#my porch is around the back of the house and on the second story so it’s not easily accessible

[tomwambsmilk]

Ppl really start acting entitled as shit once they make an offer to buy the house you live in

[sceletaflores]

GIVE IT TO HER LIKE A MAN!

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｡𖦹°‧➵ pair: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

｡𖦹°‧➵ wc: 5.1k

｡𖦹°‧➵ contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no outbreak au, no ellie, joel’s pov, swearing, age gap (52/23), semi-public sex (more of a semi-public ALMOST over the pants handjob?), p in v, clothed sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, hair pulling, spit kink, degradation, pussy spanking, creampie, fucking in your childhood bedroom RAAAHHH, one (1) single line about joel wanting to slap you, one (1) single use of the word daddy, erectile dysfunction? we don't know what that means in this house because that old man can fuck like he's twenty, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

｡𖦹°‧➵ nat’s note: hi babies! i'm back! did you miss me? cause i missed you and oh em gee i'm so excited to be rejoining the party. this actually wasn't what i planned on posting but the angsty joel fic is kicking my ass so hard that i had to take a break from it. i just needed to word vomit some raunchy, freak-nasty porn to cleanse my palate! i don’t normally go for the dbf trope but it's just so joel i couldn't not dip my feet in these waters. it's also more like dad's-close-but-distant-acquaintance-joel because in my head that man has little to no friends honestly. hope you love it, mwah!

dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics!

joel gives the best graduation gifts...

Joel isn’t the type to get invited to these kinds of things.

Graduation parties for Ivy League brats. Champagne in fancy crystal flutes and catered hors d'oeuvres getting passed around on silver trays. Men in loafers and pastel polos calling each other “old buddy” without any irony. It’s a far cry from his usual crowd—his mangy old t-shirt and stained blue jeans stick out in the place like a damn sore thumb.

The invitation came from a distant friend, someone he used to work with before his career took him in an entirely different, much shiner direction. He was here more as a favor than anything else. Tommy’s been worried about him, says he needs to get out more.

“Meet some new people, drink a few beers.” He’d said with his hand clasped on Joel’s shoulder. “It ain’t healthy to spend every weekend fixin’ shit around the house, Joel.”

Joel doesn’t see the problem. He’s fine the way he is. But somehow, he still got roped into going when he could have used any excuse to pull out at the last second. He could have faked sick, faked busy, faked like he had anything else to do besides sit at a fancy oak table on a back porch bigger than the whole first story of his house, decorated in Yale blue balloons and streamers. 

He regretted giving into Tommy the second he pulled up in the driveway—a too-big Craftsman style place in West Lake Hills, all clean laid brick and perfectly manicured lawns. Joel couldn’t for the life of him remember why he said yes in the first place. Maybe it was the guilt of worrying his brother. Maybe for the decent catered food and overpriced beers he knew would be there when he first got the address.

What he hadn’t expected—what hit him in the goddamn chest when the door swung open after he knocked—was you.

And Christ, did you look smug about it.

It had been months ago. The only reason Joel was even in Connecticut was to meet with a client, a big time East Coast entrepreneur who wanted a new add on to his ten car garage and was fine slinging around the money to pay for a round-trip flight and a cushy hotel room.

He hadn’t planned on going to the bar that night, but after hours of back-and-forth about permits and material costs, he needed a drink. Just one, maybe two—enough to take the edge off before heading back to the hotel.

It was a shitty little dive about ten minutes from where he was staying. The beer was cold, the lights were low, and he wasn’t supposed to be making decisions with his little head. But then he saw you across the way, right in the middle of the dancefloor.

You were in a circle with a few other girls, your dress riding up higher and higher each time you’d roll your hips to the heavy bass blaring from the overhead speakers.

Joel watched you like that for a while, leaned up against the bar lazily sipping at his beer. He hadn’t planned on doing anything about it, just sat there and enjoyed the view. But you’d caught him looking, and instead of turning away and pretending not to notice, you’d smirked.

Joel should have known right then that he was in trouble.

It wasn’t long before you left your little group and made your way over, slipping on the stool beside him like you belonged there, like you’d already made your mind up about what was going to happen next. You’d leaned in close, close enough for him to catch the scent of whatever perfume you’d rolled over your throat before heading out—something rich and heady that damn near made his head spin.

“Hey, cowboy.” You’d said with a tilt of your head, the long column of your neck dewy with a light sheen of sweat he wanted to feel under his tongue. “You’ve been watching me?”

There was no accusation in your voice, just a quiet sort of amusement, like you already knew the answer.

Joel had huffed a laugh, he didn’t see the point of denying it. He was a lot of things, but subtle wasn’t one of them. “Yeah.” He’d admitted, taking a slow sip of his beer before setting it down. “What about it?”

Your eyes dropped down the length of his body, studying him, and he’d let you. Let you take your time looking, even as heat crawled up the back of his neck.

“Buy me a drink?” You’d asked, smiling up at him like butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth.

That was all it took.

One drink turned into two, which turned into three, and then you were leaning into his space like you were made to be there. Your index finger teasingly tracing along the collar of his shirt as you whispered something filthy in his ear that had all the blood in his brain rushing down south.

Joel really shouldn’t have let it go any further than some goddamn footsie under the bar and a few dirty words whispered over the rims of shiny glasses, he was too old for shit like that. But you were just so damn tempting—confident and sharp and pretty as all hell.

Before Joel knew it he had you pressed up against the side of his truck, giggling into his mouth, fingers tugging at his belt like you couldn't get it off fast enough. You’d tasted like the fruity cocktails he bought you and something sweeter underneath, something distinctly you, and Joel had to have more.

You let him have it too—fisting his shirt and dragging him into the backseat without a care in the world, all eager hands and breathless laughter as you straddled his lap.

It was supposed to be just that. A reckless decision with a pretty young thing as the cherry on top of his trip. A one-night deal he’d let himself have because, fuck, it had been a long time since someone looked at him like that.

Joel tried his damndest to think how he should’ve, tried not to let some one off fuck turn him all sorts of ass backwards. He tried his damndest to boot you out of his mind the next morning when he was boarding the flight back to Austin—but you stuck anyway, like a burr in his goddamn brain. 

The way you’d looked sprawled out under him, eyes glazed over with pleasure, lips parted, or the way you’d moaned his name like it was a prayer you needed him to hear. The way you’d rode him nice and slow, dragging your nails down his chest just to watch him shudder. The way you’d kissed him after, lazy and sweet, before sneaking off into the night like a goddamn thief.

Joel could've sworn he saw God that night, a smudged silhouette in the fogged up windows of his truck.

And now you’re here, standing in the doorway of some polished, high society home, looking like sin wrapped up in tulle and pearls.

Joel wasn’t a man who spooked easy, but seeing you again, surrounded by people who had no goddamn idea what you’d let him do to you in the backseat of his truck all those months ago, knocked him on his ass harder than a sucker punch.

The recognition was damn near instant, your eyes shining just as much as the sparkly sash that read “GRAD!” in big glittery letters. The initial shock gave way to a tiny, secret smile as your gaze slid up and down his body shamelessly, like this was some kind of funny inside joke. 

Joel was seconds away from turning tail, walking back down your ridiculously long driveway and getting in his truck to get the hell out of there, but then your father was walking up behind you with a big grin on his face. He clapped Joel on the shoulder roughly and introduced his “Old buddy Joel Miller from his blue-collar days!”

You were all coy smiles and wide eyes. A sugared, “It’s so nice to meet you, Mr. Miller. Thank you for coming…” passing through your glossy lips.

The same lips that left shiny red smudges along the skin of his cock when you slid him down your throat, peering up at him with glassy eyes. The memory alone was enough to get heat stirring deep in his gut, and the way you looked at him now—all demure and polished, like you were some angelic scholar fresh off a podium—only made it worse.

Joel is too damn old for this.

“Very top of her class,” your father boasts, swishing his beer bottle through the air towards you flippantly. “Can you believe it? Just think of what we were doing at her age, brother. She sure as hell didn’t get any brains from me, that’s all her mother.”

Joel tries to chuckle with him, but it sounds strained, forced. He keeps his eyes facing forward, knee bouncing restlessly under the table. You’re looking at him again, hot and persistent against the side of his face. The heavy weight of your gaze practically begging him to look back. He doesn’t.

This dinner is it’s own form of torture, because of course, you just had to sit in the empty seat next to Joel—close enough that he can feel your knee bump up against his every few minutes.

He’s done a good job avoiding you until now, always walking the other direction when you waltz into the same room, not making eye contact when your gaze would sweep over the crowd hoping to catch his, trying for once in his life to be a good man.

A good man that suffers through this damn party without doing something he'll regret, that leaves at the end of the night and never has to see you again.

“Yeah,” he says, nervously starting to pick at the label of his own beer. Some snobby, imported New England brewery, probably sixty bucks a six-pack. “Good times.”

Joel can see you lean forward out of the corner of his eye, the neckline of your dress sliding down an inch as you stare at him, attention rapt. “What were you like back then, Mr. Miller?”

Joel nearly winces, his fingers tightening around the neck of his beer hard enough to turn the skin around his knuckles white.

‘Mr. Miller’ echoes in his ears lewdly, blaring like church bells. Your voice is nothing but a honey-sweet mockery, so syrupy he can nearly feel it trickling down his throat to add to the warmth settling low in his stomach. 

Your father snorts over the lip of his bottle, answering you before Joel could open his mouth. “Joel didn’t go to college, honey. He went into the trades right after graduation,” he takes a long sip, Joel feels your knee bump against his again. “That’s how we met.”

You hum, nodding your head languidly. “You’re an architect too?”

Joel shakes his head, not looking at you as he answers. “Carpenter.”

Your father launches into some story about his old work days with Joel, about how back in the day, they were “real men” with “real jobs,” but Joel can barely process any of it. He nods along absently, lets out some half-hearted chuckles when he needs to.

Joel nearly puts his knee through the table when he feels your barefoot brush up against his ankle, hiking his jeans up ever so slightly. He shoots you a glare as subtly as he can.

It’s a look so sharp, so warning, that it should be enough to make you back the hell off from whatever game you’re playing. You’re not even looking at him anymore, eyes glued to your father as you nod along to whatever story he’s telling now. 

But there’s a knowing little smile on your lips as your hand creeps beneath the table and falls into his lap, the pads of your fingers pressing against the inside of his thigh.

Joel goes still. Rigid as his breath catches on a sharp inhale.

Christ, you’re trying to kill him.

Your father’s voice pulls him out of the silent panic and heavy arousal waging a war inside of him. “How’s business, Joel?” he asks, leaning back in his chair. “You and Tommy still running things at a hundred miles a minute?”

Joel barely registers the question as your hand inches higher and higher. He can hear his own pulse pounding in his throat, in his chest, in his cock, already half-hard in his boxers from some goddamn heavy petting like a wet behind the ears teenager. 

“Yeah, we–” Joel pauses, willing his voice to steady with a quick cough to clear his throat. “We’ve been pretty busy with Summer rollin' around.”

Your father hums in agreement, cracking open another beer. “Of course, my schedule’s been a killer too this season,” he brags shamelessly, tone heavy with understanding like he and Joel are in the same boat. Only your fathers boat is a three million dollar yacht sailing for blue-print meetings with big shot celebrities and architectural digest interviews. “It’s a miracle I even had time to fly in for the party, isn’t that right sweetheart?”

Your hand slides up the length of his cock in one slow stroke, your palm grinding roughly over the tip through the tented denim.

“Yes, daddy.”

Your voice has gone all light and airy around the edges, almost melodic as it buries itself in Joel’s ears. At first, Joel thinks you’re talking to your father, but when his eyes flick over to you, you’re looking at him—your eyes half-lidded and sparkling with something dangerous as your fingers tug at the tab of his zipper.

Joel’s hand flies to your wrist, squeezing tight enough to stop your pawing at his now fully hard cock. “Alright if I use your bathroom?” he asks sharply, his voice a little too loud. He tosses your hand away and stands abruptly from his chair before he’s got an answer.

“Of course,” your father says easily, thankfully not noticing the tension at the table, or the way Joel’s trying to subtly hold his hands over his crotch. He turns his attention towards you, “Would you show Joel where the downstairs bathroom is, honey?”

Your smile only widens as you slip your sandal on and calmly stand from your own chair. “Sure,” you say breezily, but you’re not looking at your father, dark eyes still glued to Joel’s. “Follow me.”

The flowy fabric of your dress swishes behind you as you walk through the yard, Joel hot on your heels. He waits until you're both in the house, stepping through the open sliding glass door and out of view before his hand flies to your arm and squeezes hard.

Joel hears you wince softly, but you don’t try to fight your way out of his grip. He leans down closer, his lips inches away from your ear. His voice is low and rough as he grits out, “Take me to your room, now.”

You lead him through the kitchen and up the stairs silently, but Joel can still see the smug smile on your lips as you turn the corner. The need to slap that bratty shit right off your face wracks through him like thunder, anger burning hotter in his chest with every step.

You push the door to your bedroom open and step inside, barely turning to face him before Joel slams the door shut behind him and stalks past you. His eyes are dark, filled with a mix of rage and want as he stares you down.

“Do you think this is a goddamn game?” His voice is teeming with fury, the calm facade he scarcely maintained at dinner now entirely gone. “That you can do whatever the hell you please because your Daddy’s sittin' across from you?”

You bite your bottom lip, leaning against the door with your arms crossed behind your back coyly. “You didn’t bring me a present.”

It’s a taunt if Joel’s ever heard one, and it finally breaks him.

He crosses the room in three large strides, pinning you against the door. His hands on either side of your head, caging you in. Joel cranes his neck down, his face inches away from yours. He can smell your perfume this close, it’s different than what you wore at the bar—something soft and girly and sweet that has his cock straining in his boxer.

“You’re real fuckin' proud of yourself aren’t you?” he spits roughly, watching the way your pupils dilate, eyes going glossy under his intensity. “Does your old man know how much of a tramp his precious little baby girl is? That she’s got such a greedy fuckin' pussy she can’t help herself from rubbin' his buddy Joel’s cock under the table like a desperate slut.”

“Joel,” you whisper breathlessly, all the attitude draining from you at the drop of a hat the second he gets a little mean. Your eyes are stuck on his lips and, after a beat, you start leaning in, like you’ll die if you don’t kiss him.

Joel stops you with a hand fisted in your hair, keeping you still a few centimeters away from his lips. A pitiful whine falls from your slack mouth, wide eyes flicking back up to meet his with a pleading look.

“You want me to kiss you, princess?” he asks, mean and condescending. Your breath puffs over his lips, hot and needy as you nod your head as best you can. Joel laughs, dark and cool as he shakes his head slowly. “Whores like you don’t get kissed baby, they get fucked.”

It does something to you—Joel can see it in the way your lashes flutter, in the way your thighs press together, like you can feel his words between your legs. He watches the rise and fall of your chest quicken, the way your lips part as a little breathless sound escapes them, and he knows he’s got you right where he wants you.

Desperate. Squirming. Ready to let him ruin you.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, low and almost reverent, but the wicked curl of his lips betrays the softness in his tone. “Bet you’re already soaked, aren’t you?”

You nod, your chest rising up to press against his with every breath.

“Words,” he demands, voice sharp as a needle. Your thighs twitch at the sound of it.

“Yes,” you breathe shakily. “I’ve been wet since you got here.”

That has Joel groaning, jaw ticking as his cock twitches heavily in his boxers, pre-come oozing into the cotton.

He doesn’t waste another second. He drops your hair to grab your shoulders, pulling and pushing until you’re tumbling onto your old bed. You let out a sharp gasp as your back hits the mattress, the force of it bouncing you a few times.

Joel looms over you, watching you, finally letting himself get a good look at the picture you make. Splayed across dainty floral sheets, chest heaving, staring up at him with need written all over your pretty face. It practically pumps off of you in waves, he can almost taste it.

Without another word, Joel reaches for his belt, his heavy gaze never leaving yours. The metal of his buckle clinks loudly in the quiet of the room, underscored by the quick pants of your breath. It snaps with how hard he yanks it out of his belt loops, the leather cracking in the air menacingly.

"You wanted this," Joel mutters, popping the button on his jeans, dragging the zipper down with a sharp hiss. "You practically fuckin’ begged for it."

You make a desperate little sound at the sight of his cock finally being freed from the confines of his jeans—thick, heavy, and leaking when it slaps against his stomach. Your legs spread wider like an offering, like you need it in you now.

Joel huffs out a laugh, grabbing your ankle and yanking you down the bed, making you squeak in surprise. He climbs on the mattress, his body completely blanketing yours so you couldn’t move if you wanted to.

His hand drags down your body, over the swell of your breasts, over your ribs, the curve of your hip, until he’s gripping the hem of your dress. Joel slips his hand under the skirt, rough palms gliding up the soft skin of your thighs before gripping the meat of them hard enough to bruise.

The thought of you finding the marks tomorrow, pretty shades of purple and yellow branding your skin as a reminder of this moment, of what Joel did to you—it makes his stomach flip with a sick thrill.

It doesn’t take much for Joel to push the bunched fabric around your hips the rest of the way up, exposing the barely-there scrap of lace covering you.

He makes a sound low in his throat when he sees the little damp spot blooming along the powder blue fabric. “So fuckin’ needy,” he mutters, tracing his middle finger along the wet seam of your pussy, featherlight, teasing. “Can’t even sit through one damn dinner without beggin’ for my attention like a two-bit truck stop whore.”

You nod frantically, lips trembling, pupils blown wide as you blink up at him.

Joel tsks mockingly, raising his palm to give your clothed pussy a sharp slap that has you crying out. “Use your words, baby.”

“Yes,” you gasp. “Please, Joel.”

Your voice is so soft, so wrecked. And Joel feels himself get impossibly harder, his cock throbbing where it’s pressed against your stomach, blurting pre-come onto the delicate pink tulle of your dress. He can hardly wait any longer.

Joel hooks a finger into the leg of your panties, dragging them down hard enough that he hears a rip. He can’t find it in himself to care, he just pulls them far enough that they pool around your ankles uselessly.

He finally takes himself in his hand so he can drag his cock through the wet mess of your pussy, bumping it up against your hole but not giving you a damn inch. A devastating noise falls from your lips, slow and sweet as molasses, your hips buck up off the mattress, trying to take him in. He presses one heavy hand down on your stomach, keeping you still.

“Ask me for it,” Joel whispers darkly, slapping the head over your glistening clit. “Beg for my cock.”

