacy, even though you were in his kitchen.

Watching you realize your own attire and scramble upstairs to change had been cute, but Yoongi hadn’t wanted to entertain that thought. Either way, it was quickly replaced by the way your body felt against his as he reached above you for a mug. He couldn’t erase the sensation of your soft curves against his front from his mind.

When he’d arrived home in the middle of you redecorating, he wasn’t sure why he’d offered his help. Maybe he wanted to get a glimpse into your room, grasping at a chance to see your personality transferred to the decorations adorning your bedroom walls. He’d been surprised by how much he’d liked the cutesy embellishments you’d added, finding that the surprising duality suited you. You were so often carefully neutral in your expressions and words and seeing your personal taste being so pretty and pleasant was charming.

Later that night, he was surprised to see your bedroom light still on at the late hour when he’d left his room to get water. He peeked inside, seeing you lying on the floor in a mess of bolts, evidently trying to finish the last plank on your desk that was set up against the wall. The sight of you spread out so comfortably on the floor, hair strewn around your head almost framing your face like a halo, and your mouth partially open, letting out soft snores made him smile. He entered your room as quietly as he could, gently lifting you onto your bed and tucking you in, not even stirring you in your deep sleep.

He was about to leave when he stepped on a screw, making him flinch and look at the mess of things still left to do. If he’d finished up your desk and set up your TV, it was because he couldn’t stand a mess, not for any other reason. Not that you seemed to know based on your demeanor the next morning.

You’d looked adorable, coming down the stairs in rumpled clothing and tangled hair, your shirt’s neck slipping down your shoulder. But, he’d kept that thought to himself, behind pursed lips. You’d looked equally as beautiful in your cute brown dress that you’d worn to the art show, making him frown at his memory of being unable to tell you so.

Well, why should he? He’d been the one to separate you two so blatantly, after all. He shouldn’t give you mixed signals.

The thoughts of you in your loose and tight clothing, the image of you coming down the stairs in the silk dress that draped perfectly over your curves, and the tantalizing feeling of your skip against his palm had him leaning further back into his chair.

Maybe he was just horny.

Yoongi sat up, all of a sudden. That was totally it! He’s just distracted by you because he hasn’t been laid in a while. That had to be it. It couldn’t be anything else, he wouldn’t allow it to be.

Yoongi grinned, an easy smile taking over his face. Why was he so worried, the answer had been so simple. All he had to do was find a quick one night stand and his problems would be solved.

His grin faltered. Probably, his problems would probably be solved. He didn’t want to consider what it meant if they weren’t.

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hivemuthur · 4 months ago

Text

What was that? - Ch. 1.

viktorxfemale!OFC mature! (for now, I will mark later chapters as explicit when the time comes

friends to lovers, co-workers, sexual tension up to the wazoo, pinning and banter that got me frustrated when I was writing it, attempt at humour, some angst and a slow burn with a happy ending and a classic Viktor for once

Ch.2. | Ch.3. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.6. | Ch.7. | Ch.8. | Ch.9. | Ch.10. | Ch.11. | Ch.12. | Ch.13. | Ch.14. | Ch.15.

word count: 4,6K

tag: #what was that

summary: A romance that explores two insecure people growing closer together through snippets of their time at work.

author’s note: Can I post three things a day? Yes. This is the first fic I've written and I love it dearly. It connected me with @rennethen who has been beta reading it patiently and helped me create significant parts of it, and for that connection alone it was worth to write it.

Cross-posted on AO3

—

“Renly, are you being serious right now?” John stormed into the lab’s kitchen visibly flushed with anger. Renly only blinked at him, a question in her eyes.

“I guess? Didn’t you get my note?” She definitely remembered sending the note asking John to take a raincheck. She even made a song about it to not forget, like the last time. Viktor had mocked the song at first but later grew annoyed with it.

”Please stop, this song is now rotting my brain. I get it, John is a nice guy,” Viktor rotated on his chair with a groan that has clearly been building up for at least one minute.

“Sorry, it’s the only way I don’t get distracted and forget!” to Viktor’s demise, Renly sang this line as well.

“Well, didn’t you get my note?” John said, already huffing, seemingly offended. He did get her note, he did see the little heart she drew on it and a coffee stain that suggested she wrote it hastily, while doing something else with her other hand. So, he sent a passive aggressive jokey note back stating that it’s tomorrow or he doesn’t know when, because he is also oh-so-busy.

“I can’t make it otherwise,” he laid his hands apart in apologetic gesture.

“Like… this week? Or ever?” light mockery in her voice, she said with her back to John, while pouring coffee into two cups. “It’s okay, we can have breakfast here. Do you want coffee?” Renly pulled out the third cup from the sink and waved it at John expectantly.

At which point, Viktor entered their tiny lab kitchen, scrunching his wet hair with a damp towel, his cheeks flushed and clothes slightly dishevelled, clinging to his hot-after-shower body. “Do I smell coffee? Hi John,” he said, waving at the doorway.

“Nothing will hide from you. Crisis averted?” Renly asked referring to fifteen minutes ago, when Viktor banged viciously on the bathroom door, demanding shower access immediately, as he spilled suspicious fluid from Renly’s workstation all over himself.

She said it was punishment for snooping. He said she’d taken his favourite pen, and her workstation was planned ridiculously, making moving around risky. Also, she took showers that lasted forever. She said her shower was only fifteen minutes, which is perfectly within bounds of morning toilet routine. He said she should shower at home and sleep at home; otherwise, she would end up a social pariah like him and Jayce. She said it’s a bit late for that as night is a perfect time for quiet work and she is one person away from the social pariah status. She meant John. So right now, it really did look like she was close to adding it to her work signature. She had to evacuate from the bathroom before she had the chance to dry off completely, which is why her hair was wet.

“Did you shower together?” John’s tone gained additional pitch to it as he asked his ridiculous question, visibly getting more and more distressed.

“Yes, John. We also have occasional orgies that I forgot to mention,” Renly couldn’t help about the snarky comment but when she turned around to take a look at her… boyfriend? They went out about ten times and slept together twice, so she guessed he was her boyfriend already. Well, he looked hurt, and she immediately wished she didn’t say it, no matter how ridiculous it sounded.

“Please, don’t be like that. I pulled an all-nighter again, and it was too late to go home. We showered separately, obviously,” she said in a softer voice as the cups were placed on the tiny table in the middle of the kitchen, only three chairs.

“I will give the two of you some space,” Viktor swept his cup with Jayce’s face on it and gave both of them polite smile as he walked out faster, than Renly thought he was able to.

“So… are you very cross with me?” she waited for Viktor to leave the area and asked reaching out to place her palm on top of John’s forearm, but he winced away.

John had always been good at making himself seem indispensable. When they first started seeing each other, his charm felt effortless—little gestures like remembering her favourite tea or distracting her with a ridiculous joke when she was too stressed to focus. She had let her guard down with him in a way she rarely allowed herself to. It had felt safe, comforting even. But lately, the cracks in that façade were harder to ignore. He got offended easily and threw some stupid accusations at her when he was out of arguments. She did admit, she was quite oblivious to some of relationship savoir-vivre, but it was also discussed priorly! And he said he doesn’t mind, so the next part caught her off-guard.

“I… don’t think this will work out this way,” he said with a sigh and waved his hand around making her question if he meant them, or breakfast with Victor in near vicinity. “I didn’t know this is what I was signing up for frankly,” he finished and gave her a sad puppy glance. This made her… angry? Of course, he knew what he was signing up for. She told him from the very beginning how important her work was. And how bad she was at this, but he just called her cute. Surely, this was enough of a warning. Or maybe it wasn’t but John really didn’t seem like he heard anything of what she ever said in the long run.

He was a Piltie, and she was from Zaun. He liked posh places that were trying to pass as casual, she liked to hang out by the riverbank in the evenings and sneak into The Undercity to look at street art and eat street food. He always seemed to pay attention to what she was telling him about her lab work and how many lives it could potentially change but at the end of every test presentation and heated one-sided conversation (it was hot on her side only) when she looked at him expectantly, he praised her with a you are so smart or you look pretty when you get excited about science and it left her empty of all air like a sad balloon in the aftermath of a party. He probably had a politician’s career ahead of him, so in the future, he would be the person to decide whether she does or doesn’t get funding for her research and in her mind’s eye John was a person that would probably happily fund something else than the medicine for long term Grey exposure symptoms. But he was a good practice for that. And despite everything else, she did like him. He had his moments, as they say.

In a few seconds, that took very long in the pocket dimension of her brain, Renly tried to calculate how much fault in this situation was hers and if it was worth to back down and give him a peace offering in form of a dinner at her place, that she would cook, and they would be alone, and it would be romantic, and he would probably get to fuck her on the dinner table.

The plan started forming itself, when John said “I mean… you spend all your free time here, or you drag me around the lanes. Also, this Viktor guy? I got over Jayce, recently he is barely here. So…” he dragged his huge eyes across her face looking for a sign of understanding that wasn’t there “…you understand how I feel when you spend most of your time with another man.” It came out weak, but he decided to stand by it.

“Another man? It’s Viktor,” she scoffed. “Not even a day ago he stated how much I disgust him with Zaunian food in fridge. He works all the time. We sleep in separate rooms. He…” Renly inhaled, exasperated by this accusation. It’s ridiculous, how insecure John was to even suggest that.

“He is a friend. And that’s all. I assure you he is not interested in me.” She had a dead serious certainty about this. If something was fixed in this universe, it was the fact that Viktor wasn’t interested in her. And she didn’t think of him that way either. Except the one time she let her mind wander, and she did. Which was a lie, because she thought that at least twice.

Once, when they met for the first time. She already knew Jayce, who made her gasp the first time she saw him. The impression passed, but friendship remained. Jayce and Viktor, freshly acquainted, were passing her classroom when a quake shook The Uppercity. It caused one of her test tubes to fall into the vial she was working on, breaking and triggering a teeny-tiny exoenergic reaction (it exploded). The hero within Jayce’s body drove him straight in to help any casualties, of which the only one was Renly, face full of colourful goo. From the floor, she glanced at Viktor walking in shortly after his partner, and she gasped, even more than when she had met Jayce. She immediately knew it was wrong to look for so long. Her suspicion was confirmed when Viktor’s expression shifted from amusement to the realization that his brief chance to present himself as more than the guy with a cane had passed. From that point forward, he was very formal with her, though he occasionally joked about history repeating itself within the academy walls.

It was a lie though, as well. She first saw Viktor by the riverbank in Zaun, as a child. She had been maybe seven, and he could have been slightly older. Her eyes, round and curious, followed him trying to chase down his mechanical ship taken by the stream. She tried to shadow him that day, but he disappeared in the mouth of a cave she was afraid to walk into. He had a smaller cane then and she thought him a magician. So, she only lingered in disbelief that their paths crossed once more and that he was, indeed, real. And also, in awe of how beautifully he has grown up. But overall, Renly counted it as a one time.

Second time, after she decided to stay at university to continue her research and teach students, they were copying the notes together and Jayce was growing more and more bored, so he kept trying to start random topics.

"I wonder if all of them are as pretty as Mel,” he said, trying to trace down beautiful Mel Medarda’s heritage while fishing for reassurance from his friends about their imminent romance.

“But maybe it’s not a rule. I mean, looking at the both of you I would say the rule for Zaun is to be full of attractive people as well,” Jayce was waffling on, and Renly grew tired of it.

“And ugly people. And short people. And tall people. And fat people, and skinny people, Jayce. It’s all just people, like in Piltover, there is no rule to here or Zaun. Initially, it’s the same city, and we all come from different places,” she said harshly not lifting her sight from the notes she was copying.

“Oh relax, it was a compliment! And I am looking for reassurance from you guys, yes,” he traced his finger down the blackboard, wiping some of the old equations away.

“Not very progressive of you, the Man of Progress. I can give you reassurance – Mel seems fine. You will be fine. You are a big boy, Jayce. But I do not need compliments, not because I’m from The Undercity, nor because I’m a woman,” Renly’s dead stare made Jayce look for help from Viktor. She gave him a pass and went back to scribbling.

“Vik, any help?”

“I’m afraid with this one I have to place myself in Renly’s corner. Even though of the two of us, I probably am the one that needs compliments,” Viktor also didn’t glance up from above his paperwork.

“No, you don’t,” Renly didn’t notice she now got the attention of both of her friends.

“You are, yourself, quite…” her mind was absent at this moment, so it was probably the other part of her that spoke the rest “…dreamy.” A second past, in which her brain caught up with her mouth and a deep shade of red bled into her cheeks and chest. She cleared her throat, stood up quickly and threw barely audible excuse me leaving the boys to exchange their looks and make their fun of her. Jayce snorted when Renly was out of hearing range and Viktor only mouthed a what was that? That was the second time, infinitely more mortifying than the first one.

“You put a lot of effort into assuring me of this, but you never once said if you are not interested in him. From where I’m standing, you are definitely not interested in me,” John’s voice broke her out of reminiscing.

Renly’s face went into stupid mode, twisting her features with disbelief. How dare he.

“Are you really saying what I’m hearing? Are you accusing me of infidelity based on your own insecurity? Have I truly given you any reason to believe I’m involved with anyone else but you? When do you think I would have time for that? Or do you actually not listen to me when I tell you about what I’m doing here and how much of my time and energy it consumes?” John’s expression grew more and more panicked as he saw how far he has overstepped.

“This is not… I didn’t…”

“What you didn’t do is think. You are the one who is not interested in me, John. You listen to me, but you do not register, nor remember anything I tell you. What do you want from me? Should I drop everything I’m doing just to dangle from your shoulder at the parties? Should I change the way I speak? Should I cut all my friends and relatives loose because they are from The Undercity? Would that make you feel secure enough?” she spat at him, becoming more and more angry with every sentence, self-winding regret fuelling her.

“Gods, this is not what I want, and you know it,” John brought his hand to the back of his neck, his voice gentler this time. “I just don’t feel like you want me around, is all,” he whispered, his words making Renly’s shoulders drop and her chest sink.

His fingers tapped an idle rhythm on the table, his eyes darting toward the adjoining lab room. It wasn’t the first time she’d caught him stealing glances at her colleagues’ workspaces, but she had always dismissed it as idle curiosity or stupid jealousy, first over Jayce, then over Viktor. Now, though, every stolen glance felt like a clue she should have picked up on sooner.

“I do,” she hesitated. “I did. I invited you to meet my people, come to my home, my work, my bed,” at which point, in the other room, Viktor—who was doing his absolute worst not to listen—squeezed a piece of chalk a little too hard, causing half of it to disintegrate into dust with a loud, whiny, bone-chilling sound that gave him goosebumps at the back of his neck. So, they slept together, great. Just great. It didn’t bother him at all, and yet… it bothered him greatly for some reason. Probably just because she will be a nightmare to be around for the next week or so.

Ridiculous, Viktor thought, though the word didn’t carry the weight he wanted it to. What did it matter who she invited into her bed? It certainly wasn’t his concern. The tightening in his chest wasn’t jealousy—it couldn’t be. No, it was irritation, that’s all. Irritation because she was so impulsive, so reckless, letting herself be distracted by someone so undeserving of her attention.

Why did it bother him? It wasn’t the first time she’d been entangled in some personal drama, and usually, he had the patience to tune it out. Yet here he was, bristling at every raised word, every pointed jab from John. It wasn’t his place to care. He had told himself years ago that people like Renly—bright, chaotic, and distractingly beautiful—were nothing but a complication. And yet, he found himself gripping his cane tighter every time John’s voice rose.

“Just realistically, I don’t think this is what you want. So, the obvious choice would be to put a pin in it until we both decide what we want,” her voice faltered. Breaking things off with John hadn’t been part of her plans for the day, and she could never have been emotionally prepared for this—especially not before breakfast. She wasn’t really breaking things off with him, either. Maybe a short, temporary break would do them good, cool things off. She fidgeted with her fingers under the table, becoming increasingly self-conscious about how much of the conversation Viktor had overheard.

“Really? So now it’s about me not respecting your Zaunian heritage, instead of you blowing me off at every opportunity?” at this point John knew that guilting her into giving it one more shot was probably his only chance. His father really wanted those hextech blueprints, and he would be very disappointed if John didn’t manage to get them. “Look, I don’t mind if we hang out here at all. But truth be told, you don’t really invite me here very often,” John said, his voice softer now, but there was an edge beneath it, like a scalpel disguised as a pen.

He had a way of twisting her words, making her feel like the selfish one for not prioritizing him more. It was a skill he wielded well, and for a moment, it almost worked. But the memory of all those little disappointments—the times he had brushed off her work as "just another experiment" or barely listened when she explained her progress—bubbled up like a pressure valve ready to burst. He did actually like her. She was his type – pretty, quirky, talented and driven. She could be a bit more elegant, but that would be polished with time. “We could make a schedule, meet here when nobody is around? Maybe you could even show me some hextech, hm?” with this, he knew he probably pushed a little bit too far, as her expression grew weary.

There it was again, that same calculated curiosity masked as casual conversation. At first, she had chalked it up to natural interest—what Piltover scholar wouldn’t want to know more about hextech? But now, with his eyes lingering too long on the blueprints and his questions steering the conversation in predictable directions, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was about more than idle fascination.

“I… you know I don’t work with hextech,” she shook her head while her brain was glueing the pieces together. “Why would you…,” and it hit her gently, prompted by the guilt painting her soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend’s face. Unbelievable. When she thought about it longer, he did usually snoop around innocently while waiting for her to wrap up work. He would wander between the lab rooms, seemingly just killing time, but she saw him linger on the blueprints more than once. When she told him about her experiments, he always drove the discussion towards Viktor and Jayce’s work. How are they doing? So does this hextech actually work? And what do they want to use it for again? And he tried to pin it on her sleeping with Viktor. The audacity.

Renly wanted to believe the relationship had been real, that it hadn’t just been about her work or her connections. But as she stared at him now—his charming smile just a little too polished, his words just a little too well-placed—she realized how many times she had ignored her instincts. How often she had pushed aside the nagging thought that he didn’t see her, not really. Just the parts of her that were useful.

“So… you come here and make a scene about the note that you seemingly wrote for me and that I didn’t get. You accuse me of cheating on you with my colleague,” at which point Viktor scoffed to himself in the other room. The idea of Renly and him being a thing was laughable. She was too stubborn, too unpredictable, too... distracting. And yet, John’s misplaced jealousy had struck an uncomfortable chord. Absurd, Viktor reassured himself. If anything, she deserves better than someone like me. She deserves better than both of us.

“You propose a solution – let’s hang out here,” Renly exhaled, and her eyes rested on her hands with the realization of being used all this time hitting her hard. She didn’t think she cared that much. Frankly, having a normal secure relationship also with someone normal and secure was a hope she didn’t dare to entertain very often. It was mostly work and friends for her. So, when John came along, she just let it happen, as maybe, she thought, it was a good thing happening to her. Realizing there was no love in it, left her feeling numb.

In the other room, Viktor stopped pretending to work and simply sat on a stool, his hands and chin resting on his cane. That was new territory, a kind of danger they hadn’t anticipated. Also, he did feel angry for Renly – annoying as she was, she really didn’t deserve this. He wondered if he should intervene and kick John out, but the act would have to be based on his authority, which as a fellow Zaunian in John’s eyes he had none. Any show of force would need to be purely verbal—calculated and precise enough to leave the boy speechless and make him back down without a fight. While he was negotiating the terms of this heroic act with himself, he heard Renly’s voice echoing across the corridors: “I think it’s best you go.”

“Can we talk this through?” one last desperate attempt on John’s side as he covered Renly’s palm with his. She slid her hand from underneath his, threw a quick no over her shoulder and stepped through a heavy metal door that separated living area form the laboratory. She locked it behind her with a loud crank and immediately sank to hug her knees. Well, shit. This wasn’t part of her plan for today. And she didn’t want to cry in front of Viktor. If Jayce was here, he’d make it better, but he was with the beautiful Mel Medarda having breakfast in her quarters, which was a secret. Viktor would make fun of her—or worse, he’d get cross for endangering their life’s work. On one side of the door, her mean ex-boyfriend, on the other her mean niggling friend. She could just stay here.

“Do you need help getting up?” Viktor’s voice made her gasp and release the tears that were gathering under her eyelids, now streaming down her cheeks. And just to be clear, they were angry tears, not sad pathetic tears.

“Maybe,” Renly said, wiping her face with a sleeve, unable to bring herself to look him in the eye. She accepted his offered hand, which was about to pull her up. Unfortunately, the sudden movement sent a cramp shooting down Viktor’s calf, leaving Renly standing while he folded in half.

“Oh shit, Viktor I’m sorry, let me grab a stool!”

“Ah, no need. It’s fine. Just a cramp, it’ll stretch,” he panted, sliding down the corridor wall. She crouched down by him, question in her eyes about what to do.

“Well, where is it? I can… rub it out?” she heard herself saying and a darker shade of pink flushed her already enflamed cheeks. Viktor noticed. Her hands were faster than her brain this time and she already had his calf in her grasp, looking for the knot.

The warmth of her hands startled him, a flicker of something unwanted creeping into his thoughts. He shut it down immediately. She’s just helping. Don’t make it into something it isn’t. But the gentleness of her touch lingered longer than it should have, and when she looked up at him, her face flushed with concentration, he had to look away. Focus, Viktor. This means nothing.

“How did you get this so bad, Viktor?” she gasped at the state of her friend’s muscle, contracted like a rusty hinge. Her eyes full of concern, and some guilt. She made him uncomfortable in his own lab, because of some stupid drama. Stupid, yet it tore a hole in her heart.

Viktor remembered this look. He remembered the way she had looked at him back when they first met—not the awestruck gaze she reserved for Jayce, but something deeper, sharper. It had unnerved him. People always noticed the cane first; it was a fact he had come to accept. But she had looked past it—no, she had lingered on it, and he wasn’t sure whether it was curiosity, pity, or something else entirely. It didn’t matter now. He had decided long ago to keep her at a polite distance.

“Too much sitting down, ah!” he gasped when more pressure was applied “I tried to work through your… quarrel,” Viktor’s voice grew breathier, his eyebrows pinching together. Absent-mindedly, he placed his right hand on Renly’s shoulder and closed his eyes, letting his body relax into her touch. She was very careful, almost… affectionate.

“I guess this would fuel John’s theory,” he chuckled slightly, forgetting himself. Did he just admit that something was possible? Renly was too focused on getting rid of the knot to notice the awkward grunt following this sentence, and without much thought to it she said, “don’t be ridiculous.”

Something sunk in Victor’s chest hearing that. Of course, it was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. All of it. He was about to figure out how to run away, take his leg with him and tell her this is good enough, when she continued.

“I mean, we are not responsible for someone’s insecurities. I refuse to be. Also, as I presume you heard all of it, you will know that it was all a play,” she put so much attention into rubbing Viktor’s calf that the words just went out of her mouth. “Just to get his hands on hextech. So, I’m guessing this accusation was also fabricated to guilt me. Or he was obsessed with you. Which I understand… gotcha!” she exclaimed as the muscle relaxed under her fingers, and Viktor gave an involuntary moan, making both of them flush slightly.

The tension in his calf eased, but his chest felt impossibly tight. He was about to thank her—briefly, formally—when the look on her face stopped him. She was glowing, not with the self-satisfaction he often associated with Jayce, but with genuine care. It was infuriating. No, not infuriating—irrelevant. Why do you even notice these things? he scolded himself, rising awkwardly to his feet and turning away before the warmth in her eyes could undo him further.

“Forgive me, I… thank you,” was all he was able to say.

“That’s… it’s nothing, no worries.”

“I believe you know this, but in case you don’t—he’s a donkey, and you’re brilliant, yes?” Viktor tossed over his shoulder. “Ah, I’m not… thank you,” she said, standing in the corridor, confused, her face burning. What was that?

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor x reader smut #viktor x f!reader #arcane #viktor smut #arcane fanfic #my writing #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #viktor x oc #viktor nation #what was that

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prodagustd · 9 months ago

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the road not taken 04 | myg

part four: a wish

Summary: Were you about to go crazy if you started to consider that Yoongi felt something for you?

—pairing: lawyer!yoongi x actress!oc

—rating: +18

—genre: brother's best friend, one sided pinning (or both?)

—warnings/tags: slow burn, angst, FLUFF ❤️‍🩹, eventual smut, angst, sexual tension!!!!! flashbacks, ANGST!! mentions of sex 👀Btw english is not my first language!

—words: 9.6k

—a/note: hiiii friends!!! i'm glad to say that it didn't take me six months to post this :D. I genuinely went through the most stressful two months of my life so I'm really proud that I could finish this chapter while trying to survive this thing called being an adult!! Anywayy, I’m excited for this chapter but I’m MORE EXCITED FOR THE NEXT ONE… 👀 so please have patience with this story!!! I promise it’s worth it hehehe. As always, you are more than invited to discuss this chapter in the asks, feedback is always welcomed <3 this one is very fluffy i hope you enjoy ittt. (Also if you read a typo, no you didn’t)

series masterlist | teaser | playlist

Four years ago

Seven days before New Year’s Eve

Were you too naive to still believe your father when he said that you were granted a wish every Christmas? He used to say that every year when he was still around and you were still a kid, when the clock struck twelve you could wish anything you wanted, as long as it wasn’t something material or more presents, you had to wish for something special, something that made you happy.

The last Christmas before your father passed away you were seven years old and still believed in Santa Claus. That year, for some reason, your wish slipped your mind, you forgot about it completely. You stayed at your house, watched movies the whole day in your pajamas and at midnight your parents let both you and Simon open only one present before sending you to bed. You remembered how your father chased you to the stairs to tickle you until you cried of laughter and how good the cookies your mother made that night were, perhaps that year you were too happy to remember making a wish, perhaps what you had was enough. When you woke up the next morning, you were sad that you had wasted it, but your father, wise as ever, told you not to worry. He said that it was like you were saving your wish for the next year — maybe then it would be stronger, and maybe, since you waited, you would have a better chance of it coming true.

By the time Christmas came the following year your father was already gone, and with him all the magic of the world. You had to grow up, you stopped making wishes and tried to stop believing in stories, but it was difficult when his words were still at the back of your mind like some sort of tradition every holiday season. Despite knowing that magic didn’t exist and perhaps not a single wish of yours had ever come true, you still couldn't help but believe you still had your last wish, and everytime the idea of finally making it crossed your mind, you stopped to tell yourself you could still wait another year, just to be sure.

That morning you saw Yoongi leaned over his car, adjusting his cap as he saw you walking over to him and you thought about your saved wish for the first time this year. And then again when he grabbed your hand to drag you out of the room, or when he waited for you at the bottom of the stairs before leaving the house, but you wouldn’t admit it, not even to yourself.

He dragged you all across your grandmother’s hometown as if you didn’t know it like the palm of your hand, as if the streets weren’t filled with kids running and whole families doing last-minute gift shopping, but he didn’t seem to care, so for once, you didn’t let it annoy you either. You observed the happy families and the kids playing in the snow, and sat in the park for as long as the cold weather allowed.

It was like you entered a trance, you tried to fight the urge to snap out of the moment and talked and talked the whole afternoon about everything and nothing at the same time, Yoongi listened and laughed while playing with the ends of your hair, pushing you closer to the edge of illusion. If you weren’t so adamant to stay in that blurry haze, you would’ve done something to stop him, you would’ve push his hand away when he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, you would’ve hated how easy it was for him to play dumb, how natural it was to touch you without feeling something was wrong. You ignored it instead, you ignored him and his wandering hands and the fact that he didn’t dare to mention the moment you shared in the closet, nor the way your noses brushed together, or how his fingers hugged your waist as if you weren’t just friends. Even if you would’ve died for him to say a word about it, to tease you, to attempt to make fun of you just to know that what happened was real and not something you dreamt last night.

If you were really dreaming, you held on to your sleep for a while. When Yoongi found that secondhand bookstore five blocks away from the park, he grabbed your hand when you ran across the street before the traffic lights turned green and stayed inside wandering the aisles with him, you let him lean over to whisper jokes in your ear and you punched his arms when he made you laugh a little bit too loud. You tried to keep your voices low and made a list of books to read the following year. You didn’t buy any of them but you read the prologues and the author’s biographies like it was the most interesting thing in the world. You waited for Yoongi when he started to talk with an old man about a book he needed for college and, when he felt you drifting away, he hooked one of his fingers on the belt loop of your jeans and pulled you close to him again. You felt his hands on your waist, keeping you pressed against the side of your body while he pretended to be focused on the conversation, but he was focused on something else. His long fingers played with the waistband of your jeans as your chest felt tight and your breath felt heavier. Maybe you were beginning to go insane, maybe you had a fever and everything was just a product of your imagination, but a tiny voice inside your head quietly suggested that maybe this time you weren’t insane, maybe it was just him.

It was getting dark outside, and you were supposed to be home anytime soon, but he turned his head to you and whispered in your ear that you should save a seat at the coffee shop next door and wait for him while he paid for the book. Even if it was cold and snowing neither of you wanted to return home yet, so you agreed. You made your way to the cute little coffee shop adorned with Christmas lights and sat on a table to wait for him to arrive at the table, until you saw him entering the shop with a book wrapped in brown wrapping paper in his hands.

You observed him approaching with your face on the palms of your hands, you watched his eyes scanning the place until they found you in some poor illuminated corner. He smiled, his eyes never left yours as he made his way to your table, and when he sat in front of you, he slid the book towards you.

“This is for you.” He simply said, crossing his arms over his chest like it was no big deal.

You frowned, confused. Did Yoongi get you some lawyer book? You didn’t know, you grabbed the wrapped book in your hands and scanned it as if you were able to see through the envelope. “The book you needed for college?”

“It’s not that.” He huffed. “It’s a present.”

You tried to bite back a smile, but you failed. “Is this your way to tell me you forgot to buy me a Christmas present?” You joked, making him roll his eyes.

“C’mon, you know me.” He said “I would never give you a Christmas present before Christmas, are you crazy?”

You laughed “So is this not a Christmas present?” You inquired, teasing him.

“It is a Christmas present, but not the Christmas present that I got for you.” He tried to clarify, and it sounded confusing but you understood him anyway.

You nodded, tearing the wrapping paper to reveal that Yoongi just bought you an Anne Sexton poetry book, the title “Love Poems” shinned in red on the cover, making you hold your breath for a second.

You raised your gaze from the book to find his eyes, which were looking at you expectantly, the same way someone looked at the moon, yearning. The same way you were looking at him.

“How did you know…?” The question died in your lips.

“I just know.” He cheekily said, and that was enough.

You know me, he said, and you felt your heart aching when you realized that Yoongi knew you too, and it was becoming impossible to escape from it.

You spent these past weeks trying to make it disappear, but there it was again, that strange feeling you felt in your chest, like something tugged from a string tied to your heart to try and steal it away. You were sure Yoongi thought he had his ways with you, that he was some kind of genius that knew exactly what to say and what to do to erase the frown from your face and make you laugh, but the truth was that he didn’t need to do much effort to win you over, the truth was that he already had you. He had you then, and he had you now and you weren’t sure if that was ever going to change, but today you didn’t care, you let him walk you home as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders like that warm wouldn’t chill you to the bone when he left.

You had successfully gone through dinner without having to answer questions about college, or your future, or anything about yourself at all, part of it was because your grandmother didn’t ask any questions to begin with. Maybe you were a bit jealous that she seemed more interested in Eva, your cousin, who was a biochemist and just got engaged, or Aidan, your other cousin, who was just admitted into college, or even Yoongi, who was about to graduate, however, you felt relieved that the attention was not focused on you. You were used to your family thinking that you were a thirteen year old teenager and not a twenty one year adult, the attention was never really on you, sometimes it bounced on you accidentally like a ball and, from time to time, you got to share a glimpse of information about your life, but most of the time your mother answered for you as if you were a kid in the hospital room, trying to include you in conversations and talking about your own projects, and that was enough for everyone.

In the past, your mother had sat you down several times to explain that your grandmother was never an easy woman, she reassured you that her judgmental behavior was a reflection of herself, not of you. She always offered to let you stay at home if you wanted to, but you refused only for the rest of the family, you could stand being with your grandmother if that meant being with the rest of them. And you learnt to endure it all: your grandmother’s judging look, all the talking about your cousin’s achievements, their goals, projects, flawless record, and the fact that everyone seemed to be finding their paths except for you. You had to learn to pretend you were happy for them and not jealous, you took several breaths and moved on, and for a while you thought that after two decades of your life you had finally mastered the art in not giving a fuck about what your family thought about you, until today when you ran to hide in the closet so they wouldn’t find you.

You had to work on that, you knew that, but at least for now the blatant disinterest for your life spared you from having to explain your life crisis, at least Yoongi was by your side, redirecting attention to him and the real question everyone wanted to ask but no one dared, a question that eclipsed any other topic of conversation: what was happening between the two of you?