Your fingers curl into the sheets, frustration and desire burning in the inky black of your pupils. “Please, Joel. It’s all I can think about, can only think about you,” you ramble senseslessly, voice breathless. “About you fucking me. About your cock stretching me open. Please fuck me, please, want it so bad.”

Fuck, he loves hearing you beg.

Joel grips your hips, holding you steady as he presses inside, slow at first, just enough to make you gasp, enough to let you feel how thick he is stretching you open. He curses, head falling forward as he watches himself disappear inside you inch by inch.

Your hands scramble along the length of his back, nails scratching uselessly as you try to adjust to the sudden fullness. Joel knows he’s too big, the stretch too much all at once without prep. He knows it. He just doesn’t give a damn.

“I know, it’s a big stretch ain’t it?” Joel coos, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles over the skin of your hips. “You can still take it, darlin’. It’s what you wanted, wanted me to lose my goddamn mind and ruin this sweet little pussy.”

You nod desperately, a loud cry bursting from your chest as he pulls you back until his hips are flush with your ass. Your velvety heat feels scalding around him, snug and perfect, like it was made for him—made for his cock.

“Fuck, baby,” he stays there for a beat, buried to the hilt—forcing you really feel the full, aching stretch before he starts to move. He drags his cock out to the tip, almost all the way, before slamming forward again, knocking the breath from your lungs. “That’s it—take it all, just like that.”

Joel sets a brutal pace, fucking you so deep he swears he must be in your goddamn guts. His grip is merciless, his fingers digging into your hips as he uses them to pull you back against him, meeting every punishing thrust. The dirty sound of skin on skin fills the room, mixing with the slick squelch of your pussy as it tries to suck him back in each time he pulls out, the pretty soft gasps and moans you’re struggling to keep quiet the cherry on top of it all.

It’s so loud, a symphony of lewd sounds bouncing off the walls enough that Joel would be worried that someone might overhear if your house wasn’t such a maze.

Joel watches you writhe beneath him, your back arching, hands grasping at his shoulders, his arms, his hair, desperate for something to hold onto as he fucks into you with ruthless precision. Every thrust sends a shockwave through your body, makes your breath hitch, your legs trembling where they’re locked tight around his waist.

“Poor thing,” he mutters, voice a low rasp in your ear. “Too dumb to talk now, huh? Just layin’ here, takin’ it like a good little whore.”

Your eyes roll back in your head when he tilts his hips, the new angle forcing his cock to rub up against your sweet spot with every thrust. “Joel–”

Joel leans over you, breath hot against your ear as he mutters, “This what you needed, baby? Needed Daddy’s friend to hike your pretty dress up and fuck you good and hard like this?” He speeds his hips up fast enough to get the bed shaking on its frame. “Actin’ like a spoiled little brat all night just so I’d drag you up here and teach you some fuckin’ manners?” 

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck—” Your words slur together, breathy and high-pitched, your fingers twisting in his hair as he keeps up that relentless pace.

Joel reaches up to snatch your jaw in a tight grip, the rhythm of his hips never faltering. “Open your mouth,” he growls, fingers digging into the meat of your cheeks meanly. When you don’t, too fucked out of your mind to listen, he shakes your head back and forth like a bad dog. “Open it.”

The command breaks through the pleasure filled haze clouding your mind, and your mouth falls open obediently. Your slick lips parting enough for Joel to see the enticing pink of your tongue. A groan claws its way out from deep in his chest, and he leans down close to spit into your mouth.

Your moan is a high, choked whine as your eyes flutter shut, your pussy squeezing around his cock impossibly tighter. 

“Don’t you dare fuckin’ swallow,” he says, fucking into your clenching heat harder. “Hold it right there.”

You open your eyes to stare up at him like he’s some kind of God, your lashes clumped together and glossy with unshed tears—gaze glazed over with a kind of bliss that makes something dark and satisfied wriggle to life in his chest.

“Good girl,” he mutters, barely above a whisper, but the words hit you like a sack of bricks. Your walls squeeze around him, and he groans low in his chest. His hands grip your thighs, spreading you even wider so he can watch the way his cock disappears into your puffy pussy, shining with your slick every time he pulls out. “Look at that. Fuckin’ made to take cock, aren’t you?”

You moan around closed lips, nails digging little crescent moons into his shoulders so hard that he can feel his shirt ripping under the force of it. Joel can tell you’re getting close, your whole body trembling violently as the coil of your orgasm winds tighter and tighter.

“Go ahead and swallow for me, baby girl.” Joel needs to hear you, needs to hear you say his name when you come on his cock. “Wanna hear that pretty voice.”

The sound of you swallowing is music to Joel’s ears, his hips stuttering as he watches your throat work.

“Please,” you gasp, fat crocodile tears rolling down your cheeks. “Need to come, need you to make me—”

“Yes,” he hisses, his thrusts turning sloppy for a beat before he regains his rhythm. “You gonna come for me, baby? Gonna soak my cock nice and good?”

His words push you right over the edge. Your entire body tenses, pleasure rolling through you in a white-hot wave as your climax crashes over you, stealing your breath. You sob Joel’s name, thighs shaking uncontrollably, body shuddering beneath him as you clench down so fucking tight he can barely move.

Joel groans, his jaw going slack as he watches you fall apart, losing himself in the feel of your pussy milking his cock. He grits his teeth, hips snapping erratically as he chases his own release. 

“Fuck—gonna fill you up, baby,” he groans, voice wrecked. “Gonna fuck you full of me, make you mine.”

With one last thrust, Joel spills inside of you. He buries himself as deep as he can go, warmth flooding your core as spurt after spurt of come paints your insides, thick and hot. His body shakes with the force of it, a deep, guttural moan falling from his lips as he rides out his orgasm.

Joel just stays there, panting, his forehead resting against yours.

For a moment, both of you are too overwhelmed to move. You just lay on the mattress tangled together in the aftermath, breaths mingling, bodies slick with sweat. Joel smooths his hands up your sides, grounding himself as you both come down from the highs of ecstasy.

When you finally stop shaking, Joel pulls back just enough to look at you, to take in the wrecked, spent look on your face. He brushes his knuckles over your sweaty cheek, softer than before. “Still think I didn’t bring you a present?”

You let out an amused huff, pushing your hands up under the back of his shirt so you can trace the column of his spine with gentle fingers. “Trust me, it’s the only present I’m getting that’ll be worth a damn. Money can’t buy this, Miller.”

Joel chuckles, low and smooth as warmth blooms in his chest. He presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder. “You earned it, baby.”

mini nat's note: thank you so much for reading! mwah.

[gallusrostromegalus]

I was raised agnostic and tend to remain ambiguous on theological matters.

-but my house has a porch on the second story that affords me a terrific view of my neighborhood and the Colorado Front Range and I was partaking of some peace before the 4th Of July Finger-Loss Festivities begin, and I have had a

~*Spiritual Experience*~

I just watched my neighbor try to unload an actual wooden pallet that had to have been forklifted into the back of his insecurity pickup worth of fireworks.

Except that he does not have a forklift in his garage.

He does have so much sports memorabilia and cardboard boxes of unsold MLM Merchandise and patriotically themed camping gear and posters of women in bikinis and flags of suspect political organizations in his garage that there is only BARELY enough space for the fireworks and certainly none for his truck.

So he had to unload the individual boxes of recreational explosives from the back of his truck and stack them in the minimal space he had cleared by hand. This is a tedious and time-consuming process as this neighbor has purchased a wide variety of recreational and locally illegal explosives instead of many of just a few types, so the individual boxes are rather small.

He begins, and this is crucial to what happens next, by cutting apart the industrial-grade saran wrap his explosives dealer had so carefully wrapped his merchandise in, and discarded it unsecured on his lawn.

Where Outdoor Conditions sometimes happen.

His process for unloading the fireworks is to 1. Climb up through the gate into the bed of his pickup truck (a feat made unusually difficult due to the slope of his driveway, and this man's fascinating decision to wear the world's Siffest and least Flexible Denim Overalls. 2. Once in the pickup bed, he selects ONE (1) box from the pile He is apparently from a niche religious institution that doesn't believe in stacking things. 3. Carries it awkwardly around the palette that barely fits in the truck bed 4. His wife yells "Be careful!" when he nearly falls out of the pickup. 5. He Yells "SHADDUP!" back at her. 6. The Large German Shepherd barks from inside the house. 7. He yells "SHADDUP!" back at her too. 8. He sets the (1) box down on the gate 9. Slowly and awkwardly climbs out of the pickup bed 10. picks the box back up, and carries it into the garage.

Question: Aren't you going to help this poor man? Answer: Absolutely Not.

There's four military veterans, MANY dogs, and several people with dementia in this neighborhood, all of whom are terrified by this chicanery every year and many neighbors have repeatedly asked him to maybe do the fireworks somewhere else. (This is the Eighth Year Running he's held a major demolition event in his driveway, and for those of you who can do math, you may be able to guess the precipitating incident to this little ritual) Additionally, I live in Colorado, a state marginally less prone to spontaneous and catastrophic conflagrations than a rotting grain silo, but only marginally. Our recreational explosives laws are written accordingly.

I am in fact calling the Non Emergency line to report Fireworks violations, and reading off the brand labels to someone named Dorothy, who is gleefully totaling up a SPECTACULAR fine for my oblivious neighbor.

However, while I'm on the phone with Dorothy, I notice the wind begin to pick up. and by "Notice" I mean "The Industrial Saran Wrap he left on his Lawn earlier is suddenly swept up about 100 feet into the air by an updraft intense enough to make my ears pop" And by "Pick Up" I mean "I look up to see the sky has turned a fun and exciting shade of glass green, and the bottoms of the clouds are bumpy and rounded, and the overall effect is not unlike looking up through the bottom of the cup at God's Matcha Boba Tea."

For those of you who do not live in places with Inclement Weather, these conditions mean "You have about 30 seconds before a Major Meteorological Event Occurs."

I move under the eaves. "Hang on Dorothy." I say, nose filling with Petrichor. "The show is about to be cancelled." "Oh, that doesn't matter!" Dorothy cheerfully informs me. "It's illegal for him just to possess those, no matter if he actually gets to set them off or not." "Terrific, because he's gotten maybe five boxes out of a hundred inside."

Sometimes, the weather gods are Merciful and give you a verbal warning, typically in the kind of thunderclap that makes your ears ring.

The Gods were not merciful today.

It's not often that I am in the time, place, correct angle or in a properly observational frame of mind to see this, But I got to see it today. Huh. I thought. I've never seen a cloud just DIVE for the ground before. Oh. I realized as it got closer. That's RAIN.

Sometimes, a thunderstorm will form in such a way that the rain that would normally be distributed over an area of say, five to tent square miles, is instead concentrated into an area of say, my neighborhood exactly.

So today, I was granted the rare privilege of being able to actually see the literal wall of water descend from On High and DIRECTLY onto my porch, my street, and my neighbor's truck, and his pile of unwrapped fireworks.

The sheer impact force of the downpour immediately scatters the teetering pile of fireworks boxes in the back of the truck, like the wrath of God striking down the tower of Babel. Boxes tumble, then are washed out of the bed of the truck by the deluge. Smaller Boxes are carried down the road in a little line by the stream forming in the gutter, like little impotent explosive ducklings.

My neighbor was definitely yelling something, but I could not hear what over the DEAFENING noise several million gallons of water makes upon high-speed contact with the earth's surface, but there was a lot of arm-waving and faces turning red as he went looking for the saran wrap that had probably blown to Nebraska by now, while his wife started disassembling the complex three-dimensional puzzle of interlocking material goods in search of a tarp. They do not have a tarp. They have one of those wretched Thin Blue Line flags though, and my neighbor jogs out in a futile effort to cover what's left in the truck.

Which is when the hail begins.

"HELLO?" Yelled Dorothy. "HI!" I shouted. "WE'RE HAVING SOME WEATHER!" "OH GOOD!" she shouts back. "WE NEED THE MOISTURE!"

I watch for a minute longer, but the loss was immediate and catastrophic- the hail is the size of marbles and dense and cares not for your pitiful cardboard and cellophane, ripping the boxes asunder and punching holes in the few things covered in plastic. The colors on the Thin Blue Line Flag are seeping all over the remains of that it was supposed to protect in a particularly apt visual metaphor. Not even the few boxes that made it into the garage are spared, as the German Shepherd escapes from indoors, and in an attempt to assist her humans, jumps directly into the small stack of not-yet-ruined boxes, scattering them into the driveway and deluge. She even picks one up so her humans will chase her around the yard, before dropping it in the gutter to be swept away.

So. I was raised Agnostic -but even I can recognize when God slaps someone upside the head and shouts "NO!" at them.

---

(If you laughed, please consider supporting my Ko-fi or preordering my book of Strange Stories on Patreon)

[pixiexdusts-world]

Meet the Heffley’s

Rodrick Heffley x reader

Summary: Rodrick’s girlfriend meets his chaotic family, and Manny tries to steal her. She loves it anyway.

Word count: 1010

Notes: this is very random but I love Rodrick so I needed to write something

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Title: Meet the Heffleys

Meeting your boyfriend’s family is supposed to be a big deal, right? Like, one of those moments where you dress nice, bring flowers or something, and sit down for an awkwardly polite dinner while his parents judge you.

Yeah. That’s not how things work with Rodrick Heffley.

When he invited me over for dinner, it was more like, “Hey, my mom said you should come over and eat with us or whatever.” Super romantic. But I agreed because, well… I wanted to meet them. Rodrick talks about his family all the time, mostly to complain, but still. I was curious.

So, here I am, standing on the Heffleys’ front porch, wondering if I should have brought something. Probably not. This doesn’t seem like the kind of house where formal dinner etiquette exists.

Before I can knock, the door swings open, and there he is.

Rodrick smirks, leaning against the doorframe like he’s so cool. “Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to show up.”

I roll my eyes, stepping closer. “I’m on time.”

“Yeah, well, you were supposed to be, like, ten minutes late so I could say something sarcastic about it.”

I laugh and kiss his cheek, just to make him flustered. It works. His smirk falters for half a second before he clears his throat and steps aside. “Alright, come in before my mom starts thinking I made you up.”

The inside of the house is exactly what I expected. A little messy, with random shoes lying around, a stack of newspapers no one’s bothered to throw away, and a distinct family chaos vibe. The smell of dinner cooking comes from the kitchen, something warm and homey.

And then I hear it.

“Rodrick! She’s here?!”

Before I can react, a woman appears—short, blonde, and way too excited. I barely have time to brace myself before she pulls me into a hug. “It’s so nice to finally meet you! I’m Susan, Rodrick’s mom. Oh, you’re even prettier than I imagined!”

“Uh, thanks,” I manage, shooting a look at Rodrick, who just shrugs like, Yeah, this is happening.

His mom pulls back, holding me at arm’s length. “Rodrick never tells us anything about his personal life. You should’ve seen my face when he said he had a girlfriend. I almost dropped my coffee!”

Rodrick groans. “Mom.”

“What?” She waves him off. “I’m just happy to meet her. Oh, come in, come in! We’re just about to set the table.”

I follow her into the dining room, where a younger boy sits at the table, flipping through a comic book. He glances up, eyes narrowing slightly.

“You’re Rodrick’s girlfriend?”

“Greg,” Susan scolds. “Be nice.”

“What? I’m just saying.” Greg shrugs, then looks at me. “You do know he’s, like, the worst, right?”

“Hey, shut up, loser,” Rodrick snaps, dropping into a chair.

I grin. “Oh, I know.”

Greg blinks, clearly not expecting that. Then he mutters, “Huh. Okay.”

That’s when I feel a tiny hand grab mine.

I glance down to see a little kid—Manny, I recognize him from Rodrick’s rare stories about him—staring up at me with big eyes.

“I have a girlfriend too,” he announces proudly.

Susan gasps. “Manny! Since when?”

“Since yesterday,” he says, like it’s obvious. Then he looks back up at me and asks, completely serious, “Do you like dinosaurs?”

I nod. “Who doesn’t like dinosaurs?”

Manny grins, clearly satisfied with my answer. “Okay. You’re my second girlfriend now.”

Rodrick groans. “Oh my God.”

Greg snickers. “Dude, you already have competition.”

Manny tugs at my sleeve again. “Rodrick is gross. Do you wanna be just my girlfriend instead?”

Rodrick drops his fork. “Are you kidding me? Mom, tell him he can’t steal my girlfriend!”

Susan barely holds back a laugh. “Manny, sweetie, she’s Rodrick’s girlfriend.”

Manny huffs. “Fine.”

This is amazing.

Dinner is… interesting. The food is good—spaghetti and garlic bread—but the conversation is pure chaos. Susan keeps asking me questions about school, my family, my plans for the future (Rodrick groans at that one). Greg watches me like he’s trying to figure out why I’d willingly date his brother. And Manny? He spends the whole meal making dramatic faces at Rodrick and occasionally whispering, “Rodrick is a doo-doo head.”

Rodrick spends most of the meal making sarcastic comments and kicking me under the table whenever his mom gets too nosy.

At one point, their dad, Frank, comes in late, looking exhausted. He gives me a polite nod, sits down, and immediately starts ranting about something Rodrick did last week. Rodrick barely reacts, just shoveling food into his mouth while his mom scolds him and Greg smirks like he enjoys watching his brother get in trouble.

It’s loud. It’s messy. It’s so different from my own family’s quiet dinners.

And I kind of love it.

After we eat, Rodrick grabs my hand and tugs me toward the stairs. “Alright, we’re done here. Bye.”

“Rodrick, wait—” Susan starts, but he’s already leading me to his room.

The second he shuts the door, he groans. “I told you my family was annoying.”

I flop onto his bed, laughing. “I like them.”

He gives me a look. “You like them?”

“Yeah. Your mom is sweet, Greg is funny, and Manny… well, he’s trying to steal me, but other than that, he’s adorable.”

Rodrick snorts. “I knew that kid was trouble.”

I smile and lean in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Not worried, are you?”

He grumbles something under his breath, but I can tell he’s relieved. And maybe even a little happy.

Yeah. I think I’m gonna like being around the Heffleys.

[moonriizing]

Goodbye Summer | l.anton (18+)

Crazy what two years can do to a person. What do you mean the cutie pie, adorable ball of sunshine Chanyoung Lee, has turned into this tall, grumpy, and unfairly hot specimen who calls himself Anton?

Genre: childhood friends to lovers Pairing: Lee Chanyoung|Anton x afab!Reader Warnings: mature themes, explicit sexual content (18+) Notes: 19k words. Listening to Goodbye Summer by F(X) ft. D.O. Posted a little late because I got carried away, lol. Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know them personally, nor do I claim they would ever behave in real life like they were portrayed in this story. ALSO, if you see a similar story from a different blog for a different idol, that is me. xoxo, cal.

You rolled the car windows down, letting the salty air fill the car as you hummed along to the music playing through the speakers. It had been two years since you last made this drive, but every curve of the road was ingrained in your memory. You remembered how you used to count the palm trees as a kid, making up silly games to pass the time while your mom laughed at your endless energy. Back then, the beach house felt like the one constant in your summers, a place where time moved slower and the world outside didn’t matter.

Two years away felt like an eternity, but now, as the Lee family’s beach house came into view, it was like no time had passed at all.

Your mom stirred in the passenger seat, stretching as the car slowed down. “Did you sleep well?” you asked.

“I would’ve, if you hadn’t been singing off-key the entire time,” she replied, rolling her eyes playfully.

You gasped in mock offense. “Off-key? Excuse me, but that was a performance, mom. You’re just not cultured enough to appreciate my artistry.”

“Artistry, huh?” She laughed, shaking her head. “Is that what we're calling it now?”

You parked the car in front of the house, taking a moment to soak it in. The Lee family’s beach house looked exactly as it always had—whitewashed walls with a wide porch and tall windows that reflected the warm glow of the setting sun. For a second, it felt like you were stepping back in time, like the past two years hadn’t happened at all.

Aunt Hyejin was the first to greet you at the door, her arms wrapping tightly around you as she exclaimed, “Look at you! You’ve grown so much! You’ve gotten prettier too.”

You laughed, leaning into her embrace. “I could say the same about you, Auntie. You are glowing! What’s your secret?”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” she teased, brushing your hair back to study your face. She squeezed your cheeks lightly before kissing your forehead. “Come in, come in! Junyoung is dying to show off how tall he’s gotten.”

Junyoung was quick to make good on his mom’s words, bounding down the stairs with a grin. He too greeted you with a hug, crouching down to your smaller frame.

“Told you I’d be taller than you one day!” he declared, puffing out his chest.

“And I told you I’d deny it when it happened,” you shot back, ruffling his hair and gasping because you had to tiptoe to reach the top of his head. “Wow. You really did grow up.”

The house itself was almost exactly as you remembered it. The same yellow curtains fluttered in the breeze, and the faint smell of ocean air and Aunt Hyejin’s cooking permeated the halls. It was comforting, familiar.

But there was one thing—or rather, one person—who didn’t match your memories.

He was sitting on the sofa when you walked into the living room, one leg crossed over the other, a phone in hand, and not the slightest hint of acknowledgement on his face. His hair was darker, longer, falling into his eyes in a way that seemed deliberate. His clothes—a loose linen shirt and tailored shorts—looked like they belonged to someone who spent their summers at yacht clubs, not building sandcastles on the beach.

“Chanyoung, greet them properly!” Aunt Hyejin chided with both affection and exasperation in her tone.

The man on the sofa finally looked up, his eyes meeting yours. For a moment, you froze, searching for something familiar in the sharp line of his jaw and the effortless confidence in his posture.

“Welcome back,” he said, his voice lower than you remembered, more measured.

You blinked, trying to reconcile the image in front of you with the boy you used to know. Before you could say anything, your mom appeared beside you, greeting Chanyoung with a hug. He rose to his feet, smiling genuinely as he let your mom embrace him.

“You’ve grown so much!”

While they were catching up, Junyoung approached you quietly, whispering in your ear. “I know what you’re thinking.”

You glanced sideways at him. “I’m sure you do,” you scoffed. “When did this happen?”

Junyoung shrugged. “Dunno. He went to college and came back like this. He’s called Anton now by the way.”

“Anton? He hates that name.”

“Right?” he agreed, chuckling. “Dude gained some muscles and turned into this emo cool kid.”

The rest of the day passed without a single meaningful interaction with Anton. Not for lack of trying on your part—you simply didn’t get the chance.

It was subtle, his avoidance. The kind of thing no one else would pick up on. Your mom, Aunt Hyejin, and Junyoung didn’t seem to notice anything, too caught up in catching up. But you? You noticed. Every time you entered a room, Anton was suddenly walking out. If you so much as glanced his way, he was already looking elsewhere, pretending to be engrossed in his phone or staring at some invisible point in the distance.

And then at lunch, he didn’t even sit down to eat with everyone. “I’m going out. Back before dinner.” he said nonchalantly, already halfway out the door.

“Probably off to the clubhouse to meet his friends,” Aunt Hyejin explained with a shrug, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You nodded along politely, but inside, you were itching with curiosity. What friends? Since when did Chanyoung—no, Anton—have a social life so demanding that he couldn’t sit down for a meal?

Eventually, the guessing—and the long drive—caught up with you. You slumped into your room, the familiar comfort of the bed almost tricking you into thinking nothing had changed in this place. But the moment your head hit the pillow, your eyes grew heavy, and the next thing you knew was waking up to the faint glow of moonlight and a dim bedroom.

You groaned, blinking at your phone. Dinnertime.

Throwing on a sweatshirt, you stepped into the hallway, still half-asleep and thinking only of food. You turned the corner—and walked straight into a wall.

Or, well, what felt like a wall.

“Ow,” you muttered, stumbling back and clutching your nose. You looked up to find Anton standing there, looking as unfazed as he had been since you got here.

“Oh, it’s you,” you said before you could stop yourself.

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t say a word. Without thinking, you blurted, “What did you do to your hair?”

Anton didn’t respond right away. Instead, he tilted his head, like he was deciding whether to entertain your question. Then, he reached out and rested his hand on top of your head.

“What are you—”

Before you could finish, he brought his hand down to his chest, his eyes flicking between the two points as if measuring your height.

You scowled. “Hah! Wow. I see you got a few inches taller. Congratulations,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

Anton’s lips twitched, just barely, but he didn’t say anything.

“Ugh, whatever,” you huffed, spinning on your heel and stomping down the hallway toward the dining room.

Behind you, you didn’t see the way his lips curved into a small, teasing smile.

By the time you reached the dining room, the table was already set, laden with dishes that made your stomach growl on the spot. 

The dining table was a sight to behold, as always. Aunt Hyejin had gone all out—steamed crab, grilled shrimp, roasted vegetables, and enough side dishes to feed a small army. The familiar spread made you smile; some things never changed.

The family had already gathered when you arrived, and everyone greeted you with warm smiles. “Sweetie, can you go get Anton?” Aunt Hyejin asked, beaming at you as she placed bowls of rice on the table.

You turned your head just in time to see him walk in, his hair still damp from what must’ve been a shower. He wore a plain white t-shirt, its loose fit and sleeves doing nothing to hide his defined shoulders. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’d walked out of a magazine ad.

Anton glanced around the table before taking the empty seat next to his mom. “Where’s Dad?” he asked simply, reaching for the pitcher of water.

“His trip is getting extended for a few more days,” Aunt Hyejin explained, placing a rice bowl in front of Anton. “He’ll be back next Saturday.”

You made a point of sitting as far from Anton as possible. Not that you were being petty or anything. Okay, maybe you were a little petty.

“Dig in, everyone!” Aunt Hyejin said cheerfully as she sat down.

You didn’t need to be told twice. The meal was as delicious as you remembered, and for a while, the conversation was light—updates on Junyoung’s basketball team, your mom recounting a funny story from work, Aunt Hyejin asking about your classes.

Then, inevitably, the focus shifted to Anton.

“So, Anton,” your mom began, her tone warm and curious. “What have you been up to lately? Your mom tells me you’ve been very busy.”

Anton looked up from his plate, his expression polite but detached. “Just the usual,” he said. “School, work, hanging out with friends.”

“Oh, right! You’re working at that startup now, aren’t you?” Aunt Hyejin chimed in proudly. “He’s been so dedicated, working part-time while keeping his grades up.”

You tried to hide your surprise. The Chanyoung you remembered hated being busy. He used to complain about school work piling up, always looking for an excuse to go to the beach instead.

“Wow,” you said, before you could stop yourself. “Who knew Chanyoung Lee would turn into such a responsible adult?”

Anton’s eyes flicked to you, and for a moment, you thought he might actually smile. Instead, he just shrugged. “People change.”

The casual way he said it annoyed you more than it should have. “Clearly,” you muttered, stabbing a piece of shrimp with your fork.

If anyone noticed the tension, they didn’t comment on it. The conversation moved on, but you couldn’t help sneaking glances at Anton throughout the meal. He barely spoke, answering questions with short, polite responses and deflecting anything too personal. It was so unlike the boy who used to dominate every dinner table conversation with ridiculous stories and bad jokes.

At one point, Junyoung leaned over to whisper, “You’re staring.”

“I am not,” you whispered back, cheeks heating.

“You are,” he insisted with a grin. “What’s your deal?”

You glared at him. “What’s his deal? He’s acting so weird.”

“If you ask me, I think you’re the one acting weird,” he whispered back.

You were about to retort when Aunt Hyejin’s voice prompted the attention of the table. “So, Anton, are you spending time at the clubhouse tomorrow too?” she asked.

“Yeah. A few friends are back in town, so I’ll be there a lot,” he replied, his tone casual.

“Oh, the clubhouse,” you deadpanned, unable to resist. “Sounds very exclusive.”

Anton’s eyes flicked to yours, something unreadable passing through his gaze. “It’s just a place to hang out,” he said evenly.

“Hm. Fancy.” You stabbed at your food with a bit more force than necessary.

Junyoung snickered beside you, “She’s jealous.”

You elbowed him hard, making him yelp. Across the table, Anton’s lips twitched, but he didn’t say anything.

When dinner was over and the plates were being cleared, Anton finally turned to you, his tone deceptively casual. “You’ve got some rice on your face.”

“What?” You froze, quickly swiping at your cheek.

“No, other side.”

You wiped again, glaring at him when his expression didn’t change. “Is it gone?”

He shrugged, standing up and grabbing his plate. “Sure,” he said, walking off, and you could’ve sworn you heard him chuckle under his breath.

Beside you, Junyoung was laughing so hard he nearly fell out of his chair.

The morning light filtered through the open window, and the cool breeze made the thin curtains sway gently. You stretched lazily, the familiar sound of waves crashing against the shore reminding you that you were in the Lee family’s beach house, finally back after two years. 

You got up and brushed your teeth, observing your face in the mirror for any changes. As you stepped out of your room, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and waffles made your tummy growl. You could hear your mom and Aunt Hyejin talking.

And by the time you made it to the kitchen, they were already preparing to leave. “Morning. You guys heading out?” you asked, helping yourself to the coffee machine.

“Good morning, honey!” Your mom turned to you with a smile. “We’ll be downtown all day to see the market and buy some things for the house.”

“What are your plans for today, sweetie?” Aunt Hyejin asked.

“I think I’ll go for a swim,” you replied, setting your mug down the table.

“That’s nice,” Aunt Hyejin beamed, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “I was thinking of asking Anton to show you around or take you to the clubhouse, but he went out for a jog early this morning.”

“Thanks, Auntie, but it’s okay,” you replied quickly, almost too quickly. “I don’t really feel like going anyway.”

Your mom raised an eyebrow at your tone, but she didn’t comment. Instead, she kissed your forehead before grabbing her purse. “Alright, have breakfast before you go out, and don’t forget your sunscreen!”

“Also, sweetheart,” Aunt Hyejin prompted, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Could you tell Anton when he gets back that I left a note for him? It’s on the fridge and tell him he needs to do it as soon as he’s back from his run.”

“Okay, Auntie. I’ll let him know.”

You walked them to the door, waving them off as they left, then headed upstairs to change. A swim sounded like the perfect way to spend your first real morning back—just you, the ocean, and some much-needed time to clear your head. Usually, Anton would wake you up early on your first day back and drag you to the beach for a swim, but you weren’t counting on it today.

When you made your way down to the beach, you weren’t expecting to find Junyoung and his friends there.

“Oh, it’s the old lady!” Junyoung called out to you as soon as he saw you, a cheeky grin plastered across his face.

“I’m not old, you brat,” you shot back, squinting at him. He’d gathered quite the group, and a few familiar faces smiled at you from where they sat on beach towels.

“Wow, you’re really here,” one of the girls, Hana, said with a laugh as she stood up to hug you. “It’s been ages!”

“It’s only been two years,” you chuckled, hugging her back. “But I can see that you’ve all grown up so much,” you added, marveling at how much they’d changed in two years. The boys were taller, the girls more polished, and there was an air of confidence about them that made you miss being a teenager a little.

“You sound like my grandma,” Hana teased, shaking her head.

“Don’t encourage her,” Junyoung interjected, smirking. “She’s ancient.”

You rolled your eyes, flicking sand at him playfully. “Whatever, I’m going for a swim. Enjoy roasting me while I’m gone.”

Junyoung laughed, holding up a hand as if in surrender. “Don’t drown, grandma!”

You flipped him off as you walked toward the water, grinning.

The water was cool and refreshing, lapping against your skin as you waded in deeper. From the corner of your eye, you noticed the beach slowly coming to life. Families were setting up umbrellas, kids were building sandcastles, and a couple was walking hand in hand along the shore. It was a scene you’d witnessed countless times over the years, but it never failed to make you smile.

Your thoughts drifted to the summers you’d spent here as a kid. Each year brought new faces—tourists you’d befriended for a few fleeting weeks, locals who became your seasonal playmates. You’d always been quick to mke friends and form bonds, though many of them faded as quickly as they’d formed.

And, of course, there were the crushes. The endless parade of cute boys who caught your eye. Some of them, you tried to shoot your shot. Most of them, you’d never had the courage to talk to. As usual, those feeling faded when the summer was over.

Well, except for one. Sungchan.

He’d been your longest-running crush, a boy from the neighborhood who was a few years older. Every summer, you’d spot him on the beach or at the local shops, always surrounded by friends, always smiling. You never got beyond the occasional shy wave or stolen glance, but that didn’t stop you from swooning over him every chance you got.

You smiled to yourself, wondering what he was up to these days. Was he still living here? Still as effortlessly cool as you remembered?

Your gaze drifted toward the lifeguard tower, the only unfamiliar fixture along the beachline. It wasn’t there last time you were here, but that wasn’t the reason you couldn’t keep your gaze away. Sitting there, casually surveying the beach, was none other than Sungchan. And he looked even better than you remembered.

His features had sharpened with age, his shoulders broader, his smile just as dazzling. He wore a red lifeguard tank top and sunglasses, looking relaxed and confident as he chatted with another lifeguard.

“Of course,” you muttered under your breath, treading water as you stared. “He’s still ridiculously handsome. Great.”

You shook your head, forcing yourself to look away. You weren’t that starstruck kid anymore, and you weren’t about to start crushing on him all over again.

Soon, the water started to lose its allure when the morning sun climbed higher and the heat started to prick your shoulder. With a content sigh, you decided to head back toward the shore. You ran your fingers through your wet hair, mentally noting how good the ocean always felt no matter how many summers you spent here.

But just as your feet hit the shallows, a sudden shout caught your attention.

“HEADS UP!”

Before you could react, something smacked into your forehead with a dull thunk. The world turned slightly as you stumbled backward, landing awkwardly in the sand.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” A boy hurried over, looking horrified as he grabbed the Frisbee floating on the water.

“It’s alright,” you muttered, waving him off as you pushed yourself up.

“Hey, are you okay?” another voice called out—calm, authoritative. You turned your head, and there he was, Sungchan, jogging toward you.

The boy with the Frisbee immediately began apologizing again, but Sungchan dismissed him with a quick, “It’s alright, just be more careful next time.” His focus shifted to you. “Are you hurt?”

You shook your head, trying to brush sand off your legs. “No. I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh,” Sungchan cut you off, gesturing at your forehead. “You’re bleeding.”

“What?” You blinked, reaching up to touch your temple. Sure enough, there was a faint smear of blood when you looked at your fingers.

“Just a small cut,” he said, helping you up. “Come on, let’s clean that up.”

You barely had time to protest before Sungchan was already leading you toward the lifeguard tower. You waited by the steps as he grabbed a first aid kit with urgency.

“Sit,” he said as he stepped down. You sat and watched Sungchan do his thing. “This’ll sting a little,” he warned, dabbing at your cut with an antiseptic wipe.

“It’s fine,” you mumbled, feeling the heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck. The proximity was overwhelming—he smelled like sunscreen and saltwater, his face far too close for comfort.

As he finished cleaning the cut, Sungchan grabbed a band-aid and carefully placed it over the small wound. His hand lingered for a second longer than necessary, his brow furrowing slightly.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” he asked suddenly.

Of course, he didn’t remember you. “I guess,” you said, offering a small, nervous smile as you told him your name. “From a couple summers ago.”

Sungchan’s hands paused for a second, recognition lighting up his face. “Ah! Yes. I remember you now.” He let out a small laugh, shaking his head. “Wow. You’ve… changed.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you quipped, trying to ignore the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “You’ve changed quite a bit too.”

He smiled and pointed at yout cut. “You’re lucky it was just a small scratch,” he said, eyes lingering on you. “Or else I might have had to go full lifeguard mode and perform some CPR.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning back on the lifeguard tower. “I’m pretty sure I’d survive without the dramatic rescue.”

Sungchan chuckled, his voice dropping just low enough for you to hear. “You sure? Because I don’t mind saving you each time you need me to.”

A small laugh escaped you, feeling more at ease now. “Why, thank you. But I think I can handle myself.”

“Oh I don’t doubt it,” he said, his tone shifting to something a little more teasing. “But I really wouldn’t mind seeing more of you.”

You raised an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth twitching into a smirk. “Is that so? Are you flirting with me, Sungchan?”

He shrugged, pretending to look innocent. “Would it be so bad if I was?” he asked back, gaze flicking at your lips for a split-second.

Before you could respond, you caught movement from the corner of your eye. When you glanced sideways, it was Anton. He stood just a few feet away, his expression dark and unreadable. His eyes moved from you to Sungchan, his jaw tightening ever so slightly.

You waved at him. “Hey! You’re back!” you called out, remembering Aunt Hyejin’s instruction to remind him of a chore.

Anton didn’t respond, his eyes flicking over you briefly before he turned and jogged toward the house, his pace quick as if he had somewhere to be.

You frowned slightly, unable to dismiss the attitude. “I’ve gotta go,” you said, standing up quickly. “Thanks for this. And see you around, Sungchan.”