You looked at him next to you, charming as ever, talking with your uncle across the table. He decided to put on his glasses, his cheeks were pink and the sleeves of his blue sweater were rolled up to his elbows, his arm was casually resting on the top rail of your chair and every time he made a joke he looked at you to check if you were laughing. Every attempt he made to try to make you part of the conversation made your heart swell, but you were more than happy just observing him blending into your family as if he were part of it; you wanted to be as clueless as everyone on the table and believe that Yoongi could be sitting next year at this very same table to be there for you, for a moment you allowed yourself to dream of a reality where he saved you from every family gathering like he was doing tonight.

From the tip of your nose to the tip of your toes you felt warm, almost as if you had a fever. It was probably because you were still wearing your black sweater inside the house or because the memory of the book Yoongi gave you kept your cheeks burning red, or maybe because when dinner was over and your family lingered over the table for the longest time they could, you saw Yoongi tilting his head towards the stairs, meaning it was time to go to bed.

There was a couple differences between this weekend and the night Yoongi slept with you after coming back from The Alley, that night you wouldn’t have ask him to stay over if you were sober, and he most likely wouldn’t have stay if he wasn’t high, tonight you had to share the room, but it was impossible for you not to be dramatic and always make big deals out of small things. Unlike you, Yoongi didn’t flinch when you told him you were going to sleep in the same room, you failed to remember that you were the one who had a decade-long crush on him and not the other way around.

Now the house was quiet and everyone was scattered around the floors, your cousins were in the living room with your uncle, your grandmother was already in bed, your mom was in the kitchen washing the dishes and Yoongi was upstairs, waiting for you. Before going with him, you changed into your pajamas and went to the kitchen to steal a few cookies that your mother cooked for tomorrow morning. You could wait a few hours more to eat the cookies, but you were desperately trying to look for an excuse to prolong the moment you entered the room you were sharing with the man upstairs.

You entered the kitchen, making your mother turn around from the sink to take a quick look at you before coming back to the dishes. “Are you already going to sleep?” She asked, a curious tone on her voice.

“Yeah, but I wanted to grab a few cookies first, is that okay?” You inquired, already opening the cabinet above her head to grab a big plate.

“Just a few, remember they’re for everyone.” She warned, and you hummed in response, knowing that you were going to grab more than just a few.

The room fell silent for a moment, you heard the water running and your dragging feet making their way to the cookies on the counter before she raised her voice again. “Are they for you and Yoongi?”

You hummed again “Yes, just a few, I promise.” You said, grabbing what it seemed to be a whole batch of cookies to put on the plate.

You tried to be quick, putting an extra cookie for the road between your teeth and turning around to escape from your mother before she could see you and scold you for stealing way too many cookies. Trying not to make any noise, as if that could make you invisible, you made your way towards the door to escape, but when you thought you were about to succeed, you heard the nickname your mom used for you from the corner of the room, stopping you in your tracks.

“Wait, darling.” You heard her tone of voice, surprised that it wasn’t annoyed, but rather motherly.

You turned around slowly with your guard up, as if in that way she wouldn’t notice the cookie between your teeth. You took it out of your mouth, hiding it behind your back.

“Yes?” You answered, remaining calm. You would not give yourself away when you already made this far.

She closed the faucet, turning around to face you. Her eyes fell upon you, offering you an apologetic smile, which was weird, it was the kind of smile she gave you when she knew she was about to upset you. It wasn’t the kind of face someone who was about to scold you would make, she looked hesitant, almost worried.

“I wanted to-... I mean, I wanted to ask you about something.” She said, stumbling with her own words. Her eyes were not focused on the plate on your hands, not even in your face completely, like she was trying to avoid your eyes. You felt a rush of nervousness running down your body and quickly dissipating, you didn’t know why.

“About what?” You inquired, wiping the crumbs from your mouth.

She sighed, playing with the towel in her hands to keep her hands busy. “I know you don’t want me to be all over your business, and I’m aware you are not a teenager anymore, but I can’t help worrying a little bit.” She explained, or at least she tried.

You frowned, more confused than ever. The conversation seemed to be taking a completely different path than you thought five seconds ago.

“What do you mean, mom?” You said, taking a step forward, what did this have to do with the cookies?

Your mom pursed her lips, hesitating for a microsecond until the words finally came out of her mouth. “You are already a woman, darling, so I wanted to know if you are… cautious.” She pronounced, making emphasis on the last word and letting it sink in the air, but you still didn’t understand what she was talking about.

“Cautious with what?” You must've looked like a total fool, asking once again what she meant, but your mother seemed to want you to understand without having to explain.

She shifted in her place and you saw a flash of embarrassment in her eyes, but it quickly disappeared. “With Yoongi, I mean.” She said, making the name resonate in your ears “I know you’re both adults and you can do whatever you want, but I wanted to make sure that you are using protection.”

The realization fell upon you like a ton of bricks, each word she uttered felt like a different punch to your stomach. You opened your eyes widely, almost choking with your own spit. “What? No, mom-” You wanted to interrupt her, but she was quick to talk over you.

“I just want to make sure!” She said like she was apologizing “I don’t mean to be invasive, but it’s important to me that you’re being safe.”

You winced, feeling your face burning as you began stuttering “Me and Yoongi…-We are not, I mean-”

“Honey,” She stopped you, looking at you like she was a sex education teacher trying to explain why you should use protection. “I was not born yesterday, I see things happening, and believe me, I have no problem with you sharing a room, but I can’t help but ask.”

You were left completely speechless, and her constant interruptions while you were trying to finish a sentence were not helping. You racked your brain to find a logical explanation, but you were incapable of forming a decent sentence when she was looking at you like she was a doctor. The fact that your mother thought that you and Yoongi were having sex made your stomach squirm, and how she stated that it was obvious left your head spinning. Did she see you today in that closet and immediately assumed you were… fucking? God, that sounded so bad, so incredibly embarrassing. You still felt yourself blushing when you thought about that moment, you couldn’t even fathom the idea of seeing him without a shirt, less alone having sex with him.

“Mom, please. You don’t have to worry, really.” You tried to explain, but that was not enough to leave your mother content, by the look on her face you knew she didn’t believe you one bit.

“I know I don’t have to worry!” She defended herself “Yoongi is a great boy, and I trust you… But you know, if things get a bit too frisky...”

You closed your eyes shut, trying not to picture that in your mind, “God, mom, don’t use that word!”

“Sorry! I mean… You know what I mean! I hope you’re using protection, no matter the circumstances.”

You took a deep breath, ninety percent sure you were about to die of embarrassment, but with your last breath you made sure to be clear with your mom so tonight she would sleep peacefully “Believe me, mom. You don’t have to worry, nothing happened between Yoongi and me, I mean it.”

You could see it in her eyes, she was not convinced, and she was right to be so. That was a lie, and she knew it. What happened today was not “nothing”, and your mother knowing that only made your cheeks burn.

“Fine.” She said, struggling to let the conversation go “But if something does happen… Be safe, okay?”

You nodded repeatedly, trying to end the conversation as soon as possible. “Yes, of course.” You promised, but the idea of that ever happening sent a chill down your spine, you tried to shake that thought as far away as you possibly could.

Your mom smiled and you took it as your cue to go. You tried to walk away, but before you reached the door, she spoke again.

“And darling?” She said, making you turn around to see her. “I know you don’t like coming here without your brother, so thank you for coming anyway.”

“It’s fine, mom.” You said, and it was true. “At least Yoongi made up for it.”

She smirked, suppressing a laugh. “Oh, I’m sure.”

You rolled your eyes, in disbelief. “Yup, I’m going now, goodnight!” You said, finally escaping from the conversation. You heard your mom’s laugh in the distance as you closed the door behind you to run upstairs.

Present

When you visited Simon’s apartment for the first time you could clearly notice it was a boy’s apartment from the lack of decoration, the lack of food in the fridge and the amount of boxes still unpacked weeks after moving in, but after you entered through the door tonight you saw a completely different version of it. It was a part of him that you missed out when you were gone, now there were plants on the living room and traces of Florence all over the place, like her purple slippers on the door and the purple toothbrush on the bathroom, her scrunchies on the entryway table and the framed picture of her beside them. You found it endearing, it was like a secret world made just for the two of them, a proper home.

“When is Florence coming back?” You asked, leaving your bag on the couch.

Simon took off his shoes, wandering through his house as he turned all the lights on “On Monday.” He replied.

You made a mental note to leave on Monday, even if Simon repeated a thousand times that it was okay for you to stay there on the way here, you didn’t want to intrude in his life. Instead you decided it would be easier to intrude in Minnie’s life, who’s apartment was big enough for the two of you, the only person she shared her apartment with was not an actual person, it was just her orange cat.

“I was supposed to go with her.” Your brother kept talking “But me and Yoongi are behind on some work and I had to stay… Well, I’m the one who’s behind, really. Yoongi is just helping me.”

You did not forget that Simon and Yoongi worked together at the same law firm downtown ever since they graduated. You knew that Yoongi got the job as soon as he graduated and then he was followed by your brother, after years it was still impossible to keep them apart, which had become a problem for you.

You nodded but didn’t say anything about it, you reasoned that Yoongi was still working before arriving at your house, that explained the clothes, the shoes and the messy hair. You sighed just by thinking about it, at least dinner was over, at least your first encounter with Yoongi after four years wasn’t the worst thing that happened tonight.

It was impossible, but you tried not to think about it too much. Yoongi’s presence was some kind of collateral effect that came with your life, it was too late to detach him from it, but you still tried to run away from it for years and years, only to come back and still find him here, talking to you like nothing ever happened, like you were still friends.

Yoongi and you were always on different stages of your life, on different places, on different paths, but you seemed to agree on one thing: keep everything secret, no one needed to know what happened between the two of you, that was why Simon was always talking about Yoongi when you called him, that was why he couldn’t stop talking about it him now, he didn’t realize that you didn’t want to know anything about his best friend, you could never told him why.

You followed your brother to his guest room as he talked and talked about how smart Yoongi was and how he was capable of taking so many different cases and not dying in the process, how nice it was to work with his best friend and blablabla. You swore that if you heard the name one more time you would explode, so you decided to drastically change the subject of the conversation, you were willing to say anything to take his name out of your brother’s mouth. It took a second, but when the room fell silent, you looked at your feet, a bit unsure, gathering enough courage to finally say what you’ve been meaning to tell him since you arrived home.

“I’m sorry for not telling you about the proposal.” You softly spoke, and Simon, who was looking for a blanket in the closet in the corner of the room, turned his head to look at you. “I wanted to tell you in person, but I wasn’t planning for that article to come out, I didn’t want the whole world to know.”

Simon left the blanket on the bed, turning his body to look at you more clearly. “Mom told me that you think Ian leaked the news” He mentioned, and you nodded, at the risk of looking crazy.

“Sally suggested it.” You confirmed, sitting on the bed “And if he didn’t, he’s fine with it anyway. He doesn’t care if people see me as this bitch who broke his heart, I might as well be.”

He looked at the wall behind you, confused. “I think I missed a chapter here.” He said, sitting on the edge of the bed “Maybe more than one. Weren’t you in love with him?”

You wanted to grab a pillow, bury your face on it and scream as loud as you could, but for the sake of looking like a sane person you contained yourself. “I thought I was.” You said sincerely. you believed there was a time when you were sure you were in love with Ian, there were moments you thought that the good things about him could outweigh the bad things, but deep down you knew that if you were really in love you wouldn’t have to do all that math, you wouldn’t have to fight to ignore his arrogance and his big ego.

“And when did you realize that you weren’t?” He continued to ask “Or when did you realize he was a jerk?”

You scoffed, bitterly. “I guess I always knew both, I tried to make it work regardless. I enjoyed being with him for some time, but then he planned an engagement party full of people I didn’t even know. He didn’t care to call any of you and expected me to say yes… Does that say more about him or me?”

He kept quiet, not knowing what to say, but you already knew the answer.

“Ian was an asshole, kid. He was jealous of you, of your family, of your job, none of us understood why you were with him.”

“That was not what I asked.” You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Ian was a prick, I get it, but I wasn’t much better either.”

“You can’t make me think you deserve each other, are you kidding?” He said.

“I can’t blame him for everything, I made my own bed.” You huffed “I was terrible and it took me almost four years to snap out of it, that was not his fault.”

“You are right, but you’re here now, aren’t you?” He reminded you, calmly. “Isn’t that what’s important?”

You began to become exasperated “C’mon, Simon, don’t try to be nice, you’re supposed to be mad at me.”

“I am mad at you.” He corrected you, sending a chill down your spine “You’re working all the time, you never call, never text back, we barely see you and the only way to know about your life is when we read some article saying you broke up with your boyfriend because he proposed to you, are you kidding? Of course I am mad, but because I miss you.”

You felt a wave of regret hitting all your senses, suddenly your eyes were burning with tears and you are not supposed to cry, you knew that, but the single tear that slid down your cheek was quicker than any thought that could cross your mind. Somehow, you wished your family hadn't noticed how absent you'd been these past few years, that they just shrugged and said “that’s just her” and forgot about it, it was not necessary to look at Simon’s face to know that he couldn’t just forget about it. He loved you, your mother loved you too, you didn’t have a family that you would want to run away from, but you did it anyway,

“I’m sorry…” You murmured, looking at him with eyes full of regret. “It wasn’t you, it wasn’t any of you, it was me. I was so angry when I left, I didn’t know how to handle it.”

You wouldn’t trade your career for anything, it was one of those few things that made you happy, but after years of trying to convince yourself that every decision you made for the last few years was the right choice, this was the first time that you admitted that maybe you weren’t thinking clearly when you decided to move to the city and never look back.

Simon frowned, thinking about it twice before asking “Were you angry, bug?”

You tilted your head, giving him a sad smile, hoping that it could explain everything.”I was quite angry, yes.” You answered “Not at you, though.”

“At mom?”

“Maybe a little bit at mom, yeah.” You laughed, shaking your head. You sighed deeply, letting the silence sit in the room for a moment before you could put in order all the things you wanted to say. “I remember when I told her I left college she looked at me like I finally lost my mind, it was like she saw it coming, you know? Me, again, being lost, it was not a surprise, but rather something she would expect of me. I know she was just worried and I know I can be a lot sometimes, but it hurt anyway. I don't blame anyone, Simon, but all I needed was someone to believe in me and no one did. I had to leave.” Something ached inside your chest because that was not the whole truth, but it was all you could say tonight, you couldn’t say that Yoongi was also one of the reasons. “I’m not trying to justify myself.” You mumbled “I’m just saying that I was so angry that I didn’t realize how many mistakes I made.”

The silence that took over the room was so strong it made your stomach squirm. You shifted in your place, but Simon stayed there, with his gaze lost somewhere in the room as he processed what you just said.

“I always believed in you, you know that?” He spoke, causing your head to snap up towards him. “I know a lot of people tried to tell you that you weren’t, but you’ve always been special and I’ve always seen it.”

“I know you did.” You sighed. “But I was being so stubborn, I walked away and I’m so sorry.”

“I know you think you’re too much, but you’re not.” He continued talking “Maybe mom just wanted everything to be simple, for her kids to go to college, graduate, get a job and a home and never have to worry about whether they are choosing right or wrong ever again. But you’re not simple, bug, you’re extraordinary and talented and too brilliant to stay still, but you’re not too much, not for me.”

You held back a sob, feeling ridiculous. “I’m sorry.” You said, once again, because you haven’t said it enough times.

“It’s okay now, I mean it.” Simon reached for your hand to squeeze it tightly.

You sniffed “God, I should be comforting you for being a bad sister, not the other way around”

“I don’t need to be comforted, I’m okay as long as you’re here.” He tried to cheer you up. “And you were not a bad sister, you were sad and acted shitty.”

You smiled, because you told Simon that you were angry but instead he heard that you were sad, you didn’t feel like correcting him because he wasn’t so wrong about that.

“I’m sorry.” You repeated once again like a scratched record, making him laugh. “Are you still mad at me?”

“No.” he replied, “But only if you promise not to disappear again.”

You raised your hand, extending your pinky finger in front of his face. “I promise you, Simon, I will not disappear again.”

Simon tangled his pinky with yours, making your promise impossible to be broken, and your soul felt at ease for a moment.

“Fine, good enough for me.” he said, throwing himself back onto the bed. “Now I want to hear everything about the proposal, and I want you to describe to me exactly the face he made when you said no.”

You laughed, throwing yourself on the bed the same way he did and tried to summarize the last three years in just one night. Only for today, your body did you a favor and your head stopped spinning at least for now. Something began to feel right.

Four years ago

Seven days before New Year’s Eve

You could hear the radio at the end of the hallway in your grandmother’s room, softly playing jazz to cancel out the outside noise. Not everyone in the house liked the radio, your cousins always said that it was annoying and kept them awake, but it was still one of those old habits of your grandfather that remained in the house even if he was no longer here, so you liked it. The music inevitably seeped under the door of your room, Yoongi hummed some Frank Sinatra song as if he knew the lyrics to it, making you laugh and beg him to stop.

You know it’s almost midnight, as your roommate just informed you, but you didn’t want to turn the lights off yet. All of the cookies already disappeared from the plate, Yoongi was laying on his side the same way you were and the lamp on the nightstand warmly lighted up his brown eyes, you couldn’t help but feel you were not supposed to be in such presence, his messy hair and the loose white shirt he wore to sleep, his sleepy eyes, his pink lips; it looked just like the kind of view that was bound to haunt you forever.

The nightstand that separated you was not far enough to stop that pull from the string in your chest, not when he was looking at you like that, his gaze fixated on yours like he didn’t want to leave you awake alone, and neither did you. You felt yourself shaking because, what was the version of you that existed when you were asleep? And what happened inside his head when you were not there? What was happening inside his head right now?

Did you cross his mind the same way he crossed yours? When you finally fell asleep, would he remember that moment in the closet or would it be just water under the bridge? Did he spend every waking second of the last seven hours thinking of that fleeting moment when you could almost feel his lips on yours?

Or was that just you?

The night was fading away, your eyelids were getting heavy but you still couldn’t find the will to sleep.

“I’m sorry for today.” You almost whispered, gathering enough courage to mention the little accident “I’m sorry for dragging you with me to the closet.”

He smiled softly, closing his eyes for a second. “It’s okay, it was cozy.” He teased you, making you groan in annoyance. He laughed loudly at your reaction, annoying you even more. “I’m serious, it was okay.”

“Was it really?” You asked him “Wasn’t I being silly?”

“It's okay being silly sometimes.” He assured you, but that did not ease that anxious feeling in your stomach. He seemed to see it in your face. “What’s wrong with being a little silly? I would’ve run from your grandmother, too.”

You bitterly laughed, covering your face with the palms of your hands “Stop, I’m being immature.” You groaned “I’ve got to get my shit together.”

“C’mon Pinky, you have to stop with that.” He said.

“I would if I could.” You remarked.

“Didn’t you say you were going to get your shit together after the holidays?” He reminded you “Why are you worrying right now?”

Yoongi was right, that was the initial plan, but ever since you came back home everything was pointing in different directions and it was beginning to drive you crazy, it was like the universe was forcing you to think about it, it was not letting you run away from it, not even temporarily. First, it was Yoongi, showing up every few days at your doorstep, grabbing your hand, squeezing your legs, whispering things in your ear like he wanted you to go insane, it was Minnie, offering you a job, talking about The Alley, saying you were supposed to be on the big screen, and then it was your mother, expecting you to make up your mind once for all. And still, you had your whole life ahead, why were you worrying right now?

“I don’t know…” You sighed “What if I come back next year and the plan was not good enough? What if I end up hiding again from everyone?”

Yoongi shifted in bed, curious “Do you have a plan, Pinky?” The nickname rolled off his tongue softly, you swimmed in the tenderness of his voice, something about it made you want to tell him everything.

“Not really, I mean… It all sounds so bad.”

“You have a plan.” He affirmed, smiling “I want to hear it.”

“It’s not a plan.” You contradicted yourself “If it were a plan, it would suck.”

Yoongi hummed “It’s something like a plan, then.”

You scrunched your nose, unsure. “Yeah, but not quite like a plan, something like a…” You said, but the words died on your lips before you got the chance to finish.

“Something like a dream, then?” He continued to ask, but you shook your head.

“Something close.” You expressed, unable to find the right words to explain your thoughts. You stayed silent for a second, believing he was beginning to lose interest in the topic, until the words slipped past his lips like a spell.

“Something like a wish.” He pronounced, and he was not asking, it was almost like he knew.

You thought there was not much difference between a dream and a wish, but in this case, there was.

You smiled at him, nodding, somehow you felt you could trust him with all your secrets “Yes, like a wish.” You affirmed, and it felt like a confession. “I don’t know Yoongi, have you ever stayed up late and planned something but when you woke up next morning you felt it was stupid? Well, I do that every night.”

“I’m sure that whatever it is, it’s not stupid.” He said, making your heart swell.

“I would like to believe you…” You murmured “Do you have a dream, Yoongi? Something you’re too scared to wish for?”

You could see him think about it for a moment, but his eyes were still connected with yours. Oh, how you wished to be inside his mind right now, read his thoughts, witness his dreams, know all his secrets.

“Yes.” He confirmed, “But I can’t talk about them out loud right now.”

You laughed, biting your bottom lip. “Okay, fair. What about those you can say out loud?”

“I’m not going to tell you because you’re going to laugh.” He pouted, making you frown.

“Laugh?” You repeated, sounding more offended than you actually were. “I would never, c’mon.”

He raised an eyebrow, testing you “You sure?”

“Of course, don’t piss me off.”

“Fine, fine.” He let out a long sigh, believing you. “My wish would be… to stop time for a while. Sometimes I believe I can’t think when time’s running, all I do is study and come home to my mom, there is very little time that I have for myself.”

You felt your chest tighten, but it didn't surprise you that Yoongi felt this way. He already mentioned to you that, even if taking care of his mother didn’t feel like a burden, he still felt he was missing out on so many things.

“And what would you do if time stopped right now?”

Yoongi shifted his eyes for a moment, and you almost missed it but you saw it, the urge to hold back and the words getting stuck on his throat.

“Mmm…” He hummed, “I’ll go to the beach.”

“In winter?”

“Yes, I wouldn’t care.”

“And where else?” You continued to ask.

“Honestly? I’ll go anywhere but home.” He confessed.

“What’s wrong with home?” You of all people knew exactly what was wrong with home, but you wanted to hear why he thought that.

“Home it’s okay,” He waved off. “It just feels like I spent my whole life there. I went to college expecting something to change, and a lot of things did but I still feel like something else is supposed to happen, like there's something else for me to see.”

It was looking in a mirror, it was the same thing you’ve told him a few days ago but in other words, in another tone. Yoongi sounded resigned, like his wish was clearly something that was not meant to happen and he needed to come to terms with it, nothing could ever make you more sad.

“There’s plenty for you to see, Yoongi, are you kidding?” You chuckled “You’re twenty five, you’re barely grasping life.”

He scoffed, bitterly, “It’s not that easy.”

“Of course it is easy, do you know it’s not necessary to stop time to go to the beach?”

“I know, Pinky.” He agreed, “But what does it feel like running away?”

“Running away would be so bad?” You asked, hearing the question echoing in the room, letting you know that maybe it was something you weren’t supposed to wonder out loud. Yoongi didn’t dare to ask such a question, but you seemed determined to make his wish come true, maybe you were the only one who could do it.

“Don’t ask me.” He said, looking at the ceiling to avoid your gaze. “Don’t act like running away isn’t your wish as well”

You snorted, immediately grabbing a pillow and threatening to punch him in the face with it, but Yoongi is quick to cover his face with his arms.

“Don’t!” He protested, laughing.

“Don’t expose me like that!” You whined, embarrassed.

“What, am I wrong?”

“Maybe you’re not…” You dared to answer, leaving the pillow on the bed again “But how do you know?”

“I told you, Pinky.” He murmured “I just know.”

You shook your head in denial, how could it be? Were you really that transparent or Yoongi really just knew?

“What else do you know?” You continued to ask, curious.

He pretended to think about it, pouting his lips and looking at the ceiling as if the answers were to fall from the sky. His eyes shifted towards yours, tilting his head “I know that you would run away to the beach with me if I asked you to.”

A giggle was built in your throat, you laughed nervously as you tried to decipher if he was joking or not, even if Yoongi could see right through you, it was a bit difficult for you to do the same with him.

“I don’t know about that.” You said, ignoring the way your heart was beating against your ribcage. “Do you mean in… an hypothetical scenario?”

“It’s a hypothetical proposal.” He answered.

“I’ll have to check my schedule first.”

A smirk tugged from the corner of his lips. “What about… two weeks away from now?”

You did the calculation in your head, but you already knew that by then Yoongi would have to go back to class, so you doubted. “What about the semester?” You asked, trying to be the voice of reason. “Your last semester, might I add.”

“That could wait.” He did not hesitate “Isn’t it part of running away? Leaving things behind?”

You laughed “And what would people say about me, then? That I made you leave college, nuh-hu.”

“Here we go again with that.” He rolled his eyes “I don’t care what people say and, besides, I’m not leaving college, I’m… postponing it.”

That didn’t sound like the Yoongi you knew at all, but then again, this whole conversation didn’t sound like anything Yoongi from the past would say. A thousand questions crossed your mind, like what do you do on the beach in winter? Wouldn’t being alone be a problem? What are you going to talk about, where are you going to stay? If you say yes, would he grab your hand when you crossed the street, would he try to kiss you again?

You crossed your arms, thinking about it, not daring to agree right away, but how could you say no? When he was looking at you, convinced that you would say yes.

You opened your mouth, not sure what you were going to say but still ready to answer, and before you could utter a word, he interrupted you. “Run away with me to the beach, Pinky.” He asked in a soft tone, looking at you with warm eyes and warm words, making your heart shake violently in your chest “Only for now, I promise I’ll make it worth it.”

You smiled, ignoring that little person inside you that tried to warn you about something, but you weren’t sure about what because all you could feel was your heart racing. “Fine, I’ll follow you for now.” You simply said, trying to sound as cool as possible “Let’s run.”

In that moment you forgot about years and years of disappointment and failed dreams, failed wishes, you ignored the reality, deciding everything was false and true at the same time. You didn’t need to look at the clock to know that it was midnight, something inside your chest sparkled and told you it was time to make your wish, and for some reason, you listened. It echoed in every corner of your mind, your wish was the beach in winter.

Four days before New Year’s Eve

Two weeks ago, when you bought Yoongi’s Christmas gift, you thought about it like a farewell. You stood in the shop and talked to the tall man with the long face and chose the gift as you tried to convince yourself this was a way of saying goodbye to him.

That Christmas morning Yoongi tore the brown wrapping paper and opened the long box to find that you decided to give him a red tie. It wasn’t bright red, it was deep dark red, red like a rose. It came with a notebook and a pen with his initials on them. In your mind, you were giving away that version of him that lived in your head and clung to your thoughts and clung to your heart, that version of him you could never let go. Yoongi was about to graduate, he was about to become officially a lawyer, an adult, a man, he wasn’t that boy you fell in love with years ago, he was a wish you had to let in the past and your gift was just a way to remind you of it. You had a purpose, a plan, you had everything figured out until he decided to ask you to run away with him, until you said yes.

His gifts for you were a vinyl copy of Is This It by The Strokes, two tickets to watch When Harry Met Sally at the Alley the following week and a pair of red gloves for the rest of the winter.

Yoongi looked at you and smiled like you both knew something everyone else in the room didn’t. “The gloves match with the tie.” He had said.

So now you had no plan, what you did have though, was a bunch of pictures of several locations Yoongi thought of booking for your trip to the beach. You were doomed.

You thought the only person in this town who could possibly understand what you were going through was Minnie, the only person in the world who knew about your feelings for Yoongi, and the only person who you could call a friend at the moment.

You weren’t expecting to see Minnie again when you saw her at The Alley a few weeks ago, but she had different plans; it was like she forced you to be her friend again. You tried to stop thinking you didn’t deserve it, you had to swallow your guilt and accept her friendship, and after a few five hour calls filled with gossip, you ultimately decided not to be against it, even if she called you everyday and still talked nonstop about that audition in the city, talking with her felt like you were still fifteen, and you liked it.

That night, as she raided her closet looking for a dress for you to wear at the New Year’s party at The Alley, you sat on her bed and gave her a run down of everything that happened with Yoongi since you came back home, it didn’t take her much to get you to admit that you were still in love with your brother’s best friend, so you might as well be honest and tell her everything.

“You’re being stupid right now, sweetheart.” You heard her muffled voice from inside her closet. The next thing you saw was a piece of fabric flying in the air and landing at your feet. You grabbed it, putting in front of you to reveal a short pink dress that you would never, ever wear.

You snorted, leaving the dress on the pile of clothes that you already rejected. You seemed to forget that Minnie was not the most adequate person to talk about “boy stuff”, perhaps because she was way too honest. You didn’t know whether it was a mistake or not to tell her about the trip to the beach, because all the questions she was asking and all the things she was stating to be true were thoughts you were desperately trying to avoid.

“He wants to fuck you, I don’t know how else to tell you this.” She said, walking over the clothes to make her way to you. You threw yourself on the bed, covering your face with your palms “I mean, I wish I could only tell you that he’s head over heels for you, and honey, that he is, but he also wants to fuck you.”

You groaned, kicking your feet. “God, you make me want to throw up.”

“Of excitement, I’m assuming.” She affirmed “I’m telling you, there’s no way you’re going on a trip alone and come back without having fucked.”

You looked at her, begging her to stop talking, but she was not finished. “Stop!”

“Picture this.” She ignored you, forming a rectangle with her fingers and looking right through it as if she was directing a scene from a movie “First scenario, a storm causes the power to go out, there’s no electricity, you have no way to be warm so you sleep in the same bed to warm up, there’s tension, you look at each other and kiss, you fuck.”

“Okay, I don’t see that happening.” You shook your head.

“Second scenario, you just finished showering, you go out of the bathroom wearing only a towel because you think he’s not there, but he is! He sees you, you kiss, you fuck.”

“That’s not… That sounds like porn.”

“Third scenario!” She exclaimed.

“Fine, that’s enough.” You stopped her, waving your arms in the air.

“No, you have to prepare! And when it happens you will know that I was right.” Your friend insisted, but you refused to let any of those ideas in your mind.

“What if you’re not?” You wondered “What if he just wants to be my friend and I’m just imagining everything?”

“But you are not, are you kidding?” She laughed “That man is clearly in love with you, why are you convincing yourself otherwise?”

You felt Minnie’s body sitting right next to you, causing you to sit back on the bed to look at her face to face. You were sure you were about to start crying out of frustration. “I don’t know, what if I get hurt?”

Minnie pursed her lips “Baby, I can’t answer that question at all, but you have to take the chance.”

You groaned, annoyed. “I don’t want to take the chance.” You whined “I was fine before seeing him again, I wasn’t even thinking of him.”

“That is a lie,” She laughed, mocking you. “We both know you never stopped being in love with him, now you have him in the palm of your hand, do something.”

Minnie stood up again, looking for another piece of clothing on the floor as you kept silent, wondering if any of that could be possible. Did you really have him in the palm of your hand? Was he in love with you and you were being stupid for believing that he wanted to be just friends?

“What should I do?” You asked her, hoping that the redhead in the room knew all the secrets of the universe.

“Invite him to the New Year’s party and wear a hot outfit, how about that?” Minnie offered, like that could answer all your prayers.

“Would that resolve all my problems?” You joked, talking to the sky.

“C’mon, he literally asked you to run away with him, don’t you find that a little bit hot? Don’t you really think that was not code for ‘I want to fuck you’?”

You laughed “Yoongi is not like that!” You protested.

“I hate to break it to you, but you are hot.” She insisted, throwing another piece of clothing at your face. “And if Yoongi is not blind, he knows that, and let’s not forget the most important fact here.”

“Which is…?”

“He’s in love with you, let’s start wrapping our heads around that.” She simply said “Once that’s done, you invite him to the New Year’s eve party at The Alley, you wear a hot outfit and confront him about it, tell him to stop playing around.”

You grabbed the dress Minnie just threw at you, which was another short dress, but this one was actually cute. It was black and was covered in black sparkly sequins with thin straps, you were definitely going to freeze to death if you wore that, but you were sure this fitted the description of ��hot outfit”.

Minnie was right, you couldn’t keep running away from the facts, everything was laid on the table, you didn’t need more proof to know that Yoongi felt something for you, even if you weren’t sure if it was the same that you felt for him, you needed to gather enough courage to find out what it was.

You grabbed the phone in your pocket and opened Yoongi’s chat, you decided to invite him to the New Year’s party.

taglist: @kingofbodyrolls @overtherainbow35 @namin13 @p34rluv @moonchild1 @yoongisoftface @namgihours @idkjustlovingbts @yoongisducky @bangtansmauyeondan @tarahardcore @wobblewobble822 @secfir @ot72025 @baechugff @heroinanne @mortal-body-timelesssoul @hiii-priestess @wii-wii @jungkookies1002 @busanbby-jjk @acquiescence804 @yoongibaybee @hsbongwater

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macfrog · 1 year ago

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champagne problems sex on fire chapter ten

i'm not sorry!!!!! you'll never catch me!!!! (im, like, super sorry)

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: the secrecy between you and joel comes to a head. one huge, explosive, painful head.

warnings: age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), workplace relationship, imbalance of power dynamic, whew boy the angst is big in this one sorry, reader has a lot of internal struggle, daddy issues and commitment issues to the max (ha), memories of parental abandonment and adultery, sort of vague mention/description of reader having panic attacks, attempts to initiate sex (but alas, only one small mention of previous sex), Big Argument, alcohol consumption, cursing, sugardaddy!joel, soft!joel, fluff and angst. angst angst angst angst

word count: 11.1k

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The lavender is the first to wilt.

It stares glumly at the kitchen counter. Posture hunched and drooping. You stand before it, clutching a jug of water like you’re starving the purple sprigs for information. Why did he lie to me why did he lie why would he lie to me tell me why.

The daisies look on, awkward and curious. Their petals streaked with green – still fresh and still at least trying to bloom. The news hasn’t reached their delicate stamens yet – they still have blind hope. But they’re drinking from the same rotten water their lilac neighbors are. They must know it’s futile.

You fill the vase up and fix the lace bow – the one you’d transferred from the brown paper wrap to the vase last night, after seeing Joel out. He stayed until nightfall, until the rest of your apartment faded into a pale gloom, forgotten about while the two of you watched TV and kept secrets from one another in your warm-lit bedroom.

When he leaned down and held his lips over yours, you pushed yourself onto your toes and kissed him goodbye. He ruffled your hair, clipped your bottom lip lovingly. Said, I’ll call you tomorrow. Get some sleep, pretty girl.

You lay staring at the ceiling the whole night.

He was out all day Saturday at a charity event. He called you as he arrived home – you heard the elevator’s ding through the receiver, announcing its arrival at his top-floor apartment. And you stayed on the phone, the thing discarded on your mattress, as sleep blurred the edges of the world in and out of focus all evening.

Three times you thought about just telling him to come back over, hold you until you forgot what he’d even done. Pretend that the man who, possessed by lies and jealousy or something much worse, had taken your wrist and swept you off out of Jean-Marc’s penthouse isn’t the same one who brought you tea and Chinese food yesterday. The one who held you, blood and broken wings safe in his arms, while you wept into his body.

Three times you stamped the flame out, remembering. As if you needed reminding. Your stomach still sinks anytime the reel jerks back to its beginning behind your eyes. The words unfortunately and unavailable. The rustling of the bag in the kitchen. The padding of his footsteps drawing nearer and nearer.

Your phone buzzes somewhere across the room. You set the jug down and shuffle over, tilting the screen in the morning light.

We’re outside baby. Take your time.

You haven’t mentioned it to him, yet. Haven’t breached the conversation. You’ve no fucking clue where to start. It hurts too much to look at it just yet – like scalding yourself with boiling water and clamping a wet towel to the burn until you can stomach the sight of your skin, all blistered and bubbling.

The towel is still covering the wound. You’re still frantically pacing around the kitchen clutching it, heavy and sopping. You’re not sure what it looks like, but from beneath the cold cloth, it doesn’t feel good.

It doesn’t feel good at all.

Joel’s leaning against the Rolls when you totter down your front steps. Fall plucks the leaves from the trees one by one; they swirl down to the smooth pavement, brown and amber and golden. You’re in a floral tea dress, which took you an obscene amount of time to decide on, given the cocktail of nerves and confusion and outright panic rolling around your stomach.

Your heel scuffs to a halt in front of him. He pushes off of the car and swings your door open, squints at you in the sunlight. You watch his eyes move down your frame, a misplaced desire to impress him dripping through your veins, and then he looks back up.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he says, and your veins sizzle. “You look…” he shakes his head simply, “…you’re beautiful.”

Your lips betray you. Your mind – that poor, dead lavender; your body – the poor, naïve daisies. Still has blind hope.

You can’t help but reflect his expression, attempting to mask it with a soft shrug. “Are the heels too much?” you ask, glancing down and lifting your foot.

Joel shakes his head instantly. “I like ‘em. And even if they were, we’re late. You ain’t got time to change.”

“You said you’d be here at twelve. It’s ten after.”

“I run a construction company, not a watchmakers. You okay?”

“Yeah,” you say. Unconvincingly.

“I mean,” he circles a hand over his stomach, lifts his eyebrows, “you feelin’ okay? We don’t have to go – Martha wouldn’t mind, you know that.”

“I’m fine,” you chirp, and your painted lips flatten against one another as you dip into the car. “Hi, Rand.”

The driver lowers his sunglasses and tips his head in the rear-view. “Hi, baby.”

Joel shimmies along the leather, shifting his jacket from between you to scoop your body against his. You glance down, eyeing his soft sweater, the light shade of it paired against that of your dress. The glint of his watch as his wrist slips happily between your legs, hooking under your thigh. The bloody crimson of the birthday card envelope, trembling in the door pocket.

The car pulls off, dragging you from your daydream. Stealing you back from the dystopia where you and Joel match, where you go together. A couple. Removing the notion of it from your makeup, each cell in your body slowly reverting back to yours again. Just yours. No CEO boss to stake his claim to any of them.

Martha’s place sits at the end of a cul-de-sac; neighbored on one side by a retired couple who spent their entire summer arguing in the backyard, according to Martha, and on the other by a row of quaint cypress.

The front door, bordered by polished mosaic squares of glass, sits inside one of four gable roofs. Dark green shutters either side of each stark-white window frame. A smooth path snaking between neatly-fringed grass, a hierarchy of tiny bushes growing greener and greener the closer they draw to the front steps.

Come in through the back, she’d said. Gate will be open. We’ll be in the yard.

Joel makes some quiet remark just to you about how perfect the house looks. The red brick and marengo tile. How much effort gone into polishing the front, only to tell you to use the back entry. ‘s only for looking, he decides, and then offers his hand to pull you from the Rolls.

He bends over the car, hand flat on the roof, and calls back to Rand. “Do me a favor – don’t go far. Just –” he jerks his head in your direction, “– just in case.”

When he straightens up and the car purrs off, you shake your head. “I’m fine,” you whisper, and he hooks two fingers around the string of the giftbag, taking it from your grasp.

He replaces it with his hand, his huge palm against yours. “I know,” he mutters, glancing down the drive, “but it’s an excuse for when I get sick of Alan ‘n all his damn friends.”

“Henry,” you remind him.

He tosses you a half-second look, smirk scrawled on his lips. He knows.

She’s waiting for you by the French doors when you arrive – Martha. Glass of sparkling champagne in each hand. Your fingers slip free from Joel’s before you’ve even rounded the corner.

“Saw the car pull up,” she tells you, leaning to let Joel kiss her cheek. “Here,” she hands you a glass, then one to Joel, “and here.”

You sip at the bubbling drink, letting the sharp fizz assault your tongue. Letting the feeling wash down your throat, stinging and bitter. Joel seems to swallow his just fine.

He swings the bag in her direction, tongue swiping across his bottom lip. “Just a little somethin’ from the two of us.”

You frown, holding a hand up to shield your eyes from sunlight too faint to cause the stiffness of your face and the drawn string of your brows. Where is Deb? And her two sons? And their shared gift? Isn’t it totally platonic and professional after all, to sign something from you and Joel?

Martha’s hands clasp. She reaches gleefully for the bag, smiling at the striped pattern. “I got no idea where he is. Last I saw, they were all headin’ up to his room. Some zombie game on his PlayStation. He promises me they ain’t playin’ the R-rated version.”

“That’s alright,” Joel says, “I believe ‘im.” He leans closer, a weight apparent at the small of your back. It shocks like a surge of electricity up your spine, hurts like a sudden muscle spasm. And then it soothes the pain, his thumb rubbing delicately. “’s a nice place,” he tells Martha.

She feigns disbelief. “Well, thank you, Mr. Miller, C-E-O,” she sings, and then, cocking an eyebrow, “y’all want a tour?”

You both nod politely, following her towards the kitchen doors. Joel nods towards a table by the barbecue – an island amongst a sea of candy and pastries, chopped fruit and bowls of nuts: a two-tiered, sky-blue cake. The name Henry piped in red icing – the letters swirling much like a birthday card you once read in a house on Maple Street.

“Nice little cake for Alan,” Joel mutters, squeezing your waist.

A stolen laugh shudders from your lips; the two of you snicker together, and despite your best attempts to cover your grin with your champagne flute, Martha spots you.

“What’s so funny?” she asks, sidling back over.

“Martha,” you clear your throat, “would you do me a favor?”

“What’s that, sweetheart?”

“Would you please tell Joel your son’s name?”

She looks at you blankly. Blinks between you and the man at your side, both staring back expectantly. But her stone-set expression begins to crack, the lines deepening around her mouth.

“As in,” you clarify, “his real name. Not Alan.”

She makes to reply when the swish-thud of a window opening interrupts, the prepubescent bellow of an almost-teen from overhead.

“Mom!” Henry calls, his dark head of curls and long, boyish arms dangling over the sill.

Martha glares up at him. “What have I told you about hangin’ from there” she yells, fists propped on her hips. “What is it?”

“Mike brought Blood Cry III; can we play it?”

She shakes her head indignantly. “I have told you – how many times? No!” She holds her hands out in apology to you and Joel, and then scuttles off into the kitchen. “Go explore,” she waves, “I trust ya!”

Joel wordlessly takes your hand, leading you in Martha’s wake through the kitchen to the living room: its navy walls and white paneling, bookshelves spanning the entire length of one wall, and a pale-brick fireplace centering two leather couches. Very pristine, very perfect. Very Martha.

You amble around, slowing in front of the mantelpiece above which a gallery of framed photos hangs. Henry as a toddler on a green trike; Martha’s stepdaughter and her kid; Alan on a golfing trip. Your eyes jump from plump cheeks to missing teeth, sunhats and Thanksgiving meals, until they land on a photo of Martha and Alan on their wedding day – her veil pinned neatly into a permed updo, her puffy-sleeved dress and the lemon bouquet spilling from her hands.

Joel’s shoulder brushes against your own, his eye journeying across the photos, too. “Ha,” he tosses a finger towards the wedding photo, “nineties Martha. Nice hair, huh?”

You smile, lazily swatting his arm. “She looks beautiful. They seem happy.”

Joel agrees. “Wonder what their first dance song was.”

“I bet it was something classy. Sinatra or something. Martha wouldn’t be breaking the marriage in to anything cheesy, that’s for sure.”

He laughs, spinning off towards the dining room. “You ever thought about what you’d pick?”

You hesitate, rounding the table on the opposite side. “Uh…no. Not really.”

“Not your thing? Marriage.”

You chance a glance at him over a vase of lilies in the center of the mahogany table. The smell twists towards you, leering as it coats your skin and your clothes and the back of your throat in a sickly film that makes your head spin. “I guess not. I’ve never – Not since…”

He nods. He knows. “That’s fair,” he says, hands finding his pockets. The idea of Blake – his name, his shaking hands, the tiny box in his suit pocket – the thought of those images flitting through Joel’s brain pinches the air from your lungs.

You watch the silhouette of him as it crosses over the bay window, looking out onto the trimmed grass and smooth asphalt street. Something cracks deep in your chest. Something begins to unbind.

“What would yours be?” you ask him, and he turns.

“Depends,” he shrugs, “on when I’m gettin’ married or not. Makes no difference to me.”

You bypass the point he’s making. Turn away from it like you would a shadow in the night. “If you were,” you insist, “what would you pick?”

He nears you, never breaking your stare. His confident matches your nervous, his steady gaze on your shy. “Somethin’ special to me ‘n her. An our song kinda thing.” And then, as he brushes deliberately by your shoulder to head for the stairs, “AC/DC or som’.”

Your heels stick like they did that night in the dive bar. Ears hurt with a ringing loud enough to blur the edges of your vision. Your skin feels the same hot – only, not from the crowded room you’re in, or the mix of alcohol and sweat and something akin to lust seeping through your pores.

You stare fixedly at the view from the bay window, the perfect little cul-de-sac with its perfectly smooth roads; perfect for kids learning to ride their first bikes, perfect for couples wandering arm in arm, perfect for angry fathers taking off in cars packed with belongings.

When you were a kid, buckled into the back of your dad’s car, you used to fight sleep to watch the moon race you home. Her white glow surviving being split over and over again by the trees you’d whip past. Your eyes would flit from hers to the windscreen, watching the road up ahead as it threatened to twist and turn. No matter how fast you thought your dad must be driving, no matter which direction he turned – every time you looked for her, there she’d be.

It makes sense now. The notion of staying. Occupying somewhere in space or in time, and forgetting how to leave. Forgetting how to try. Forever fixed there, glowing in a brilliant melancholy, singing to nobody in the dark expanse of the sky. Waiting for the sun to make her return. Just waiting waiting waiting.

You – the moon, and your sky – that fucking driveway. The Toyota, the rust on its underside so bitter you could taste it like blood on your tongue. Searching all over for the scraps of yourself, the pieces he tore away as he fled: veins tangled around spokes, severed fingers tinged crimson and hooked around the steering wheel. Don’t go. Don’t leave me.

And then, the sun – some sharp-suited, quick-witted Texan; enough charm and ease to lift himself over the horizon, to give you something other than the glimmer in your own tears to reflect.

The moon stares down at you now as you sit, perched on your balcony. Your knees tucked under your chin, watching two cats wrestle down on the street below. It’s just gone two; Joel’s in bed fast asleep. You slipped from his grasp and crept out of your room, a blanket over your shoulders, and disappeared between the sheer curtains. Your chest tight, your breathing short.

It keeps happening, that thing from Paris. Your head begins to spin, your voice withers to nothing. Your legs push you to your feet and force you to flee, though you’ve still to figure out where to or what from. All you know is that blue-eyed stare of your ex-fiancé has been wiped, replaced by the dusted beard of your boss instead. The plastic ring between his fingers. The creaking leather of his office chair.

Those same four words keep circling your head, replaying on a loop between your ears: why did he lie why did he lie why did he lie. Like white noise droning around your skull, bubbling nausea in the pit of your stomach. No, darlin’. Why would I lie to you?

Why did you lie to me?

Why did he do any of it? Take you to Paris, let you meet his client. Why has he been sleeping with you, treating you like some kind of girlfriend? The word plucks goosepimples all over your body. His body around yours at Aspen Heights – what you wanted so badly to believe was endearment, was comfortability and generosity, now feels like territory-marking. Feels like the white-knuckled tightening of a leash in his wide fist.

The leaves of the trees across the street tremble, lit luminous green by the 7-Eleven sign they fringe. You watch as two men swagger out of the store; their chatter drowned by the buzzing of the fluorescent sign. They split off with a quick handshake at the curb, disappearing into two different cars, driving off in two different directions.

You sniff. Some skunky smell hangs low in the air. So thick that you can feel it coating your lungs from the inside out. You sink back into your chair, push your fingers into your eyes until you’re watching a mirage of stars pull across your vision. Blow a cracked, nervous breath into the sky. Slip your nose beneath the collar of your tee.

Joel’s tee, which pools in the dip between your stomach and thighs. You suck his scent in like one hit of some intoxicating drug, for every three hits of clean air. Just seeing you through. Pretending there’s no addiction there.

But fuck, if you’re not screwed. One half of you holding back on mentioning the email because – what the fuck do you even say? How do you begin to ask him about it? How do you approach the topic, without prefacing it with feelings you’re too afraid to admit even to yourself?

And the other half – for fear of what you might cause. What you might make him do. For the pure, cut-throat fear that he’ll become the third in a list of men to just – leave. To let you down, to let you go. Change between couch cushions. Wild flowers torn from the earth’s scalp.

Then, the fracturing realization that you don’t want him to go. That you’re used to him, now, in a way you never were with your dad or with Blake. Your dad – who would choose poker night over parents’ night. Who would choose a drink with his buddies over a movie with you and your mom.

Or Blake – who would schedule sex on the nights he figured he’d have enough energy to fuck you until at least he came, and would buy you chrysanthemums on your birthday even long after you’d told him you were pretty sure you were allergic.

And then there’s Joel. Joel fucking Miller. Who turned up at your door less than thirty minutes after Martha told him you were sick. Who said in the car ride to her house earlier, Tell me your favorite flower.

Why? you asked.

Just so I know.

Joel – who has never asked anything more than you’ve chosen to tell him about your father, but whose face still screws into an angry grimace anytime he’s forced to think of him. Who reaches out to adjust the broken heart around your neck, slip the clip back to your nape without you asking Who offers you the last slice of pizza, and when you refuse, compromises by splitting it. Giving you the bigger half.

Joel – with whom sex feels like a form of communication: Here are all the things I don’t know how to say, yet. Yet yet yet. A conversation, each movement deliberate; each nip and lick and bite weighted with purpose and meaning. It lives under your nails, behind your teeth. Here – I don’t know what else to do with all this longing.

Joel – who has not only set every foot right, but has carved his own path through your heart. Explored the caves himself, a lonely lamp hanging from his fist as he carefully, gently, politely weaved his way through a jungle of valves and tissue, monsters and darkness, slowly winding his way to the center.

Joel. Who has never let you down. Until that fucking email.

A 7-Eleven employee, some scrawny kid with a mop of black hair and a polo hanging from his skeleton, drags a cloth in wide circles on the inside of the windows. He swipes his forehead along his wrist, thick tresses disturbed, and stares out at the empty street.

You blink twice, and a figure materializes at your balcony door.

“Baby?”

“Jesus!”

“Woah, woah. Easy – ‘s just me.” The pale drapes surrender to his wide frame, letting him pass. “Sorry, pretty girl. You okay?”

“You scared the crap outta me.”

Joel bends before you, a sweet little chuckle in his throat, and presses a warm kiss to your forehead. You lift your chin, letting your eyes close over and your thoughts melt away on his lips. He pulls the blanket tighter around your shoulders.

“What are you doin’ out here at this time of night?”

You shrug as he settles into the wireframe chair opposite. Groans as he leans back. His wide chest constricted by a tight, gray hoodie splattered with paint.

“Just can’t sleep. Nice hoodie.”

His eyes dip to the mounds of your chest under plain cotton, the blanket slack around your breasts. “Someone stole my T-shirt. Stole somethin’ of hers back. Why can’t you sleep? You hurting?”

Yeah. “No. Just – not tired enough, I guess.”

“You want company?”

Not really. “Sure.”

He laces his fingers over his stomach as he settles back, studies you as your gaze skims the street below. He knows you’re lying. But it’s two a.m., and you’re weeks into an affair that you’re both pretty sure has gone past the point of no return, and so, voice plain, he asks, “What’s on your mind, angel?”

“How d’you know there’s something on my mind?”

“There’s always something on your mind. It’s you.” And then, readjusting in his seat, “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

You scrunch your nose with a sniff. Pull your arms inside the sleeves of his shirt and cross them under your breasts. “Your dad,” you say, locking eyes with him.

Joel lets it hang for all of three seconds. “My dad?” His face curls into a perplexed smirk, jaw tilting. He thinks you’re so fucking adorable, or maybe you think he is, and you’re not sure which one scares you more.

You laugh, chest lightening disobediently. It felt more comfortable when you couldn’t breathe. “What he did,” you explain.

“What he did,” Joel repeats, lifting his chin. Like a dog, sniffing out the truth. Something concealed in your fist.

So you unfold your fingers, holding it out in the palm of your hand: “Do you think he would’ve done it, still, if he knew what would happen?”

And then he really shakes off the humor. Sits forward, elbows leaning on his bare thighs. “What’re you talkin’ about, pretty girl?”

“Like,” you sigh, “if he knew he would split his entire family in two. You and your mom cut him off; Tommy moved halfway across the country. Was it worth it?”

“To me, or to him?”

You shrug again. He’ll choose the one he wants to answer. You’ll figure him out either way.

“Look,” Joel says, and hooks his fingers under the seat of your chair to pull you closer. He takes your ankles and you stretch your legs out, heels propped in the boxer-clad valley between his legs. A deep breath, hazel eyes pointed upwards like searching the skies for the words, and then: “People want what they want, right? They’ll do whatever they think is necessary to get it. He wanted to cheat, so he did. And he paid the price.”

“He wanted to cheat?”

It seems obvious to him. As though people seek out ways to hurt the ones they’re supposed to love all the damn time. The silver glint of a Labrador’s teeth as he sinks them into his owner’s skin.

Joel nods. “Wanted it badly enough that he did anything.”

“Lied?” you offer.

“Lied, cheated, left. Yeah.”

“And he risked everything.”

His head tips in agreement. “I guess he did. He was a damn idiot, you know? Had a wife who loved him, had two kids. He had the whole world in that house, and he threw it all away.”

“And,” the soles of your feet rest gently on the curve of his stomach, “would that – would it stop you? If you at least knew you were riskin’ something?”

“From cheating?”

“Anything. If you knew what you were risking was everything to you – would it stop you doing what you really wanted?”

His face tightens, brows knit with confusion and something else more difficult to place. “It depends. I wouldn’t risk something like you. I would n–”

“Somethin’ like me?” you interject.

Joel clears his throat. Looks up to the pitch-black sky again. “You…” He sighs. His answer is simple, black-and-white. There’s no way to hide it anymore. “I wouldn’t risk you, no. Not for the world.”

You fall silent. The moon stares down, seeming to melt around you. Her light like two steady arms holding you together, nudging you to ask the last question – the one spiraling around your mind like circling a drain.

Joel squeezes your ankle. “Where are you goin’ with this, baby? Are you asking me if I would cheat on you?”

Your heart jumps. The moon scatters.

Does he fall into the category of people who could cheat on you? Two months ago, he was just your boss. Two months ago, you hadn’t touched him more than a slap after a witty comment, the brushing of fingers as you handed him his morning coffee. But now…now, you’ve kissed his lips to shut him up. You’ve felt him come inside you. You’ve set foot inside his childhood fucking home, for Christ’s sake.

He makes you feel as though your heart is made of glass, delicate and laid bare but safe in his hands. He makes you feel as though a part of you exists outside of your own body – like there’s a piece of your soul wandering the earth by itself, touching base every time his hands are on your hips, his teeth in your neck.

Yeah. Fuck – yeah. He’s someone who could cheat on you. The way that email made you feel – he’s someone who could break your heart.

“I know you wouldn’t cheat on anyone,” you say, voice breaking. “No, I just – I don’t know what counts as a good enough reason to hurt someone you’re supposed to…supposed to love.”

Joel sits back in his chair again, the frame creaking under the weight of him. He reckons he gets it, now. You reckon he’s still wrong. “Come here,” he says, fingers flicking.

“What?”

He leans forward, takes your waist in his hands and pulls you from your chair into his lap, curling you up between his thighs. Safe. Protected by the shell of his body, protected by everything except from the thing scaring you most: the quickening of his heartbeat when you settle against it.

Your head slots under the curve of his chin, his voice a deep rumble over your skull.

“Your dad,” his chest swells, “he did what he did because he wanted to do it. Wanted it badly enough that he gave up you and your mom. And there wasn’t nothin’ you or her could’ve done to stop him, or convince him otherwise. You hear me?”

You turn into his neck, letting your tears fall hidden from view of streetlight or moonlight. You feel fucking tiny – a kid again, sat in a grownup’s lap, asking a never-ending series of why questions. Then, why did he do it? Why did he leave? Why are you staying? Why did you lie to me?

Joel presses his lips to your head, shushing you quietly, his body rocking back and forth like a boat on light waves. When he hears you sniffling, he holds you closer. Tighter. Your heart melds to your chest wall, desperate to seek his out. The hoodie he’s wearing smells like you, smells like him, smells like the chemicals of paint and the poison of love.

“It wasn’t your fault, darlin’, none of it.”

His arm hooked over your bare knees, the cotton keeping you warm. The other around your back, keeping you whole. You unstick yourself from his embrace, pulling your body straight until you’re straddling his lap, face to face with him in the light.

He looks up at you, almost afraid to blink. Afraid to lose sight of you at all. Your thighs lean heavily against his, your bodies locked together. You link your arms over his shoulders, anchor yourself to him as though the storm in your mind might sweep you away. And in the glimmer of light in his eye, the dazzling bulb of a lighthouse – you see the reflection of yourself.

Joel notices the shift in your expression. Holds you by the hips, follows the turn of your head. “You okay?” he asks, and you look down, avoiding his eye.

Glowing brilliant and lonely, blinking slowly. Your towering silhouette and caged-glass top. Drawing ships nearer just to ward them off when they pull too close. When they begin to notice the jagged shape of your shoreline, the ugly mess of your soul. Casting a blinding light on them, warning them to flee. And he didn’t fucking listen.

He docked anyways. Drew up on the beach, pulled himself into your body time and time again. You kept moving, kept warning him with each flicker of light, kept daring him to leave. And he never did. And there are pieces of you now living in him because of it, pieces you don’t understand how to take back. All you know, all you’ve ever known about Joel, is –

Your body sinks, hips lowering until you’re sure you’ve proven yourself right.

A stubborn weight between his legs. Not quite as hard as you’ve felt him before, not quite as heavy, but – a shape which sends a hot hiss between his teeth when you move over it, when the thin strip of your underwear courses over the thin cloth of his.

“P-retty girl,” Joel says, a groan seeping from the corners of his lips. A groan he holds onto with his molars, letting it snap like elastic when your hips circle again.

A weight as stubborn as the need slowly swirling in your chest. And pulled up into the cyclone are those same words: It wasn’t your fault. There wasn’t nothin’ you could’ve done to stop him. Why did you lie to me? It wasn’t your fault.

It hits you at once, the sudden realization that you’re lighter than you were before you first touched one another – really touched one another. Parts of you missing, passed over gladly the second his hand reached for them. The taste of you behind his lip, gums absorbing you like nicotine.

And you’re kissing him, your lips harsh against his, his stubble hurting your skin. Your tongue seeking out those parts of yourself. No. You don’t have me anymore. I’m taking me back.

“Hey,” Joel whispers into your mouth, steadying your hips. He pulls back and holds you still. “Why don’t we slow down? It’s late, you ain’t feeling too good –”

“I feel fine. I want to do it.” You lick again between his lips though he doesn’t budge; your attempts to move again, ineffective. “Joel.”

“It’s been a long day, you’re tired. Work in the mornin’, baby, I just don’t think we oughta –”

“You don’t wanna fuck me?”

He pauses, his tongue between his teeth. His brows pinch, almost painfully. “That is not what this is, ‘n you know it. I can see how tired you are – you ain’t even slept yet.”

“I don’t care. I want you to –”

His voice lifts to something you’ve only heard within the four walls of his office. Like chiding one of his guys, like snapping back at their red ties and crumpled collars. “I know what you want me to do. I just think we should go back to bed.”

“’n what if I don’t want to go back to bed?”

Joel sighs, looking out across the street. His tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek.

“I don’t get what the problem is,” you complain, still holding onto his shoulders. “You’ve fucked me in public before.”

“It ain’t that.”

“Then what is it?”

“Why don’t you go grab a sketchbook or something? Show me some of this artwork you been promisin’ since Paris?”

You blink back at him, watching the lighthouse swirl. The black waves begin to carry him off, sweep him from your view. “Maybe some other time,” you mumble, pushing yourself off of his lap.

Joel watches you, defeated. Keeps ahold of your hand when you stand between his knees. He swings your interlocked fingers gently. “Can you…can you tell me what’s wrong? Do you know?”

Your lungs pull in a deep breath, your shoulders rolling. “Same thing as always, I guess. Let’s just go back to bed.”

“Wait, pretty girl,” he tugs on your hand, reeling you back in, “waitwaitwait.” And then he’s standing, enclosing you in his arms again, asking, “What can I do to fix it?”

That same shrug. Tired. Deflated. Terrified. “If I only knew.”

You wait for Joel to move first, a sigh falling from his lips as he pulls the sheer curtains back, taking you by the hand and ushering you between. He follows your lead back into your apartment, sliding the door closed behind.

The living room is flattened by a gray silence, the liminal night swallowing up the air. Joel’s hand comes to rest at the nape of your neck, and when you turn to him, he says, “You wanna know if he thought it was worth it?”

You pause, fingers playing with the hem of his tee at your thighs.

He’s close enough that you can feel the heat near enough sizzling from his body. The right side of his face is shrouded in darkness; the chalky wash of streetlight painting the left. “My dad.”

You swallow hard, blinking in the shadow cast by his tall figure. The light clings wearily to his beard.

“She left him after two weeks. Went back to her husband. My dad died alone in an empty four-bed in Rosedale. You tell me.”

And then he pats the small of your back, takes you back through to bed – where you let him fall asleep on your chest, listening to make sure your fractured heart is still beating.

Joel Miller is in your shower. For the second time this weekend.

He’s not fucking you, not holding you against the rough tile wall as his cock draws come and blood and tears from your body. He’s not wrapping a towel around you, handing you a fresh tampon, kissing the parts of your skin still alight from your orgasm.

He’s just showering, before work. Using your peach-scented soap, pushing suds under his arms, over his stomach, between his legs. Lathering your shampoo like treacle between his palms, hair slick and foamy white between his fingers. Fixing the head so that his height fits under the stream of water, turning the knobs until it’s as hot as he likes it.

You’re lying across your bed, suffocating in the smell of his side and pretending none of it’s really happening. Face buried in his pillow, waiting for the intoxication to throw you under or wipe your mind clean or maybe just cut the air supply from your lungs completely. Whichever’s quickest.

The bathroom door opens; the sound of footsteps padding over to you. His weight sinks into the bed by your hip, then hovers over your back. His nose, still steamy and damp from the shower, nuzzles into the spot behind your ear. His lips leave a wet trail down your neck.

“You need another day?” Joel asks, kissing.

“I’m good,” the cotton absorbs the nervous edge of your voice, “just coming.”

“Stay home if you want, angel,” he says, hands roaming south to hold your waist. Like warning the pain, tempting it to show back up. See what he does about it. “I gotta go take this shareholders meeting, but I can come back as soon as it’s done.”

“Nah,” you groan, pushing your heavy frame up. Joel’s grip slackens. “I need the distraction, I think.”

He sits back, smiling dumbly when you straighten. His tongue runs along his teeth.

“You can use my toothbrush,” you mutter, heel of your palm wiping sleep from your eye.

“Hm?” He’s fixing the mess of your hair. Brushing one side flat, then the other; leaning back and forth with this dumb, half-there smile on his face. And your chest heaves, and you almost surrender to the impulse to throw yourself into his arms, almost lean into his cupped hands and burning caresses.

“I owe you. From Paris. You can use it, just this once.”

He scoffs. “I won’t use your toothbrush, darlin’. It’s alright.”

But you’re indignant. You already have every other part of me, don’t you? What’s one more? Just fucking –

“– use it. I swear I don’t mind.”

Joel’s head tilts, conceding. “Alright. Come get ready, then.”

Martha’s at her desk when the two of you wander back into the office. “Wait!” she calls, clicking around her desk as you pass by. She twirls a blue envelope between two glittery nails, holds it out to you.

Joel takes it, examining the childish scrawling of your names. “Nice, but – your calligraphy needs a little practice, Martha.”

“Hilarious,” she drones, sitting back against the desk.

You drift over to your own, dropping your back over the back of your chair, and shrug the coat from your shoulders.

Joel’s voice draws nearer as he speaks. “He have a good time?” he asks.

“Oh, yeah,” Martha replies, and Joel sits the card from Henry by your monitor, “barely saw ‘im the entire day. Thanks for comin’. For his gift, too – y’all really…You ain’t gotta do that.”

“Was all my idea, wasn’t it?” Joel asks, smirking to you.

An airy laugh pushes from your chest, loose with nerves. “Som’ like that. Glad he had a nice birthday.”

Joel saunters back toward his office, hands in his pockets. Fucking casual, like the world isn’t crumbling beneath your feet. Like the walls aren’t closing in, the sky lowering by the hour, the sun being steadily eclipsed minute by minute. He nudges the door closed with his foot, leaving you, Martha, and an awkward mist of realization between you.

“Your idea,” she muses, once you’ve plucked up enough courage to face her again.

You pick up Henry’s card, staring at the smudged handwriting to mask the horror peeling its way across your face. “Thought it was easier that way, y’know?” You gulp. “Don’t make it into anythin’.”

She grunts, something shaped like Ha. Her arms cross over her body, her eyes flitting between Joel’s office and you. “I sure as hell don’t remember me ‘n Alan ever doing something like that before it meant anythin’.”

“What are you saying it means?” you ask, rhetorically, dryly – a little meaner than you want it to sound. “What’s…?”

Her plucked eyebrows lift, forehead creasing. “Nothing, sweet. I’m just saying – you two are close, now. It’s nice.”

“We were always close.”

She holds her finger up. “Uh, no. Not turn up at my son’s birthday party together, leave together, then turn up at work the next day also together close.” Her eyes narrow, and you almost believe she might’ve been hidden between the trees last night – hell, for a second, you believe she might’ve been that scrawny kid wiping down the windows of 7-Eleven.