“Oh, you’re leaving?” Sungchan asked, his tone still light, but there was a spark of curiosity in his eyes. He stood up too. “Will I see you at the party tonight? 8pm at the clubhouse?”

You didn’t give it much thought as you glanced at Anton’s retreating figure. “Yeah! See you there!” You flashed a smile, already jogging after Anton.

“Anton, wait up!” you called, sprinting after him on the sand. Your feet sank with every step, making it harder to keep up. He didn’t even glance back, his strides deliberate and fast, like he was on a mission to get as far away from you as possible.

“Seriously? Are you even listening?” you shouted, frustration lacing your voice.

Still nothing. By the time you made it to the house, your chest was heaving, partly from running and partly from annoyance. Anton was already in the kitchen, chugging down a glass of water.

“Your mom left a note for you on the fridge,” you said, your tone sharper than you intended.

He didn’t say a word, just set the glass down, turned the fridge door, yanked the note and held it up for you to see without a word.

“What? It’s for you, not me,” you blurted, crossing your arms.

Anton simply folded the note in half, shoved it into his pocket, and walked away. You stood there, fuming, watching his retreating figure disappear around the corner. What was his problem?

Something was definitely wrong. Leaning against the counter, you tried to make sense of what just happened. Was it something you said? Something you did? You wracked your brain, sifting through every interaction you’d had with him, wondering if you somehow did something to offend or anger him in any way.

The last time you’d seen him was at your high school graduation two years ago. He’d been his usual self then—kind, supportive, making jokes to ease your nerves before the ceremony. If something had happened between then and now, it would have to be major for him to act like this after two whole years. But try as you might, you couldn’t think of anything.

And maybe that was true, this wasn’t about what you did. Maybe nothing had happened at all. Maybe this was just him now—more distant, more mature. The kind of guy who had outgrown childhood friendships.

Your chest tightened as the realization slowly crept in. Anton has changed. He doesn’t even look like the Anton you knew anymore. The messy bangs that used to fall into his eyes were gone, replaced by a clean, swept-back look that showed off his sharp jawline and cheekbones. Back then, he had that cute, boy-next-door thing going on, but now? Now he looked like he’d stepped out of some posh fashion campaign.

Even his eyes were different. They were the same shade, sure, but the warmth was missing. Instead, they felt sharper, like he wasn’t just looking at you but sizing you up, as if he didn’t quite know what to make of you anymore.

It was weird. And upsetting. Because no matter how much you tried to shake it off, it felt like the guy you used to know was gone. And you weren’t sure if you should feel proud of the man he’d become or mourn the boy you’d lost.

The tinkling sound of the door chime signaled someone’s arrival, jolting you out of your thoughts. Your mom popped her head in from the main door, flashing you a quick smile. “Hi, hun. Can you come down and help with the groceries? We’ve got bags of stuff to unload.”

“Yeah, sure,” you said, grateful for the excuse to stop spiraling. “I’ll go change first.” You pushed off the counter and headed for the stairs, trying to leave thoughts of Anton behind.

Chatter filled the kitchen as you unpacked groceries with your mom and Aunt Hyejin. They worked efficiently and synchronously, the kind of rhythm that only came from years of friendship.

“I’m telling you, we did not run into a celebrity at the market,” Aunt Hyejin said, waving a carton of eggs for emphasis.

“Then why did he look exactly like Gong Yoo?” your mom shot back, her tone smug.

“Because you see Gong Yoo in every man with nice hair and a sharp jawline,” Aunt Hyejin retorted, placing the eggs on the counter.

“What about that one time at the airport…”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head as they continued their playful bickering. And just as your mood started to lighten, Anton walked into the kitchen. Without a word, he handed an envelope to Aunt Hyejin. His mom looked at it briefly and set it aside, mid-sentence with your mom.

Anton turned to leave, but then paused. “I’m heading to the clubhouse,” he said, his tone flat.

Aunt Hyejin looked up with a casual smile on her face. “Why don’t you take her with you?” she asked, nodding toward you. “I’m sure she’s bored hanging out with us.”

Anton’s eyes flicked to yours, holding your gaze for a moment longer than necessary. His expression was unreadable, but something in his stare made you shift uncomfortably.

You waved it off quickly. “It’s fine, Auntie. I’ll go next time.”

Anton tilted his head, lips curving into a faint smirk. “She doesn’t need me to take her there anyway,” he said, his voice laced with a condescension that set your teeth on edge. “She’s already got someone’s invitation to tonight’s party.”

The insinuation hit its mark, and for a second, you stared at him, trying to process the shade he’d just thrown. He didn’t wait for a response, though. Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving you simmering in annoyance.

Your mom and Aunt Hyejin exchanged a look. “Did you two fight?” your mom asked, eyebrows raised in concern.

“I don’t know,” you muttered, slamming a box of cereal onto the counter. “He’s been grumpy since this morning. I don’t wanna deal with it. And seriously, what’s up with his hair?”

“I think it looks great on him,” your mom said, glancing at Aunt Hyejin. “He’s grown so much in just two years. I almost didn’t recognize him at first.”

Aunt Hyejin nodded, a fond smile softening her features. “Yeah. Junyoung kept saying he’s got a glow up. We’re a family of late bloomers, you see.”

Their conversation continued, shifting to reminiscing about childhood antics and growth spurts, but you weren’t paying attention anymore. Your hands moved automatically, storing away groceries, while your mind replayed Anton’s jab over and over. Annoyance bubbled to the surface, threatening to spill over.

By the time the last bag was unpacked, you were practically seething. If this was the new Anton, you weren’t sure how much of him you could take.

The clubhouse was already crowded when you arrived. It was the same lively scene you remembered from previous summers: groups of people chatting at small tables, others lounging by the bar, drinks and snacks being passed around, strobe lights, and noisy music.

“Hey, you made it!” Sungchan’s familiar voice rang out above the noise. He was by the pool table, his grin as easy as ever, as he waved you over.

You smiled and headed his way. “Barely,” you teased. “This place is packed.”

“Summer crowd,” he said with a shrug. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

Sungchan was effortlessly charming, bringing you into conversations with people you’d only vaguely remembered from previous summers—or didn’t know at all. He had a way of making things feel casual, light, and fun, and it wasn’t long before you were laughing with his friends.

Somewhere in between introductions, Sungchan leaned closer, his voice dropping conspiratorially.  “Did you come here with Anton?”

Your smile faltered. “No. Why?”

He tilted his head toward the bar. “Because he’s been looking this way every five seconds since you walked in.”

You followed his gaze, and there he was—Anton, leaning casually against the bar, a drink in hand. His relaxed posture contradicted the sharpness in his eyes as they flicked in your direction. He was talking to a group of people you recognized as the self-proclaimed elites of the clubhouse—the rich kids, the ones he’d always found insufferable.

You blinked, momentarily thrown off. Since when had Anton started hanging out with them? He used to avoid this place altogether, grumbling about the kids who were too rich, too smug, and too full of themselves. And yet, there he was, laughing along with them, fitting in like he’d belonged there all along. 

Before you could dwell on it, a voice called out your name. You spun around to see Yejin, one of the friends you’d spent countless summer days with.

“There you are!” she called, waving from a nearby table. “Took you long enough!”

Grateful for the distraction, you turned away from Anton and made your way to Yejin, Hana, and Sohee, who greeted you with the kind of warmth and comfort that came from being with people you’d known for years. You got swept up in a hearty conversation—reminiscing, teasing, catching up on the details of two summers you’d missed. They bombarded you with questions, half-complaints about your absence, and enough inside jokes to make you laugh until your cheeks hurt.

“But seriously,” Sohee said, narrowing her eyes at you. “Where were you?”

“Life just got crazy, okay?” you explained, putting your hands up in mock surrender.

“Crazy? You ditched us for two whole years!” Hana chimed in, raising an eyebrow. “That’s two summers.”

“I know. So instead of holding me hostage for being gone, how about filling me in on what I missed?” you shot back, laughing.

Yejin leaned closer, her voice dripping with mischief. “We’ll fill you in, all right. But first—what’s going on with you and Sungchan?”

You opened your mouth to deny it, but before you could, Sungchan appeared beside you, an innocent smile plastered across his face.

“Am I the topic of conversation?” he asked, his elbow nudging yours as he stood beside you. “I see, you’re catching up with your friends.”

Yejin narrowed her eyes at Sungchan, feigning suspicion. “Mr. Jung Sungchan, what’s the meaning of this?”

Sungchan glanced briefly at you. “Nothing. Your cute friend just happened to be generous enough to spare some of her precious time for me.”

Your friends exchanged glances and burst out laughing. Sohee was uncannily loud. “Generous enough? Surely you knew she was head over—”

You lunged at him, covering his mouth before he could finish talking. “This party is amazing, isn’t it?”

Sungchan just chuckled. “It is. Like I said, summer crowd.”

The chat continued, most of the attention directed at you because obviously, they wanted to catch up with you.

“So, are you two like a thing now?” Yejin asked, her tone playful as she raised an eyebrow at you and Sungchan.

“Definitely not,” you replied, rolling your eyes.

Sungchan clutched his chest, feigning hurt. “Wow, didn’t even hesitate. And here I  was, thinking we had something special.”

“Dude, we only started talking like five hours ago,” you retorted. “You’ll live.”

The group erupted in laughter, and Sohee grinned. “I don’t know, man. You seem to have some competition.”

“Competition?” Sungchan repeated.

Before Sohee could elaborate, Anton appeared beside him, clapping a hand on his back. “Don’t mind him,” he said, his voice smooth but pointed. “Sohee thinks everything’s a competition. Remember last summer’s beach volleyball? He still claims he didn’t cheat.”

Sohee gasped, his hand to his chest. “I didn’t!”

“Sure,” Anton drawled, his gaze flicking briefly to you before shifting back to Sohee. “Just like you didn’t accidentally trip over Hana to block that shot.”

“Speaking of beach volleyball,” Sungchan slid back into the group seamlessly, his charm lighting up the conversation. He nudged your arm playfully. “Weren’t you a former MVP?”

You tilted your head, pretending to consider. “I used to be. That was three years ago, though. I think I’ve gotten rusty.”

“Don’t be modest,” Yejin teased, grinning at Sungchan. “She was a menace on the court. You’ve seen her, right? Our team was unbeatable because of her.”

Hana pointed at Sungchan. “Remember when we massacred Bay Area-3 four years ago? Must’ve sucked,” she added, shaking her head in exaggerated pity.

You hummed contentedly, leaning into the lightheartedness. “Too bad the season’s over. I would’ve loved to do it again.”

“Hey, I was on that team too,” Sohee interjected, pouting as if his contributions had been forgotten.

Sungchan’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “I think we need a rematch. Let me know when you’re ready to lose.”

Yejin scoffed. “You’re on.”

“I’ll referee,” Anton offered unexpectedly, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Someone’s gotta keep things fair, after all.”

“Oh, because you’re so unbiased?” you quipped before you could stop yourself.

Anton glanced at you, his gaze steady but unreadable. “I’m just saying, someone needs to make sure Sungchan doesn’t get away with calling fouls on every play.”

“Hey, I don’t do that!” Sungchan protested, laughing.

“You totally do,” Yejin chimed in, pointing a finger at him. “Remember last time? Every time you missed, suddenly it was, ‘The sun was in my eyes,’ or, ‘That wasn’t regulation height.’”

The group dissolved into laughter, and after some playful banter, a spontaneous agreement was made to hold a beach volleyball rematch in a few days. Sungchan excused himself first, saying he needed to spread the word to his Bay Area-3 team.

To you, he added, “You can find me back at the pool table later. Have fun catching up.”

As Sungchan walked away, you felt a prickle of awareness. Anton’s gaze was on you again. You met his eyes and raised an eyebrow. What? you mouthed, a silent challenge.

Predictably, he didn’t respond. His expression didn’t change, but he looked away, taking a slow sip from his drink. The moment passed as one of his new, polished friends called him over. He offered your group a brisk goodbye before heading back to their circle.

You exhaled, but your chest felt tight. It was weird seeing Anton blend so naturally with people he’d once disliked. You hadn’t realized how much it bothered you until now.

“Since when has he been hanging out with those people?” you asked, unable to keep the curiosity—and maybe the faintest trace of disbelief—out of your voice.

Hana leaned closer, lowering her tone conspiratorially. “He went to the same college as some of them. It’s actually kind of impressive, in a way. I didn’t think any of them were smart enough to get into a good university.”

You nodded absently, your thoughts tangled. “It’s just... weird seeing him with them when he used to complain about them all the time.”

“Well, people change,” Yejin said with a shrug, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “Maybe he likes them now.”

You didn’t respond. There was no point in sharing the discomfort curling in your stomach when no one else seemed fazed. Instead, you busied yourself with your drink as conversation shifted to lighter topics—new schools, old gossip, and what everyone had been up to since high school.

You smiled and laughed along, but your thoughts kept drifting. No matter how much you tried, they always found their way back to Anton.

The night was in full swing by the time you found yourself sitting at a round table with Yejin, Hana, and a few other familiar faces. Sungchan leaned back in his chair beside you, his easy grin practically lighting up the conversation.

“So,” one acquaintance said, raising an eyebrow as she swirled her drink, “how does it feel to be back after two years? Like nothing’s changed?”

You smiled, though the question struck a little too close to home. “It feels great, honestly. I didn’t realize how much I missed everyone until now.”

“You’re lucky we even let you back in,” another one teased, leaning forward with a mock stern look. “Two summers is basically an eternity.”

Yejin chimed in, pointing her straw at you. “I told you she’d just waltz back in like nothing happened.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but a new voice cut through the chatter. “That’s kind of her thing, isn’t it?”

Your head whipped toward Anton, who had been leaning casually against the wall nearby. His voice was calm, almost disinterested, but there was a sharpness to it that pricked at your skin.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked, forcing a laugh that felt a little too light.

Anton glanced at you briefly, his expression unreadable, before looking back at the group. “She’s good at jumping back into things like nothing ever happened.” Then to you, he said slowly and clearly, “That’s just how you’ve always been.”

The table went quiet for a few seconds too long. Sungchan shot you a look—half amused, half wary—while Yejin frowned, the corners of her mouth twitching as if unsure whether to laugh or intervene.

You felt your cheeks burn, but you refused to let it show. “Well, some of us don’t go through drastic changes in just two years,” you shot back, forcing a smile.

Anton’s gaze flicked to you for a moment, his lips curling in a faint, almost imperceptible smirk. “Guess not.”

The conversation resumed, though the tension lingered in the background. Yejin quickly steered the group onto lighter topics, and soon enough, the table was filled with laughter again.

But you couldn’t shake away Anton’s words. They sat in the back of your mind, nagging at you even as you tried to ignore them.

Sungchan leaned closer, his shoulder brushing yours. “You okay?” he asked softly.

“Fine.” You smiled at him, grateful, but the knot in your chest didn’t loosen. Instead, your eyes found Anton again, now standing by the bar with a drink in hand. He didn’t look your way, but you were swearing at him in your head, determined to get to the bottom of whatever his problem was as soon as you were alone.

The wait didn’t take long. While you were squeezed beside Sungchan on a plush couch, his arm draped over your shoulder, feeling more carefree after several drinks, Anton appeared before you with his brows furrowed.

“I’m going home,” he said flatly, his eyes flicking between you and Sungchan.

You scowled. “And? What does that have to do with me?”

He sighed, taking your drink away and placing it on the table with a pointed glance. “Your mom would kill me if I left without you. Come on.”

You rolled your eyes and stood up, bidding Sungchan a quick goodbye. He let you go with a soft kiss on your cheek, his voice warm as he said, “Text me when you’re home, okay?”

You nodded, though you knew you’d probably forget. Your focus was already on Anton, who was heading out the door without waiting for you.

You struggled to catch up with his long strides, but you didn’t complain, knowing he’d just ignore you if you did. The alcohol made your annoyance simmer louder, and in your head, you practiced the scathing words you’d unleash as soon as you were alone with him.

But Anton had other plans. The car stereo blasted as soon as the engine started, drowning out any attempt you made to speak. You knew he was doing it on purpose, and it made you angrier.

The ride felt like an eternity, tension crackling in the silence between the loud beats of the music. When the car finally pulled up in the garage, Anton got out without a word, leaving you to stumble after him. He was already halfway inside the house when you kicked off your heels and stormed in.

“You’re back early,” Aunt Hyejin greeted from the living room, where she and your mom sat in their pajamas watching a movie. “Oh, what’s wrong?”

“Hi, Auntie. Hi, Mom,” you said briskly, barely glancing their way as you followed Anton up the stairs.

“What happened?” your mom called after you, but you didn’t stop to answer.

The alcohol made it easier to ignore the logic telling you to let it go. You caught the door just as Anton was about to close it, your hand slamming against the wood.

“What’s your problem?” you snapped as you pushed your way into his bedroom, slamming the door behind you.

Anton didn’t even flinch. He casually walked over to his closet, rummaging through it for a fresh shirt. “What is it this time?” His tone was too monotonous, almost mocking.

“‘That’s just how you’ve always been.’” You gestured wildly, your voice rising with frustration as you mimicked his indifferent tone. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, Anton?”

His brow twitched, and for a split second, you thought he might actually look sorry. But no. Instead, he leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms like he had all the time in the world to deal with your meltdown.

“It’s not that deep,” he said, his tone infuriatingly calm. “You’re overreacting.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh. “Overreacting? You’ve barely said two words to me since I got here, and when you finally do, it’s to throw some passive-aggressive jab about how I’ve ‘always been’ like that? What is it exactly? Too loud? Too much? Too—”

“Annoying,” he cut in, his voice low but sharp enough to slice through your tirade.

The word struck a nerve, silencing you. Your breath hitched, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him.

“Annoying?” you echoed, your voice shaking. “Wow. So that’s what you think of me now? Or have you always thought I was annoying?”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as if this conversation was physically exhausting him. “Why are you so hung up on this?”

“Am I?” You took a step closer, your pulse quickening as anger spiked through you. “Alright then, sue me for always being like this. I didn’t change like you did. I’m still annoying, and I’ve—” You made air quotes, your voice dripping with sarcasm, “—‘always been like this.’”

“Enough,” Anton sighed, exasperated.

“What other grievances do you have against me, Anton?” you shot back, your patience worn thin. “Come on. Let’s hear it.”

“That’s enough,” he said firmly, uttering your name warningly in a way that made your stomach flip—not with fear, but with something far more complicated.