“I’m just saying,” she continues, when your throat closes around your nothing answer, “if something’s happening, I’m rooting for it.”

It shoots from your jaw like a bullet. “Nothing’s happening.”

Martha’s just as quick. “Okay,” she says, sweet and light. Breezy.

And then she shuffles back to her chair, resumes focus on some email. Twists the dial on her radio and fill the tense silence in the office with some smooth seventies song which lifts the hairs on the back of your neck the same way it did in that Parisian hotel. The dark suite, his eyes black and seeking. His hands on your body like he knew every curve and dip already.

Didn’t you believe that he might? That his hands were sculpted to fit the space below your ribcage? The plush cushion of flesh above your hips. The hinge of your jaw between his fingers.

Didn’t you think, for one fleeting moment, that maybe he was made just for you? As if you were so fucking lucky. As if anyone might stick around long enough to earn that label. Yours.

You settle back into your chair. The bubble writing on the front of the card stares menacingly back at you, the shapes seeming to swell and shrink in size the longer you stare at them. A bad trip, you think, this whole thing is just a bad trip. I’m gonna sober up any second, and I’m gonna be in bed, still dizzy after that night at the bar.

And none of it’s gonna be real. It’s not fucking real.

But then – lying on the opposite side of your computer, delicate and tiny, sparkling in the sunlight from over your shoulder: your ring. Your ruby ring, two euros in a gumball machine by the Seine. Like it’s winking at you, the accent rhinestones a taunting smirk. And the sight of it slings a thin wire around your heart, tight tight tightens until you’re sure you feel the tissue slice in half.

You take the ring in two shaking fingers, eyes bleary with sleep and salt. Blinking the dispersed light away, red rays bleeding all over your vision as you tilt the plastic. Joel’s voice muffles against his office door, like fists echoing against the flimsy walls of your little daydream. Time’s up. Hand him back over. It’s not fucking real anymore.

You roll the prize back onto your desk, letting it scatter shards of ruby until it hits the keyboard, the rattle echoing around your ears as you pace over to his office door. Your knuckles drum once, twice, three times against the wood before he opens it, and then he’s –

Staring down at you, breath shallow between slack lips. And he reads it all over your face, the panic and the words swimming around the tears in your eyes, and he steps back, and you step forward, and then the door’s closing again, and you’re settling against the arm of his couch.

“Ken? Hey, Ken?” Joel strides back over to his desk, hastily reaching for the phone. The voice from the receiver doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow. “Ken. Can I –? Jesus Christ.” He lifts the handset and drops it less than a second later, cutting Ken’s fucking droning, cutting the only sound in the room, cutting your blood short in your veins.

And then – “Alright. Talk to me.”

You don’t reply. He seems to tense up. Moves almost robotically over to you, lifts his hands to hold your shoulders. And when you lift yours to push him away, he almost flinches.

“Baby.”

Your jaw shakes once. You wrap your arms around yourself, squeezing the breath from your lungs.

“You’ve been actin’ off since yesterday,” he mutters, giving you some space. He’s moving slow, like he’s afraid you might lunge for him. “You gotta tell me. You’re scaring me, now.”

You haul your gaze from his open arms, his broad chest, the idea of letting him pull you in and calm you down. Your eyes land on his monitor. The text of that email flashes before you again. And your shell hardens.

“Is there anything you wanna tell me?” you ask, staring at the Apple logo. Your voice sounds timid, sounds so little that you swear you see Joel catch the words as though they’re made of glass.

His head tilts. His eyes narrow. It’s genuine confusion, you think. The penny hasn’t dropped yet. “…What?”

It pisses you off. Seems to shatter that glass into fifty angry shapes, brittle and sharp. The shards cut like a knife through the air between you. “Nothing you think I oughta know?”

He shakes his head slowly. “No, baby, I don’t…”

Your glare finally lands directly on him. Piercing straight into his eyes. But your jaw locks shut around the words.

“What the hell are you about to accuse me of?” Joel asks, mirroring your stance. Pulling his arms over his chest, jaw tight. “Cheating on you?”

Your chest jumps with a tiny laugh. “Why would I accuse you of cheating on me?”

“Sure sounded like that’s what you were thinkin’ last night.”

“No. I don’t think you’re cheating on me.”

“Then what is it?”

The gun fires. Gates open. Thunder rumbles. A fire lights in your stomach, blazing through your entire body.

“When were you planning on telling me about Jean-Marc?”

He goes quiet. Still. Realizes exactly what you mean in almost an instant. “How did you…? Where did you –?”

“I saw the email. On Friday. Gave me your phone to look for Alan’s Twelfth fucking Birthday, didn’t you?”

His face drops; a broken sigh falls from his lips. He looks up to the ceiling, something of a disbelieving, disappointed, fucking dismayed laugh loose between his jaw. “I wasn’t,” he eventually concedes.

“You weren’t?”

“No.”

You can’t believe him. You actually can’t believe him. Fists balling to hold your nerve, to hold the tremble in your voice steady, you ask, “Why?”

Joel’s body twists, rolls like some awkward wave as he readjusts, searches the surrounding room for an explanation. “There’s – there are a number of reasons why.”

“Start with the first one.”

“Alright.” He grips the wooden desk either side of his hips. Meets your stare, and it’s almost fucking admirable, the bravery with which he’s walking into this. You don’t scare him at all, not yet, anyway. Not even in the midst of a standoff in his office – guns loaded, eyes never blinking.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and then lifts his arm, waving his palm like he’s swatting the image of the Frenchman away. “He’s…He freaks me the hell out.”

“He freaks you out,” you repeat, voice flat. “Really, Joel? Big guy like you?”

You can’t help yourself. This is so fucking insane, it’s laughable. You’re like a snake shooting sharp shots at the ankles of a bear – and it’s too easy to take jabs when you’re still in disbelief at what’s fast turning out to be the truth.

“He’s sleazy, and inappropriate, and he doesn’t respect boundaries.” He counts them with three steady fingers. “Not mine, certainly not yours. I don’t like him, darlin’.”

“You like him enough to go have two meals with him in one weekend. Fly all the way to fuckin’ France for ‘im.”

“That was business. At least, the lunch was. The breakfast was a mistake.”

“What’s the second reason, Joel?”

He licks his lips. You can’t tell if it’s anxiety or anger. “You’re too good at your job. I didn’t wanna lose you.”

It’s simple enough. It’s more believable than six-foot-two Joel being afraid of five-foot-two Jean-Marc. You accept it a lot quicker.

“Any more?”

His expression drops. Yeah. There’s one more. And he doesn’t know how to say it.

“Joel.”

“I didn’t want to lose you.”

“Got that one.”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. Expression unmoving. “I didn’t want to lose you.”

You suck in a deep breath, chest wobbling as your lungs fill. The snake retreats from the bear, jaw slackening. Your eyes sting, Joel’s figure blurs a little, and then you rein it back in.

“I didn’t want you to go. That’s all,” he offers, plainly. “Just…wanted you to stay here. With me.”

“’n what if I wanted to leave?”

“Then…” Joel’s arms lift again, gesturing to nothing, “…then we’ll work something out.”

You lift your chin, some sick expression pushing your eyebrows up. “We’ll work something out?”

He nods.

“Who’s we?”

And it’s the first time you see him falter. The first time he has to catch himself. “You said it yourself,” he says, “you ‘n me. This.”

You shake your head. No no no no. Not this. Not now. The snake coils up, preparing to strike again. “What, us sleeping together?”

“That’s…What?”

“You don’t think there are plenty other women you could be sleeping with here, ‘n plenty other men I could be sleeping with over there? You really want me to stay here just so you got someone to fuck?”

Joel’s lips fall apart. His grip loosens on the desk. “That’s all this is to you?”

“Uh, yeah. Last time I checked.”

You don’t believe yourself. You know you don’t. You don’t believe a fucking word being tossed out of your mouth. You’re being an asshole, deliberately being a dick to him, and you can’t stop. There’s a wall being built at rapid pace, shutting him out. Shutting you in. Bricks made of angry words, each one separating you a little more, hiding you from his view.

And then his mouth closes. Lips form a thin line. Brows lower, blocking any of the light you’re so used to seeing from his eyes. Dark, cloudy, angry. “Got it,” he snaps. “Anything else?”

“Huh?”

“Do you need anything else? Or are you just in here to piss me off?”

You lift from the couch, arms loose, hitting your hips with a slap. “Fuck off, Joel.”

“Oh,” he nods, “right. Fuck off, yeah. Keep goin’, baby. Tire yourself out. ‘s all you’ve been doin’, ain’t it? All this time? All you’ve been using me for?”

Good. It’s good. You want him to argue back. You want him to hate you as much as you hate yourself right now. You want to see the bear’s claws; make all the hurt you’re dragging up through yourself, just to dish at him, worthwhile.

“You know what?”

“What?” he spits.

“I knew you were gonna do something like this, eventually. I knew it. I fucking knew it.”

Joel follows suit, pushing himself off the desk in one motion, and then the pair of you are chest to chest, squaring up to one another atop his five-thousand-dollar rug. “You knew what?”

“Knew there was something about him. Knew you couldn’t stand him. And this is why, right? All ‘cause he wanted to hire me?”

He turns away and laughs, almost recognizable as the same laugh you could draw from him with a silly look on your face – except sharper, colder. “Not even close,” he says, reeling back in. “You didn’t see the way he looked at you? The way he talked to you? About you?”

“Of course I saw it, Joel, I’m not fucking stupid.”

“Then use your good sense ‘n catch up, baby. You’re right: you’re not fuckin’ stupid. You were like fresh meat to him, and what? You reckon I should’ve let him just – sink his teeth deeper? Really?”

It lights something in the back of your mind; a memory flickers to life. Loops like a static radio message through your ears. “Right,” you nod, “right. Because you don’t like other people’s hands on things that belong to you, do you?”

His head jerks back, face warped with confusion and…disgust. “The hell are you talkin’ about?” he demands, voice muscled with anger.

“Martha said it once. You don’t like people playing with your toys, or whatever.”

And that seems to hit him low in the stomach. Seems to knock the wind from him.

“Are you kidding me?” he asks, and you swear his breath cuts in his throat. “That’s what you think?”

No, you think, it’s not. You know him better than that. But admitting that you know him better than to use you as some little plaything – something he had any control over, some accessory to wear on his arm – would mean admitting that the problem lies elsewhere. Lies with you.

And that’s not something you’re prepared to do right now, either.

Maybe before you found that email. Before you found out he’d been keeping you on some invisible leash. Maybe when he had you in his arms, kissing you so soft you thought you might die right then and not even notice.

Maybe when he looked at you, twirling chopsticks clumsily in his fingers, face lighting in a grin when you giggled at him – and three words floated through your head. Dared to dance over the tip of your tongue before you caught them and hissed, What the fuck are you doing here?

But – no. It’s all fucked up now. And you can’t break the tightness in your jaw to admit any different.

“You don’t think there’s a chance I actually care about you? That I – Jesus, that I respect you? Are you this goddamn hellbent on convincing yourself that everyone’s out to hurt you?”

“Joel,” your voice says, and it’s not you controlling it. Some gravely, pained thing. A shriveled part of yourself, cowering from the light. You’re recoiling, physically backing up from him.

“Darlin’, I can’t –” He reaches for your wrist.

You whip it away. “Stop.”

“I am trying to understand you,” he pleads. “I’m tryin’ to figure you out. Why won’t you let me –?”

“I don’t want you to.”

A laugh ejects from his throat and plummets straight to the floor. “Yes, you do,” he says. “You don’t do everything we’ve done unless you’re in it.”

“In it?” you seethe. “In what? What are we in?” You pinch your fingers: air quotations around the words, or possible claws digging four more wounds into the same chest you wept into last night.

Your head shakes rapidly as you speak. “We were just sleeping together. We were just having sex. That’s all. We were just having sex,” you repeat under your breath.

“I wasn’t,” Joel says. Matter-of-fact. Like reading from a contract. He takes a deep breath, and then repeats, “I wasn’t.”

The words splinter painfully from your tongue. “Well, I was.”

And though your eyes are pinned to the buttons of his shirt, though his expression sits just too north for you to see the way his face pulls – you notice his head lift. Know that there are creases digging between his brows at the same rate cracks appear across his heart. You feel the warmth of his gaze slowly cooling. Freezing over.

“I’m sorry,” he says, holding a shaky palm out. The fear begins to sink in, plunging through ice water. He’s beginning to bargain. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I should’ve, I should’ve told you ev–”

Your body moves as the words ricochet, refusing to let him finish his plea. “Glad we got that cleared up, Joel,” you say, near-leaping for the door.

But he’s faster. He steps in front of you, blocking your exit path. “Please hear me out. Please listen to me.”

Your body writhes under his gaze, twists like some little creature under a microscope. He waits for your go ahead before he continues. You toss your head, acquiescing.

“I just – I couldn’t stomach it. I couldn’t sleep at night thinkin’, what if you went for it? What if he managed to swindle you into taking him on? I wanted to get you the hell outta that penthouse the second he laid eyes on you.”

“So why take me in the first place?”

Joel scoffs. “I ain’t in control of you, baby! You had to figure him out on your own – and I thought you had. Christ, one minute you want me to step back ‘n let you make up your own mind, next you’re askin’ me why I took you somewhere? The hell am I supposed to do here?”

Read my mind. Don’t let him near me. Don’t let me go.

And at the same time –

Mind your fucking business. Let me make my own decisions. Keep your hands off me.

The truth is: you want him to go back in time. Take you back with him. Never touch you, never look at you any more than to ask for a coffee, or thank you for fixing up his office. Never make your heart skip that first beat, never set your skin on fire with that look in his eyes.

You want him to go back in time, and undo every knot he ever tied in your body. Let go of every string of your heart he has his fist around, every nerve which undoubtedly belongs to him, now.

Undo it all, so you might have a half-decent reason to hate him.

In the deepest, darkest parts of yourself, echoing around the caves you were always too frightened to explore yourself – you want him to tell you why he kept it from you. The real reason. And you want him to grab your wrist and pull you back into the room, back into his arms, when you inevitably flee at the sound of his reasoning.

Because you fucking know why he didn’t tell you. It’s scrawled on his face right now. And even though Jean-Marc is all of those things – sleazy, inappropriate, a scumbag in thousand-euro moccasins – that only makes up for part of the reason.

There’s a bigger piece to the puzzle, and you both know what it is, only neither of you will turn to face it. You’re simply cast in its shadow, playing blind chess under the silhouette of something you both refuse to acknowledge.

“You’re supposed to be my boss, and nothing else.”

He just stares at you. As if he’s waiting for you to say, Kidding! and laugh. As if he’s waiting for what you really mean to shove what you just said out of the way and tell the truth. It hurts all the more.

After a few seconds of awful silence, his breath falls from his lips in the form of a sigh, staggered with a laugh of disbelief. “I don’t…I don’t get it.”

But you’re tired now. You feel drained. You’ve less fight, energy gone to waste before you could make it to the real contest. Kicking his door down and yelling at him over Jean-Marc was the pregame show.

“What don’t you get?” you whisper, slumping back against the arm of the couch.

His answer terrifies you more than anything.

“You.”

You sigh, eyes falling closed in time with the drop of your head. Your breathing labored, your heart pounding. Fear. Adrenaline. Anger. Fear. Fear. Fear.

“You never let me in, did you? All that stuff you told me – your dad, your ex – like you want me to know. Like you’re lookin’ for me to do somethin’ about it. And then when I try, you slam the door closed again.”

“I don’t…I don’t want you to do anything about any of it,” you cry, tears pooling at the corners of your eyes.

Lie number one.

“Then what do you want? Tell me, pretty girl, ‘cause I’m – I’m at a loss here.”

“I want you to – fuck, Joel, why can’t you just –? I want you to back off.”

Two.

“I can’t,” he whispers, leaning closer. “’s the thing. I care ab– I lo– I…”

He rubs his eyes with his palms. Maybe his head hurts as bad as yours does. Maybe the office is becoming too bright for him to look, too.

“You think you’re broken,” he mumbles, “you think all that stuff makes you – I don’t know, what is it? Unlovable?”

There’s a spotlight creeping over you – bright white and burning. Lighting every inch of you up, every dark shadow uncovered. The monsters and the phantoms and the six, eight, twelve-legged beasts scuttling off in search of refuge.

Jeers and cackles from an audience behind him as he cranes the neck of the lamp and positions it right on you.

“Don’t –”

“…Worth nothin’? I don’t know, angel, but I can’t do anything about it if you won’t let me, and –”

“Joel –”

He’s not listening. He never fucking listens. He’s still going on, but your ears are ringing, and your vision is whitening, and your chest is constricting, and your throat is dry and your lungs are closing and your skin is hurting and your –

“What the fuck did you even expect?” you hiss, before your brain catches the words.

Joel halts. He finally stops talking. The room finally dims again. You can hear cars on the street. Your phone is ringing at your desk.

You repeat your question, quieter. Heavier. “What did you want from me?”

He’s frozen. Looks concerned. Looks…afraid of you. “I never wanted anything from you,” he says.

“No? Sure sounds like you wanted something.”

He doesn’t say a word. It gives you time, you think – time you know you should put into backing up, thinking it through, not saying it. But you don’t do any of those things. You fucking say it anyway, don’t you? You are your father’s daughter. The anger is woven into your skin, ivy around your bones. The fire behind your eyes isn’t love, or passion, or determination.

It’s rage.

“Is this what you did to Avery? This why you didn’t wanna marry her?” And then, steeling yourself, gritting your teeth: “What secrets were you keeping from her, Joel?”

He still doesn’t bite. Avery’s not the sore spot, and you know it. There’s a different weakness to him, now. Newer. She’s stood right in front of him.

“I mean,” you scoff, incredulous, “what did you think – that we were gonna end up married or something? AC/DC first dance? Big wedding in Italy, three kids and a fucking prenup to save your ass ‘n your millions?”

You swear you hear the crash from here. The bear hitting the ground, or the door of the Toyota slamming shut, or Joel’s heart falling apart, maybe. He gathers it up, sweeping it into his hands with what little dignity you’ve left him with, straightens, and –

He’s angry. Looks it, sounds it. Feels it. A way you’ve never seen him before – not directed at you, anyway. Accounting, when they fuck up the budget for the year. Jean-Marc, when he flirts with you too much. Never you. He’s never this mad at you.

Like kids in a playground, coming up with the worst, most poisonous insults to throw at one another – your words swing fast, and he only just manages to swerve them, hitting straight back with a punch made up of his own.

“Naw, you’d probably say yes to my face ‘n then break it off two days later, wouldn’t you?”

It’s low. It stings. Shocks the life back into you, once it’s looped twice around your ears.

Joel knows it. Sees the glint in your eye before you have the chance to clear away the tears. Hears the tiny gasp that escapes your lips. The bear just stepped right on top of the snake.

“Fuck,” he says instantly. As soon as the sentence leaves his mouth, he’s undoing it. “That wasn’t – I didn’t mean…” He’s stepping forward, trying to wrap his hand around your arm. “Baby, I’m so sorry –”

Your wrist slips from his grasp. “Don’t – don’t touch me. Don’t.”

“Hey,” he says, almost cooing, almost trying to fan the burn with light breaths, “look at me. Please look at me. I did not mean that, alright? I was just –”

You shake your head, staring off past him. “It’s fine, Joel. No, I knew exactly what you meant.”

He staggers backwards, running his hands through his hair; almost growling into his palms when he drags them down his cheeks. “Darlin’,” he says, and leans in again. He speaks slow and seriously. “I would give you anything. There is not a thing in this world that I wouldn’t do for you. I would do anything. In the whole damn world. This is – It’s not –”

“Anything?” you ask, your stone-set gaze refusing to meet his.

He mirrors your curious expression, his own brows lifting. He can’t believe you’re even asking him. “Yes. Anything. I care about you more than anyone in the fucking world.”

He probably says more to convince you. Probably promises a load of stuff, apologizes a couple more times. Probably says sentences that would lodge themselves between your vertebrae and paralyze you with fear, if your hearing weren’t muffled and your mind elsewhere.

Your shoulders tighten. Jaw ticks. When you pull your eyes to finally meet his, you nod. “Alright,” you interrupt, pursing your lips, “okay.”

“Okay?”

Another nod. Yeah. You’re about to do this. Father’s daughter aren’t you just your father’s daughter always running out always running off –

“This is over. It’s done. You don’t look at me, you don’t touch me, you don’t talk to me unless it’s somethin’ in your job description or mine. Hell, even then – see if Martha can do it before you ask me. We’re done.”

It wipes him clean. Every thought, every desire, every motivation – gone. Dissolved, by the venom seeping from your fangs. No more bear. He stares back at you, eyes glossy, lips trembling. He flattens them against one another, steadies himself. Angry, upset, fucking – heartbroken.

“Is that what you want?” he asks. His voice breaks. It sends a blade through your chest.

You hesitate. Your eyes are searing. Between your tears and the nauseating tilt of the room, you can barely see him.

The third lie rolls from your tongue like a marble.

“Yeah. It’s what I want.”

And you know it, better than anyone: you’re lying through your fucking teeth. The way you have been this entire conversation. Pasting over wounds and scars, bricks laid over sodden sand foundations. But you’re petrified – stood on your own, fighting your own corner. The only person who ever managed to make you feel safe, calm you down, lower your gloves for you – now stood opposite with his fists up, too.

Joel nods. Anything in the whole damn world.

“Fine,” he says, eventually. “Fine. We’re done.”

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #ceo!joel miller #ceo!joel #sugardaddy!joel miller #the last of us #the last of us fic #fic: sex on fire

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snailsgoingdowntown · 3 months ago

Text

Help, I Reincarnated as the Female Lead's Sister-in-Law!

Story Masterlist

Chapter 13

‘Slight’ Yandere! Dion Agriche x Fem! Reader

Arranged marriage AU

Interact with this post to be on tag list. The DNI is on it so read that before anything.

UPDATED NOTE: I HAVE EDITED THIS STUPID THING HAHA. Also, I forgot how many people I tagged for this chapter originally and I deleted everything, including the tag list without realizing it... so I just sort of... tagged everyone. Again. Should I retag everyone in the remaining chapters as I edit them? Or no since technically speaking you guys already read the original chapter(s). Let me know in the comments/anon or however.

NOTE: I gave up on looking for computer error codes (I do not understand what they stand for in full detail, I’m just a silly little guy), so sorry if I used the wrong one.

WARNINGS: general yandere themes, obsessive and possessive themes/possible actions/behavior, themes of imprisonment (probably), blood, blood drinking (kinda? Not really, but JUST in case), blood, self-harm (biting thumb hard enough that it’s implies the wound reopened), violence (kicking Dion in the chest), thoughts of violence (thinking of kicking Dion’s face), vomit, panic attack, mention of suicide but Reader is NOT suicidal, one or two suggestive lines, kinda implied future violence (not towards Reader OR her family for plot reasons). Please tell me if I missed any.

Reader is NOT having a good time as usual. Pray for her.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT CONDONE ANY OF THE HARMFUL AND/OR DANGEROUS ACTIONS THAT MAY TAKE PLACE IN THIS PIECE OF FICTION. THESE ACTIONS AND/OR BEHAVIORS SHOULD NOT BE NORMALIZED NOR ROMANIZED AS THEY ARE BOTH EXTREMELY DANGEROUS AND TOXIC.

MINORS/BLANK BLOGS/BLOGS THAT DO NOT INTERACT WITH FANDOM RELATED THINGS (REBLOG/COMMENT ON FICS/ART, ETC.) DNI.

= = =

You ruined your own life.

That is the conclusion you come to when you wake up with an awful hangover, head throbbing, mouth dry, nausea kicking at your stomach as your mouth waters with acid. Your entire body aches, fatigue and dizziness making themselves right at home - the room swirls whenever you move.

When you dry heave, it feels like something is punching your lungs and gut, hot tears rolling down your cheeks from the pressure. Your stomach twists, becoming a knot, and you’re both cold and hot - covered in a cold sweat that’s worse than running in the heat.

You gag again. Your mouth opens wide just like a snake’s and yet nothing comes out - not until you gently squeeze your throat, adding just enough pressure that brings forth the bitter and sour vomit that burns your throat. But it doesn’t stop there, not until you’re grabbing your stomach, praying that this will end.

Why did I fucking drink so fucking much?

The answer is simple - you wanted a distraction before you could become a hysterical mess during the dinner last night. Still, regret is a thing, and oh boy, are you feeling it in full.

Retching, your lungs painfully take in air, upset stomach getting in the way as every breath feels sharp. Sweat dribbles down your temples and face, eyes wide as your body rejects everything from last night. Your entire body trembles violently, holding your stomach like it would decrease the pressure, the urge. Hands clammy, you almost start to think that having a panic attack would be better than this.

It still hurts when it finally ends.

“Urk! F-fuck…,” wiping away some of the vomit that clung to your chin, your body allows you to have a moment of recovery, muscles relaxing as you pant, lungs finally taking in the air that you desperately need. Heavy eyes struggle to stay open, a small dizzy spell falling over you. Your headache only worsens.

It feels like you’ve been through hell.

Tears stop rolling down your face as your breathing becomes steady. Everything still awfully aches, though. Your throat still burns, the sour taste of vomit doesn’t die on your tongue. It doesn’t go away even when you smack your lips and swallow.

Finally becoming aware of your surroundings, you notice a gentle pat against your back as someone also holds your hair back. So gentle and comforting, and automatically assuming it’s Hana, you accept the help without a word of complaint. Your eyes flutter close, grateful that the older woman is doing her best to comfort you in spite of yourself.

Well, that is until cold shivers run down your spine, as a oh so familiar low and sleepy voice speaks, only now noticing how large the hand that was patting your back was. Your eyes snap open immediately.

“Better?”

Freaking out was an understatement.

Violently scampering away, definitely not missing the touch of Dion Agriche, a terrified and horrified expression paints your face, heart running and beating fast enough it could win first place at a race. Nausea fills your entire being, but for a completely different reason now.

A worse reason.

Opening your mouth, words fail to leave your dry lips. You lick them, mind racing on what to say and do. In the end you spewed out nonsense that doesn’t even make sense to you.

“O-oh, u-um, Agriche, good - fuck - good day? Weather?”

The slight twitch of his dead tired eye that resembles blood doesn’t help your anxiety. Had you offended him? If so, how - because he witnessed an unsightly sight? One that he decided to stay for?

Quick pants and shaky legs, you search and search and search for any type of exit - failing to remember that the heavy double doors were literally right behind you. No, instead you eye the terrace behind him and consider jumping off.

Your legs almost beg you for it.

How quick can you run? Would he stop you? No, rather would he get the wrong impression and think you were trying to commit suicide?

What then? Hand you over to his mental father or mother to use as a damaged toy? Burn your face and stitch up wounds that they created?

“S-sorry, but -,” scooting away until your back hits something sturdy and hard, the only thing you’re capable of is stare at your arranged husband like a deer in headlights. Dion doesn’t crawl closer, still kneeling, an unreadable expression across his facial features. Like a predator staying still so as to not scare off their prey.

“I - I, um, didn’t mean to make a mess -” On the verge of crying from stress, you blink rapidly, unable to decide if you should look at him or close your eyes. Tears kept at bay, by reflex you bring your thumb up and -

CHOMP

It hurts more than usual, teeth tearing into injured flesh. It’s raw, desperate, a need to ground yourself. Your tongue swipes over the healing bite mark, crimson blood that resembles his eyes drawn as the metallic taste all but makes itself at home on your tastebuds. Hysterical, you cower, hoping, praying that Dion would look the other way and ignore you.

He does anything but.

He crawls, fucking crawls like a bug, like he wasn’t Dion Agriche, the man whose pride exceeds the skies - or so you heard, the spoilers hazy. He rests on his knees again once he reaches you, long fingers forcing your thumb out and proceed to wrap around your wrist right after. You hiccup as he stares at it, unable to tell what he’s thinking. Maybe it’s better if you don’t.

“That’s a horrible habit you have there,” he states like it’s the morning news before he, like the creep he is, takes the injured digit into his mouth.

You’re too flabbergasted to react.

Your brain fries, error code 43.

It doesn’t reboot until moments later when his disgusting and slimy tongue runs over the wound, his saliva unfortunately soothing it just the slightest bit.

The urge to puke returns.

You jerk your hand back and he lets you. You think your expression is one of disgust, but it’s hard to tell when Dion blinks oh so calmly. Like he didn’t just shove your thumb into his mouth like the pervert he is.

But fear overrides the disgust, helplessly watching as your horrible husband comes even closer. You feel trapped between the wall - doors, actually - and his towering, intimidating figure. Without a care in the world, he wordlessly places a hand on the door slightly above your head. It wasn’t romantic, it was a way to keep you trapped, you’re sure. He resembles more of a creature than a human the longer you look at him - those eyes, so bloody, so bright, are inhumane.

Because there’s a ‘light’ you can’t recognize, a ‘light’ that wasn’t in the manhwa. Here, he feels more sadistic - he’s only here to study you, to torture you and -

You flinch when he oh so gently grabs your right wrist again, inspecting your bloodied thumb. You become boneless as he licks it, all the while keeping eye contact with you.

The shivers that run down your back aren’t pleasurable.

“You should stop this,” he says as his head tilts, like he was curious about your reaction to everything. “You’re just making it worse.”

His genuine concern sounds like nothing but threats to you. Your flight-or-fight response kicks in when the hand planted against the wall - doors - goes to your cold and sweaty cheek. His fingers are cold.

As any sane person would, you kick him straight in the chest.

And somehow, someway, it hurts you more than him. It almost feels like a brick wall, wincing while he only fucking blinks. As if finally understanding the situation, he lets go and backs off, but stays in front of you. You’re on the verge of throwing up, of running past him to jump off the terrace, laughing as a fear response.

The only reason you don’t do any of it is because your body is boneless, barely able to breathe. Barely able to think.

Neither of you talk nor move, the distant sound of footsteps and chirping birds filling the silence. He’s treating you like a scared animal while you’re treating him like a predator. Two people unable to understand the actions of the other. Two people on the opposite sides of the spectrum, their definitions of ‘loving’ completely different.

Regardless, he still tries, and maybe if you were into the possessive and obsessive type, you would have praised him. Assuming you notice and realize he didn’t plan on hurting you and was in ‘love’ with you, of course.

That he tries his best to be a gentle giant.

“D-D-Dion.” You stutter after slightly recovering from the fright, the throbbing of your thumb forgotten in the background. You can’t feel anything, really, even the cold tiles you sit on.

“Wife.” His response does little to soothe your nerves - no, rather, they freeze at his voice.

“W-what… were you doing? I think-think I’m still half asleep, haha…” Nervously forcing out a small laugh, you truly hope that this is nothing more than a nightmare. You’d rather wake up to the sound of loud and annoying construction going on outside your apartment.

Ah, but, you weren’t in your old world, were you? The world that you foolishly abandoned -

“Soothing it.” It’s uncharacteristic of him - he should either be mocking or ignoring you. Not whatever… this is.

Your stomach drops the longer you look at him. Words feel like mush in your mouth as you force them out. The air you breathe in feels tainted.

“O-oh… um, you do realize you essentially drank my blood…?” It’s a miracle you’re holding a conversation without fainting. Still, the idea of jumping off the terrace doesn’t leave your head. It was a reckless plan, but there was a chance you wouldn’t die or break something, and at least would get a minute or two to yourself without him. If you weren’t caught by the guards immediately afterwards, that is.

“And?” His head tilts, observing your reactions, like you were a science project. Scarlet eyes leave your terrified face to travel to your right thumb. A very, very small part of you want to bite it again, to bite it harder out of spite. The thought leaves when he makes eye contact with you again.

You look away.

“That’s-that’s really unhygienic…” A whisper is all you can manage, eyes swirling as a dizzy spell falls over you again. How are you able to talk to this perverted brute?

Maybe you were only able to talk to instinctively smooth out the situation as much as you could. Or maybe your mouth was just running on its own, hoping this is what he wanted. Why else would he do such a thing? Aside from satisfying his sadistic and perverted urges.

All you want is to go home.

“So?” His head tilts, unkempt midnight hair falling into his scarlet eyes. There’s a very small expectation in his eyes - like he expected you to accept this ‘treatment’, to at least some degree.

“I-I mean, it’s rather-rather…disgusting, is it not?” Holding your right hand close to your chest, left one wrapped around your wrist, you hold your breath. You can’t think straight, unable to decide on staying or running away. To keep talking or go silent as a mouse.

He blinks before saying, “Not if it’s you.”

Error code 43.

Request for maintenance.

Maintenance needed to continue functions.

Ever so slightly, a grin tugs at his lips at your flabbergasted expression. Little do you know that your husband doesn’t like seeing you scared, but he enjoys making you speechless, mind blank. Now, if only he could do that to you in other ways…

No. This isn’t the time to think about such things, he chides himself. He shouldn’t have these urges, innocent or not - he should be on the battlefield, soaked in red as corpses lay about, scattered like autumn leaves. He sees the fear in your eyes and something ugly twists and turns - this isn’t like him.