But you weren’t about to back down. “No, I’m not done. You don’t get to act like you’re some untouchable, brooding—”

Before you could finish, he grabbed your wrist—not hard, but enough to make you freeze. His other hand settled on your waist, and in one swift motion, he pulled you closer. You opened your mouth to protest, but his lips crashed into yours before you could even make a sound.

Anton kissed you.

It wasn’t soft or tentative. It was messy and careless, born of frustration and something you couldn’t put a finger on. Your hands pressed against his chest instinctively, not enough to push him away but not quite pulling him closer either.

When he finally pulled back, his breath was warm against your cheek. His grip on your waist loosened, but he didn’t let go completely.

“See?” he muttered, smirking as he took a small step back. “Still annoying.”

You stood there, your heart pounding in your chest, your mind a storm of confusion and something else you couldn’t quite name. Anton seemed completely unfazed, tugging his shirt off and changing right there in front of you. You were still frozen in place when he glanced back at you, flicking your forehead with an almost playful arrogance.

“Ow!” you groaned, snapped back to reality.

“It's just a kiss. Don’t obsess over it,” he teased, his eyes flicking to your lips for a moment before he turned, striding toward the door.

You stood there, the words echoing in your head—‘Just a kiss.’ He didn’t even look back as he walked out, leaving you standing in the middle of his room, heart still racing, mind still reeling.

You first met Anton when you were seven. It was the first of your many summers in their little hometown by the sea. Your mom had just finished unpacking your bags when Anton’s mother brought him over to say hello.

He didn’t say much, hiding behind her skirt and eyeing you like you were some strange creature he wasn’t sure he liked yet. But that didn’t last long. Later that afternoon, when the adults were chatting over iced tea on the porch, he shyly tugged at your sleeve and said, “Do you wanna see my pet turtle?”

You had gasped at the time, pleasantly surprised. “You have a turtle?”

“Yeah! It looks like a dinosaur!” he had responded with gleaming eyes.

That was all it took. One look at the tiny turtle swimming in a glass tank on his bedroom windowsill, and suddenly you weren’t just visiting strangers—you had a friend.

Summer after summer, the two of you grew closer. You didn’t get to spend Christmases together or birthdays, but summer break was sacred. Your families would get together at their beach house like a tradition, and that house quickly became a second home to you. Its wooden floors creaked under your bare feet, and the salty breeze always carried the sound of seagulls and laughter.

Anton was funny in a way that always caught you off guard, soft-spoken but bursting with energy when the mood struck. He had a wild streak too, like the time he dared you to jump off the pier into the ocean—even though you’d both been warned a hundred times not to. You ended up doing it, and you both got grounded for the rest of the week.

When you were eleven, he taught you how to ride a bike—well, tried to. He kept insisting he wasn’t laughing at you every time you tipped over, but you could see the way he bit his lip to hold back a grin. And when you finally managed to ride down the dirt path without falling, he cheered so loudly the neighbors peeked out their windows to see what all the fuss was about.

He wasn’t always the wild one, though. There were quieter moments too—like when the two of you built sandcastles on the beach and argued about whether a moat was necessary, or when you’d sit under the teepee in his room, eating popsicles and reading comic books.

For years, he was a head shorter than you, something you loved to tease him about relentlessly. “When are you gonna catch up, Anton?” you’d giggle, ruffling his hair.

“You’ll see,” he’d retort with a determined pout. “I’m gonna grow taller than you someday. Dad said it’s gonna happen soon.”

It became an annual joke, one he stubbornly refused to give up on even as the years passed and your height difference barely changed. Then, when you were sixteen, it finally happened. You came back that summer and found Anton waiting at the door, looking taller than he’d ever been. At first, you didn’t believe it, but the smug grin on his face told you he waited for you at the front door on purpose.

“You’re standing on something,” you accused, squinting at him.

“Nope,” he said, grinning wide as he tapped his bare feet against the porch. “I told you, didn’t I?”

By then, he wasn’t just taller; he was different in ways you couldn’t quite put into words. It was sometime after that same summer that you realized your feelings for Anton weren’t as simple as you thought.

You were teenagers, going through all the awkward, messy stages of puberty. He was becoming more handsome by the day, his boyish features sharpening in ways that made you notice things you hadn’t before. His smile seemed more charming, his laughter endearing, and you were left grappling with a new, inconvenient truth—you had a crush on your best friend.

It wasn’t like it was hard to fall for him. You’d never given it much thought before, but Anton had always been attentive to you. Having a crush on him made you see him in a different light, and his kind nature soon made your heart flutter. He teased you mercilessly, sure, but he always knew when to stop. If you were upset or sulking, he had this uncanny ability to bring you out of it without even trying.

He’d wait for you at the end of the dock whenever you hesitated to jump, his hand outstretched with a soft smile on his lips. If you got hurt—whether it was a scraped knee or a bruised ego—he was always the first to check on you. He never let you carry heavy things, always taking your bag without a word even when you protested. Sometimes you’d be shivering after a late swim, he would throw his towel over your shoulders and grin, saying you looked like a wet puppy.

He had this way of making you feel like you were the most important person in the world, even when he was teasing you. Like the summer he spent two hours untangling the kite you’d accidentally gotten stuck in a tree, refusing to let you help because “you’ll just make it worse.” Or the time he taught you how to skip stones on the water. He’d stood behind you, guiding your arm with his, his chest brushing your back as he whispered instructions, so close you could barely focus. 

For a while, you were convinced you were in love with him. But even then, you knew better than to say anything. What if it ruined everything? What if your confession turned your friendship into something awkward and strained? What would his parents—your second family—think if you jeopardized the bond your two families shared?

So, you buried it. Tucked away that silly, puppy love into the deepest corners of your mind, letting it stay there as a bittersweet secret. You told yourself it was fine. You didn’t need him to love you back. It was enough just to be around him, to laugh with him, to call him your best friend.

And it worked. For years, it worked.

He went back to being your platonic soulmate, the person who knew you better than anyone else. The crush faded into the background, becoming a harmless relic of your teenage years—something you could look back on with fondness but without longing. Anton was family. Almost like a brother, considering the way you’d grown up together.

Or so you thought..

Now, you lay in your dimly lit bedroom, staring at the ceiling with your hand pressed to your chest. You could still feel the sensation of his lips on yours, and the memory played on a loop in your mind. 

Anton had kissed you. On the lips. And you didn’t know how to feel about it.

No, that wasn’t entirely true. You did know.

The affection you’d convinced yourself was long gone—that you’d painstakingly buried under layers of denial—wasn’t gone at all. It had been lying dormant, quietly waiting for something to wake it up. And now, with one impulsive kiss, Anton had yanked it out of its slumber.

What made it worse was Anton himself. He didn’t seem the least bit affected. He’d walked out of the room as if the kiss meant nothing, leaving you to deal with the fallout alone. Did he even care? Did he even think about what it would do to you, kissing you like that and walking away?

You let out a frustrated sigh, pressing your palms to your eyes as if you could physically stop your thoughts from spiraling.

It was too much. Anton had been too much these days. And now, he’d managed to unravel years of carefully built denial with one impulsive, reckless kiss.

What are you supposed to do now?

The next few days were unbearable. You tried your best to pretend nothing had happened between you and Anton, but that had never been your strong suit. Pretending didn’t come naturally to you, and something as major as that kiss was impossible to ignore. And Anton? Oh, he must have been having the time of his life watching you squirm.

He didn’t ignore you anymore—not like before—but a big part of you wished he just stayed indifferent and mean. He’d sit beside you at breakfast, close enough for his knee to bump against yours under the table. He’d call your name just to ask something unimportant, so casually too like the kiss didn’t even happen. Then, every once in a while, he’d throw in a remark that made your stomach flip.

“Still thinking about it?” he asked once, leaning against the dock railing as you peered down at the clear water.

You’d nearly dropped your phone in the water. “About what?”

He raised an eyebrow, a sly smile pulling at his lips. “You know what.”

You wanted to strangle him.

And the worst part? He didn’t care if anyone else was around when he did it. Around family, he kept his teasing just vague enough that no one else would catch on, subtle enough not to raise suspicions. But his remarks were bold enough to set your heart racing and leave you panicking that someone might pick up on your little secret.

By the time a week had passed, you were on the brink of losing it.

Anton’s dad had arrived back from work, and to celebrate, the family decided on a big barbecue dinner. Naturally, you and Anton were tasked with picking up groceries. It was something you often did together, but that was before. Now you just wanted to be as far away from him as possible.

Still, you didn’t argue. Obviously you couldn’t risk drawing attention to yourself and raising questions. Since the kiss, you hadn’t yet been alone with him, and the thought of sitting in a car with just him was making your stomach churn.

When Anton leaned over to buckle your seatbelt—his hand brushing your arm in a way that felt entirely too intentional—you swatted him away.

“I can do it myself,” you snapped.

He smirked, leaning back into his seat as if you hadn’t just scolded him. “You’re welcome.”

At the grocery store, things were mercifully normal. The conversation stayed focused on the errand. You stuck to the list, pointing out items while Anton grabbed them, and for a moment, it felt like those times in the past when you did the same errand. But then, as you were scanning a shelf for the right brand of barbecue sauce, you saw a familiar face along the aisle.

“Sungchan!” you called out, waving a hand in the air and failing to notice Anton scowling behind you.

The sight of him brought a welcome distraction, and you walked over with a smile creeping onto your face. You exchanged pleasantries, and he introduced you to his mom, who seemed just as charming as he was. Over the past week, you’d been texting with him and had even gone on a few strolls along the beach. He was funny and easygoing, and things seemed to be going well—if only you could focus on this rather than having Anton occupy space in your head.

“Didn’t expect to run into you here,” he said, his gaze flickering briefly to Anton, who stood a few steps behind you, his hands shoved into his pockets.

“Small town,” you replied with a laugh.

You chatted for a few minutes before his mom gently reminded him about their errands. Before leaving, he leaned in to press a kiss to your cheek. It was quick and casual, but it made your cheeks burn nonetheless.

“See you soon,” Sungchan said, stepping back. “Volleyball match is on Tuesday. Don’t forget,” he added, glancing between you and Anton before walking away.

You turned back to Anton, hoping he hadn’t noticed your flushed cheeks, but of course, he had.

“You’re blushing,” he said, his voice teasing but sharper at the edges than usual.

“It’s hot,” you muttered, grabbing a random bottle of barbecue sauce and tossing it into the cart without even looking at the label.

Anton reached over, grabbed the bottle, and placed it back on the shelf. “This one’s for pasta. You’re a mess today.”

You glared at him. “Maybe I wouldn’t be if someone wasn’t constantly trying to mess with me.”

“Who, me?” Anton’s expression was pure mock innocence.

“Yes, you!” You snatched another bottle off the shelf, shoving it into the cart with unnecessary force before walking ahead.

He trailed behind, his voice light but carrying a certain edge. “So... you and Sungchan, huh?”

“What about us?” you said flatly, not bothering to look back.

“Oh, nothing,” Anton replied, leaning casually against the cart handle. “It’s just cute, that’s all. The way he looks at you like you’re a goddess or something. And that kiss on the cheek?” He let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Real smooth.”

Your brows furrowed, genuinely wondering if he was being sarcastic. He looked at you and added, “Bet he writes poems about you in his free time.”

You scoffed. “Do you really think he’s that kind of guy? Have you seen him?”

Anton shrugged. “How would I know? I’m just making a guess since you’ve had the biggest crush on him for a long time and you once told me he looked like the kind of guy who writes poems for their girlfriend.”

You grimaced. “Ew. When did I say that?”

“When we were twelve,” he answered with a nonchalant shrug.

Your eyes widened slightly before you huffed. “Well, I was twelve. And I didn’t know what I was talking about.”

Anton scoffed mockingly. “No. He is that kind of guy. Romantic, spontaneous, and totally not like other guys who party till sunrise, chase after pretty girls and hookup for funsies,” he said sarcastically, smirking.

You turned to face him, your annoyance now outweighing your embarrassment. “What’s your problem?”

“No problem,” he said with a too-innocent shrug. “Just thought it was cute, that’s all. You’ve got a little admirer.”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing a pack of skewers and tossing it into the cart. “Whatever. It’s none of your business, anyway.”

“Nice, sure,” Anton drawled, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “I do hope you don’t end up as another notch on his bedpost by the time summer ends.”

“Are you seriously doing this right now?” you shot back in frustration.

He straightened up, his smirk softening into something you couldn’t quite read. “What? I’m just looking out for you. Making sure you know what you’re getting into.”

“By mocking me?”

“By being honest,” he corrected, leaning slightly closer, his voice dropping low enough to send a shiver down your spine.

You huffed, staring right back at him with no intention to back down. “Whatever I do this summer, whoever I do it with, is none of your business, Anton. Just keep doing what you’ve been doing since I got here. Keep ignoring me and continue acting like a total prick, because I’m done trying to figure out what I did so wrong to deserve this treatment from you.”

Anton’s smirk faltered, replaced by something harder to read. His jaw tightened, but instead of snapping back, he turned away. Without another word, he pushed the cart down the aisle, leaving you standing there, fuming and wondering if it was possible to strangle someone with barbecue tongs. 

The silence that followed felt heavy, pressing against your chest, but you refused to dwell on it. Let him walk away if he wanted. Let him stew in whatever self-righteous attitude he’d decided to adopt this summer. You’re done walking on eggshells around him.

In the evening, you gathered in the backyard with your mom and the Lee family, everyone moving around busily to prepare dinner—setting up the table, checking the grill, and bringing out the salads and sides.

The sound of sizzling meat, the laughter and chatter, along with the faint echo of the waves lapping at the beach made you feel nostalgic. Barbecue nights like this had been a staple of your summers here. You hadn’t thought about them much in the two years you were away, but now that you were experiencing it again, you realized how much you’d missed it.

You focused on your tasks, determined to push away the tension from earlier at the store. The last thing you wanted was to let Anton get under your skin.

But Anton had other ideas. He was stuck to you like glue. Every time you moved to do something, he was right there, offering to help.

While you were helping Aunt Hyejin arrange side dishes, you were also trying to brush off the occasional bump of Anton’s shoulder as he reached for something nearby. It was hard to ignore the way he hovered close—not enough to draw attention, but enough to keep your nerves on edge.

“Need anything?” he asked as you washed the lettuce.

You glanced at him, your expression flat. “No, I’m good,” you said, shaking the excess water off the leaves.

He didn’t seem to take the hint. “You sure? I can—”

“No,” you cut him off, tugging the lettuce away when he reached for it. “I can do it myself.”

He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly, but instead of arguing, he grabbed a tray of meat and started skewering it—purposefully working a little too close to where you were standing.

The family, oblivious to your silent war, carried on. Junyoung teased you about your time abroad, nudging you playfully. “Bet you missed this, huh?”

“Missed what?” you asked, playing along.

“This. You can’t get this kind of barbecue anywhere else.”

You laughed but didn’t answer because Anton spoke first. “Junyoung, didn’t Dad ask you to get the charcoal?”

“Oh, crap. Right.” Junyoung hurried off, leaving you and Anton alone at the counter.

Your eyes flicked toward Anton who seemed too immersed in his task. “Move. I need space for this,” you demanded, motioning to the tray in your hand.

His gaze shifted to you for a moment, before he returned to the meat and vegetables. “If you’re done with that, come help me with these,” he said flatly.

Scoffing, you picked up the tray of washed greens and headed outside.

Once everything was set up, you took a seat at the long table, intentionally placing yourself as far from Anton as possible. Plates were filled, glasses poured, and lively chatter filled the air. But just as you lifted your fork, Anton’s voice caught your attention.

“Junyoung, move over. I’m sitting there.”

Your eyes widened as Anton casually nudged his brother out of the way, sliding into the seat beside you without hesitation. Junyoung gave you a confused look, and you could only shrug.

Anton glanced at you as he settled in. “You don’t mind, right?” he asked, his tone almost too sweet, like he wasn’t giving you a choice.

You grimaced. “Do whatever you want. It’s your house.”

To your surprise, Anton became uncharacteristically attentive. He refilled your plate with meat, made wraps for you, and handed over dishes you couldn’t reach. You tried to focus on the conversation around you, but it was impossible to ignore the sincerity in his actions—or the way his gaze lingered a little too long.

It wasn’t long before Anton’s father spoke up, his deep voice cutting through the chatter. “Well, it’s nice to see you two getting along again,” he said, his gentle gaze flicking between you and Anton.

Anton raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a half-smile. “What do you mean?”

“The two of you,” his father replied, pointing at you and Anton. “I heard whispers about how you two weren’t speaking while I was gone. Did something happen?”

“You noticed that?” Anton asked.

Your mom chimed. “Oh, we all did. You’ve been inseparable since you were kids. Of course we’d notice if you suddenly act like strangers.”

“It’s good that you’ve made up. I thought we’d have to mediate some big falling out,” Aunt Hyejin added with a laugh, glancing between you and Anton.

Anton’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t say anything, focusing instead on the wrap he was making.

“It was weird,” your mom continued, clearly enjoying the opportunity to tease. “These two were like peas in a pod growing up. They’d even sneak out at night to stargaze on the beach together. Remember that?”

You groaned inwardly. “Mom, please.”

“Oh, don’t act embarrassed,” your aunt said, waving a hand. “It’s cute! We all thought it was adorable.”

Anton’s father narrowed his eyes playfully. “So, what happened? Did you fight?”

Before you could stammer out a reply, Anton finally spoke, his voice calm but firm. “Nothing happened. We’re fine.”

“That’s it?” his father pressed, clearly unsatisfied.

Anton glanced at you, his gaze lingering for a moment too long. “That’s it.”

The table erupted into laughter, with your mom and Aunt Hyejin exchanging knowing looks.

“Well, I guess all’s well that ends well,” your mom said, smiling. “You two were always quick to make up anyway.”

You tried to laugh it off, focusing on your plate and ignoring the way Anton’s arm brushed against yours under the table.

As the meal wrapped up and people began clearing plates, Anton stood abruptly. He didn’t announce anything to the table, just leaned down slightly toward you, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

“Air?” he asked simply, gesturing toward the beach.

For a moment, you hesitated. Then, realizing the family’s focus was elsewhere, you pushed your chair back and followed him.

Anton led the way down the path toward the beach, hands in his pockets. You followed, keeping your eyes on the back of his head as your feet sank slightly into the cool sand. The sound of waves crashing on the shore stirred something in you—restlessness, maybe. Or nostalgia.