A part of him wants to stab the pang of dim guilt, to get rid of these useless things. But when he sees you, all he wants to do is hold you. And it’s disgusting, but he chooses to accept it, far too late and gone to deny himself any longer.

It seems that you still haven’t realized you hold his leash.

“Is that so hard to believe?” He questions after a bit, once your mind is working again.

“H-huh? Wait - this - don’t play with me, please…,” you beg while shaking your head. Your breathing speeds up again, heavier than it was moments ago. Your feet firmly plant themselves flat on the floor.

You think about kicking his face this time, giving you some time to run before the shock wears off.

“I’m not,” carefully and slowly, he leans in closer, gently holding the back of your neck like it’s his favorite thing to do. He pulls you closer and closer until he’s able to whisper in your ear, hot breath hitting it. He whispers, almost possessively like he was confessing a grave yet delicious sin.

“I mean it, really. You should stop assuming I’ll eventually throw you away.”

If the circumstances were different, if this was a healthy marriage, if this was a loving marriage, it would have been romantic. But because you’re married into the Agriche family, because your husband is Dion Agriche, it sounds like he’s trapping you in a cage, throwing away the key.

And in a way, he is, not wanting to let his pretty, lovely wife to part ways with him.

Really, he’s not sure of how much longer he can keep himself in check - you drive him crazy and you don’t even know it. He wants nothing more than to keep you locked up in this room, your eyes reflecting his figure, your attention on him and him alone. His grip on your neck tightens the slightest bit - you’re practically in his arms.

You fit perfectly against him - and yet, his mere existence makes you bleed. Dion shudders when you weakly push him away, hands pressed against his chest. Reluctantly he backs away, fingers grazing against your tear stained cheek as he lets go of the back of your neck. You don’t make eye contact, instead focusing on your feet - the cold tile reminding you that you’re not dreaming.

He hums while you bite your lower lip. This room is a cage, one that you can’t break out of. No. This marriage was a cage, heavy shackles on your ankles - not to the Agriche family but to him.

An obsessive and possessive husband with a scared wife, who will one day, realize she has him tied around her pretty little finger. At the cost of her own loose leash in his hand, two people unable to escape the other.

It’s awful, it’s insane, but who could blame him?

You’re just too lovely, too addicting to pass and give up.

May God bless the poor soul who’s stupid enough to try.

“You’re starting to hurt my feelings by doing so, (Name).” = = =

@tiny-mimi @corpseri @queenofspades403 @pix-stuff @manitscold @darkumbreon92 @s-ajia @disappointment-san @louissatturi @cjafjatkstke @rainofcrime @danae-misfortune @kokomi2 @elvinapandra @labryel @rentaldarling @ishamyshaylaaa @semi-wife @rosedellamorte @puggyeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

#dion agrece #deon agrece #dion agriche #dion agriche x reader #yandere dion agriche #yandere dion agrece #yandere deon agrece #yandere dion agriche x reader #twtptflob #yandere twtptflob #twtptflob x reader #yandere twtptflob x reader #the way to protect the female lead's older brother #the way to protect the female leads older brother x reader #male yandere #yandere #yandere x reader

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hellvst · 2 months ago

Text

OFFSEASON – quinn hughes

featuring ; quinn hughes x fmc (sydney gray)

✮⋆˙ warning & content ; swearing

✮⋆˙ word count ; 4.7k

✮⋆˙ previous chapter – series masterlist – next chapter

a/n ; quinn is playing + canucks won yesterday against la? we are soo back! i kinda forgot to give simon a face claim...oops! but, i did have an idea or picture him to look similar to kevin fiala or roman josi, i just can't find a face claim for him. it's up to your imagination as well! happy reading <3

CHAPTER TWO

SYDNEY

My alarm went off multiple times within the past fifteen minutes, and kept hitting the snooze button each time it did. So much for wanting to wake up early this morning.

I fluttered my eyes open, adjusting to the natural light through the window.

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the dull ache in my right leg. It wasn’t a sharp pain–more like a persistent stiffness, reminding me that no matter how much progress I made, and lots of physiotherapy sessions, I wouldn’t always feel one hundred percent.

There was no point in dwelling on it. I had a busy day ahead, and self-pity wasn’t on the agenda. Not today.

I ungracefully got out of bed–did some stretches, single-leg squats, and hopped on one foot.

Nothing some movement wouldn’t fix.

The discomfort usually disappeared once I got my body moving. Truly odd, but if it got me through the day, I was not going to complain.

I moved through my morning routine with muscle memory. A quick shower, skin care, matching black compression set, an oversized hoodie thrown on without much thought, and tied my hair into a ponytail.

By the time I made it to the kitchen, the coffee machine was already doing its magic. As I waited, I flipped the TV on in the living room out of habit as I did every morning.

The post-game analysis was still running from last night’s Canucks-Oilers’ game. I wasn’t surprised that this was the first thing that popped up on the screen, considering it’s been a while since my hometown, Vancouver, had made a playoff appearance. It was a huge deal for the city.

I caught a whiff of the last few minutes after getting home late from the studio–just in time to witness the whole debacle unfold.

My brother, Simon, and his teammate.

The miscommunication. The puck hitting the post. The loss.

A blown play that cost them a ticket to conference finals.

Now, every analyst, reporter, or fan was commenting and dissecting it.

“This was a complete breakdown,” one of the reporters began. “Simon Gray and Quinn Hughes were on totally different pages the entire game. You can’t have your best forward and your top defensemen out of sync in the most important moments–”

I turned the TV off and took a sip of my coffee, already knowing how that played out. My stomach was tightening at the sight of Simon after the buzzer went off.

Before the game, I sent him a short and simple ‘good luck!’, and haven’t heard from him since. Fair enough, given the outcome of the game.

Simon was going to be miserable for days, maybe weeks, more likely the entire summer. My brother was going to be impossible to deal with after that. And if history has taught itself, he was going to blame others for his mistakes. He always did.

I looked at the time, almost choking on my coffee, “Shit.”

I was running late for my first private session of the day, and Phoebe–one of my regular clients–was going to get there before me. Again.

If someone had asked me years ago what I saw myself doing, being a Pilates instructor wouldn’t even make the list. But life has a way of throwing you in places you’d never expect.

It started after the incident, I don’t talk about it much–there was nothing left to say. It happened. It definitely changed things. And for a very long time, I felt lost in my own body, like going through motions without purpose.

Doctors and my physiotherapist gave me exercises, stretches, and a never-ending list of things to “try”. Nothing clicked. Nothing felt right.

Until, I stepped into my first Pilates class. I remembered feeling a bit skeptical at first, convinced it was another trendy workout–the one all the girls tried out. It was the first time in a long time I felt connected to myself again.

I kept going. I got better. And then I got really good. Good enough that one day, the owner of the studio I’d been training at, pulled me aside and asked if I ever thought about teaching.

I laughed at the time, but the idea lingered that it stuck. And here I was: an instructor at Lumé Wellness–the top studio branch in Vancouver–fully booked for the summer, doing what I love.

The studio wasn’t that far from my apartment, twenty minutes tops without traffic which most days I was thankful for.

By the time I made it to the studio, sure enough, Phoebe was already inside one of the private rooms, stretching on the mat.

She raised an eyebrow at me as I put my bag down. “Would it kill you to be on time for once?” Phoebe teased, pulling her dark curls into a bun.

I rolled my eyes and started stretching beside her. “It’s five minutes.”

She shrugged and wiggled her brows, “Five minutes that I spent wondering if you were late because a guy kept you up last night.”

“Oh my God,” I groaned with a smile. “Don’t start this again, Phoebe.”

All she did was grin, absolutely delighted at the sight of my suffering. Phoebe was in her late forties, a social butterfly with too much energy for the morning slot, and too much curiosity for her own good.

Plus the fact she was newly single and thriving in the chaos of her impending divorce, loved to poke at my non-existing dating life. She was a sucker for drama, and if my love life–or lack thereof–could provide her entertainment, she’d without a doubt take it.

“Oh come on, humor me, Syd. There has to be someone,” she said, settling onto the reformer. “You’re giving off the ‘I’m seeing someone new’ glow.”

I scoffed at her. “That ‘glow’ you’re referring to is just the new overhead lighting.”

She snorted then sighed dramatically as I adjusted her stance, “You know, you should really make time for some fun.”

“I have fun.” I argued.

“Pilates and binge-watching The Office at home doesn’t count.”

She got me there.

We continued on with our session. Usually with Phoebe, time flies so fast when all she did was rant about her life–pestering me about mine–but she eventually let it go once we began the harder exercises.

I barely got a moment to breathe before moving on to my bigger group session. To my luck, this group was breeze to get through as they followed my exercises on the reformer with ease. Not to mention, the music blasting through the speakers in the studio allowed them to get into that rhythm which was helpful as well.

Just when the last song ended, the group of ladies’ chests heaved, the room was filled with breaths of exhaustion, and a few went straight for their water bottles.

“Alright, ladies! Great work today! Hope to see you in our next class.”

They all left one by one, saying ‘bye’ on their way out, until I was the only one left.

Two or three classes to teach in the mornings usually had me working around lunch.

And by then, I was starving.

My routine was pretty much the same, there was not a lot to do with an hour break. But, most days consisted of grabbing a quick meal at the nearest bistro or cafe with my closest friend. As I was about to pick up my things off the floor, my phone in my pocket buzzed.

Speak of the devil herself.

“Hey, Diane,” I answered, tucking my phone in between my ear and shoulder as I packed.

“Are we still on for lunch? I’m already at the café.”

I heard the faint lively sounds of the city of Vancouver in the background. “Yeah, I’m about to leave the studio and make my way–”

“Sydney?”

Right as I was trying to make a beeline to the doors, I turned to see Grace–the owner of the studio–peeking out her office door. My stomach dropped.

“One sec, Di.” I lowered my phone, ending the call. “Everything alright, Grace?”

“Can you step into my office for a minute?”

Fuck. This cannot be good.

I followed her inside. It was a rare sight to see any of the studio employees in Grace’s office, she usually came to talk to me after my classes, never the other way around.

She never gave off vibes that ever intimidated me. I have never seen her upset with anyone, unless they truly pushed her buttons. The word ‘nervous’ wasn’t enough to express how I was feeling right then and there.

“Have a seat,” she gestured to the empty chair across from her. I gave her a smile, but beneath that was a wave of anxiety washing over me.

I tried to figure out what I might have done wrong. Did someone complain? Did I mix up the schedules or bookings? Did Phoebe finally rat me out for showing up late most of the time? The idea of me getting fired was not on my list of things today.

Grace sat behind her desk, clasping her hands together. “I have some news for you.”

Oh God. This is it. I was getting fired.

“I know your lunch break just started, so I’ll just get straight to it.” Grace had always been forward when she spoke. “There’s an opportunity with the Vancouver Canucks. Their management reached out about a summer cross-training program. They wanted us to coordinate it.”

I blinked at her, “And…?”

“And I told them you’d do it.”

As if my eyes couldn’t get any wider than it was. I stared at her in complete and utter disbelief, waiting for some sort of punchline. “You’re joking.”

Grace smiled, “Nope.”

I would have never imagined she’d say those words. This might be worse than getting fired.

There had been a few occasions when I had worked with soccer clubs, and a few college football players for cross-training. But, I had never done a session with the professional leagues such as the NHL. This was way different.

“Grace, I’m flattered but–” I thought about my words carefully, “I have a full schedule this summer and–”

“I am aware of your busy schedule,” she said, waving a hand. “I already adjusted your schedule accordingly to accommodate for this.”

Of course she did..

I opened my mouth, then closed it. This conversation was already headed towards the direction I dreaded. “There are other instructors here that I think are more qualified–who have worked in this studio for much longer that are more deserving for this job.”

Grace raised a brow at me, “Do you think I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t think you were more than qualified?”

Shit. I had that coming. I basically dug that hole myself.

I stayed silent for my own good, Grace knew she was right and she sighed.

“They want you,” she said simply.

“What? Why?”

I answered a bit too quickly, unknowingly raising my voice an octave or two. I shift in my chair, clearing my throat having just panicked in front of my boss.

“Well, given that you have a good background on hockey, I thought you were perfect for the position. Not to mention that their head coach, Rick Tocchet, had also referred to you. And if it helps, it’s not the entire team you will train with. Just two of their players.” Her lips twitched as she leaned in her seat. “One of them being your brother.”

My stomach twisted. I should have seen this from a mile away. Why didn’t I make that connection instantly right when she said ‘Vancouver Canucks’?

After all, my older brother Simon was one of the top forwards for the team.

Although, he may be my family and I would do anything for him–I wouldn’t train him or anyone on his team for that matter. Hockey was Simon’s thing, and I had my own so we stayed out of each other’s lane. And we like to keep it that way.

Plus, I wasn’t all that into men that played hockey. They weren’t my go-to type. But, I would be lying to myself if I didn't think there were some head-turners, but nothing too crazy of the sort. I have never dated a hockey guy.

I blinked, tapping out of my short trance. My brain was processing the fact that I was going to spend all summer with my brother and his teammate.

Which led me to another question for Grace.

“So, if I’m training my brother–” I said, dragging out the last word. “–who is the other?”

She took a moment before she replied, “Quinn Hughes.”

That brought me to a full stop. What?

My eyes were nothing but bloodshot, “Quinn Hughes?” There was absolutely no hiding my distraught expression, even if I tried my hardest to contain it. “That’s asking for the impossible, Grace. It would take a miracle for those two to work together.”

Shocked doesn’t even begin to cover what I was feeling.

Simon hated Quinn Hughes. I have spent the last few years listening to him ranting about how Quinn came in a year after he was drafted and ‘ruined’ everything–climbing the ranks, breaking franchise records as a defensemen, and taking the spotlight.

I never truly understood the obsession. Simon had never acted this way growing up, especially towards another teammate. Now, he’s spent years resenting Quinn, blaming him for everything that has gone wrong in his career. I have asked multiple times specifically why he hated him so much, all I got was some half-assed answer.

And I’ve never met the guy, but from what I’ve seen, he seems alright.

“Your job is to make sure they don’t kill each other,” Grace continued. “I told Rick Tocchet you’d do it. And of course, you will be paid. More importantly, the Canucks’ are willing to invest in our studio. We’re growing and this would help fund more studios to expand, Sydney.”

Wow. It would be a great deal for Lumé Wellness now that I think about it. After adding the brand new Pilates reformers and more intensive sessions, our class attendances shot through the roof. The space in our studio was limited and we were growing in numbers as waitlists were piling up.

What kind of Pilates instructor would I be if I didn’t want that for the studio?

I exhaled a sigh, “What about the media? They will be a problem–”

“We will handle it,” Grace cut me off. “After what happened last night, there’s no doubt that the press will track two of their star players’ moves throughout the summer. That’s why Rick, the Canuck’s team, and I will ensure that we will keep the training sessions on the down-low to prevent the media from talking.”

That reassured me to an extent, but I was still skeptical. This was a bad idea.

It was easy to figure out why this arrangement was set in the first place. Those two, especially my brother, needed to stop acting like children and start acting like grown adults. Play like real professional hockey players.

After the loss last night, it was only a matter of time when their team did something about it. I was surprised that it took them long enough. A few years ago, I wondered why they hadn't forced them to be stranded on an island together. Maybe surviving off an island together surely would have allowed them to work together at least.

The look in Grace’s eyes were telling me that there was no way out of this. Even if I came up with more excuses or tried to find a replacement, her (and apparently Rick Tocchet) mind was already made up.

I leaned back in my chair, my head was spinning in constant circles. “Is there any way for me to get out of this?”

“No.”

Damn. A complete shut down.

“Of course not,” I mumbled.

She gave me a knowing look, “Everything will be fine, that I can assure you, Sydney. Sessions will begin in two weeks.”

And just like that, my fate was sealed. Great.

I nodded my head as Grace dismissed me out of her office, gave her a small wave. I stepped out of the studio, took a deep breath trying to process what just happened in the last few minutes. I still couldn’t believe it.

My phone went off. Four missed calls and numerous text messages from Diane.

I called her back, and the second she picked up, she was already yelling. “Where the hell are you?”

A dull throb in my temple ached. “I got held up, I’ll be there in ten.”

“What happened?”

I sighed and began walking down the sidewalk. “You’re never going to believe me if I told you.”

The café was already packed by the time I got there, the low hum of conversation blending with the clinking of cups and the hiss of the espresso machine.

I spotted Diane almost immediately, she sat by the window, with a half-eaten bagel and small bits of crumbs on the table. She glanced up just as I approached her and instantly raised a brow.

“You’re late,” she said, pointing at me with her bagel in hand. “Again.”

“Sorry, I got held up.” I told her as I dropped into the chair across from her.

She playfully scoffed and held up her now empty cup, “Enough that I already finished one latte.” She smirked before setting it down. “Alright, spill. What was so important that you hung up on me and left me hanging here?”

“Grace.”

Diane’s eyes widened at that. She knew how rare it was for me–or anyone in the studio– to get caught up in Grace’s hair to get sent to her office. There were only good things I have told Diane about my boss over the years. Like the time she gave all the studio employees a gift certificate to the infamous spa in the north side of the city. It was generous of her, but it was quite expensive.

I took a deep breath before explaining to my friend of my new summer plans. Having to say it all out loud made me realize how real this was. It was going to happen and I wasn’t just dreaming in that office.

“Wait. I’m sorry, what?” Diane nearly choked on her coffee.

“Yep,” I popped the ‘p’, and nodded at her. “You heard me.”

For a split second, there was silence.

Her face lit up accompanied with a squeal. Oh no. Here we go.

Diane’s expression was something between shock and excitement, “Syd, are you serious? That’s freaking nuts!” Unaware of her volume, she earned the glances of other customers in the café. We were both quick to give them apologetic nods. She leaned closer across the table, her voice quieter this time, “That’s huge, Syd!”

I scoffed, “I wouldn’t call it that.”

Diane grinned, “Are you kidding? You get to train professional athletes. NHL players. Do you know how many people would kill for that opportunity?”

She was right. It’s not everyday that you get to work with athletes in the big leagues. Anyone in the studio could have easily taken this job and taken the news a lot more lightly and professionally than I did. But no, oddly enough I didn’t have any other choice or say in the decision.

I shook my head at her, slumping into my seat. “It’s not that simple.”

Diane tilted her head as if I grew another pair of eyes, “What’s not simple about that? You get to train with your brother and I don’t think that’s all too difficult, right? Shouldn’t it be easier since he is your brother?”

As much as I loved my brother, we liked keeping our lives separate from each other. He had his career, and I had mine. Not saying that I wasn’t proud of him or embarrassed that my brother was one of the hockey stars in the league. I was very proud that he achieved his dreams, why wouldn’t I be? I just liked supporting him from the sidelines.

“Me and Simon are close but–” I paused, tracing the rim of my coffee cup with my finger. “We don’t mix our careers or get involved in each other’s business. Now, I’m being thrown right into it and it just…complicates things.”

Diane watched me carefully, “Is that really a bad thing?”

I hesitated before answering her. “I’ve never really been a part of his hockey world, this was totally unexpected. Hell, I don’t even know if he knows about it. He hasn’t texted me since yesterday before the game.”

“Okay, so you’re only training your brother. Big deal. It’s not like you’re training with the whole team.” She waved a hand, acting like that was the only issue I was dealing with.

I shot her a look, I accidentally left out a big piece of information while explaining to her.

“And Quinn Hughes,” I added flatly.

Diane’s jaw dropped to the floor, “Wait–Quinn Hughes? As in, the captain of the team and the best defensemen in the league ‘Quinn Hughes’?”

As far as hockey goes for Diane, she had no interest in the sport, unless there was eye-candy on the team. When it came down to the NHL, the only names she was familiar with were the ‘good-looking’ guys, my brother, and Quinn Hughes.

I nodded, then took a quick sip of my coffee, “Apparently, my job is to make sure they don’t kill each other during the summer.”

“Wow. That’s definitely…something.”

“Exactly.” I crossed my arms. “I barely know Quinn. But, Simon? He’s been going off about the guy for years. And now I’m supposed to train them. Together? That’s a shitshow waiting to happen.”

Diane shrugged her shoulders, looking at me thoughtfully. “Or maybe it’s an opportunity.”

My brow raised at that, “To do what? Watch my brother have a meltdown? Yeah, no thanks.”

“But–”

I groaned, “Diane.”

She was teasing, and she never fails to get away with it. “I’m just saying, maybe this isn’t the worst thing. You’ll be challenged. You’ll make new connections. And–” She paused. “Who knows, this might just be the most interesting thing going for you right now since the accident–nevermind, sorry.”

Ouch. That stung.

But, Diane was right. As much as I’d like to think that my life was perfect and everything was going the right places, deep down, I knew it wasn’t. Ever since I got hurt and went through months of recovering, the course of direction my life was heading towards took a hard turn.

Now, I have ended up here. But, I wasn’t not grateful as things could have been worse, very worse. Over the years, I had to learn how to go with the flow and accept it.

I knew she didn’t mean to say that with bad intentions. Diane always wanted what was best for me, and I was glad that she felt that way since I would do the same with her. She was my longest friend for as long as I could remember.

She gave me an apologetic smile, “If anything, maybe your brother can introduce you to his teammates or–”

I playfully shook my head, then stood up with my empty cup in my hands. “I’m getting more coffee.”

She laughed, “Fine. But, I am not done talking about this.”

I gave her a look over my shoulder before heading over to the front counter. The café was even busier now, and I had to squeeze past a few people waiting for their orders. I handed my cup to the barista, tapping my fingers against the counter as I waited.

Diane’s words lingered in my head. Maybe this was a big opportunity, Maybe I was overreacting. But there was still that anxious feeling in my stomach, my subconscious telling me that I was not ready for this.

The barista handed me the the refilled cup, and I turned back towards our table–

Only to be met with a sudden, solid force.

The next thing I knew, the warmth of hot coffee spilled down the front of my hoodie. I sucked in a sharp breath as the heat seared against my skin right through the fabric. “Fuck!”

The impact rattled me, as I staggered back, barely managing to keep hold of the cup and maintaining my balance. I looked down at the damage, dark brown stains spread across the pale gray fabric.

I clenched my jaw. Just perfect.

“Shit, I–”

I glanced up, ready to give whoever it was a piece of my fucking mind and–

I froze. No, it can’t be.

Quinn fucking Hughes.

Stood right in front of me, low and behold, looked just as surprised as I did.

Up close, he was taller than I expected–maybe I was just short– lean but solid, his broad shoulders filling out his fitted black hoodie effortlessly. His dark hair was slightly tousled under his hat; damp at the ends like he’d just finished practice or a workout, and completely blended with the crowd of people as if he wasn’t one of the biggest NHL players in the league.

I blinked, my brain lagging for a second. I’ve seen him on TV, many times before, in clips that Simon had angrily sent me after a few bad games, but seeing him up close was different. Very different.

He had his own unique attractiveness, I won’t lie. He had the light scruffy stubble around his jaw–sharp jawline, and piercing greenish blue eyes that made him look intense, but there was a softness in the way that he blinked at me, momentarily thrown off.

What was he doing here of all places?

He didn’t seem to realize that I wasn’t saying anything and ran a hand through his hair, looking somewhat embarrassed. “I, uh–” He hesitated, looking vaguely horrified at the sight of my hoodie. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t paying attention.”

I exhaled through my nose, forcing myself to calm down despite the feeling of coffee soaking into my hoodie. “Yeah, no kidding.”

He pulled a handful of napkins from the counter and offered them to me, “Here.”

“Thanks.” I took them from his grasp and attempted to clean the stain, knowing it wouldn’t do much but tried anyway.

“I can buy you another one,” Quinn offered, nodding towards the counter. “Or, at least a new hoodie?

I shook my head, frustrated that the napkins were making my hoodie worse. “I don’t need anything from an NHL player, alright–”

Oh shit. My eyes widened as soon as the words slipped from my mouth.

That caught him off guard, and so had I.

Quinn’s expression lit up and brows furrowed instantly at that, curiosity flashing in his eyes. “So, you know who I am?”

“Yes, I do.” I said in a tone indicating that it wasn’t a good thing.

He studied me for a moment. Probably thinking that I was a hockey fan or whatnot.

“Can I at least get your name or number?” He paused, scrambling to rephrase what his intentions were behind that question. “To replace your hoodie or pay for dry cleaning, anything to fix what I caused.”

He sounded pretty genuine and his intentions were nothing but pure, hopefully.

I gave him a look, “I’m not making you buy me a hoodie. I can take care of this–” I looked down at the mess. “–myself. So, I think I’ll respectfully pass up on that offer of yours.”

As I was about to turn my back on him, his fingers found the material of my sleeve, and swiftly pulled me back. “Hey look, I’d feel really bad if I left here without making it up to you.”

“Oh, really?”

He only nodded, which amused me.

“I think I can survive without your help, but thanks.”

Quinn’s lips twitched like he wanted to smile, but thought the better of it before I turned around.

I felt his eyes linger on me as soon as I made my way back to Diane. She watched the whole thing and she looked like she was about to lose her damn mind once I sat down.

I glanced over my shoulder back to where Quinn stood. I was so lost in that interaction that I hadn’t noticed two other of his Canuck buddies were standing behind him. I watched them laughing–most likely teasing him–about what they witnessed. Great, that was just great.

“What the actual fuck just happened, Syd?”

I wish I knew.

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes x oc #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes imagine #vancouver canucks #nhl #nhl imagine #jack hughes #luke hughes #qh43

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love--and--venom · 5 months ago

Text

Into the Wonderland: Chapter Five

Summary: You're getting some assignments done ahead of time since your heat is swiftly approaching. Marcus tries to make another move, resulting in a fight between him and Hongjoong.

Warnings (IMPORTANT!): Violence!! Descriptions of injuries, Hongjoong loses his shit, campus security and emts are so tired, hospital, slight description of medical procedure (staples), lots of tears, lots of anger, lots of panic

Series Masterlist

“Korean dialogue” / “English dialogue”

Your nightmares didn’t completely disappear, but they were much less frequent. Having a pack member with you helped you calm down and fall back asleep when you did have one, improving your sleep schedule significantly. Hongjoong still kept a watchful eye on you even if he wasn't the one spending the night with you.

With your heat now only a week away, you completely forgot about Marcus in your rush to turn in assignments ahead of their due dates. You’d have less to worry about when you came back to class that way. You were staying late in the computer lab for the third night in a row, but you needed access to a program you couldn’t download on your laptop. You quietly cheered to yourself after you finally submitted the assignment, leaving only one more easy discussion board post to finish.

“Oh, shit,” you cursed under your breath when you realized the time. You were supposed to meet Seonghwa and Hongjoong fifteen minutes ago. You hastily shoved your class materials in your backpack, locking the door behind you with a key from your professor. Rough hands ripped your backpack from your shoulders, knocking you off balance. An all-to-familiar scent filled you with panic.

“You made a big fucking mistake, Y/N,” Marcus growled next to your ear. Before you could react, his hand wrapped around your throat to slam you against the wall. The back of your head collided with the sheet rock, blurring your vision and sending a sharp pain through your skull. Your classmate slowly came into focus.

“You think flaunting that shitty little pack bond is gonna keep me from taking you for myself?” He was deranged, pupils blown wide and spit dripping down his chin.

“Marcus, please stop,” you pushed weakly against his wrist, tears stinging the back of your eyes.

“No! I know you want me! You are mine, omega, and I’ll make sure you forget all about that fucking pack.” His face turned red with the effort of keeping his voice down. He refused to be interrupted again. Your chest heaved, tears now streaming down your cheeks. Your mind was fuzzy from the pain. You couldn’t think straight. All of your thoughts turned to one person, so with every ounce of your strength you clasped both hands over your mating gland and you screamed.

“Hongjoong!”

The lobby of the computer science building was lined with large windows and plush armchairs. Seonghwa relaxed into the leather, scrolling on his phone while he and Hongjoong waited for you to finish in the lab.

“Sit down, she’ll be out soon.” Seonghwa repeated for the fourth time in the last ten minutes. Hongjoong paced in front of the omega, eyes glued to the door labelled ‘Students and Staff Members ONLY’.

“She’s late, Seonghwa. She’s never late, not without sending a text.” His fingers flexed by his sides, every nerve in his body on edge. He learned a long time ago to never ignore his instincts. “Something’s wrong.”

“You’re being paranoid,” the elder sighed, sparing the alpha a brief glance. Hongjoong glared at the door, the knot of dread in his stomach growing larger by the second.

“Fuck it,” the alpha stormed through the door, ignoring Seonghwa’s protests. The hallway split into two, forcing Hongjoong to stop.

“What is wrong with you?!” Seonghwa dug his fingers into the younger man’s shoulder.

“What room did Y/N say she was in?” His eyes flicked from one hall to the other, then to the placard on the wall pointing to different room numbers.

“I don’t –”

“Hongjoong!” His head snapped to the left, sprinting towards your voice with Seonghwa hot on his heels. Marcus slammed you into the wall again right as you came into view. He couldn’t hold back the growl that ripped from his throat, vision glazing over with red.

“Get the fuck away from her!” With his protective instincts on overdrive, Hongjoong didn’t even feel the sting of his knuckles connecting with Marcus’s cheekbone, knocking him to the floor. Hongjoong sat on his chest, locking his arms to his sides.

“Were we not fucking obvious enough for you, asshole?” Another hit landed on Marcus’s nose, blood pouring from his nostrils. Hongjoong grinned sadistically at the crunch of cartilage under his fist.

“You couldn’t figure it out by our scents, our clothes, my bite on her neck? Let me spell it out for you.” His hand engulfed Marcus’s forehead, yanking him up just to shove his head into the tile floor, the sound echoing down the empty hallway.

“She’s fucking taken.”

You collapsed to the floor once Marcus let you go, pulling your knees to your chest. Seonghwa dropped to your side, holding your face in both of his hands. You blinked slowly in an attempt to focus on him.

“Y/N? Baby, can you hear me?” His worried voice pushed past the fog surrounding your brain.

“Seonghwa?” You tipped forward, resting your forehead on the elder’s collarbone. Sobs wracked your body as you clung onto his shirt. He ran a hand through your hair to soothe you, but yanked it back at your yelp and the feeling of something warm and wet on his palm.

“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa stared in horror at the blood covering his hand. Your blood. The pack alpha was blinded by rage, still not satisfied with the damage done to Marcus’s face.

“Hongjoong, please forget about him. He doesn’t matter, Y/N is hurt. Hongjoong listen to me, god dammit! Hongjoong! Alpha, please, she’s bleeding.” Seonghwa struggled to fight back the panic bubbling in his stomach, voice growing more desperate the longer he was ignored.

“Hwa ‘m tired,” you mumbled into his chest.

“Nononono, you can’t fall asleep.” He forced you to sit up, gently patting your cheek to bring your gaze back to him. Seonghwa’s eyes darted between you and Hongjoong. “Y/N, I know you’re tired and I know you’re scared, but I need you to do something for me.”

“Hmm?”

“I need you to get Hongjoong’s attention. Say his name, call him alpha, anything to get him to stop.” You looked over at your alpha, confused by the snarl marring his pretty face.

“Hongjoong?” You whimpered at the sharp sting in your head from slightly raising your voice. He froze, fist reared back to strike, his anger clashing with his need to comfort you.

“Yes! That’s it, omega. Keep going, sweet girl,” Seonghwa encouraged, stroking your cheek with his thumb. You took a shaky breath.

“Hongjoong. Alpha, please.” In an instant, your classmate was forgotten, left lying on the floor barely holding onto consciousness. He stole you from Seonghwa’s grasp to pull you onto his lap.

“You’re okay. I’ve got you, alpha’s got you, it’s okay,” he rambled into the crown of your hair, wrapping you tightly in his arms and pressing you into his chest. Your nails dug into his bicep.

“She’s hurt.” He muttered, eyes snapping over to Seonghwa, the omega’s earlier words finally sinking in. “You said she’s bleeding, where?”

“The back of her head.” Hongjoong gingerly moved your hair, blanching at the large gash. He frantically searched for something to stop the bleeding, coming up empty. Frustrated, he tore the sleeve from his sweater, folding it in half to hold against the wound.

“Oh, my god!” An unknown voice shrieked from down the hall. Seonghwa tore his eyes from the man on the ground to see a woman with a hand clutched over her heart. “Oh my god, you assaulted those students!”

“Ma’am, please,” Seonghwa jumped to his feet, holding his hands up to show he meant no harm. He took note of the staff badge hanging from the woman’s belt loop. “We need you to call the police. Or call campus security and have them contact the police. Security knows the situation between the two students. Please trust me.”

“O-okay,” she hesitantly agreed. “What are their names?”