Then he stopped by the shoreline, where the water lapped softly, and sat down.

“Are you planning to stand there all night?” he asked, glancing up at you and tapping the space next to him.

You rolled your eyes and plopped down a few feet away, deliberately creating distance. The breeze tugged at your hair, and for a moment, neither of you spoke, letting the sound of the waves fill the silence.

“They think we’ve made up,” you said finally, breaking the stillness.

Anton huffed a quiet laugh. “They’ve got no idea, huh?”

“Not a clue,” you replied, smirking faintly. “I don’t even know why we were fighting. Or if it was even a fight in the first place. This is your fault.”

His brow quirked at that, but instead of biting back, he chuckled softly. “Maybe it was me. I’ll take the blame.”

“You’ve been sticking to me all night,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him. “Acting all nice, making wraps for me at dinner… What’s that about?”

Anton tilted his head toward you, his expression unreadable. “Why? You don’t like it?”

You shot him a look. “No, it’s just weird. You’ve been a prick all week, and now suddenly you’re trying to play nice. What’s your deal?”

He leaned back on his hands, eyes drifting to the horizon. “Maybe I just felt bad,” he said finally. “For these past few days, I mean.”

You snorted, trying to hide the way his sincerity caught you off guard. “So, what? It took you this long to feel bad?”

His gaze slid back to yours, and this time, it lingered. The playful edge in his expression softened, replaced by something quieter, something heavier.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

The words hung between you, stirring up emotions you weren’t prepared to unpack. You wanted to brush it off, to throw a snarky remark his way and shift the mood back to something you could handle, but the look in his eyes kept you rooted in place.

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but he beat you to it.

“I didn’t mean to treat you like that,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I didn’t mean to change… us.”

Your heart twisted, but you forced a scoff. “You didn’t mean it? Could’ve fooled me.”

Anton didn’t respond right away. He simply stared at you, his eyes tracing your features like he was seeing them for the first time. The ocean breeze carried the faint scent of the summer evening, and the sound of waves crashing filled the spaces his words left behind.

And for a moment, you thought he might close the distance. His shoulders shifted, his posture leaning ever so slightly toward you, his gaze dropping to your lips—so brief you almost thought you imagined it.

But just as quickly, he pulled back. His expression returned to the smirk you were all too familiar with.

“Welp, let’s not get too sentimental,” he said lightly, brushing sand off his hands as he stood up. “You might actually start thinking I’ve changed for the better.”

You blinked, caught somewhere between frustration and something softer, as he offered you a hand to help you up.

“I still haven’t decided if I like this version of you,” you muttered, brushing past him as you started back toward the house.

He chuckled, walking ahead of you and gently bumping your shoulder as he passed you. “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

A part of you wondered if the conversation was done for the night. But as you glanced at the back of his head, you couldn’t resist one last question.

“Why did you do it?” you called out.

Anton slowed but didn’t stop, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Do what?”

You caught up, falling into step beside him. “Why’d you kiss me?”

He didn’t react right away, his gaze shifting back to the path ahead. “You’re asking me that now? Have you been thinking about it all week?” he asked with a teasing lilt in his voice.

“I’m serious. Come on,” you said, keeping your tone light but steady. “It’s not because you wanted to, right? I was just getting on your nerves, and there was no other way to shut me up. Right, Anton? Right?”

Your heart thudded in your chest as the silence stretched. Anton finally came to a stop, his hands slipping into his pockets as he turned to face you. The moonlight caught the faint curve of his smirk, but his eyes were unreadable.

“Wrong,” he said simply.

“What?” you blurted, waiting for him to elaborate, but he didn’t.

Anton turned and kept walking, leaving you standing there, staring after him as the word echoed in your mind.

The weekend at the beach house passed in a blur. After your conversation with Anton, things between you weren’t awkward anymore, but they weren’t exactly normal either. You talked like usual, bantered like usual, interacted like usual—everything was as usual. Except for when his eyes would focus on you every now and then—the kind of look that seemed to communicate something your mind couldn’t comprehend, but you knew they meant something.

Sometimes, when it was just the two of you—bringing drinks outside or crossing paths in the hallway—you found yourself running through a dozen different scenarios in your head. Ones where the air grew heavy, his hand brushed yours, and somehow, the silence ended in a feverish kiss. You weren’t sure where these thoughts were coming from, but they made you giddy and nervous at the same time, unsure how to handle the growing interest that crept quietly under your skin.

Soon, the day of the volleyball game rolled around, and you headed to the beach with your friends. Sungchan was easy to spot near the net, casually chatting with a group while fiddling with the ropes. When he caught sight of you, his smile stretched wide as he jogged toward you.

“You finally showed up,” he teased, hands on his hips.

You rolled your eyes at his dramatic tone. “I’m literally on time.”

“Late, early—it’s all relative.” He grinned, taking a step back and gesturing to the setup. “So, wanna be on my team? I’m giving you a chance to switch sides before we kick your team’s ass.”

You scoffed. “How generous. But I’ve already pictured your defeat in my head, so, no thank you.”

His laugh was easy, but you couldn’t ignore the way his gaze softened as it lingered on you. That familiar charm of his—it was almost effortless, but you knew what you had to say.

“By the way, I have something to tell you,” you said, glancing past the others before looking back at him.

“Sure,” he nodded, his smile dimming just slightly. “That look is making me nervous, but let’s hear it.”

You took a breath. “You’re a fun guy, you really are. You’re nice too. And to be honest, I had a crush on you since I was like—” you shrugged—“twelve? I think?”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, and I really enjoyed hanging out with you, but  I don’t think I want to be anything other than friends with you.”

For a second, you worried how he’d take it. But Sungchan just stared at you, then let out a low laugh, shaking his head. “I knew you’d break my heart eventually.”

“Sungchan—”

“I’m kidding,” he cut you off, flashing his usual grin. “It’s cool, really. You didn’t drag it out, so thanks for that.”

Relief washed over you. “I just didn’t want to keep you hanging.”

“I know. I really appreciate that,” he replied, his grin turning teasing again. “Gives me more time to get to know other people. Lots of pretty girls in town this summer, you know? They’d be thrilled to know I’m still available.”

You couldn’t help chuckling. “Did you really just say that out loud?”

“Why not?” he said, smirking. “We’re friends. There’s no need to filter my words around friends.”

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, but the laughter that followed between you both was easy and genuine.

The volleyball setup was simple but lively—teams were already strategizing, with Sungchan’s voice ringing out as he rallied his group together. You lingered near the sidelines, soaking in the warm sun and salty breeze, until a familiar figure stepped into your peripheral vision.

Anton.

His hair was a little tousled from the wind, and he had that usual air of nonchalance as he approached. You noticed the faint furrow in his brow as his gaze shifted from Sungchan back to you.

“Are you ready for this?” you asked, keeping your tone casual.

Anton ignored the question entirely. “What were you two talking about?”

“Sungchan?” you asked innocently, tilting your head. “Nothing much. Just clearing the air.”

Anton narrowed his eyes but didn’t say anything, his jaw tightening slightly before he turned his attention to the players warming up.

“Didn’t think you’d actually referee,” you teased, eyeing his rashguard and short outfit.

“Someone has to keep things fair,” he replied, his tone dry as his eyes flicked to Sungchan, who was busy high-fiving his teammates.

You raised an eyebrow, catching his not-so-subtle focus. “What’s that look for?”

He shrugged, but his casual tone didn’t match the sharpness in his gaze. “Just wondering why you were all chummy with him.”

“What?” you said, rolling your eyes. “I told you. We were just talking. We’re friends. He’s nice.”

“Too nice, if you ask me,” Anton muttered under his breath, his jaw tightening. “You do remember that he’s older than us, right?”

You tilted your head, amusement tugging at your lips. “Is that jealousy I hear, Anton Lee?”

“Not jealousy,” he shot back quickly. “Concern. You shouldn’t be fraternizing with the enemy.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “Enemy? Aren’t referees supposed to be neutral and not pick sides.”

Anton’s lips twitched, but his expression remained guarded. “Not when it comes to him.”

“Sounds personal,” you teased.

Before he could reply, Sungchan’s voice called from across the net. “Hey, MVP! You ready to show us what you’ve got?”

A confident grin spread across your face as you turned to him. “Hope you’re ready to lose,” you shot back, adjusting your stance.

Anton muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “cocky,” but you ignored him, stepping onto the sand with the kind of ease that came from years of practice.

The game started fast, with energy running high as the teams gave their all to the game. You were quick on your feet, diving for saves and landing precise spikes that sent the ball flying past the other team’s defenses more than once.

“Still got it,” you muttered to yourself after a particularly clean shot, wiping sand off your knees.

“Nice!” Hana cheered, and you all huddled for a high-five.

Sungchan whistled, shaking his head as he retrieved the ball. “Alright, I’ll give you that one. But don’t think you’re getting another easy point.”

“Easy?” Hana echoed, smirking playfully. “Your team’s been missing half your serves. Why don’t you concede?”

“Less talking, more playing,” Yejin retorted, clapping her hands loudly.

The banter drew a laugh from the sidelines, where Anton stood with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Still, you caught the slight twitch of his lips whenever you scored, even if he didn’t say a word.

During a quick break, Sungchan jogged over, tossing you a water bottle. “You’re making me work harder than I thought,” he said, flashing his signature grin.

“Good,” you replied, taking a sip and wiping your brow. “I’m just getting started.”

Sungchan stood there for a few seconds, watching you. Then, out of nowhere, he asked, “So, how are things with Anton?”

The water caught in your throat mid-sip, and you barely managed not to spit it out. Coughing, you waved him off as he laughed and patted your back. “What? Why would you even ask me that?”

“Has he told you about it yet?”

“About what?”

Sungchan raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Don’t make me spell it out. The guy’s practically wearing a neon sign over his head that says, ‘I’m in love with her.’”

You rolled your eyes, brushing off the warmth creeping up your neck. “You’re so dramatic. He doesn’t—”

“Sure, sure.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “But you’ve noticed, haven’t you? The way he gets all broody whenever we talk?”

“Broody?”

“You know, sulky. Jealous,” he grinned, casually draping an arm on your shoulder. “I didn’t think it would be so fun to tease him.”

Without thinking, you glanced over. Anton stood with his arms crossed, stealing glances at you and Sungchan. His face was unreadable, but the tight set of his jaw and the sharpness in his gaze gave him away.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, turning back to Sungchan, though your pulse quickened under Anton’s gaze.

Before he could respond, a sharp whistle broke through the conversation.

“Break’s over,” Anton called, his voice firm as he motioned for everyone to get back into position.

Sungchan glanced at him, then back at you, grinning like he’d just cracked a code. “See? Broody.” He threw you a wink before jogging back to his side of the net.

As the game resumed, you couldn’t help but notice Anton’s slightly biased officiating—whistling a little too loud when Sungchan’s team scored, or muttering under his breath whenever their team celebrated.

By the time the final point was scored—your team taking the win with a flawless spike—you caught Anton watching you again, his expression softening just slightly. But as quickly as it came, it was gone, replaced with his usual cool detachment as he blew the whistle to signal the end of the game.

The sound of cheers and laughter filled the air as your team huddled together, celebrating the win. Sohee slung an arm over your shoulder, grinning from ear to ear.

“Still the MVP, huh?” he teased, ruffling your hair playfully. “I don’t know why I thought this would go any other way.”

“Because you’re overconfident,” Hana chimed in, nudging Yejin with her elbow. “And we’re, you know, actually good at this.”

You smirked. “Don’t beat yourself up, though. You guys put up a good fight.”

“Good fight, my ass,” Sohee grumbled, flopping onto the sand dramatically. “We got obliterated. I’m never playing against you guys again.”

“Come on, Sohee,” you replied, tossing him a grin as you helped him up. “It’s just for fun. You didn’t do that bad.”

“He missed three serves in a row,” Hana deadpanned, earning a loud groan from Sohee.

“Okay, no need to rub it in!” Sohee huffed, dusting the sand off his hands.

Anton approached the group, his whistle still dangling from around his neck. “You all done patting yourselves on the back?” he asked, his tone neutral but his eyes briefly meeting yours.

“What exactly are we winning? Do we get a prize?” Yejin asked, looking around.

Sungchan shrugged. “Bragging rights?” he said with evident uncertainty in his tone and expression.

Your team groaned, unsatisfied. Sungchan stammered. “Hey, we didn’t decide on a prize when we talked about this game.”

Sohee raised a hand. “Okay, guys, since I’m basically responsible for our loss, ice cream’s on me for the winners. Losers can fend for themselves.”

“Wow, so generous,” Sungchan deadpanned, but he followed anyway, dragging his team along.

“It’s okay, dude,” Yejin said, clapping him on the back. “You’re rewarded enough. It’s not every day you get to play with an MVP.”

“You mean lose to an MVP,” Sungchan corrected, nodding toward you. “You’re a beast out there, seriously. Respect.”

“Respectfully defeated, you mean?” Hana teased, crossing her arms.

Sungchan shrugged, unfazed. “I’m not bitter. I’d rather lose to a skilled player than Sohee.”

“Okay, man. Low blow,” Sohee sighed, shoulders sagging in defeat.

Sungchan flashed you a knowing grin before his gaze flickered toward Anton. “Guess you’re proud of her too, huh, ref?”

Anton’s jaw tightened ever so slightly, but he only shrugged. “She’s decent.”

“Decent?” you echoed, narrowing your eyes at him. “Pretty sure I just carried my team to victory.”

“I’d rather not inflate your ego,” he retorted, smirking.

As the group headed toward the snack stand, you lingered for a moment, brushing sand off your legs. Anton hung back too, his gaze lingering on the horizon before he glanced at you.

“Decent, huh?” you said, crossing your arms as you turned to him.

His lips twitched. “You heard me.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “You could just admit you’re impressed.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he replied, turning toward the snack stand without waiting for a response.

Shaking your head, you followed, the playful energy from the game lingering in the air.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the group gathered around a bonfire on the beach. Drinks were passed around, the conversation flowing easily. More people arrived as the evening deepened, including some of Anton’s posh friends. They blended effortlessly into the group, their polished smiles and designer outfits standing out against the casual beachwear.

At some point, Sohee handed Anton a guitar with a knowing smirk. “Would you play something for us?”

Anton chuckled, adjusting the strap before strumming a few chords. The group around the fire cheered, and soon everyone was singing along, their voices blending beautifully with the melody Anton was playing.

You leaned back against the driftwood bench, watching him as his fingers glided over the strings with ease. There was something captivating about how relaxed he seemed—more confident, more self-assured. The shy boy you’d grown up with had always seemed happiest when he was off to the side, letting others take the spotlight. Now, he was in the center of it, getting attention without even trying.

In hindsight, this should’ve made you happy. Seeing him like this—more mature, more comfortable in his own skin—should’ve felt like a victory for the both of you. But you didn’t have time to process this because the joy of his transformation had been buried under your indignation, your frustration at being treated like a stranger.

You sighed and turned your gaze to the fire, trying to push the thoughts away.

Later, as the party stretched into the night, Sungchan plopped down beside you with a drink in hand.

“Long face at a party?” he teased, nudging your arm lightly.

You smiled faintly. “Just thinking about stuff.”

“Stuff like Anton?” he asked, raising a brow.

You gave him a side-eye, but his grin was disarming enough that you found yourself nodding. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” he echoed, leaning closer like he was fishing for details. “Come on, you can tell me. I’m great at giving unsolicited advice.”

That earned a laugh out of you. “Why are you nosy?”

He shrugged. “This is the most interesting thing that happened here since summer break started. I’m a little too invested.”

“Fine,” you chuckled, shaking your head. “Get ready.”

And so, you told him everything—how you and Anton had grown up together, spending every summer side by side, how he used to be this sweet, shy boy you adored. You told him about your silly teenage crush on him, how you’d skipped the last two summers, and how things were so different now that you were back. Sungchan listened intently, nodding along as you spoke.

“And then he kissed me,” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “And now I’m… I don’t know. I can’t tell if I’m falling for him again or if I’m just confusing old feelings for something they’re not.”

Sungchan leaned back, letting out a low whistle. “That’s a lot to unpack,” he said, then smirked. “But hey, you’ve got options. If it’s real, great. If it’s not, at least you’ll know. Either way, you win.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s not exactly helpful.”

“Look, all I’m saying is, maybe stop overthinking it. You’ll figure it out,” he replied. “But if you’re asking me? I think you’re not confusing old feelings. It’s just that the old feelings are stronger now that you’re older and wiser. Well, not so wise, but still wiser than when you were sixteen.”

Your laugh came out startled. “What makes you think so?”

“Just a hunch,” he said, winking.

Before you could respond, a shadow fell over the both of you. You looked up to see Anton standing there, his expression unreadable as he glanced between you and Sungchan.

“Time to go,” Anton said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You frowned, leaning back against the bench. “It’s still early.”

Anton huffed, unfazed. “I’d hate to ruin your night, but I’m tired, so let’s just go.”

You groaned, glancing at Sungchan, who gave you an exaggerated pout. “Guess this is goodbye,” he said dramatically.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” you retorted, but you smiled as you stood. “Thanks for listening.”

He gave you a two-fingered salute as you turned to follow Anton.

As you walked up the beach, the sounds of the party fading behind you, you glanced at Anton. “Can’t you go home by yourself?”

“You think I’m dragging you along because I want to?” he asked back, glancing sideways at you. “Take it up to your two moms if you have a problem with it.”

You huffed. “I probably should. One can’t go home without the other? What are we, fifteen?”

Anton didn’t respond, but you caught the faintest smirk tugging at his lips as he walked ahead.

The car ride was too quiet for your liking. Anton kept his grip tight on the steering wheel, his jaw clenched, and you couldn’t ignore the hint of annoyance on his expression. 

You’d been stealing glances over at him, but he didn’t meet your eyes. The way he was acting—the sudden coldness after the bonfire, the way he pulled away emotionally—it was all too confusing and infuriating. 

“Anton, you’re angry,” you said, your voice low but steady. “What’s going on? Another mood swing?”

He finally looked at you, his eyes dark, the frustration in them almost raw. “Can you mind your own business?”

“I can if you stop making me feel like this was my business too.”

Anton let out a sharp exhale, and with a swift turn of the steering wheel, he pulled over to the side of the road, stepping on the brakes so abruptly, you were jolted forward, the seatbelt digging into your chest.

“What the hell—”

“What do you want me to say?” he cut you off, his voice rough.

“What do I want you to say?” you echoed, heart pounding as anger rose in your chest. “Are you serious? You’ve been treating me like a stranger since I got here. You’ve barely talked to me, and when you do, it’s like I’m the last person you want to be around. What do I want you to say?”

You scoffed incredulously. “I want you to tell me what I did so wrong to deserve this.”

Anton’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, his jaw clenching so hard it was a wonder it didn’t crack. When he finally spoke, his voice was lower, quieter, but no less intense. “I missed you. So fucking much.”

For a second, his words knocked the wind out of you. But the anger came rushing back. “That doesn’t make any fucking sense. You missed me, so you’re treating me like crap? What the hell, Anton?”

“I don’t know!” he snapped, his voice breaking slightly. He groaned, leaning back in his seat and pressing his hands to his face. “I don’t know, alright? I just—I couldn’t reach you. I couldn’t talk to you. You were supposed to be here, and you weren’t. And now you’re back, and I’m—” He broke off, dragging his hands through his hair in frustration.

You blinked, caught off-guard by the vulnerability in his voice. You opened your mouth to speak, but you didn’t know what to say so you closed it again. At that moment, it was as if the only thing you could do was reach out your hand and place it on his arm, squeezing gently in hopes that it would somehow comfort him, that it would be enough to express what your words cannot.

His head turned toward you, and the look in his eyes made your breath hitch. His gaze flicked to your lips, and before you could process what was happening, his hand was on your arm, pulling you toward him. Then his lips crashed against yours, desperate and unrestrained, like he couldn’t stop himself anymore. 

And you couldn’t pull away—not that you wanted to. Everything you had been holding back, everything you’d been pretending not to feel, was suddenly pouring out in that kiss.

He tugged you closer, his other hand sliding to your waist as the kiss deepened, raw and messy, with a kind of desperation that matched your own. You could feel his heavy breathing against your lips as his body tensed beneath you, and it only made you want to close the distance even more.  You wrapped your arms around his neck, clutching a handful of his hair because you needed to hold on to something—anything—that was real.

Anton’s hands moved to your neck, his touch possessive, as if he was trying to assure himself that you were here, that you weren’t going anywhere. You pulled away for a breath, your chest rising and falling quickly as you stared at each other, both of you trying to catch your breath.

“Anton…” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He pressed his forehead to yours, his voice hoarse. “Don’t say it. Just—don’t say anything right now.” He kissed you again, one hand slipping under your shirt but you stopped him.

“No.” You pushed him away gently, your lips curving into a small smile. “Not here. Come on, dude. Not in the car. Let’s at least make this special.”

He leaned back, a short, dark laugh escaping him. “I just kissed you till you’re breathless, and you call me dude after?”

You laughed lightly, still breathless yourself. “Are you seriously gonna hold that against me instead of focusing on more pressing matters?” You glanced at the unmistakable bulge in his jeans.

Anton grunted, his grip on the steering wheel tightening as he shifted the gear stick, suddenly looking more determined than ever as he stepped on the gas.

You couldn’t help grinning at the look on his face. You reached for his chin, pulling him close just enough to press a soft kiss on his cheek. As you sat back, Anton’s fingers brushed against yours, holding your hand with a light squeeze as the car sped down the highway.

The house was quiet when you and Anton arrived. It was past 1am, and the soft hum of the house was the only sound that filled the air as you both tiptoed down the dimly lit hallway. Your footsteps were almost inaudible on the hardwood floor, but your heart raced in your chest. When you passed by his parents’ room, you both paused for a moment, checking for any signs of movement, worried that someone might wake up and catch you sneaking.

When you reached the upper floor landing, Anton grabbed your hand, pulling you closer to him. His lips brushed the side of your neck as you walked down the hall. The thrill of the risk only heightened your need for each other, and you couldn’t keep the smile from tugging at your lips as his hand slid to the small of your back, pressing you against him for a second.

“You’re gonna get us caught,” you whispered, though the mischief in your voice gave  away the fact that you were enjoying this too.

He groaned impatiently. “Why is your bedroom so far away?”

“It’s not, you’re just dramatic,” you chided softly, pressing a soft kiss on his lips and slipping away when he moved to cage you in his arms.

The need for each other was overwhelming, but you couldn’t risk waking anyone up, couldn’t let anyone see this side of you two yet.

When you finally reached your bedroom door, you turned to face Anton, curling your fingers in his shirt. “Don’t you dare go in there without me,” you said, pulling him toward you for another kiss, the same fervent kiss he’d been giving you all night.

As you both stumbled into the room, the door clicking shut behind you, everything else disappeared—the house, the people, the secrets. The room was quiet except for the sound of your uneven breaths. He was so close, his familiar face somehow different now, his eyes tracing yours like he was seeing you for the first time.

“This is insane,” you whispered, a shaky laugh slipping out as you broke eye contact. “Are we really gonna do this?”

“Oh, it’s totally up to you,” he said softly, his voice dipping lower as he tucked a few strands of hair behind your ear. “But right now, I can’t stop thinking about you… like this,” he added, his fingers brushing on the sleeves of your shirt, tugging it off slowly.

You let him undress you as your stomach fluttered at his confession. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you leaned forward, your lips meeting his. It started soft, tentative, like you were afraid to push too far. But then his hand found the back of your neck, pulling you in, and suddenly it wasn’t soft anymore.

The kiss deepened, years of restraint unraveling all at once. He laid you back against the bed, his weight hovering over you. As his lips trailed down your neck with slow and careful kisses, your mind began to spiral with a sensation that was both new and unfamiliar.

When he got rid of your bra and revealed your bosoms before his eyes, he had to take a moment and look at you—really look at you, with a face of disbelief and amazement. That gaze made you shy, but you tried not to show it, hoping he liked what he was seeing. 

“This feels… a bit different,” he murmured, meeting your gaze. His voice trembled slightly, and it struck you that he was just as nervous as you were.

“Because it is,” you whispered back, your fingers brushing against his cheek. “But it’s still us.”

That seemed to settle something in him. He leaned down to kiss you again, only for a short while before abandoning your lips and moving to your neck. He licked and nipped at your skin, leaving a slight sting that sent shivers down your spine—a delightful balance of pain and pleasure. His lips trailed down to your collarbone, the center of your chest, and the soft hollow beneath your breast before moving to suck on your nipple.

The sudden jolt of pleasure made you arch your back, stifling a gasp that almost tore out of your lungs. Anton continued, eyes locked with yours, studying every expression you were making.

His hands grew bolder, fingertips traveling to your belly, down to your sex with curiosity and reverence. His motions were gentle at first, tentative, as if testing the waters. But with each soft gasp or subtle shift of your body, his confidence grew. When his thumb brushed a spot that made you shiver, he paused, repeating the motion with a soft hum, like he’d just unlocked a secret meant only for him.

He already knew you so well—the way your eyes lit up when you were excited, the way your laugh sounded when you tried to muffle it, and the things that made you fold into yourself when you were upset. But this—this part of you—was new, uncharted territory neither of you had thought you’d ever explore.

“Didn’t know you could make that face,” he teased, tickling your ear.

A quiet laugh slipped out of you when his hand fumbled at an awkward angle. “You lost it,” you giggled and he let out a soft chuckle in return.

“Sorry. Where did it go?” he asked, grinning toothily. “Guess I’m not as smooth as I thought.”

You shook your head, still grinning, and cupped his jaw in your hand. “You’re doing fine.”

The laughter didn’t last long. It faded into urgency when you reached between his legs where his manhood was trapped in his tight jeans. Anton let out a pained grunt when your hand brushed it, murmuring “Fuck,” before backing away from you and stripping out of his clothes in a matter of seconds.

He dived back to your lips, crashing with intense fervor while his hand spread your legs wider. He held you tight as he positioned himself, shushing you gently as he slowly fitted himself inside. Every fiber in your body stood in attention, anticipating the delightful pain to shoot through you. And when it came, it was infinitely better than what you imagined.

Instinct took over as you clung to him, your pulse racing as he began to move at a languid pace, familiarizing before going at a steadier pace. The sheets twisted under your fingers, the soft rasp of his name escaping your lips as he pressed harder.

Every thrust ignited something inside you, every whispered murmur of your name leaving you more breathless than the last. You could no longer keep track of what was happening, too far gone to think clearly, but conscious enough to know you wanted more—more of him, more of this pleasure that was driving you insane in the best way possible.

After who knows how long, a throaty moan ripped out of you, your back arching as you let the high engulf you in waves. Anton kept his thrusts steady, riding through your high until your knees shook with too much stimulation. Then you fell back on the bed, limbs weak and your energy depleted.

When it was over, you lay tangled together, your pulse still racing as he held you in his arms. In the atmosphere was a quiet kind of understanding that didn’t need words. His heartbeat was steady beneath your ear, slowly pulling you out of the haze of desire.

You shifted slightly, looking up to find him already watching you. He was smiling, a little shy but undeniably happy. His hand slid up, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face before letting his fingers linger on your jaw. 

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, taking a deep breath as you smiled. “Yeah. We’re okay.”

The next morning, you woke up with Anton’s arm still wrapped around you, his warmth enveloping you nicely. The sunlight poured into the room and for a moment, it felt like nothing else in the world mattered. Your body was still tingling from the night before, but you were content and happy.

Anton stirred beside you, his arm tightening instinctively around your waist. He buried his face in your hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“You awake?” he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly along your jaw.

You smiled faintly, glancing up at him. “Yeah. We need to talk.”

He nodded, exhaling deeply as he stretched, the movement shifting you slightly before he pulled you close again. “Figured you’d say that,” he said, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. But then his expression softened. “I know I’ve got a lot to answer for.”

The night had brought you closer, but it had also left things unanswered, things that neither of you could avoid any longer.

You stayed quiet, letting him speak.

“I was an idiot,” he began, his tone quieter now. “I shouldn’t have pushed you away when you came back. I just... I didn’t know how to handle it.”

You blinked at him, watching his face and saw the faint flicker of guilt and uncertainty in his eyes. This was a side of Anton you hadn’t seen in a while—the one who let his guard down, even if only for a moment.

“I thought I’d lost you for good,” he continued, his voice steady but low. “You didn’t come for two summers. No calls, no texts—it felt like you disappeared, and I couldn’t do anything about it.”

You frowned. “No one told you I was away for uni?” you asked sarcastically.

He huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, I knew. But…” He hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. We didn’t talk much in the last two years. Different time zones, schedules, and all. You were out there, living your life. I see your posts online. You were killing it in school, making new friends, living your life. Hell, you even had a boyfriend at one point.” He chuckled bitterly, the sound more self-deprecating than amused. Then he continued. “I guess I got insecure and thought you were content living a life without me in it.”

“Come on. That’s not true,” you defended, scowling.

“I know,” he said quickly, cutting you off. “I know that now. But back then, it just... I don’t know how else to say it—it messed me up. Like I said, I was insecure.”

“So I decided to live my life too, and it was good. I learned lots of new things, met lots of people, and discovered interests in fields I didn’t know I had interest in. It was great.” He paused, swallowing hard, then muttered, “Then mom said you were coming for summer this year and suddenly, I was thinking about you again. I realized that I wasn’t mad because I felt abandoned and forgotten. I was just… in love with you.”

You gasped softly, pulse racing at his confession. Anton smiled at you as he continued. “I didn’t know how to deal with that and I knew you’d leave eventually, so I thought if I acted like you were a stranger, it’d hurt less when you’re gone. Obviously it didn’t. It just made everything worse.”

You could feel the sincerity of his words, the honesty finally breaking through the wall he’d built.

“You didn’t have to go through all that,” you said gently, your hand cupping his cheek. “I never forgot about you, Anton. I could never, even if I try. You and me, we’re like, stuck with each other.”

A faint smile broke through his solemn expression. “You make it sound like a punishment.”

You chuckled softly, your fingers brushing through his hair. “I mean, for me, it kind of is.”

His eyes widened slightly, surprised. “For real?”

“No,” you replied quickly, grinning and wrapping your arm tighter around him.

Anton chuckled. “You’re annoying.”

“You’re one to talk,” you retorted, your voice gentle and light.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the quiet between you filled with the soft hum of the morning. Then Anton sighed. “I don’t want to screw this up,” he said. “Not with you. Not again.”

“You won’t,” you promised, your head resting against his chest as his arms wrapped around you. “I’ll kill you if you do.”

Anton’s expression softened, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, I’ll do my best. I love living my life, you see.”

You nodded, resting your head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek. There was no need for more words right now. You were finally on the same page, and for the first time in a long time, everything felt right.

No one knew, and that was the beauty of it.

To the outside world, nothing had changed. You and Anton had always been close, always spent summers attached at the hip, so when you were together—laughing over shared inside jokes or disappearing for hours at a time—it wasn’t out of the ordinary. No one thought to question it. But for the two of you, everything was different.

You snuck out late at night, barefoot and giddy, to watch the stars from the beach. Anton would bring a blanket and a bottle of his dad’s wine he swiped from the kitchen, and the two of you would lie there for hours, trading stories and stolen kisses. Sometimes, you’d just sit in comfortable silence, your fingers intertwined, his lips occasionally pressing against your temple.

In the mornings, you’d meet for coffee at the little café down the street, pretending it was a casual thing when your families asked. But as soon as you were alone, Anton would squeeze himself beside you, smiling as he held your hand in his. 

“Think they’re catching on?” he’d tease, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“No idea,” you’d reply, grinning. “We’d probably get married and they’d think it’s just us being silly.”

Anton gasped, covering his mouth. “Are you asking me to marry you?”

You rolled your eyes, feigning exasperation. “Oh my god. Can you go back to being nonchalant? I don’t miss your old dramatic self.”

“Aw,” he said cutely, leaning his head on your shoulder. “Come on, baby. You don’t mean that.”

You revisited the places you’d loved as kids, seeing them through new eyes. The old treehouse near the playground became your hideout, where you’d sit together, legs tangled as you reminisced about summers past. 

“You used to boss me around so much here,” Anton would say, laughing when you nudged him. “Still do, actually.”

“You love it,” you’d shoot back, and he’d smirk before kissing you, his hand slipping beneath your shirt in a way that made you forget whatever you were about to say next.

There were days when you explored each other in ways that left you breathless—your skin tingling, your heart racing. Anton was patient and attentive, his touch both gentle and electrifying. He’d study you like he was learning a language, his lips tracing paths across your body as if trying to commit every inch of you to memory. You discovered parts of him, too—little things he liked, the way he shivered when you kissed just below his jaw, the way he whispered your name like a prayer whenever you gave him the ride of his life.

You got to know him in ways you never had before, and it made you fall harder. Behind his teasing and occasional grumpiness, there was a gentle boy, a vulnerability that he only ever let you see. And you held it close, cherishing every piece of him.

Together, you built a world of your own—one filled with secret smiles, lingering touches, and endless laughter. No one else was privy to it, and you liked it that way. The privacy made it feel more sacred, more yours.

You were looking for some cards in the drawers in Anton’s room when you spotted something familiar. Pulling it out, you found an old photo tucked between the pages of a dusty book. It was from one of those endless summers, taken when you and Anton were maybe sixteen. The two of you were sitting side by side on the wooden dock, feet dipped into the water. His grin was wide, his arm slung lazily over your shoulders, and your expression was somewhere between laughing and rolling your eyes.

“Hey, Anton,” you called out, walking into the living room where he was sprawled out on the couch. He glanced up lazily, but his eyes immediately sharpened when he saw what you were holding.

“Where’d you find that?” he asked, reaching for it.

“In your room. You didn’t think I’d find it tucked safely in your old guitar book?” you teased, holding the photo out of his reach.

He shook his head, smiling faintly. “Man, I looked so good back then.”

You snorted, flopping down beside him. “You’re ridiculous. You look the same, just taller and with more expensive haircuts.”

He raised a brow at you. “And you?”

You grinned. “I peaked at sixteen. Obviously.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You were annoying at sixteen.”

“Funny you say that,” you said, leaning back into the couch, the photo still clutched in your hand. “Because I had a crush on you back then.”

The confession rolled off your tongue casually, but the way Anton’s head snapped toward you was anything but casual.

“You what?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

You shrugged nonchalantly. “No big deal. It didn’t even last long.”

Anton stared at you for a second, his expression unreadable. Then, to your surprise, he crossed his arms and pouted, sulking like a child.

“That’s unfair,” he muttered.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What’s unfair?”

“That you stopped liking me,” he said, scowling. “Because I was in love with you around that time.”

Your mouth fell open. “No, you’re not.”

He grumbled something under his breath and refused to meet your eyes, but the tips of his ears were red.

“No, you’re not,” you repeated, half-laughing, half-shocked. You grabbed his arm and shook him playfully. “Come on, be serious. You’re lying, aren’t you?”

Anton just tutted and gave you a side-eye. Her mom walked in at that moment, struggling to hook her necklace.

“Sweetheart, come help me with this,” she asked, handing the jewelry to you. You quickly rose to help her. As you did, she narrowed her eyes at Anton and said, “Now, what’s going on? Are you guys fighting again?”

“Anton’s a liar,” you teased, glancing briefly at him. “He said he had a crush on me when we were sixteen.”

“Really?” Aunt Hyejin asked, tilting her head a little. She looked at you just as you finished locking her necklace. “You’re only finding out about it now?”

“Mom!” Anton interjected, standing up and dragging Aunt Hyejin away.

“What? I thought she knew the whole time,” Aunt Hyejin said, laughing as they disappeared into a corner.

You stood there dumbfounded and confused, though your heart was fluttering so much it made your cheeks burn.

Later that evening, you found yourself standing in front of a mirror. “Can you believe it?” you scoffed, turning toward Anton, who was buttoning up his shirt. “Me, going to Belle’s cocktail party?”

Anton, leaning against the doorframe as he adjusted his cufflinks. “If you hate it that much, we can just ditch.”

You rolled your eyes, smoothing out your skirt. “No. I’d love to see how you ended up being friends with those stuck-ups.” You paused, catching Anton’s gaze in the mirror. “Sorry, I forgot they’re your friends now.”

He smirked, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around your waist. “Well, they’re still stuck-ups. But they’re chill when you get to know them.”

You snorted. “We’ll see about that.”

Surprisingly, you did see. The cocktail party was better than you’d expected. The rich kids, despite their reputation, were easygoing and friendly once you got past their posh exteriors. Anton, fit right in as a rich kid himself, but his attention was never far from you.

At some point, someone mentioned Anton’s ‘first love’, and your ears perked up.