“Y/N L/N and Marcus, I don’t know his last name.” The staff member nodded, pulling out her phone and stepping further away from you. Seonghwa’s shoulders deflated. He sat next to you and Hongjoong, running his hand across your lower back.

“I knew something was wrong,” Hongjoong glowered at his elder. Seonghwa turned a sharp eye to the alpha.

“We are not talking about that right now,” he hissed, voice dropping low in his throat. They stared each other down in a heated silence until movement to their side caught their attention.

“This isn’t done, asshole.” Marcus slurred, spitting out a tooth. He tried to sit up, but flopped onto his back with a groan.

“Shut the fuck up,” Seonghwa and Hongjoong said in unison, the former sounding more tired than angry.

“Security, the police, and EMS are all on their way. I can watch him if you’d like to take her to the lobby,” the staff member offered after returning from her phone call.

“Thank you,” Seonghwa quickly bowed before trailing after you and Hongjoong. The alpha settled into one of the arm chairs with you in his lap, one hand still holding the sleeve to your head. You looked up at your fellow omega through the tears still clinging to your lashes.

“I don’t want to take an ambulance,” you sniffled, then winced again at the throbbing in the back of your skull.

“Y/N–”

“I’ll go to the hospital, Hwa, but the sirens will be too loud and the lights will be too bright and, and,” you faltered at the lump growing in your throat.

“Okay,” Seonghwa caved against your pleading, watery eyes. “I’ll call Yunho so he can come pick us up.” He moved a few feet away, growing impatient at the prolonged dial tone.

“Hey Seonghwa,” Mingi answered for Yunho.

“Where’s Yunho? I need him for something,” he avoided giving away any details. He really didn’t need three pissed off alphas on his hands.

“Uhh, I think he’s in the middle of a Valorant match. Why, what’s up?” Seonghwa rolled his eyes. Of course the only pack member with a license was preoccupied with a video game, of all things.

“Well he needs to turn it off. He needs to come pick us up from Y/N’s campus,” he insisted with a huff.

“Why, Seonghwa? What happened?” Mingi demanded, now on edge from how vague his elder was being.

“Nothing happened.” He was immediately contradicted by your yelp and frantic apologies from Hongjoong.

“Seonghwa.”

“Get the phone to Yunho, then I’ll tell you.” Mingi grumbled curses under his breath, annoyed by the negotiations. He ripped Yunho’s headphones off.

“Turn the game off, something happened to Y/N.” Any arguments from being interrupted mid-game died in Yunho’s throat. “You’re on speaker.”

“Yunho, you need to come pick us up from the computer science building on campus. Marcus attacked her. She’s bleeding and probably has a concussion,” Seonghwa quickly explained, pulling his phone away from his ear.

“He fucking what?!” Mingi shouted, loud enough that it drew Hongjoong’s attention from several feet away.

“We’re on our way,” Yunho stated after stealing his phone back.

“Please don’t bring the whole pack,” Seonghwa pleaded. “She doesn’t need to be crowded right now. Security is here, got to go.” He ended the call without waiting for an answer.

“Okay, what happened?” A very tired man with a “head of security” badge asked, looking between the three of you. Seonghwa stepped forward to recount the attack, seeing as you were fighting to stay awake and Hongjoong was still fuming. A female security guard approached you, keeping a bit of space to avoid agitation.

“I have gauze, if you’d like to use it for her head instead of a sleeve,” she offered, extending a hand with a small stack of clean gauze. Hongjoong eyed the officer warily, but accepted the offer, dropping the bloody sleeve to the seat next to him. After a few minutes, red and blue flashing lights stung your eyes. You hid in Hongjoong’s neck with a groan. Two pairs of EMTs entered the lobby. The pair with a stretcher were led to Marcus, while the others walked up to examine you.

“She’s not taking an ambulance,” Hongjoong snapped before they even opened their mouths.

“She really–”

“We’re going to the hospital, but we’re using our car.” The EMTs shared a look, one of them sighing heavily.

“Alright. Can I at least check on the wound?” Hongjoong didn’t even try to hide his displeasure, curling his lip back to show his teeth.

“Hongjoong, he’s just trying to do his job,” you vouched for the poor EMT.

“Fine.�� The EMT pulled on gloves and kneeled behind you while his partner left to help with Marcus after a voice from his radio asked for backup.

“The bleeding has mostly stopped. It’s not too long, 6 or 7 centimeters from what I can see. They’ll probably staple it shut and check for a concussion at the hospital. Keep the gauze on it.” The EMT stood, grabbing his first aid bag and heading back to the ambulance, passing Mingi and Yunho on his way out.

“What happened?” Yunho asked as the two of them stormed over to you. He kneeled in front of you while Mingi sat on the arm of the chair directly behind you.

“The officer said Y/N can wait until tomorrow to give her statement due to her injury.” Seonghwa returned from talking to security and a cop. “How did you get here so quickly?”

“He drove fucking fast. I’ve never seen him that reckless, I thought I was gonna puke,” Mingi replied. Yunho shrugged at the flat glare from the omega.

“I was leaving the computer lab and he snuck up on me. It’s kinda fuzzy after I hit my head.” You slowly lifted your head from Hongjoong’s neck, fighting back the dizziness.

“Hey, don’t push yourself. Keep your head down if you’re not feeling well,” Yunho urged with a hand on your knee.

“I wanted to see you both.” You twisted around to look up at Mingi.

“Don’t move around like that, I’m trying to keep the cut covered.” Hongjoong turned you to face forward again. Mingi trailed his hand up your shoulders to rest on the back of your neck.

“Did he–” All five of you looked at the door that slammed open. The EMTs rolled the stretcher out with Marcus handcuffed to the rail, spewing profanities. Your alphas glared at him. Yunho moved into a crouch with his back to you. Marcus faltered under their intimidating stature, clenching his jaw and averting his eyes to his lap. The three of them felt an animalistic sense of pride and satisfaction at the other alpha’s submission.

“Serves him fucking right,” Mingi snickered at the blood and bruises covering your classmate’s face.

“He deserves worse,” Yunho clicked his tongue. He turned to you again once the stretcher was out the door.

“I could have kept going, but she needed me. My omega’s health is more important than that shithead,” Hongjoong sneered. “Besides, killing him would have been too merciful. He can rot in prison.” The taller alphas hummed in agreement.

“Let’s go, she needs to see a doctor,” Seonghwa ordered, herding the alphas up and out the door with you still in Hongjoong’s arms.

“Should one of us take her?” Mingi asked, pointing to the leader’s hands. “You’re bleeding, too. And your hands are shaking.”

“No.” His voice was strained, face and muscles still tense from the slew of emotions going through his mind. He and Mingi got in the backseat, sitting you between them. The car fell to a heavy silence, only interrupted whenever someone shook you awake. Hongjoong opened the door before Yunho even put the car in park.

“I’m going to call the others. I’ll be in soon. Please behave,” Seonghwa urged the alphas.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep them in check,” Yunho called over his shoulder. They walked through the sliding doors of the ER. You were whisked away in a wheelchair almost immediately for a CT scan. Hongjoong’s leg bounced impatiently while they sat in the waiting room.

“Mr. Kim?” A nurse announced from the door leading to the patient rooms. He shot out of the chair, looking at her expectantly. “Oh, I’m sorry. Y/N is still being evaluated. You can’t see her yet. I’m bringing you back for your hands. She should be ready by the time you’re done.”

“Fine.”

Out by the car, Seonghwa called Jongho. He was the most reliable in terms of answering phone calls. Honestly, he was surprised that anyone picked up when he called Yunho.

“I hope you’re calling to explain why Mingi and Yunho left the dorms looking pissed,” Jongho skipped the greeting to get right to the point.

“Yeah, is everyone there?” Seonghwa asked with a sigh, tired and fighting back a headache.

“We’re here, you’re on speaker,” San chimed in. The eldest launched into a hasty retelling of everything that happened in the past hour.

“What the actual fuck is wrong with that guy?” Wooyoung swore once Seonghwa was finished.

“Is there anything you need us to do?” Yeosang asked.

“Get a nest set up in the living room. I have a feeling she’s going to want all of us near her tonight,” Seonghwa requested. After confirming, they exchanged goodbyes so he could check on you.

No one was in the waiting room, spiking his anxiety. Another nurse spotted him from behind the front desk and led him to your room. You sat on the bed between Hongjoong’s legs, your back to his chest and his arms wrapped securely around your waist. The pack alpha’s hands were wrapped in bandages. Mingi and Yunho stood on either side of the bed.

“Hey, the doctor’s coming in soon to go over their scan results,” Yunho informed him as he approached the bed, sitting on the edge on the same side as Mingi.

“What scans did they do?”

“CT and MRI for Y/N, x-ray for Hongjoong,” Yunho pointed between the two of you.

“Y/N, baby, are you still awake?” Seonghwa squeezed your knee. Your eyes stayed closed, but you nodded and mumbled ‘mhm’.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Lee,” a woman in navy scrubs walked in while reading something on a clipboard. “Hongjoong, you’re lucky you didn’t get any fractures in your hand. Keep the abrasions clean and you’ll be just fine.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Hongjoong agreed through gritted teeth.

“Y/N has a minor concussion. As for the cut, I’ll need to put a few staples in so it heals properly.” Dr. Lee placed the clipboard on a counter, thanking the nurse that brought in the staple gun. She gently parted your hair and cleaned the excess blood from your skin. She warned you before she began putting in the staples. You winced at each staple, making the alphas tense up in order to stay calm. A muscle in Yunho’s jaw twitched and the other two stared daggers at the doctor.

“Okay, we’re done. I know it hurts, but you did wonderfully,” she reassured with a pat to your shoulder. Hongjoong suppressed a growl. “You’ll need to have them removed in two weeks. You can either come back here or go to your primary doctor. One of the nurses will stop by soon to go over your discharge paperwork and give a packet for care instructions.”

“Thank you,” Seonghwa nodded to the doctor before she left for her next patient.

Finally, after forty-five minutes, you were back at the dorms. Hongjoong reluctantly let Seonghwa and Yeosang bring you to the latter’s room to help you change into your pajamas. As soon as you returned to the living room, which was covered with pillows and blankets, Hongjoong pulled you back into his lap. The betas took turns checking on you, giving you soft kisses to your forehead and cheeks. Everyone settled down around you, most going on their phones since it wasn’t even ten o’clock yet. You drifted off to sleep, safe and surrounded by your pack.

Permanent Taglist: @furfoxsake22 @babygirlskz98 @miniverse-zen @holly-here @corgilover20 @eastjonowhere @bookswillfindyouaway

Series Taglist: @popcatx0 @m00njinnie @awkward-fucking-thing @fr34k4c1dr41n @nchhuhi @pixie0627 @bby-boo4u @queen-thiccness

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lokisprettygirl · 19 days ago

Text

Light into the Darkness (Bill Skarsgard! Eric Draven x Female Reader) (Horror Romance) (18+) (70s AU)

Chapter 1

Series Masterlist

Summary : Life didn't turn out how you had imagined it to be. After a drunken breakdown you call into the void for help, begging someone to hear you, to come for you. And he comes from the beyond.

Warning: 18+, Reader is depressed, reader has plethora of insecurities, she's passively suicidal, she's in her thirties (for some of you that's a warning I guess), when I say alternate universe i mean it

Note: I know Step out of line isn't finished yet but I had inspiration and wanted to post it.

Dull and Meaningless.

If you had to describe your life in two simple words that would be it.

It was meaningless, breathing in and out everyday with no real sense of purpose. At thirty two women your age had everything they dreamt of, a husband, children, family, if they didn't have all that then they had a career, something fulfilling, something that made them stand out. The world was changing, especially in the wake of the 70s—liberation, progress, disco, dreams burning bright under the New York city lights.

You on the other hand? You had nothing. Absolutely nothing in your name. If you disappear tomorrow you don't think anyone will come looking for you.

Last time a man looked your way was four years ago. Adam. He was someone you once thought you could have a future with, but then he found someone worthy of him, someone more educated, more sophisticated, more elegant than you could ever dream of being.

You had spent two years with him, on the first date itself you knew he didn't belong in your world. He was an artist, he was cultured, he only listened to Sinatra, he had travelled all around the world, been around the beauty this world had to offer, you never really understood what he saw in you but you let yourself dream. Dream of a life you were never meant to have.

When he left he didn't leave with a goodbye, all you found was a letter on your doorstep. Written in plain, clear words that you'd understand that he had fallen in love with another.

You are so simple. That's what he always said to you, never felt like a compliment, that's exactly why he left at the end, he found someone interesting.

“Go home dear it's late” Mr. Rogers said to you, pulling you out of your thoughts. He was the owner of the record store you worked at, he was a kind old gentleman in his sixties, he was the only person who ever saw you as someone who wasn't a complete failure in life or maybe he just felt pity for you.

A ten minute walk from the store brought you to the apartment building where you lived.

The apartment was a reflection of you, cold, sad, dead from the inside.

A cheap place that you could barely afford, the space smelled of rotten wood and worn carpets. You flicked the switch to get rid of the darkness the moment you opened the door but light didn't engulf you.

You forgot to pay the electricity bill, it was the last day today. You had been drowning so deep in the bottomless pit of your loneliness that you had forgotten.

“Goddamn” you cursed under your breath as you walked into the dark space, trying to look for a candle in the drawer of the dresser. As you found some you lit enough of them to evade the eeriness.

You took one to the bathroom as you sat down in the bathtub, soaking in the cold water, pouring yourself a glass of wine that turned into two and then more. Before you'd be too delirious to even get up you forced yourself to step out of the tub, putting on a night dress you entered your room. And then it suddenly hit, the quiet, the loneliness of it all. How truly, deeply, pathetic you felt.

All of it came crashing down on you, you collapsed on the carpet in the bedroom, shedding those tears you had been bottling up for days.

You cried and cried like you had always done, you cried for the girl that never got to be the woman she wanted to be, you had dreams but the older you got, the farther you swept away from fulfilling those dreams.

You had nothing now, not even the luxury of youth, no reason for men to even look your way twice now.

“No one will ever look at me again” you whispered as the tears streamed down your cheeks.

“Please.. someone..hear me..anyone..anything” you murmured between the broken cries, you had no clue who you were calling to, not a single part of you reached for god anymore. If he exited you wouldn't be in such pain all the time.

“I'm so lonely..come to me..please come”

You murmured as you laid down on the carpet, feeling pathetic and disgusted by what you had become. The silence around the house prickled your skin, the sound of your sobs were the only thing that echoed.

“I need you”

You whispered before your eyes drifted off, feeling the weight of the exhaustion you had felt all day, every day, for years.

And then you had a dream.

You dreamt of a man, he wasn't Adam—he was someone you had never seen before. He was haunting, ethereal, and he was making love to you. No that wasn't right, he wasn't just making love, he was devouring you.

Your eyes fluttered open as you awakened from the dream, completely soaked in sweat.

A dream ofcourse, a man like that wouldn't be making love to you in real life. You looked around the room as your eyes adjusted to the dim light, some of the candles had extinguished, some still fighting with their last breath.

But that wasn’t what caught your attention. You sat up immediately, your heart racing in confusion. You didn’t remember getting off the carpet or getting on the bed. Sure you were drunk, yes, but not so much that you wouldn’t remember moving.

That's when you saw it.

A loud shrill scream escaped your throat as you saw the shadow lingering in the corner of the room. It stood there in the dark corner. Tall. Imposing.

Even as you screamed he didn’t flinch, he didn't move.

He stood still as a rock, just outside the reach of the candlelight, his presence thick and wrong in a way your mind couldn’t quite process.

You scooted backwards in terror across the bed until your back hit the wooden headboard, heart hammering in your chest, every cell in your body screaming danger.

You had closed the door, you had locked the windows like you always did. Then how did he get in? What was he going to do? Is this how you were going to die? it would be befitting you thought, ending as just another victim in the crime corner of the New York post tomorrow, a meaningless end of a meaningless life

Your mouth opened again as you tried to scream, hoping that perhaps your neighbour would hear them but the sound caught in your throat when he finally stepped forward.

Slowly. Deliberately.

The candlelight trembled with his movements as if it feared him as well, casting flickering shadows across his face. Pale skin, sharp cheekbones, black hair tousled around his forehead . His eyes were dark and endless. They weren’t the eyes of a man. They were the eyes of someone who had experienced what it felt like to die.

“Please get out..I won't call police..i won't tell them anything..just please take whatever you want and go” You cried between your tears, fear almost made you wet the bed in desperation.

You had never been in a situation like this, you didn't know what to say or do, you always thought that when it would be your turn to go you would die with ease, you won't complain, you won't resist but every inch of you was fighting to survive now.

As he stepped closer, his tall frame looked down upon your cowering form.

And that's when you saw the resemblance. The man from the dream..he looked exactly like him.

“Who are you?” You built the courage to speak again so he took a deep breath, the kind that seemed to come from deep within his chest, the kind that made you feel as if he didn't have the luxury of breathing until now.

“Fear not beautiful, you called for me”

You looked at him in a mixture of surprise and fear. His deep guttural voice sent shivers down your spine.

“What are you talking about?” you asked in confusion.

“You opened the door for me” he answered.

“No i didn't”

“You did. Your cries, your sorrow, your pain, you spoke into the void. Are you truly baffled that it answered?’

Your tears clung to your lashes as he continued to speak, the more he said, the crazier you felt. Were you finally losing it? You still didn't know if it was real or not. Maybe this was a dream still, maybe you drank much more than you remembered.

“It's not real..it's not real..it's not real”

You murmured under your breath, squeezing your eyes shut, hoping everything would be back to normal once you open them but a soft gasp escaped your throat as he only got closer to the bed, standing at the edge of it now.

That's when you saw him clearly. And you wished you hadn't. Because until then he was just a monster in the shadows.

He was draped in black from head to toe. Not the kind of black you saw every day, not the kind you loved but something older, light didn't reflect off the blackness, that's how dark it was. His long coat hung from his shoulders, tailored perfectly to his broad, tall frame. Underneath the coat he wore a dark, silk shirt, unbuttoned just enough to reveal a glimpse of his pale chest. The material clung to him like it had been stitched by hand, it seemed old and vintage, nothing you'd see hanging in a random shop.

His trousers were fitted to his long legs, worn leather boots that looked centuries old.

You dared to look into his eyes and he stared right into your soul. His green irises hypnotised you, they were pulling you in deeper into a world other than your own. His face, god his face was carved in a way that made you want to lose your mind, he wasn't just handsome like a model or a movie star, he was breathtaking in every possible way.

And as he stood at the edge of your bed, his presence filled the room like a shadow, consuming everything in its wake.

His scent now lingered in every inch of your room, the old wooden smell replaced with the aroma of his intoxicating sweet musk, you couldn't really make out what he smelled like, all you could think was how divine it felt to your senses.

Clutching onto the blanket to your chest you just stared at him, as if that would make him disappear.

“You can't be real .. please” you murmured, that's when he began to walk around the bed to reach the side where you had shrunken yourself to.

“No no ..no please..” you pleaded in fear but he didn't stop moving.

“Shhhh.. I'm not going to hurt you, not in the way you fear” he spoke, his voice soft but also unnerving as if he was pulling you into a sense of false security.

“I felt you, I heard you, I came for you and now you're scared of me?” he asked.

“I didn't mean anything..i was drunk..I swear I was drunk” he let out a chuckle as you said that.

“Drunken words are more honest than the sober ones. That's what they used to say, pardon me if the meaning has changed now” he said as he brought his hand up to touch your cheek, you wanted to step away from it but his touch felt like a balm on all the wounds you carried.

“I don't understand..what are you?” you asked, your voice still trembling.

“Used to be your kind, not anymore, haven't been for a long time”

“You're a ghost?”

“Ghosts are a fragment trapped in time..I'm your salvation and perhaps you're mine”

He said as he stepped away from you. A strange sadness flashing across his face.

“I didn't mean it..I was just crying.. people cry and say things all the time” you said to him, your voice getting a little louder now that your heart had stopped hammering in your chest.

“They do and it's true but I only heard you. Your pain, your sorrow, they touched me, they awakened me from the depths of the earth”

“And What do you want?” you asked so he smiled but it didn't reach his eyes, he straightened himself as he walked away from you, the candlelight followed him around, flickering in whatever direction he moved to as if they were enchanted by his presence too.

He turned to look at you, his eyes boring deep into your soul.

“You. Entirety of you. You brought me back into this world, now you will take care of me as I do you. You will keep me sated here as I do you. You will keep me alive. Keep me from fading back into the darkness”

His voice was like music to your ears, words melting like honey, he spoke to you like a lover, like a man who desired you. And you felt absolutely manic. Your own desperation made you want to slap yourself.

“And if I refuse?” You dared to ask even though a part of you feared he'd lunge at you for questioning him. Another part wanted him to do it.

“Then I disappear. You’ll wake tomorrow with an aching head and a foggy memory. You’ll blame the wine. You’ll wonder if you dreamed of me. But you’ll never see me again. Back to your good old life” he answered.

Your old life. The one that made you so desperate that you summoned an entity you didn't even understand yet.

“Are you a demon?”

“A demon wouldn't be asking for permission love.. he'd just take” he said softly, his voice like a lullaby “I need you warm and willing, I want to feed off your pain, fill my soul with the ache you carry”

Your eyes welled up again but not with fear this time.

“Why me? I didn't mean to summon you-”

You asked, the question carried several different meanings, you felt so worthless that you didn't understand why an ethereal being or whatever he was would want to do anything with you.

“But you did,” he cut you off gently, his tone never cruel “You wanted someone to see you. Someone to hold you. I came for the woman who never got to bloom the way she deserved to be, it resonates with me, your loneliness”

You choked on a breath. No one had ever spoken to you like this. Not even Adam.

He stepped closer, and your body tensed, but not from fear. From the pull. The unholy, magnetic force drawing you to him, to the unknown. He placed his knee at the edge of the bed before he leaned to cup your cheeks between his palms, his touch somehow freezing cold but it filled you with warmth.

You shivered as his thumb brushed over your lips.

“You can say no if you wish to. I will not haunt you” he whispered.

He was giving you a choice while speaking to you in that voice, while touching you in ways you hadn't been touched in years..or ever.

“And if I say yes?” You asked, your lips trembling beneath his touch. His eyes darkened at the question.

“Then you pay the price.. pay the price for my existence in your world” you gulped as he said that.

“You want my soul?”

A chuckle escaped him as you said that.

“Again. I am not a demon but if you want to keep me tethered to this realm I do need a sacrifice from you sweet girl. A willing one”

He whispered, his thumb caressing your skin, wiping those tears away from your cheeks.

The room was thick with an eerie tension. Every part of you screamed to run, to deny this madness and return to your bleak reality, but as his cold fingers lingered on your skin, a strange sense of calm washed over you. The confusion, the fear, the loneliness, all of it seemed to melt away in his presence.

For the first time in years, someone, something, was seeing you, not as a failure, but as something more. You felt wanted , needed, desired. Someone needed you in ways nobody else did. And this felt like a sin, you didn't even know who he was or what he was. Maybe he was just a demon lulling you in with a false sense of safety but at that moment you didn't care.

You wanted to sin, you wanted to sin with him. You wanted to pay the price, you didn't want to be alone anymore.

“What do you want? What price do I have to pay for you?” you whispered, his mouth lingered over your lips as he spoke. His scent, his eyes, his words, his aura, everything intoxicated you.

“Oh you're going to be so good for me, won't you?” he murmured against your mouth.

You nodded, not sure what that even meant, feeling the weight of his words settle deep inside you.

A promise. A bargain.

“Tell me what you want”

You asked again. His answer awakened you from the haze but only for a moment.

“Blood” he spoke tenderly.

He wasn't an ancient being.

“You'll feed me your blood, in turn I'll give you everything you could possibly want from this life”

He was a vampire, the one you had awakened from a long, deep, cursed sleep.

👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

Taglist @mariaenchanted @malenoradgn

#eric draven x female reader #eric draven x reader smut #eric draven x reader fluff #eric draven x reader angst #bill skarsgård eric draven #bill skarsgard #alternate universe

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pedgito · 1 year ago

Text

𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐒 ╳ SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter Two: Chivalry, Secrets & Hot Tubs (Week One)

[strangers to friends to lovers, age gap (56/mid 20s), forced proximity, no outbreak]

(Series) Content Warning: a very, very lonely joel miller. copious amounts of lusting, tension, joel is an excellent cook (food, alcohol, ect), hot tubs, impromptu snowball fights, awkward situations, deep talks and tragic backstories (specified within chapter warnings, deeply depraved smut/sexcapades and the inappropriate use of a dining table (also specified within chapter warnings), nicknames of endearment (no use of y/n)

quick note: i love all the reblogs/feedback and that you're all enjoying this as much as i am <3 and a huge thank you to @swiftispunk for being the best and looking over the first chapter for me, i am completely scatter-brained and forgot to mention this when i posted last monday, so tysm han and pls go check her out if you haven't! & follow my fic update blog (@pedgitos) and turn on post notifications so you don't miss any updates/posted fics!

Chapter Summary: Settling in is easier than you expect, but it does come with a fair share of challenges. A week filled with getting to know one another and some moments shared, your week doesn't end on the best note, leaving you with a choice.

Chapter Warnings: (8k) no outbreak, grumpy!Joel, domestic shenanigans, Joel being naturally assertive, cooking dinner together, reading is good at encouraging Joel, one hot tub & two stubborn individuals, also...one bed trope incoming

You wake up refreshed, like you’ve been born with a new reverence for life—alright, it might be a bit of an overstatement but it’s a wonder what a decent night of sleep could do and you’re feeling that this idea, playing house with a stranger—though it wasn’t much like that anymore—wasn’t the worst choice. And it reminds you of Joel, having left him in the chair last night, not wanting to burden him but you can only imagine the ache in his bones, his back, the discomfort of sleeping in a chair all night.

You lay for a moment, bleary eyes adjusting to the early morning light. The morning sunshine wasn’t strong here, blanketed out by a stark white snow that covered the ground, it muted out most colors and left a cool, but bright blue that shined through the window above your bed.

It was peaceful. No cars, no buzz of strong electricity outside your window, people and their idle conversation a few floors down from your apartment window. Not even a bird, really. But, there’s a distinct clearing of a throat from the living room that has you stirring in bed, rising lazily as you move with the same enthusiasm.

It was a fresh week. The first official week of your vacation and you were going to start it off on a good note, clambering out of the bed and slipping on a pair of fluffy slippers to keep your toes from freezing off, not bothering to glance in a mirror on the way out—not that you needed to, it didn’t matter. It was early, you were still trying to shed the sleep from your body and you could care less. Plus, it wasn’t like an old t-shirt and sleep shorts was some foreign concept.

When you peek around the corner, arms crossed tightly over your chest, you can spot Joel’s head tilting to one side, hand kneading at the taut muscle in the center of his back where his neck starts to begin and then you’re stuck watching as he stretches his arms out wide, working out all of those muscles. Every single one. And you’ve been silent for far too long.

Yeah.

Clearing your throat softly, you approach from behind and keep your distance, announcing your presence like you hadn’t been lingering for a minute or two already.

“Morning,” You greet politely, resting your weight against the edge of the island, taking in full view of a freshly awoken Joel, eyes still puffy from sleep.

He looks very…gentle. Surprisingly, so. It softens his rigid demeanor significantly and you have to silently talk yourself out of glaring at him for too long, “I didn’t want to wake you—I’m so sorry.”

Jeez—you two are getting good at that. Apologizing, afraid to step on each other’s toes.

“Not your fault,” Joel massages his bicep with the heavy pressure of his thumb, looking slightly pained as he rolls his shoulders, “I didn’t realize how tired I was.”

“Yeah, but I forced you to stay up, so—”

“You didn’t,” Joel quickly shuts you down, “I’m a grown man,” there’s a laugh hidden somewhere in there, but Joel continues, “don’t blame yourself for my own irresponsibility.”

It’s too early for this. You force on a fake smile, void of any real emotion at this hour, running on fumes and the smell of coffee. Speaking of—you sniff, eyes searching for the smell like a dog would track a scent, and Joel is already pointing in the direction you should be looking for when your eyes land on him.

“I already finished it off on my own,” Joel admits, pointedly taking another long sip before resting the mug back on the counter, “I can get another pot goin’ if you need it.”

There’s an inclination to let him, seeing him assert himself so easily and offer, but you shake your head, “I think I can handle a coffee maker,” You assure him, meandering around the kitchen in search of the coffee grounds, ignoring Joel’s tracking of your movements, waiting for a moment to interject and point you in the right direction. You spot them a moment before the urge comes with a soft aha!

“I needed to make a drive into town,” Joel tells you after you’ve gone through the steps of starting your own batch of coffee, “pick up some more food, figured you might wanna tag along.”

He’s not asking, only assuming. But to be fair, his assumption is right.

“Sure,” You reply cooly, pouring yourself a hefty cup of coffee to sip on, letting your body take hold of the caffeine, “...how far away is the closest town?”

“Hour and a half.” Joel answers and you almost have the nerve to go wide-eyed on him, but then you remember just how deep into the woods you both were and that it was necessary.

Truthfully, there was a more concerning matter at hand.

“How’s your music taste?”

Joel has the gall to look offended by the question.

“I’m leavin’ in thirty,” Joel ignores you, “don’t think I won’t hesitate to leave you here.”

Okay, noted: Joel wasn’t much the morning person you assumed he was.

Joel immediately realizes how little disregard you have for touching things that aren’t yours when you reach for the makeshift box of cassettes tapes placed in the backseat of his truck—the thing was old, riding on it’s last leg, but it was something Joel would cherish until it was unsalvageable, torn seats, dents, and all.

“Ain’t gonna find anything you like in there,” Joel assures you, “None of that pop stuff they’re always playin’ on the radio these days.”

The tables turn on him suddenly, seeing your face contort into a similar emotion that he gave you earlier. Bewilderment, shock, annoyance. You scoff at the comment.

“Says you,” You retort back, sifting through the different cassettes until you find Joel trading glances between you and the road in front of him, almost worried you might chuck his collection out of the passenger side window, “Joel, eyes on the road.”

Joel enjoys a lot of country, which isn’t a total disbelief. But, it wasn’t something you shared the sentiment on, flicking away a handful of country artists you’ve never listened to and reaching some of the good stuff—older rock music, some classic 80s, and late 90s.

You pluck one out carefully, prying open the cassette case with gentle hands before sliding the tape in, allowing the low hum of the music to fill the car. There’s a brief moment of respite before Joel smirks to himself, thumb tapping against the steering wheel.

“What were you saying?” You look at him pointedly, shifting slightly in your seat.

Joel looks away briefly, biting back a chuckle, “Fine—I’ll give you some credit. Foo Fighters aren’t terrible, but you skipped right over Bruce Springsteen, so…”

You scoff in disbelief, “You don’t get to criticize me with that atrocious collection of country music,” You stare down at the box in thought, eyes brimming with a mischievous that Joel knows of immediately, he’s seen it before. Not with you, but he knows, “you know, maybe I should just do you a favor and—”

You can barely get a hand on the window roller before Joel’s hand is gripped tight over the box, trapping your other hand in his grip as he warns, “I’m not above leavin’ you stranded in the cold.”

Your grin is nothing but evil and Joel finds that there’s something about you that infuriates him in a way that is hard to describe, not in anger or rage, but a level that he thinks he could match. A game of back and forth that he could play into—but you’re quickly relenting regardless of the threat and placing the box on the floorboard.

“Already tried that,” You retort, “didn’t work too well for you, did it?”

Fair is fair. Joel doesn’t poke the beast.

Instead, he takes the chance to ask a question.

“So, what exactly was your plan?” Joel asks curiously. “You comin’ out here with no car and all?”

You shrug nonchalantly, “Didn’t really have one, but I would have figured it out.”

Joel shakes his head dismissively, subtly resembling a face of disapproval.

“Hey, you don’t get to judge me, okay?” You don’t wait for a response, “You can have whatever assumptions you want about me, but don’t try and act like you know anything about me.”

It was another reminder. Joel didn’t know you, but you didn’t know him either. You reign your frustration in slightly, quick to defend yourself but aware that not everyone handles confrontation in the same way—if Joel was quick to anger, you didn’t want to stoke the fire.

“I’m not,” Joel argues, his voice calmer than you expect, thinking back to the saddled rage his voice held the night you arrived, the threat that lingered with every word, “I’m not, alright?”

“Then stop that.” You comment, waving your hand in a vague motion toward his face, “Stop looking at me like—”

“Like what?” Joel interjects, eyes more pensive as he looks over at you.

“Like—like I need a fucking lecture on life or my choices,” You tell him, a hint of pleading in your voice, “I’m not some kid who doesn’t understand how life works.”

“You’re not a kid—”

“Good, great that we established that,” You lean back in the seat more comfortably, arms crossed over your chest as you keep your eyes on the snow covered road, “now shut up so I can enjoy the music.”

Thankfully, Joel does just that.

Conversation falls flat until you arrive at the store in town a while later, Joel fetching a cart and pushing it your way before he stops you suddenly, hand over your own again—a touch that normally you would flinch away from, but he’s already done it once before and the thought doesn’t even cross your mind.

“I’ll catch up,” Joel tells you, “I forgot somethin’ in the car.”

You glance back briefly, knowing that the walk isn’t that far.

“Oh, I can wait. It’s fine.”

Joel doesn’t say so much, but the look in his eyes goes a long way. A silent plea for you to go with it and don’t ask questions—again, you didn’t have any right to. You nod quickly and wander off toward the store as Joel trails away.

It’s then when your phone starts to vibrate away in your pocket, the sudden availability of service sending a barrage of notifications your way—you’re terrified to take a glimpse, but you do anyway. It should be no surprise to bear witness to the many, many texts from your mother wondering where you’d run off to, but there’s a tinge of guilt settling in your stomach.

You send her a quick, dismissive text to explain that you were fine and enjoying your time, but no elaboration on the things she wanted to know, because really, there was nothing to tell. And if you did decide to expel the details of your trip, mentioning that there was no boyfriend and it was just a stranger you met in the middle of the woods, well…that wouldn’t go over smoothly.

You also find a quick, heated moment of frustration to send an unpleasant text to the owners of the cabin, still polite enough that it wouldn’t warrant your ability to work things out—and you decide that calling would reach them faster, that somehow they’d magically find a way to appear and fix things, but there’s no answer. Only a voicemail that gave vague details about being away on their own vacation.

Just your luck.

Great. You sigh deeply, shoving the phone away into your pocket and returning to the land of obliviousness as you step inside the small market.

You fend for yourself for a while, throwing several random necessities in the cart as you go, enough sustenance to spread over four weeks and manage meals the entire trip, also a few more bottles of alcohol don’t hurt, looking for a few hard liquors that catch your eye and adding them to the growing supply of items.

You’re lost in concentration of the ingredients on the back of a box dinner when Joel’s voice startles you back to the real world, eyes jumping up to look at him and he spots the panic immediately.

He nods slightly when you recognize him, “Sorry, keep forgettin’ how jumpy you are.”

“You’re just ridiculously fucking quiet,” You tell him, breathing out a long sigh as you toss the box into the cart, “everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Joel assures, doesn’t elaborate. Okay, cool. You weren’t going to pry, no matter how much your instincts told you to. He scans the cart casually, “Mind tradin’ off?”

You lend him the lead and follow, watching as he pointedly finds things, like he’s reading off a list in his head and moves around the store with a purpose. It’s only slightly annoying that you have to keep pace with him, but he’s suddenly speaking out to you as he’s glancing over something on the bottom shelf, “Are you allergic to anything?”

“No,” You responded, eyebrows knitting together in confusion, “Why?”

“Grab some of that fresh rosemary,” Joel says, pointing out somewhere behind you and you whip around, eyes searching furiously and coming up empty, “��find it?”

You’re a little dumbfounded as you search the shelf of fresh herbs, Joel’s heavy footsteps approaching behind you as he reaches over your shoulder and plucks the exact thing he’s looking for with ease, “Hey, I had the right idea.” You defend, noticing how amused he looked at your befuddlement, “And you didn’t answer my question, either.”

“Well,” He tosses the small, plastic package in the cart, still tucked up at your side and you can feel his body heat, the solid wall of his chest against your shoulder, “don’t like the idea of accidentally killin’ you if I cook something you’re allergic to.”

“Well, what if I’m lying?” You challenge and Joel shoves you aside gently to grab the cart, hands on your shoulder as he shifts you away—and when had things gotten so…touchy?

Truthfully, Joel finds it easier than telling you, noting how quickly you quiet down when he asserts himself and does rather than asks. He knows if it made you uncomfortable you wouldn’t have had a problem speaking up immediately.

“Look at me,” And there’s a deep timbre to his voice that has your chest sparking like a fire, eyes connecting with Joel’s for longer than you’ve ever allowed and it’s like he sees right through you, but he’s searching for something, “—you’re not lyin’.”

“But, if I was?”

Joel nearly leaves you in the dust, but turns to look at you with a subtle grin.

“Well, now I know you’re not.”

–

The ride back is easier, much easier—and Joel doesn’t fault you when you fall asleep halfway through, the heat of the car and the low hum of the music like a perfect mix as you curl in on yourself. Joel wakes you with a gentle hand on your shoulder when you finally make it back, allowing you a moment to shake the grogginess away with a word over his shoulder as he opens his door.

“Careful over that patch of ice on your side,” Joel instructs, “gettin’ colder so it’s slicker than it was a couple days ago.”

Careful. You roll your eyes carelessly, nudging the door open with your shoulder and hopping out, boots hitting the hard ground—your first mistake was underestimating the slickness and Joel’s warning, because the moment you take your first step it’s all downhill. Literally.

Luckily though, like a moment of divine faith as you pray that you don’t hit the ground, Joel is right at your back, arms slipping under your own as he plants his feet firmly and catches you. One arm crossing somewhere over your midsection and the other wrapping around your shoulder, a large palm holding you steady as he helps you back to your feet. You can feel him on the brink of making a comment, eyes looking down tenderly into your own—

“Don’t ask.” You warn him bitterly, face scrunched up like a kicked puppy, shrugging him off lazily. Joel doesn’t argue, making sure you’re steady before he allows you himself to fully let go.

Joel shakes his head subtly, a nuisance of his, and rounds the back of the truck to reach for the bagged groceries, “Fine, I’ll just say I told you so then. How’s that?”

Worse.

Joel never asks for help, doesn’t even seem bothered when you stand there aimlessly, watching him stow away the groceries like he already had a game plan and you feel slightly useless, but it does give you a good opportunity to watch without any explicit reason or excuse.

There’s an obvious purpose to Joel’s movement, clear that he’s used to doing a lot of heavy lifting and keeping up, probably prefers organization over clutter, and has a certain inclination to do things himself, always. And you can’t help the way your gaze clings to his face, noticing something a little off—not good or bad, just slightly different. You hadn’t noticed it this morning, but with the extended amount of time your eyes lingered on him, you realize he’s cleaned up a bit, shaved his beard down to near stubble, a subtle difference…but you notice.

You’re not sure how long you’re stuck in this state, arms resting against the counter as you stood there, practically useless, thinking about what Joel looks like on a regular basis, when he isn’t cooped up in a cabin in the dead of winter. You want to see that side of him, crave it. It’s an insane thought that doesn’t make sense, eyes widening suddenly at the realization of the thought you’re having—

“You still with me?” Joel’s voice calls out in the haze, muffled slightly as you come back into focus, eyes landing on him. “Think I lost you there for a minute.”

“Oh—no. I mean, yeah. I’m still a little tired, I guess.” It’s a bold face lie, but Joel seems to believe you. “Why?”

“I was sayin’ I need to go chop up some wood for the fireplace,” He explains again, “then you went all wide eyed…”

“Oh, okay,” You nod jerkily, “...do you need help?”

Joel immediately declines. No surprise there.

“Why don’t you get some sleep?” Joel suggests, “I can manage just fine on my own.”

Sleep sounds great, but it doesn’t happen.

You try—you do, but the splitting of wood, the strong crack of the axe catching the wood outside of your bedroom window, it isn’t exactly soothing to the ears. So, you find yourself wandering into the kitchen, peeking between the curtains with a wild curiosity that reminds you of when you were younger and trying to catch a peek of the cute boy next door, a bashfulness replaced with a deep, insatiable hunger that you didn’t know existed until this moment.

Joel was attractive, you could easily admit that. But, seeing him now, it’s a done deal. There was a deep pit of despair in your mind and you were stuck at the bottom with no way out.

It’s almost abysmal how easy he makes it look, the axe he’d brandish as his weapon of choice against you swung over his shoulders, the unfortunate lack of skin stretching over taut muscles as he went through the motions, covered up by thick layers. But, you get the idea.

There’s a slight pout forming on your face before you catch yourself.

He slices full power through the wood like it was eager to give way to him. You also find that his face tugs up in a scowl after every swing of the axe, a soft sigh of exerted energy as he tosses the logs to the side and starts up again. You could watch for hours. But, you settle for the few more minutes he spends collecting the wood before you’re scrambling back into your bedroom like you had been there the entire time.

Unfortunately, Joel isn’t oblivious. Still, he spares you the embarrassment.

There was no reason for him to entertain whatever he thought might be going on. He couldn’t.

The next few days are uneventful, though that was to be expected. It allows you time to really settle in, usually curled up on the couch watching the fire crackle away until you thought your eyes might melt away, or reading a book that Joel always seemed to be trying to catch a peek at. There was an innocent curiosity there that you could appreciate.

You also learned that Joel only took his coffee one way, offering up your services to refill his cup while you refilled your own, sugar lingering over the rim and he’s quickly pushing away the small container of crystalized goodness.

“Joel, come on–” You grimace but relent, placing the cylinder of sugar on the counter.

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.” Is all he offers, almost challenging you to take a sip.

You accept, obviously. But, it isn’t without consequence.

The moment the bitterness hits your tongue you’re scrambling away, forcing the mug into Joel’s waiting hands and spitting out whatever putrid liquid remained in your mouth in the sink.

It’s the first time Joel actually laughs, a full on chuckle that isn’t very receptive on your end.

Joel apologizes with dinner that night, a gesture that wasn’t expected or needed, still you’re thankful nonetheless. But, it offers you the realization of just how good a cook Joel can be.

Steaks grilled to a perfection that only came with repetitive practice and learned techniques, vegetables sautéed and seasoned to an enjoyable level, and a side of pasta that if Joel told you he made from scratch, you would’ve believed wholeheartedly if you hadn’t seen him dump the entire box of pre-made pasta into a pot of boiling water.

You’re halfway through dinner, chewing thoughtfully on a bite when you finally break the long, but comfortable silence that had blanketed over you both.

“So, Joel,” There’s a tone to his name that catches his attention, eyes flicking up to meet yours mid-bite, “what do you do for work?”

At this point, your nosey tendencies take hold.

There’s a scrunch to Joel’s nose before he speaks, almost as if he considered feeding you a lie alongside the beautiful meal he’d made. He settles for a simple answer.

“Uh, carpentry.” Joel tells you after a long pause, “I—build stuff for people, businesses sometimes.”

That explains some of his sturdiness, his practiced strength that came from, probably, years of hard constructive work and building. It also explains why he’s also working away at his hands, rubbing out the stiff joints and knuckles.

“I know what carpentry is, Joel.” You deadpan, but there’s a playfulness lingering in your voice.

You assume he’s used to explaining himself often, which is why he forces it on you so easily.

“And you?” Joel asks suddenly, “College? You’re about that age, right?”

You snort softly at the tone he offers, slightly patronizing, but all in good fun.

“I’m taking a semester off,” You answer indifferently, remembering how disappointed your parents had been about the ordeal, but you were suffocating, “I’m not sure what I want to do anymore.”

“Nothin’ wrong with that,” Joel assures, “can’t fault you either. Never went to college so I don’t have an opinion on it.”

There’s no judgment on your end, but for the sake of conversation, you bite.

“Any reason?” You ask curiously, wondering if you'd receive the similar sentiment that it’s all just bullshit.

“Didn’t have the money,” Joel answers simply, “didn’t have the grades, either. I thought I could start my own business out of carpentry, but…”

But…you lean into the table slightly, hanging on his words.

“You need a lot of money for that,” Joel finishes, “and, I mean, I’m livin’ comfortable now, but that idea took a lot of money that I didn’t and still don’t have.”

“So, you waste it on month long vacations in the middle of the woods,” You surmise humorously, nodding in approval, “can’t say I blame you, either.”

Joel shakes his head in amusement, chewing around a bite as he speaks, “Your turn.”

Right. An eye for eye. A question for a question. He's watching you expectantly, waiting for you to give a response to the same question you asked him.

“Oh—I work out of this bookstore in downtown Austin.” You admit, finishing up the last few bites of your food, scraping the plate nearly clean. “It pays the bills and then some. I like it.”

There’s no compliment needed for the food, all the evidence of it gone. But, you feel the need to appreciate it anyways.

“Thanks for this, Joel.” You speak again, softer this time.

“It’s no big deal, darlin’.” Joel assures you, holding up his hands in a feeble defense at the compliment, clearly something he doesn’t welcome easily. “Just food.”

“It’s been...months,” You tell him, “since I’ve had any type of home-cooked meal. Take the damn thank you, Joel.”

He smirks at that, seeing the threatening fork raise before you utter those final words.

“You’re welcome.”

And he means it.

–

You force Joel to stay seated while you clean, knowing it was the least you could do after he spent so much time preparing and cooking dinner. There’s a solid few minutes of arguing before you have to physically shove Joel back into his chair despite his protests, hands pressed into his shoulders as you threateningly speak down to him.

“If you move, I’m locking your ass out in the cold.”

Joel wouldn’t mind, but you’re silently hoping that he’ll just listen.

After all is done, tossing the damp washcloth to the side, you sigh with a newfound relaxation.

There’s only one thing that might top off this night, making it almost the first perfect day here.

“That’s it, I’m getting in the hot tub,” You decide, squeezing tenderly at the tense muscles of your neck, thankful that the owners had a small alcove connected to the cabin that allowed for you to enjoy the hot tub from the safety of the cold, “join me?”

You’re not sure what inclines you to ask so openly, but you don’t second guess it.

“While I appreciate the offer,” Joel starts, “I don’t think I brought the proper…attire.”

He’s still seated where you had him planted and it makes you laugh softly at the idea that he was taking it seriously, which—yeah, you did threaten the possibility of hypothermia on him.

“Fine,” You relent, rounding the corner of the island closest to him as you quickly call out over your shoulder, “but, there’s still a couple of chairs in there if you need the company.”

He didn’t need just anyone’s either and didn’t need, so much as wanted.

He wanted your company.

A while later, you’re already waist deep in the hot tub, figure hugging white bikini tied back securely, arms resting against the side furthest from the door as you press your chin against your forearms and staring out the wall of vast windows that line the room, allowing a view of the snow storm outside, coming down in a flurry that seemed to only be gaining in strength—and Joel, well, he’s still sitting in that stupid chair.

He’s allowed himself too much time in his own head, thinking over the events of the past few days. His call to Sarah was pleasant, a much needed moment of peace when he hears his daughter’s bright, hyper voice on the other end. When he doesn’t have her for the holidays, it’s hard. The calls are sparse, the communication is clipped, and it feels like he’s being forced away from her, knowing that she’s growing older every day. That he is growing older.

He’s allowed a lot of his life to slip away, when he wasn’t working to pay bills and put food on the table he was usually drinking, bar-hopping with Tommy at his old age to hide the pain he felt everyday, mentally and physically. There’s a problem brewing under his skin, using the company of his brother and alcohol to cope with loss he feels so viscerally everyday. The life he could’ve had.

He feels pitiful, miserable—only took this damn trip to get out of town by the suggestion of Tommy, away from all distractions, hoping for a refresh to clear his head. But instead, he met you.

He had no clue what the fuck to do anymore.

Joel’s never processed emotions well, feelings or anything thereof.

But, here he was, lusting after you.

He knows it’s the excitement, the taboo idea around sharing something special with a stranger. Someone who knows nothing about you, someone who doesn’t have the leverage to judge. Someone who doesn’t have to know about all the wrongs he’s committed and bad choices he’s made.

You’re not privy to the fucked up version of Joel that belongs in his hometown, cooped up in his childhood home that he inherited from his parents, filled with too many now painful memories that he’d made with Sarah when she was younger—when he still had her.

He can’t help the way his mind races every single second of the day, constantly worrying, always trying to busy himself with something, anything to keep that lingering cloud of anxiety away. But, when he thinks about you, even something so mundane as the way you squint to get a closer look at a paragraph of the book you’ve probably read a thousand times, his mind goes quiet.

Because, frankly, he’s fascinated by the idea of you. That maybe, just maybe, you weren’t actually real. He’s halfway leaning toward the idea that he’s had a full mental break and this is all an illusion he’s cooked up in his head, but then he reminds himself that you are just as full a human as himself. There is a reason for this, even if there had to be some other force at play.

Maybe you needed this as badly as he did.

A fresh start, no judgment.

And that’s why he decides to follow you, the moment he catches a glimpse of you as you turn the corner to take the steps down into the room that connected to the kitchen, a full glimpse of skin and body that he’s tried to keep his mind off of, despite how openly you stare at him.

There has to be something there. He can’t have imagined all of this.

You feel his presence when the creak of wood gives him away, one hand shoved into his front pocket and his other arm helping him stay upright as he leaned against the doorframe. The steam billows and settles like a cloud over the bubbling hot tub but does nothing to hide how see-through your bathing top is and the slick slope of your breasts, his eyes trailing down toward the small bow that was sewn to the midpoint of your top and know he’s staring at your chest, very openly—Joel’s immediately regretting his choice.

Your eyes follow his but you dare not speak, afraid to startle him.

Now who was the jumpy one?

“Change your mind?” You ask curiously, shimming the expanse of the hot tub as you grab onto the opposite ledge, resuming your previous position, closer to Joel now. If you reached out you could touch the edge of his flannel and soak the trim, maybe even pull him closer, but you resist the urge. “It feels amazing. I’m serious.”

It wasn’t a ploy to get him in, but it wouldn’t hurt. He doesn’t respond, eyes staring at the soft wave of the water as it hits your side, his posture rigid.

Maybe you’d broken him.

“Joel,” You call out with a soft nudge to his thigh, as far as you could reach with your fingertips, cutting into his line of sight, offering a friendly smile, “just strip down to your underwear and get in.”

“I don’t think—”

Oh, for christ sake.

“You wouldn’t have come over here if you weren’t at least thinking about enjoying the benefits of the hot tub,” You argue, “so stop being grumpy and strip. I won’t even look.”

It shouldn’t sound as gritty as it does, a playful venom in your tone as you sink back slightly.

It makes Joel feel like he’s back in high school, flirting with who would eventually be his ex-wife and mother of his daughter, but there’s an assertiveness that intrigues Joel, your willingness to put yourself out there without fear. Take a leap, a jump, and hope that someone will catch you.

Joel caught you, he just needed someone to catch him.

You spot his fidgeting, the wheels and cogs in his mind turning and he just needs that shove.

Just enough.

You rise over the edge, palms pressed flat to bear your weight and squeeze your breasts together, belly button nearly level with the water as you’re close enough to see the fine details of his face, giving him a look that Joel couldn’t deny.

“Get. In.” You stress the words, making direct eye contact. “You can thank me later.”

Finally, he moves.

You sink back slightly into the pool and wade the water until you hit a corner, watching briefly as Joel works away at the buttons on his flannel, quiet air filling with an unspoken tension. You try to busy yourself with the view outside, something that didn’t require you to look in the vicinity of Joel for a second, knowing that the moment felt more intimate than it needed to. But, it doesn’t stop that sparse glances over your shoulder to check on him, now barefoot and pulling his shirt over his shoulders, the fabric pulling and obscuring your view of his face and his view of you, staring so starkly at him in that moment.

It shouldn’t surprise you, but it does. The freckles that speckle his shoulders, nearly invisible from this distance because of his tanned shoulders and the unevenness of the tan as it continues down his arm, varying in shades of intensity, undoubtedly from hours of working in the sun. There’s also a smaller patch of hair on his chest that with his short cropped beard, seems to be trimmed down too. His strong build doesn’t throw you off, though—solid muscle that flexed across his stomach as he yanked his shirt a little harder to get it over his head fully, not built in a way that rippled down his abdomen, but showed a sturdiness to his figure that had your body humming to a tune that reached down to your core, thighs squeezing together under the water.

Joel passes the shirt off into a waiting arm chair, clothes slowly piling on the cushion alongside your towel and he pops the button on his jeans, still unaware of your…innocent observation. But, the moment the jeans stretch over his thighs you swallow a little too hard and you’re immediately averting your eyes when he looks up briefly.

Like you’d been caught.

Joel clears his throat like a warning, as if he hadn’t felt your eyes on him the entire time, and swings a leg over carefully, a view of the black briefs that molded to his skin perfectly and hugged his backside in a way that feels criminally illegal…and you’re staring again.

He hisses at the sudden change in temperate, but inch by inch he lowers and adjusts, eventually huffing out a low groan, eyes closed, when he finally settles on the seat inside of the tub.

Suddenly, this felt like a terrible idea.

“See?” You break the revered silence for him, “Worth it?”

“Almost forgot how you just bullied me in here.” He jokes—full on fuckin’ jokes before cracking an eye open to catch your reaction, a subtle look of disbelief on your face. “I’m kidding, darlin'.”

Your fingers tighten around the edge of the seat under the water and you smile, a half-hearted roll of your eyes thrown his way before you relax too, for a moment.

“This is so weird,” You speak softly, after a while, and Joel looks slightly puzzled as he opens his eyes fully now, perking up slightly as he adjusts himself, chest rising over the water slightly, his arms hanging over the ledge with his fingers gripping the ceramic—and you’re gaze is drifting again, mostly to his hands, but you mask it as you look away briefly, down the hall or out the window. Literally anywhere but Joel, “it’s just—not how I expected things to go.”

“You’re tellin’ me.” Joel replies with an underlying amusement.

As the quiet settles, slowly drifting closer to one side, where you originally were when Joel came searching for you—voluntarily, he lingered and waited, waited for the push you gave him—Joel joined alongside you, burrowing himself in the closet corner nook and enjoying the view in silence.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Joel comments, “everything alright?”

Everything was fine and you couldn’t make complete sense out of it. The ability to be so inherently comfortable with someone you’ve only known for a little under a week, the attraction you felt despite your own rational thinking telling you otherwise, the urge to connect openly and without fear of judgment. It terrifies you.

“Can I ask you a question?” You ask quietly, “Like…a real question, not those superficial ones that we’ve thrown at each other.”

Joel doesn’t like the sound of it, but there’s also the inclination that he could feed you a total lie and you wouldn’t have any idea otherwise.

He nods, fist resting against his cheek as he turns to look at you and suddenly the pressure is on, your heart racing in your chest at his sudden, full attention.

“Earlier…you said you forgot somethin’ in the car,” Joel’s fist clenches unknowingly under the water, an instinct to bury his reaction, “I know it isn’t my business, but I was just curious what is was.”

Joel, against every fiber in his being that tells him to deflect, gives you a straight answer. It’s almost startling how easily it comes out, like he’s lifting a weight off his chest that he’s carried for years.

“I had to make a call,” Joel admits, “to uh—my daughter, she’s back home with her mom.”

Your brow pulls together in confusion, “Wait, are you married?”

Joel somehow amidst the heaviness of admitting his truth still laughs, quick to defend himself from your next question.

“Oh, not at all. Never, actually.” Joel responds, “We…I never married her mom, it was obvious pretty quickly we weren’t going to work well together.”

The answer is simpler than you expect, different too. Part of you wondered if he was pleading his own case to the owners and was just as unsuccessful as you, but this is much more vulnerable.

And despite your ability to lie, and his own, neither of you can force it.

You don’t pry further, feeling like it may push things too far. Too personal.

“Okay, your turn.”

“Do I scare you?” Joel asks suddenly, almost like he’s been anticipating the moment too.

You’re almost sure the expression you return makes you look insane, feeling the implication that he might, that he thinks—it’s so far left field that it throws you off.

“No—no,” You quickly reject any lingering doubt he has, “I mean…the first night, maybe. But, now…no.”

“Oh.” It’s all Joel can muster, unsure of why he was expecting a different answer. That you would say yes and whatever shroud of thought he had about this moment you were sharing was only out of fear, that you were just trying to be polite.

“Look, I get jumpy because you sneak up on me,” You answer, “and you have this…presence about you,” Okay, not the best wording, “not scary or anything, just…strong.” Big, like a wall. Like, if anyone were to ever approach you wrongly, Joel would attack without question. And maybe the fact that he would do that should scare you, but instead, it entices you.

Joel sits with the implication, burdened by his own mind.

You can see him lost in thought, speaking with a comforting surety, “Thank you…for telling me.”

The truth. Thank you for telling me the truth.

The next stretch of time, what feels like an hour, is spent in a comforting silence. You think Joel is nearly falling asleep but then he moves, make a comment about how the snow won’t let up and eventually you’re forcing yourself out of the hot tub, reaching over the side to snatch your towel and sending all of Joel’s clothes descending to the floor in the process and as if you had a death wish on Joel, your ass pops up at an angle that is physically impossible to look away from.

Joel is a gentleman, he swears. He was raised to respect and care and always put women first, but there’s a split second where he can’t pull his eyes away, feels like he’s just caught a glimpse of something he shouldn’t have, but then you’re turning your head over your shoulder and you definitely catch him—you could ruin the moment and say something or you could ignore it.

Fortunately, you save Joel some embarrassment, covering it with a sly smile as you apologize for dropping his clothes and take the final step out and wrap the towel around your body.

“Shit,” You quickly realize that in the midst of your pushing Joel to join you that he didn’t have a towel, “stay here—I’ll go grab you a towel.”

Joel wasn’t eager to move anyways, admittedly. Sporting half a hard-on under the water, he wouldn’t subject himself to the scrutiny of your gaze or what implications it would make, thinking every horrible possible thought to will it away—luckily your timing is perfect.

You quickly gather his dropped clothes and pile them in the chair as you toss the towel his way, ignoring any and all chances to glimpse at his wet body, back turned as you quickly excuse yourself away in fear of the idea that you might say something unforgettably stupid.

The walk to your separate bedroom is quick, swift, like a desperately needed escape.

But, as fate would have it, the moment you open the door and wretch the towel away from your body there’s a loud pop! to your left and a spark on the outside that has you halfway on the floor and slamming into the wall out of both shock and an attempt to shield yourself from whatever unseen force was at play, yelping out loud in the process.

From an outside perspective, you can understand why Joel doesn’t hesitate to come running.

He runs straight into your back, bare chest pressed against your know bare shoulders and leaving you half-dressed in front of him, scared out of your wits and willing to grab onto whatever was nearby to keep you upright—fortunately, Joel’s arm is the perfect anchor as your hand wraps around his wrist and squeezes.

“What the hell?” Joel inquires, slightly out of breath as he searches your face for any signs of injury, “What happened?”

You both look at the culprit—the heated window unit that was no longer expelling heat, and while the cabin was still heated, it didn’t reach the bedrooms well enough that you weren’t shivering without some type of additional help. You sigh in frustration, eyes turning up towards the ceiling as you feel no shame, too frustrated to care as you lean into Joel’s chest.

“Shit.” It’s all Joel offers as a solution, not that you were expecting one. But, still, it would be nice.

“Yeah, shit.” You echo, pushing away from him suddenly to gather your damp towel and a change of clothes, padding your bare feet toward the living room, but Joel is grabbing your wrist before you get too far from him.

“Hey, woah,” He starts in a calmer tone, “you can take my room—I’ll drive into town tomorrow and see if I can get ahold of the owners, we’ll figure something out.”

“I already tried calling them,” You admit, “Earlier. Straight to voicemail and something tells me they won’t be answering their phones until after the holidays.”

Pulling away again, you continue your way toward the living room and gather a few pillows and blankets, tossing them on the larger couch beside the fireplace. Joel doesn’t seem to entertain the idea, following on your heels as he gathers each item you throw in that direction and you finally reach a point of full, unrestrained frustration.

“Joel, cut the shit.”

“Take the room,” He offers as a counter, “I can sleep on the couch.”

With his back? Not a chance. But, he offers anyway.

“Fuck off,” You chuckle bitterly, “I’m not forcing you out of the bedroom.”

“Then it looks like we’re sharin’ the living room.”

You close your eyes, toss the blanket aside and breathe, clenching and unclenching your fists in an effort to not completely lose it on the man standing opposite of you.

Chivalry be damned, Joel wasn’t giving in.

Fine, two could play at that game.

“I’ll take the bed.” You quickly agree, but there’s a lingering ultimatum.

Joel waits, sees the thought brewing behind your pensive eyes.

“But, so will you.”

“Now—”

“No,” You interject, putting your figurative foot down, suddenly vividly reminded of your vulnerability as you stood there, still slightly damp and in a swimsuit that did nothing to cover your body—it was the reason Joel’s eyes were so pointedly stuck on your face, never lingering elsewhere, “either we both sleep in here on the couch or we share the bed.”

Joel’s hands shift to his hips, towel tight around his waist and you’re too annoyed to admire the way his muscles tense and flex with the movement, the underlying thickening desire settling beneath the surface.

You match his stance, daring him to challenge you.

A small part of you wants him too.

—

“Anyone ever told you you’re damn stubborn?” Joel asks, trailing behind you as you enter his bedroom, a clone of your own but with a small bathroom attached.

“All the time.” You answer truthfully. “I’m going to shower and sleep—no funny business.”

Meaning if Joel did sneak away into the living room to offer up the full amenities of his own room, he would feel your wrath tenfold.

Joel resigns to the idea and gathers his own pair of fresh clothes before disappearing into the bathroom down the hall, leaving you both to a moment of levity.

There’s no anticipation to the arrangement—but the idea is there, burrowing into the back of your mind.

You’re sleeping with a stranger…someone you knew little to nothing about, but it was your choice. And you trusted your gut.

Joel was safe, he was good.

You relax under the spray of hot water, a different heat to the one you enjoyed just a while ago, the type that allowed your thoughts to roam, and you laugh softly at the sight of Joel’s shower supplies, knowing he was stuck with whatever you brought—it wasn’t something you thought about in the moment, but there’s a brief realization that he was sharing a moment similar to your own, scowling at the sight of your fruity scented body wash that you left on the shelf there. It wasn’t a huge deal, Joel wouldn’t fuss over it.

But, it also lends your mind to roam more.

As if his bare chest wasn’t already at the forefront, and his eyes as they had stared at you so unabashed until the moment he was caught, all innocent looks with deeper intentions that invaded your mind like a plague.

You were so fucking frustrated—annoyed with him, the state of your life, this stupid vacation. With the suds gone and the water drowning out the silence you allow yourself one—just one moment of selfishness...

And as if the house was the biggest tattletale of them all, the floor creaks on the other side of the door.

“Joel?” You call out curiously, as if an intruder in the middle of nowhere was even likely.

There’s several seconds of silence before Joel finally answers.

“Yeah?”

“Your body wash sucks.” You goad lightly, hoping to ease the earlier frustration that had grown between you both, and while you can’t see him, you can hear his laughter on the other side of the door.

“Can’t say yours is any better.”

You smile to yourself, the way he responds with fondness that he tries to hide.

When you finish up and dress, peeking your head out before you move to open the door fully, Joel is already on his side, turned away. It was obvious that he didn’t want to be bothered. The small blanket of division rolled and wedged in the center of the bed like a barrier, a warning.

Keep your distance and you both may manage to survive the rest of this vacation.

Thank you for reading this to the end! If you enjoyed please extend a like or reblog (with a comment if you'd like, i love reading them <3) to support writers, it helps a ton!

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller smut #joel miller x female reader #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #pedrostories #MMITW #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x fem!reader #my writing #let's just pretend ellie isn't in that gif lmao

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eternalmoonlight18 · 9 months ago

Text

Please Please Please (Don't Prove 'Em Right) Chapter 4

Trafaglar Law x afab Female!Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Warnings: usage of the b word

Summary:

You are the Heart Pirates' beloved cook and sniper. However, you were also an insufferable troublemaker who always seemed to get on Law's nerves. He swears he's going to get rid of you one day, but as much as he hates it, why does he find you fascinating? Was it because you reminded him of someone he was greatly fond of?

As your relationship with Law grows, he only hopes you don't fucking embarrass him. After all, he has an image to uphold as one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea.

This story starts off as short stories between (Y/N), Law and the Heart Pirates, then picks up into the One Piece canon timeline, starting from Punk Hazard. This is a slow-burn Law x Female Reader story!

Updates every Sunday!

Cross-posted in Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57651295/chapters/146705491

Chapter 4: I Forgot to Put In My Two Weeks In and Now My Former Boss Is Trying to Kill Me

Chapter summary: The day after Law's birthday celebration, the Heart Pirates and Kid Pirates run into each other. Law and Kid were already rivals, but when Kid finds out that his former cook and sniper is now a Heart Pirate, he doesn't take that information lightly.

Notes: The Kid Pirates are here! Also, there is a slight Killer x Reader if you squint (more like a one-sided love lol). I think this is my favourite chapter LMAO

I also created a taglist. Let me know if you want to be a part of it!

wc: 3.3k

The sun was rising to start a new day on a tropical island at the Grand Line Paradise. After a raucous evening of celebrating Captain Law's birthday, the crew was passed out on the floor of the local pub. The rays of the sun started to peep through the windows of the pub, and the crew was slowly beginning to wake up. You were sleeping next to the captain with your head on his left shoulder, who was sitting up in the corner. You slowly blinked your eyes, desperately trying to focus your vision as you scanned around the room. Realizing that you were leaning against Law, you quickly scrambled to get up. However, that was a bad idea because your head was pounding from a hangover.

"Ah fuck." you groaned as you got up. With hands on your head, you staggered to find a nearby chair and sat down. You sighed deeply as you remembered what happened last night.

“I really appreciate you, for everything that you are. Happy Birthday, Captain Law.” you had said.

Suddenly, your entire body started to heat up. You banged your head on the table in front of you out of embarrassment.

"Why did I say that? That was basically a confession..." you mumbled.

It felt stuffy in the room full of pirates passed out on the floor, so you decided to step outside for some fresh air. As soon as you stepped out, the sun's warm rays hit your face. You squinted as you observed the quiet town, hearing the birds chirp and the gentle breeze brush against the trees. Taking a deep breath, you took this rare moment of peace and savoured it. After a few minutes, you decided to head back to the Polar Tang. As you were nearing the submarine, you also noticed that there was a ship to the far right of the dock. It looked familiar.

Too familiar.

It was the Victoria Punk.

That means...

"Eustass Kid is here?!" you whispered harshly. Kid was your former captain when you used to be a cook, but you had to run away because the food you made was accidentally poisoned, almost killing Kid. Sweat started to form on your forehead as you rapidly whipped your head back and forth to see if any of the Kid Pirates were around. Once you saw that the coast was clear, you ran back into town to warn the captain.

You were one building away from the pub when you suddenly heard two familiar voices ahead. You took one look and your blood ran cold. It was Wire and Heat.

By now, you were positively panicking and fully freaking out. To avoid being seen, you ran to your right and hid in a nearby alleyway. You crouched behind some wooden crates and waited until the two Kid Pirates members walked past.

"What are you doing here?" a deep voice whispered behind you.

You dismissed the voice you heard, thinking that it was a townsfolk. "Hiding from the Kid Pirates. I have a rough history with them."

You heard a chuckle. "Is that so? How come?" the voice asked.

Sighing, you rubbed your temples. "I used to be part of their crew, but I ditched since I accidentally food-poisoned their captain."

"Oh yeah, the captain wants you dead." he teased.

Annoyed at the 'townsperson', you turned around to retaliate, only to find yourself staring at a pair of legs with blue jeans on. You slowly glanced up and saw that they were wearing a blue shirt with a jolly roger that looked familiar. They were also very ripped, with their muscles protruding through the shirt that you swore it was going to rip. Then you finally glanced up to see that they were wearing a blue and white mask with holes.

"Oh no." you thought. This was no townsfolk, this was-

"Killer!?" you screamed in shock. You rapidly got up to run away from the second in command of the Kid Pirates, but he crouched down, pushed you down with him and placed his large hand over your mouth, muffling your scream.

You glanced at the small crack of space between the crate and wall and saw that Wire and Heat were standing in front of the alleyway, looking at Killer.

"Hey Kil, what are you doing?" Wire asked.

"Yeah, who's that? We heard someone scream your name so we went to check out what was happening." Heat added on.

Your eyes drifted back to the masked man in front of you. You attempted to squirm and crawl away, but Killer pushed you further down to the ground.

"Just a thief who tried to rob me. It's fine," he answered back to his crew-mates.

Wire and Heat looked at each other and shrugged. They proceeded to walk away, continuing their conversation.

Killer released his hand from your mouth and stood up. He looked down at you and saw that you were catching your breath.

You glared up at the man. "Why did you lie to save me? Knowing you, you would've run to Kid and snitched that I was here." you suspiciously asked.

The blond tilted his head. "Do you really think of me as Kid's pet dog?"

Lifting yourself off the ground, you leaned up against the wall and smirked at him. "You are basically his dog since you're always so obedient when following orders. Anyways, are you fond of me or something? Did you miss me?" you teased.

There was a pregnant pause before Killer responded.

"I always was fond of you," he said.

You blinked in confusion before he continued, "The whole crew was. I- we missed you." he continued.

A light pink hue showed up on the side of his neck but you failed to notice it.

"Great whatever thanks. Now be a gentleman and go away and pretend that you never saw me. I'd prefer it that Kid doesn't find out that I'm here." you muttered, ignoring the masked man's sudden confession.

Killer glanced at your boiler suit "Or, you don't want him to find out that you joined his number one rival's crew." he commented.

"Hey, they treated me way better than those brutes on the Victoria Punk. Captain Law treats me way better than Kid does," you argued.

"Even with those ridiculous pranks of yours? I know that you didn't stop doing them now that you're with a different crew." Killer playfully questioned. You swore that you could sense that he was smiling under that mask of his.

"Yup!" you said, putting your hands on your hips with pride. "I even hang out with Captain Law now, and he doesn't treat me like garbage."

The blond man looked at you. You felt his eyes observe the unusually excited expression on your face. He saw that your eyes lit up when you talked about the Surgeon of Death.

"Hey (Y/n), do you like Law?" He straightforwardly asked.

A deep blush appeared on your cheeks. You looked towards your side, trying to avoid eye contact (you can't see his eyes). "W-what? What are you talking abo-"

"(Y/N)?!!" someone bellowed.

You and Killer froze and looked at the entrance of the alleyway. There stood a very angry red-haired man with a mechanical left arm. If looks could kill, you would be long dead by now.

The day just started and someone already wanted to kill you. It was a pirate's life after all.

"H-hey Captain Kid, l-long time no see!" you stuttered as you attempted to defuse the situation.

Kid's nostrils were expanded like a bull as he heaved in and out. His eyes twitched at the sight of his first mate and best friend getting chummy over an ex-crewmate.

The red-haired man took one stomp forward and it was a sign for you to get out there. You pushed Killer away from you and dashed further into the alleyway.

"Killer! Don't just stand there, get that bitch!" Kid yelled.

The masked man sighed. He couldn't disobey his captain, so he dashed off to find you.

You ran until you saw the back door of the pub. Using your pistol, you shot at the door three times and kicked it down. You rushed inside and screamed at the top of your lungs to wake up your crewmates. They all slowly got up and groaned, clearly displeased at your screaming. Law was already awake eating breakfast at a nearby table with Penguin and Shachi, They winced when they heard you barge in and scream.

The captain sighed. "(Y/n)-ya, it's too early for your nonsense." he calmly said as he continued to eat.

You stumbled towards Law, grabbed his shoulders and shook him. "This is no-nonsense captain! T-the Kid Pirates! They're here and they're going to kill me!" you hissed at him.

That statement got the tattooed captain suddenly alert. His eyes shot up at you as he suddenly got up from his chair, grabbing Kikoku, which was leaning on the table.

"Kid Pirates?! Here? And they want to kill you? What did you do to piss them off?!" he hissed back at you.

"I-" you started, but suddenly stopped because you realized that you never told Law that you used to be a part of Kid's crew.

The front door of the pub suddenly split into pieces, revealing a very, very angry Eustass Kid. You ran to the bar area and hid behind the bar table.

"You little bitch! You can't hide from me!" he bellowed. He turned his head to the right and saw Law glaring at him, which pissed him off even more.

"What are you doing here Trafalgar?!" he yelled.

"I could ask you the same thing Eustass-ya." Law calmly retorted.

"I came to this island to restock before heading into the New World, but I ran into a bitch who used to be a part of my crew." he sneered.

Law tilted his head in confusion. "Former crewmate?" he asked.

Kid growled as he marched up to Law. "What's it to ya?! Getting all nosy in my business? That girl who just hopped behind the bar table used to be my cook!"

The doctor's tattooed fingers squeezed around Kikoku. "(Y/n)-ya used to be on your crew?" he lowly said.

You peeked up at the table only to find Kid and Law sending you a death glare your way. You slowly got up and gave a nervous laugh.

"H-hey, so funny story captain..." you said, as you nervously scratched your cheek.

"Cut the bullshit (Y/n)-ya! You joined my crew and didn't tell me that you were previously associated with Kid?!" Law yelled at you.

"WHAT?! YOU JOINED TRAFALGAR'S CREW?" Kid also yelled at you.

The room was filled with tension. The Heart Pirates were silently observing the exchange between you, Law and Kid. You slowly lowered yourself down to hide behind the bar table once again.

"Room." you suddenly heard Law say.

Realizing that you were about to be teleported away from hiding, you scrambled to run away.

"Shambles."

You should've kept those sea prism cuffs on him.

As soon as you were teleported to Law's side, you attempted to run away. However, Law foresaw this and grabbed the collar of your boiler suit.

"Explain yourself here (Y/n)-ya before I behead you," he ordered. So much for the tender moment you shared with him the night before.

You grumbled as you faced Law and Kid. "Alright fine. Before I joined your crew, I was in Kid's crew. I was their chef. I accidentally food-poisoned Kid and ran away because he was going to kill me." you explained.

"You don't just accidentally poison someone with food you rat, you legitimately tried to kill me!" Kid shouted at you, not believing your explanation.

Law grip on your collar tightened. "If you're going to shout at someone Eustass, shout at me." he lowly said.

"Stay out of me and my cook's business Trafalgar." Kid sneered back.

Law took a step forward towards Kid and grabbed his black wifebeater. "(Y/n)-ya is NOT your cook!" he argued.

You smirked. "Yeah Kid, I already joined the Heart Pirates. You all miss my cooking that badly?" you teased the red-hair.

Kid broke his glare away from Law and squinted at you. "Your cooking was shit!" he retorted.

"Puh-lease, I bet after I left you guys were eating dog food since none of you guys can cook for shit!" you shot back.

Killer, who was standing where the front door used to be the entire time, spoke up. "Uh actually, I became the cook after you left. I'm pretty decent at cooking," he muttered.

"SHUT UP!" you and Kid yelled at him.

You sighed. This mess had to stop now before an actual fight broke out. You walked up and wedged in between your captain and Kid. You gently pushed the angry redhead away, much to his annoyance.

"Alright, Kid. I should have apologized to you instead of running away. I'm sorry for food poisoning you." you apologized to him.

The apology, even though it was half-assed, seemed to deflate Kid's anger a bit. He stared long and hard at you before he spoke up. "Whatever, get back on the ship," he ordered.

The Surgeon of Death didn't seem to like that. "Hey Eustass-ya, for your information in case your smooth brain didn't get it, (Y/n)-ya is part of my crew now. So get lost." he scoffed.

"Are you looking for a fight Trafalgar?! (Y/n) is my cook and she belongs to my crew so beat it!" Kid scowled. He started to march up towards you and Law.

You put your arms out and attempted to shove Kid back. "H-hey, let's not fight here okay? Let's actually not fight at all! Let's talk this out like proper pirates we are!" you said with fake cheerfulness.

In the background, Hakugan stiffened a laugh. "Oh man, this is entertaining," he said.

"I agree, seeing captain fight over (Y/n)-ya is kind of cute." Shachi agreed.

"Yeah, he never really stands up for anyone in the crew. He really has a soft spot for her." Penguin said.

"You guys ...we should be helping the captain right now!" Bepo urged nervously,

Ikkaku laughed and patted Bepo's back. "Everything's fine Bepo! Let's just see what happens!" she reassured the mink.

Meanwhile, Kid pushed you aside to the front of the bar. You stumbled and landed on your butt. "You asshole, you didn't need to shove me!" you scowled at Kid.

The redhead ignored you and grabbed Law's white wifebeater. "You have my cook. She belongs to my crew and she's coming back with me now." he lowly growled.

The tattooed doctor scowled at him. "She's not going back to you. Leave this bar Eustass-ya, you are not taking my girl," he said.

The entire room suddenly became quiet. It took everyone three seconds to process what Law said, even Law himself.

"MY GIRL?!" the entire crew yelled in surprise.

You were a blushing mess. Glancing up at your captain, you saw that his ears were red from embarrassment.

"He called me his girl?" you thought.

Meanwhile, Kid and Killer were not amused. The blond masked man suddenly walked inside towards Law, but you stuck out your leg and tripped him on the ground, landing face (mask?) first. The Massacre Soldier promptly got up and glared at you.

The red-haired captain shoved Law up against the wall. "My girl? I see you got all chummy with my cook huh?" he hissed.

"Of course, she's my girl, just like how she's part of my crew. I own my crew." the doctor tried to clear up.

By now, the Heart Pirates were ready to fight. The rest of the Kid Pirates showed up as well, crowding up to the front of the pub.

You nervously whipped your head around. This was not the ideal situation, and you had to get the crew out of there fast.

An idea popped into your head. A very stupid idea.

"Everybody, RUN!" you screamed.

The next five minutes were a blur. As soon as you told everyone to run, the entire bar erupted into chaos. Kid punched Law in the face, and Law proceeded to 'ROOM' the entire bar and teleport the entire crew out. Killer barked orders to chase after the Heart Pirates, and soon enough, the once quiet morning turned into a pirate brawl out in the streets.

You attempted to escape the brawl but were held down by Killer, who shoved you into the ground. However, you maneuvered your leg up so you could kick Killer in the stomach. You quickly picked yourself up and pointed your pistol at him. Seeing that you were one step ahead of him, the masked man raised his hands in defeat.

Killer chuckled. "So you and Law huh? It didn't take long either." he teased.

You huffed as you gripped your pistol tighter. "W-what are you talking about? I told you there's nothing between me and the captain!" you shot back.

The Massacre Soldier slowly walked up to you amidst the chaos. "If I had known that this would happen, I wouldn't have let you escape," he murmured.

You found yourself unable to move as Killer stopped in front of you. He lowered his face down to your level, and you swore you could see his eyes through the holes in the mask. Then he suddenly grabbed your waist and pulled you close to you, with his right hand resting on the back of your head. "I told you, I was always fond of you (Y/n)." he lowly said against your ear.

But before you could react, Killer was violently shoved off of you, and he flew several meters back. Your captain was suddenly in front of you, heaving heavily as he shot the deadliest glare you've ever seen at the masked man. Then he yelled to the crew; "Everyone back at the Polar Tang!"

The pirates abruptly stopped the fight and then proceeded to run. The Kid Pirates started to run too. Law grabbed your left arm and hoisted you up, urging you to run as well. The two of you proceeded to run as Law tightly gripped onto your arm.

"Hey, captain! I had never seen that angry before! Did Killer do something to offend you?" you breathlessly asked as you ran.

The captain didn't glance at you. "Just shut up and run! All of this is your fault! My birthday turned into the worst day ever because the Eustass-ya is here!" he shouted at you.

"That's not nice captain, you were so nice to me yesterday!" you pouted.

"Now's not the time (Y/N)-ya!" Law countered back at you. You failed to notice the light tinge of red that donned on his ears.

You heartily laughed. By hearing your laugh, Law couldn't help but smirk, regardless of this ridiculous situation you put him in. As you, Law and the rest of the Heart Pirates rushed back to the submarine, you couldn't help but think about how every day was a fun day with your favourite crew.

"You are not taking my girl." Law's voice replayed in your head.

A light giggle escaped your lips. One of the Seven Warlords of the Sea called you his girl and you were definitely not complaining.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bonus Scene:

"Killer, this tastes like shit." Kid complained.

"Yeah, man. Also, do you have to cook spaghetti every day?" Wire also complained.

"Shut up and eat your food. We tried to get (Y/n) back but failed, so you're going to have to deal with my cooking from now on." Killer snapped back, as he sat down with his plate of food.

The redhead glanced at his second command. "You seem more upset about this than I am. What gives?" Kid asked.

Heat poked his fork at Killer's helmet. "Isn't it obvious captain? Killer has a thing for (Y/n)!" he teased.

"Eat your goddamn food," the masked man grumbled. The table of Kid Pirate officers erupted in laughter.

The Kid Pirates were going to miss your cooking, but no one was going to miss you more than Killer.

#crack fic #fem reader #heart pirates #law x y/n #law x you #one piece #reader insert #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar law #trafalgar law fluff #killer one piece #kid pirates #eustass kid #massacre soldier killer #killer x reader #killer x you

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runningincircl3s · 1 month ago

Text

Blood Sport

Noah Sebastian x Reader

Chapter Five

chapter warnings: none..? noah's mixed signals, amy's a whole warning herself lmao

happy friday!!! i've been so lost this week i completely forgot about posting until like 20 minutes ago and i was like ahh i need to edit this weeks chapter!! so i hope it's okay, i like this one hehe :)

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The next morning, you and Folio were both up early to clean up from the night before. You both wandered around downstairs, clearing up a couple spillages, empty bottles and discarded cups. Last night didn’t turn into the disaster you were expecting, but you were now left feeling even more confused, especially after overhearing a conversation Noah was having with Matt when the guys moved out to the garden to smoke.

You said your goodbyes and good night and had finally gone up to your room, after fighting back yawn after yawn for half an hour. You get changed, wash your face and brush your teeth before laying down on your bed, completely forgetting you had your window wide open until you faintly caught the smell of weed. As you checked your phone one final time before attempting to get some sleep, you could hear Noah’s voice.

“I don’t know what to do about Amy.”

“What do you mean?” Matt asked.

At this point, you got out of bed, reaching to shut your window, knowing this wasn’t a conversation you should be listening in on. The two of them stood away from the others, so clearly this wasn’t something Noah wanted everyone to hear.

So why weren’t you shutting the window?

Noah sighed, looking out into your garden.

“She spoke to y/n earlier, told her she’s worried about losing me,” he let out a humourless chuckle, “Truth is, I left that relationship weeks ago, mentally. But physically, I’m still stuck there.”

Matt studied him for a moment, wondering what he could say to that? He certainly wasn’t expecting it.

And neither were you.

“Shit,” Matt said, his gaze falling to the patio, “So… What are you going to do about it?”

“Dunno,” Noah shrugged, “I don't want to hurt her.”

“So you’re just going to stay in a relationship you’re not happy in… Just so you don’t hurt her?”

Noah shrugged, as if to say I guess.

“What else have I got going for me?” He laughed, “The only person I ever loved fucked me over, so if I have to settle for something I’m not too happy about at least I know I won’t get hurt. Amy loves me, what more could I want?”

“You can’t just give up, man. You’ve been caught up on y/n since the night you first met, and I know she still cares about you. You can’t tell me you don’t feel anything for her anymore?”

“Well-”

Before he could say anymore, you quickly shut your window, feeling your pulse race as you pulled the curtains shut.

How the fuck were you meant to sleep after that?

“Y/n?” Folio laughed, waving a hand in front of your face. “Lost in thought?”

You blinked, snapping back to reality.

“Something like that.” You chuckled nervously, turning back to the dishes, scrubbing the same plate for a little too long.

“I was wondering…” Folio started, leaning against the counter. “I’m going to drop by the studio this afternoon. We’ve been working on a new song, Noah wants to get it finished today so we’ll all be there. Wanna come with?”

Your hands paused under the running water.

“Are you sure?”

Folio gave you a look, like you’d just asked if the sky was blue.

“I mean it’s not like you’ve got anything better to do.”

“I might.” You turned, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Do you?”

You opened your mouth, but no excuse came. A beat of silence passed.

“...No.” You muttered, making him snicker.

“Thought so.” He tossed the dish towel at you playfully. “I’ll tell the guys you’ll be joining us.”

“Are you sure they’ll want me there though? If they’re recording a new song?”

“Seriously? It’s not like you’re going to leak it to the world. And they love your company, y/n.”

“Noah doesn’t.” You stated, drying your hands off on the towel.

“Screw Noah, it’ll be 5 against 1.” Folio chuckled.

…

“What’s she doing here?”

Noah’s voice was flat, unimpressed, as he barely spared you a glance, too focused on the guitar in his lap.

“Nice to see you too, Noah.” You sighed, sitting beside him on the couch- not by choice, but simply because there was nowhere else to sit. The second your thigh brushed against his, you felt him tense up, shifting just enough to put an inch of space between you.

Jolly glanced between the two of you, clearly entertained but choosing to stay silent. Folio, on the other hand, shot Noah a warning look before leaning against the doorframe.

“I asked if she wanted to join us. Does anybody else have a problem with y/n being here?”

Ruffilo, Matt, and Bryan all shook their heads, Jolly even shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal.

Noah scoffed under his breath, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he focused back on his guitar, back to playing the same chord he had been since the moment you walked in.

You leaned back against the sofa, tilting your head slightly as you listened. After a few moments, you frowned.

“Is it supposed to sound like that?”

Noah’s fingers froze mid-strum. His jaw clenched as he turned to you, eyes dark with irritation.

“So you’re the guitar expert now?”

You couldn’t help but smirk.

“Well, you’re clearly not.”

Bryan snorted, covering his mouth with his hand, while Folio exhaled heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was already regretting bringing you here.

Noah set his guitar aside with more force than necessary, jaw tightening like he was seconds away from launching it across the room.

“Are you always this fucking insufferable now, or is it just when I’m around?”

You batted your lashes at him, offering your sweetest, most sarcastic smile.

“Oh, it’s all just for you, honey.”

Ruffilo finally shook his head, stepping in before things escalated any further.

“Alright, enough. Can we actually get some work done? We wanted to get this song recorded in one session, remember?”

Noah rolled his eyes, muttering something as he reached for his laptop. He clicked through a few files, visibly trying to ignore you, but the way his fingers hovered over the keyboard made it clear you’d gotten under his skin.

You fought back a smirk, crossing your arms as you settled in. You already knew this was going to be a long session.

…

An hour or so in, you were bored out of your mind. Noah kept replaying the track, him and Jolly trying to work out why something sounded different to how they wanted whilst the others all did their own things, waiting for Noah and Jolly to come up with a solution.

You wanted to say something, suggesting that maybe Noah should sing in a lower register, but you shook it off, getting up from the couch.

“Anyone want anything? Drinks? Snacks?” You asked, and a couple of the guys nodded, asking for water.

You nodded at the guys' requests, stretching as you made your way out of the studio. The moment you stepped into the hallway, the heavy door swinging shut behind you, you let out a breath. Being in the same room as Noah for extended periods was exhausting.

You were halfway to the kitchen when you nearly walked straight into someone, making you stop short.

Amy.

You couldn't even bare to look at her after overhearing what Noah had said last night.

She took a step back, and the moment she registered it was you, her expression hardened.

"Oh. It’s you."

"Uh, yeah. It’s me." You hesitated, already bracing yourself.

Amy crossed her arms, looking you up and down like she was debating whether to say something or just walk away.

"What are you doing here?"

"Well, Folio asked if I wanted to join the guys in the studio today, and I had nothing better to do. I was getting a little bored in there so I offered to get them some water… So here I am."

"Oh… I see," she frowned, gaze flicking toward the hallway, "Is Noah in there? It's a stupid question, of course he is." She huffed.

"Yeah, and he's being an ass." You chuckled dryly, hoping to lighten the tension. "Why? Do you need him?"

"Well, he said we’d do something together today," she muttered, arms tightening around herself. "I didn’t expect him to be locked away in there all day. He seems to forget he has a life outside of his music... he also seems to forget he has a girlfriend when you’re about.”

You raised an eyebrow, but before you could respond, she scoffed.

"And I keep telling him those guys he calls friends are bad for him. If they were true friends they wouldn’t let him overwork himself the way he does. He spends hours, days in that studio at a time. I keep telling him there’s more to life than that stupid band!”

Your eyes widened, as if she had the audacity to say that. Suddenly you felt yourself getting defensive.

"Stupid band?" You repeated, voice dropping into something dangerous, venomous. "Right. The same band that means everything to him? The same band that’s the reason you’re even with him in the first place? That ‘stupid band’ is his entire life, it’s everything he’s ever wanted, and it’s all he knows. And those guys are his fucking family, the only family he has. If you actually knew him, you’d know that.”

Her eyes flashed.

"I do know him."

You swallowed hard, fighting back the urge to lose your shit. You took a slow breath.

“You don’t know the first thing about him, Amy.”

But you could tell her everything there is to know about him. How he says his favourite colour is red, but it’s actually the colour of the sky when it’s beginning to set, a little pink, a little orange. How when he’s stressed he’ll pick at his nails, which is why he hasn’t painted them in years. You could list all his favourite shows and movies, how old he was when he learned to ride a bike, his first real job, how old he was when he started playing guitar.

But why did you still remember all this?

You started to turn away, afraid of where your mind was going, but then she said it.

"I know he’s not over you."

You froze, your breath catching in your throat.

Slowly, you turned back to her, heart pounding, but Amy wasn’t backing down. She squared her shoulders, chin lifted defiantly, as if daring you to deny it.

"Yeah," she scoffed, folding her arms tighter around herself. "I see the way he looks at you, and I..." Her voice wavered, just for a second, before she steadied herself. "I know that look because I’ve been through this all before."

You clenched your jaw, trying to ignore the uncomfortable weight settling in your chest.

"It’s nothing," you muttered, forcing yourself to sound indifferent. "Trust me, Amy. I can’t control whatever he does, but if it makes you feel better, I don’t want him."

She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head.

"Do you even believe yourself when you say that?"

Your nails dug into your palms.

"Does it matter?" you shot back. "Noah’s with you, isn’t he? So why the hell are you coming at me like this? If you don’t trust him, that’s something you should be talking to him about."

Amy exhaled sharply, frustration bleeding into her expression.

"I do trust him, but I also know what it’s like to be second best. And every time you’re around, I feel like I’m just waiting for the moment he realises he made a mistake choosing me."

Your stomach twisted, but you forced yourself to keep your walls up.

"That’s not my problem," you said flatly, trying to ignore the guilt setting in.

Becuase you knew the truth.

Her jaw tensed, and she let out a humorless laugh, shaking her head.

"You’re right. It’s not. But I think we both know that if Noah had the chance, if you gave him even the smallest opening, he’d take it. He’d drop everything for you."

The words struck like a slap to the face.

You should’ve brushed it off, walked away, but instead, you found yourself spitting out the truth before you could stop yourself.

"It’s not that simple, Amy."

Her gaze sharpened.

"Isn’t it?"

You swallowed, looking away, suddenly feeling sick.

“He’d never want me back. I hurt him... Badly.”

“Yeah…” She nodded, “He told me you cheated on him.”

“That fucking liar- We never dated, I never cheated.”

“You never dated?” Amy’s brow furrowed, “But he told me you did.”

You scoffed, shaking your head as your arms crossed.

“No. We were basically just friends with benefits, and I was also kinda seeing this other guy, and I did lie to Noah about it which is how I fucked up and hurt him. But we never dated, Amy.”

“So then why does he care so much?”

You shook your head.

“I don’t know," you sighed, defeated, you were sick of having this same conversation over and over, "I’m sorry.”

Her expression shifted, seeming more neutral now as she looked at you.

“I’m sorry.” She said, “I’ve been in this exact position before, losing a guy I loved to his ex, and I don’t want it to happen again. I love Noah, I can't go through this again!” Her voice broke on the last word as she turned around, walking back down the hallway with her face in her hands, holding back tears.

“Amy, wait!” You called out, and she turned back around to face you, wiping away a tear that had rolled down her cheek. “I’ll talk to him in there, I’ll see if I can get him to come out and talk to you”

“Thank you.”

She walked away, and you sighed before continuing on your way to the kitchen, surprised one of the guys hadn’t come to see if you’d gotten lost.

You reached into the fridge, taking a couple bottles before making your way back to the studio, fire in your veins as you thought about what you were going to say to Noah.

You pushed open the studio door with more force than necessary, Noah barely glanced up from where he sat on the couch, focused on the laptop screen in front of him. The others were scattered around, Jolly in the recording booth, Folio messing with a set of his sticks, and Ruffilo with a guitar in his lap whilst Matt and Bryan were both sitting next to each other, faces lit up by their phone screens.

"You take a detour or something?" Folio joked, looking up as you walked in.

You ignored him, marching straight over to Noah and dropping the bottles on the table in front of him with a loud thud.

He blinked, finally looking up, taking off his headphones.

"What’s your problem?"

You scoffed, crossing your arms.

"Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that your girlfriend just cornered me in the hallway, blaming all of us for keeping you in here."

Noah’s expression darkened slightly, setting his laptop down on the small table.

"She did what?"

"You heard me," you snapped. "Apparently, we’re all bad influences. Apparently, your band is a ‘stupid band’ that you spend too much time with- Oh! And apparently, you ‘forget you have a girlfriend’ whenever I’m around."

Everybody else was suddenly silent.

Noah’s jaw ticked, and for a second, you swore you saw something flicker in his eyes, guilt, frustration? But it was gone as quickly as it came.

“I’ll talk to her."

“Yeah? Maybe you should.” You shot back. “Because she’s pissed, Noah. You told her you’d spend time with her today, didn’t you?”

He groaned, dragging his hands down his face.

“Fuck. I forgot I said that.”

“Well, clearly she didn’t.” You huffed, dropping onto the couch beside him- once again, not out of choice. “Don’t you see what you’re doing to her? Or do you just not care?”

Before he could come up with an answer, Jolly had come out of the booth, shaking his head at Noah.

"C'mon, are you even listening?!"

...

Hours passed, and the studio had emptied. The others had stepped out, either to grab food or get some fresh air, leaving only you and Noah behind.

He was in the recording booth, going over a vocal take he still wasn’t happy with. You were sprawled on the couch, staring at the ceiling, boredom gnawing away at you.

Your gaze drifted to Noah’s guitar, resting at the end of the couch. You hesitated before pulling it onto your lap. Your fingers traced the fretboard, pressing down experimentally and attempting to play.

The sound that followed was awful. A buzzing rattle came from the guitar, making you wince, but stubbornly kept going, adjusting your grip, trying to make it sound right.

“That’s not how you do it.”

You startled, nearly dropping the guitar on the floor as Noah’s voice cut through the silence.

“Jesus,” you muttered, pressing a hand to your chest. You turned to find him leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. “Just creep up on me, why don’t you?”

He smirked, stepping forward and dropping onto the couch beside you, close enough that his thigh brushed against yours.

“Here,” he said, reaching for your hand. “Give me this.”

You barely had a second to react before his fingers wrapped around yours, guiding them to the right position. His touch was warm. The calluses on his fingertips brushed against your skin, sending a shiver up your arm.

“Like this,” he murmured, voice lower now. Softer. His fingers pressed yours down. “You need to push harder, there. Feel that?”

Push him away. Say something. Do something. Throw the guitar at him!

“Yeah.” You swallowed, nodding your head.

“Try again.”

His hands lingered for a second too long before pulling away, and you hated how much you missed the warmth of them.

You strummed again, this time producing a smoother, cleaner note.

“See?” Noah said, his voice quieter now. His eyes flickered to yours, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

And then you remembered what Amy had said. He forgets he has a girlfriend whenever you’re around.

Your stomach twisted.

She wasn’t wrong, was she?

Because Noah wasn’t acting like a man who was supposed to be in love with someone else, even if you knew he wasn't. Not when he looked at you like that. Not when his fingers had brushed yours like it was the most natural thing in the world. And you…

You weren’t over him.

Not even close.

Otherwise you would’ve pulled away by now, putting some distance between you.

“Huh,” you mused, forcing yourself to break the tension. “Maybe you do know a thing or two.”

His lips curled into a smirk.

“Or maybe you just suck at it.”

“Asshole.” You scoffed, elbowing him lightly.

He chuckled, standing and stretching.

“Keep practicing. Maybe one day you’ll impress me.”

You stuck your middle finger up at him as he walked away, but you couldn't ignore how the warmth of his fingers still lingered on yours.

Then, as if it was timed perfectly, the door swung open.

“We’re back!” Matt announced, stepping inside with the others.

“Good to see you two haven’t killed each other,” Ruffilo smirked.

“You’re just lucky you came back when you did,” you muttered, sending Noah a quick glare.

“So,” Folio began as he plopped down beside you, “We kinda planned it without you, but about this fishing trip we’ve been talking about… How’s tomorrow?”

“Seriously?” You chuckled.

“Hell yeah! The others are up for it too. What about you, Noah?”

“Hm?”

“Wanna come fishing tomorrow? Matt can’t make it but we’ll all be there.”

His gaze lingered on you for a moment too long, as if debating it before shaking his head, suddenly turning cold again.

“I can’t. I’ve got a girlfriend I need to apologise to.”

--------------------@bloody-spades @death-ofpeace-ofmind @miss570 @dominuslunae @dontwantthemoney @amelia-acero @noahslutbastian @blade-dressed-in-red @super-btstrash-posts @kait16xo @oobleoob @sunshine-lvrr @lacy1986 @enemiestolovershoe @samanthasgone @superpiratecriminalchef @lukeevangelista @lunabuna991 @ami-gami

#noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian #bad omens fanfic #noah sebastian fanfic #noah sebastian imagine #noah sebastian fanfiction #★blood sport #noahsebastian

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lnqr · 13 days ago

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Heart In the Wrong Hands - Chapter 3

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A/N: Definitely didnt take me 2+ months to write a new chapter... NOPE! But its double the length of the last chapter.

anyway heres chapter 3 :) I originally wanted this to go really slow but I think its going to be a faster paced story purely based off the fact that im struggling to find the motivation to write all the world building and slow stuff. I WANNA GET INTO THE GOOD BITS.

Still dont have a schedule but will try to update more regularly.

Also I made an Ao3 account so if anyone prefers to read on that plat form, click here

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Start - Prologue

Previous Chapter - Chapter 2