“He told us about her once, when he was drunk,” Belle said with a grin, sipping her drink. “ We’ve never seen Anton act and speak so cutely.”

You raised a brow, curious but playing it cool. “Really?”

Belle nodded, leaning in conspiratorially. “Yeah. Apparently, she used to tease him so much he wanted to strangle her half the time, but he also couldn’t imagine life without her.”

One guy added, “He even said she had this little laugh, you know, like a giggle that always got him. Man was a goner.”

“Yeah. He said she was his everything, but he was too scared to tell her. Isn’t that cute?”

Your heart skipped a beat as Anton avoided your gaze, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

Later, as you walked down the beach with Anton, your high heels dangling from one hand and your other hand holding onto his arm, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. The waves lapped at your feet, cool and soothing, as you glanced up at him.

“So,” you began, grinning, “I’m your everything, huh?”

Anton groaned, closing his eyes. “Don’t start.”

You laughed, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his jaw. “You’re so cute.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he muttered, but his hand tightened around yours.

You leaned against his chest, enjoying his warmth in the cool summer night.

“You were right,” you admitted, glancing up at him. “Your new friends aren’t so bad.”

“Told you,” he said smugly.

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t get cocky. I still think it’s hilarious you used to hate them and now you’re all buddy-buddy.”

Anton gave you a dry look. “Of course you do. I sometimes can’t believe it myself.”

You grinned mischievously. “Anton Lee, a social butterfly. Who would’ve thought?”

He chuckled softly. “Not me.”

The moonlight reflected off the water as you walked in comfortable silence, stealing kisses here and there. Your fingers were laced together, his thumb occasionally brushing against yours.

You glanced at him, the soft glow of the moonlight highlighting his features. It was hard to believe that this was the same boy you’d grown up with, the one who used to argue with you over who got the last piece of pizza or who could jump farther off the dock.

Being with him now, like this, felt surreal. But it also felt right.

“I still think you’re a loser, though,” you teased. Anton narrowed his eyes, and you saw the flicker of mischief in them a second too late.

“Take it back,” he said, his tone warning.

“Or what?” you taunted, stepping backward, a playful grin on your face.

He didn’t reply, already kicking off his shoes and rolling up his pants.

You shrieked, spinning around to run, the cool sand shifting under your bare feet. Anton’s laugh echoed behind you as he chased you down, his longer strides closing the distance easily.

“No!” you squealed, laughing so hard you could barely keep running.

It wasn’t long before he caught you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he lifted you off the ground. He spun you around, your laughter and shrieks echoing in the air.

Romantic relationships between childhood friends weren’t without their risks. You knew that. There was always the fear of ruining what had been there for so long, of losing not just a lover but a best friend. But as you glanced down at your intertwined hands, you realized you weren’t afraid.

Because no matter where life took you, as long as you were with Anton, you’d figure it out together.

[fin]

[1d1195]

Hummingbirds

~5.2k words

From me: Based on a song of the same name--you'll see the lyrics in a moment. You'll need to suspend your belief a bit. I'm not sure everything makes perfect sense, but. Some of this story takes place through emailing and I didn't have a good method for this. So bold will be Harry's emails. Pink writing will be hers.

Warnings: angst, fluff, anger honestly just fluffy. second chance love

Summary: Harry has been angry for a really really long time. Only one person ever made him confront his anger.

“Eli, baby, we have to go!”

Harry could hear her from outside. He smirked, sipping his tea while he waited for Buddy to do his business. The air was crisp just like October should be. Decorative spider webs lined the front porch and the flower bushes in front of it. He was utterly pleased with his life. So completely happy.

“Mommy! I can’t find my dinosaur sneakers!”

“I don’t know how to spell it,” Evie frowned. “I’m going to fail!”

“Just do your best and practice, my love. I believe in you,” she assured as she zipped her backpack up at the doorway and stuffed her feet into the slip-on sneakers by the door. They make me feel old, she told Harry. They’re the perfect shoes for a busy Mum, he assured her. And I think y’look hot wearing them.

“Eli, honey!” She called back. “They’re here by the front door!”

Harry couldn’t stop smiling. “How lucky am I, Buddy?” He asked shaking the leash slightly. The dog turned to him and then tugged him around the yard looking for the right spot; totally unaware or unaffected that Harry had the best life there was to live.

“I-M-P-E-R-U-T-I-V-E.”

“Close, baby girl,” she smiled encouragingly. “It’s an A, not U.”

She looked miserable as she stepped off the porch. Evie approached Harry while his wife bent to help Eli with his sneakers. “I’m going to fail, Daddy.”

He chuckled at the little nine-year-old. Crouched to her height twirling the leash tight around one hand. He straightened her little hair bow on the side of her head, pinning her hair back to one side. He kissed her forehead. “Mummy said y’were close. Y’did a great job. Y’jus’ have t’remember there’s an A,” he reminded her and then pinched her cheek gently. “Like the grade you’re going t’get, right?” He winked at her.

Evie’s sweet eyes lit up with new hope. She turned to the pretty woman at the door holding Eli’s hand to usher him quickly out of the house now that his shoes were securely on his feet. “Mommy! Did you hear what Daddy said to help me remember?”

She grinned so beautifully; it melted him. The center of his chest felt deliriously warm. It felt equivalent to being snuggled under a blanket with her, warm and close while it snowed outside their house. The kids drinking hot chocolate at the coffee table and a movie playing in the background.

It was unbelievable she was all his. “What did Daddy say, Evie?” Eli held onto her hand tight while he jumped from the second to last step of the porch while Evie explained the A she was going to get. “Well, I guess you inherited your smarts from Daddy, hmm?” Which was unequivocally a joke. She was a hundred times smarter than him. Or at least it felt that way. But he loved her so much for never making him feel less than. She was good at that. It was impossible to feel less than in her presence.

She was good at everything. Her job, being a wife, but perhaps his favorite thing, she was a tremendous mother. Something he knew she would be good at, but not to the extent he witnessed on a daily basis. Eli hurried to Harry and Buddy petting the dog’s head and giggling when he licked his face. Harry kissed the top of his head and gave his little body a squeeze. “What smarts?” Harry asked.

She rolled her eyes as she finally approached her family. “You’re plenty smart, baby,” she shook her head with a gentle smile. The two kids that looked like the perfect combination of them went to her car and climbed into their respective seats. Harry wrapped his free arm around her back and pulled her to his side. He kissed her temple, nosing along her hairline.

“Not as smart as m’beautiful wife,” he reminded her. She laughed.

“I love you.” She tilted her head up for a kiss which Harry never let her wait for.

“I love you,” he grinned into the kiss.

“Ew!” Eli called.

“Mommy, let’s go!” Evie was eager to get to school and ace her spelling test.

“Bye Daddy!” Eli shouted. She gave his cheek a final peck and she headed across the yard to take their kids to school. “See you at my soccer game!”

“Hey kitten?” He called.

“Yeah?” She asked over her shoulder.

“M’a lucky man t’have you,” he reminded her.

She shook her head, laughed. “Me too, baby. Luckiest girl in the world to have you.”

The second her door closed behind her a swarm of hummingbirds fluttered so loudly into the yard. Seemingly out of nowhere. The noise of their wings was unbelievable. A dull roar. It was hundreds of the little birds, and she paid no mind to them as she started her car. Buddy didn’t care about the intrusion either. Even the kids were indifferent. “Are y’seeing this?” He called out to her. He blinked curiously when she didn’t respond. “What’s with all the—”

*

I had a dream last night / we were married in that house you always talked about / you were rushing to get the kids to school / packing their lunches, reviewing their spelling words / it was hummingbirds

Harry’s heart was beating like he had just finished a workout. His skin felt clammy. The sheets were wrapped too tightly around his legs. He groaned as his alarm vibrated to the same hum of the birds in his dream. The music playing alongside the vibration made him grumpy. “What the fuck?” He whispered and smacked the song off. He wished he could go right back. Did Evie pass her test? Did Eli score a goal?

Did she still love him the way he dreamed about?

*

Dr. Hendren listened to Harry’s dream but very much already knew the ending. It was the same as all his dreams with the house and the girl that he had been hearing for ten years.

“Harry,” the doctor said gently as he watched Harry on his screen. “Do you know what hummingbirds symbolize?”

“No,” Harry was grumpy. He always was after a dream that was so real so lifelike. It wasn’t fair. He just wanted her back. Wanted to see her. Wanted to know.

“Healing.” Dr. Hendren was quiet while Harry processed that. He worked his jaw, swallowing, and flexing it as he tried to get the words to come out. His body felt tense. Like he was trapped inside a box that was too small. That didn’t seem right. He didn’t feel like he was healed. He was still frustrated most of the time. Work was a minor distraction, and the loneliness was crippling at times. The only reprieve was dreaming of that pretty girl he knew so many years ago.

Why did it have to be her? She didn’t deserve Harry and his bad attitude. She already suffered through it for two years at a time when life should have been fun, lovely, sweet. They were kids and Harry was an ass. He never even said he loved her back then.

“Don’t you think,” Dr. Hendren continued quietly, and Harry knew what he was going to say. “You’ve been quiet long enough about what you want?” He shrugged. “Harry,” he tutted.

“I wasn’t a good boyfriend.”

“You were a kid.”

“She deserved more.”

“Then tell her. Worst case scenario, she doesn’t want to talk to you and you’ll have some closure and you can stop dreaming about it.”

Harry remained silent, looking around his empty apartment. He took a deep breath and nodded. “Alright. I’ll reach out to her.”

“Harry,” Dr. Hendren said quietly. “Have you thought about the best-case scenario?”

He shook his head. Thatkind of hope could kill him. But he knew why the dreams were so powerful these days. Why they were so steady and quick.

Woke up bleeding from my mouth / I bit my tongue right through / well I broke the habit / I guess that I’d had it not saying the things I need to

The following morning, he searched his inbox from an email he hadn’t used in ten years and found the address he never thought he’d email again after he broke up with her way back when.

But Harry wasn’t twenty anymore. He was trying to move on. Trying to fix things that should have been fixed a long time ago. He sat on the couch, typed out seven different versions of the message and clicked send before he could overthink it any longer. He slapped the computer shut and rubbed his hands on his pants. He took a sip of the tea he made hoping to calm himself and told himself that it was okay if she didn’t answer.

Hey. Long time. Not sure if you use this email. I know it’s been a long while. Hope you’re well. ... I’ve been thinking of you. And truthfully, I had a pretty realistic dream that you were in the other night. Nothing weird. Just my old self and back then and... I don’t know. ... How are you?

If she was working, she might just be getting settled. Or maybe out with a friend. Running errands. He refrained from imagining a little family that was waiting on her for dinner but reminded himself anyway that there were a million reasons she—

His phone lit up on the table beside the computer and his heart skipped a beat.

Harry Styles. As I live and breathe :) I’m well! How are you?

That little smiley face made his heart ache with adoration for her. He could picture her pretty face smiling. But she answered.

Good. Yeah. I… I’ve been going to therapy regularly. Finally had to and... my doctor and I have discussed a lot of things. You were one of them. I just... wanted to chat with you. I’m sorry, this is so out of the blue and weird.

No! Not at all, Harry. I’m glad you reached out. It’s really nice to hear from you. Therapy? That’s amazing! Do you like it?

I’m a work in progress.

Aren’t we all? :)

He smiled feeling relieved. Even just reading words on a screen made him feel at ease. He could practically hear her sweet, encouraging voice.

What are you up to? Do you live in state still?

Yes! I actually just moved down the road from the college. I’m a guidance counselor at the local high school.

That’s lovely. I’m not surprised you accomplished your goals. Your students are lucky to have you. Are you doing okay? It has to be draining.

A lot of the time yeah. But it’s rewarding as hell. You know I love kids, and I love being able to help.

Harry wondered if it was possible to love her more than he ever had before.

There’s a shadow on my shoulder / always whispers in my ear / that I’m so angry all of the time / I should be alone another year / I didn’t say it how you needed it / must have written it down a thousand times / all the things I would scream at the top of my lungs / if I wasn’t so busy saying I’m fine.

Harry had a habit of not saying what he was feeling. He bottled so much of it up and hid it from the rest of the world. Even people he loved. When he was dating her back in college, he kept a lot hidden and exploded when she asked him simple questions about himself. Trying to understand him and why he was angry all the time. Her willingness to look past it, try and help, and just continue to be kind to him made him angry too. It was constant, draining. It was like he couldn’t help himself.

There was a tiny voice in his head that told him he was too angry for her. She deserved someone lovely and sweet. Someone who would talk to her and tell her things. Be the person she deserved. Because despite everything, Harry loved love. It was nearly impossible for him to show it back then. But he did. He wanted to love her the way she needed.

But he was so busy being angry and bottling his emotions he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t love her the right way.

It was so unfair to her and looking back on it made him feel like a proper ass.

So, he was grateful for the email communication. He couldn’t imagine having this conversation with her about all this in person. They chatted for days. Catching up on things, reminiscing. Their email chain was up to 100 something messages. Some messages were long. Harry chatted about his family and she about hers. There were updates on work. On friends they still spoke to and no longer did. The conversation continued over the course of a little under a week.

But the most shocking details came from her.

I mentioned I moved... my ex-fiancé broke off our engagement. Don’t feel too bad for me, it’s actually a relief in hindsight. Something I’ve been trying to figure through. It’s why I know that anything you feel you did wasn’t nearly as bad as you thought it was. There’s far worse relationship enders than a little bit of anger.

Jesus, I’m so sorry, kitten.

Well, isn’t that a sweet name for sore eyes :) Don’t be sorry. It’s good. I have this cute apartment to myself and it’s for the best it happened now before there were too many variables to consider...like kids or a house or something, you know? I’m definitely sad. But he wasn’t the one for me at the end of the day.

Sorry for dumping all that on you. It’s not really fair given our past. I think a lot of my friends disagree with my choice on this to let him go so it’s nice to just tell someone non-judgmental.

Harry felt angry the way he used to. The way that made him want to scream and he felt the desperate need to message Dr. Hendren because he felt out of his depth. All he said was sorry. How could she feel he was non-judgmental. He was judgmental. He was judging the fuck out of the piece of shit that broke her heart and made her sad.

But he was no better.

The man is an idiot to lose you. I know from experience.

:) I have to head to bed, there’s a big pep rally tomorrow at school so I have to have my brain ready for chaos. Sleep well Harry.

Good night, kitten.

He reread those messages over and over and right before he was going to fall asleep, his phone lit up with one more message.

You’re not an idiot by the way. He might be, but you, Harry Styles are not.

So of course, he dreamed of Evie, Eli, and the sweet girl at the other end of his emails that night.

And hummingbirds.

Thousands of hummingbirds.

*

Most of their messages were short.

I’ve been going to therapy for three years now.

That’s wonderful, Harry. Really. Do you like it?

Yeah...it’s hard.

:( Yeah... It really is. Do you like your therapist?

Yeah. I’ve had him the whole time.

Yeah? That’s good. I’m... proud of you. I don’t want to be weird about it, but I know you were angry. Really angry. It wasn’t good. You didn’t deserve that. I’m glad you have someone to help you work through it.

...You were so nice to me. When you shouldn’t have been. I didn’t treat you right.

You were wonderful, Harry. We were practically kids. If our relationship had any faults, it was because we were too young. I don’t regret a second of time being with you.

His heart skipped a beat. He felt that frustration from back when they were young, and she was so understanding but it didn’t make him grumpy or feel inadequate. All he felt was a sense of belonging. Something he probably would have felt back then if he could have gotten out of his own way. She was willing to look past it then as she was now.

You’re much too forgiving. He wrote. Because old habits die hard.

You weren’t fine, Harry. You didn’t know. We didn’t know what we were dealing with at that age.

Harry hadn’t a clue what he was dealing with. Did he even know now?

Can... can I give you something?

Give me something?

Yes. I... I can bring it to your apartment or to school or we can meet, I just... I’ve been trying to let it go but I think... I think my dream was reminding me that... there’s more to you. More I need to do for you.

Sure, if you think it will give you closure.

God, Harry wanted anything but closure.

Just to clarify: I don’t think you owe me anything.

I kept a lot hidden from you. I held back and it wasn’t fair. All you wanted was to love me and I wouldn’t let you.

It’s a vulnerable thing, Harry. To be loved. You didn’t do anything wrong. We were just young.

But... you knew I wasn’t fine, and you tried and... I just wasn’t fair to you.

You were fine, Harry. I promise. Bring me whatever it is that you need to give me to make you believe you did what you could with what you had.

*

Her apartment had a wreath on the door. It was beautiful with an array of burnt orange and red flowers and green vines. The perfect fall wreath. Beside the door were three pumpkins of different sizes. If he didn’t have her address, he almost thought he would know it was her place. He looked at the mat in front of the door that said welcome, and he wondered if there was any other place where someone actually meant it.

Swallowing, he took a deep breath and knocked. After a minute, the door was out of the way.

At 18, Harry thought she was beautiful. The most beautiful girl he had ever met. During the time they dated, he thought she got more beautiful every second. Apparently, he was right because the woman before him somehow got exponentially more beautiful. Her smile was so inviting, so warm. Like he was seeing an old friend. “Hey Harry,” her voice was sweet. Not an ounce of distrust, frustration, nothing. Their breakup was ten years ago. Not a degree of anger was left.

Harry wasn’t angry either. Not anymore. But if she had broken up with him and he hadn’t done all this work to better himself, he would have been. He didn’t know how she could be so sweet after all she went through.

“Hi,” he swallowed. “I don’t want t’keep you. S’really nice t’see you,” his dream didn’t do her justice. Sure, she was beautiful especially with their imaginary kids. Simply stunning. But this was more. This was the beautiful angel he loved so much even when she wasn’t his to love.

“You’re not keeping me; do you want to come in?” She shifted to open the door wider. “I can make some tea. Or we can order pizza?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I jus’ want t’give y’this,” he handed her the shoe box.

She opened the lid. “Well, you know I won’t say no to shoes,” she smirked.

As much as he wanted to laugh at her joke, he felt like he made a mistake. The box was out of his hands. Not because of what was in there but because of the fear of rejection and being so vulnerable. Feelings of inadequacy were currently circulating through his bloodstream. “Um... s’not—”

“What is this?” She asked, tilting her head. He swallowed, pinched his lower lip between his fingers and took a deep breath.

“S’letters.”

“Letters?”

“I wrote t’you.”

“Me?”

He took a deep breath. “M’sure y’know m’not good at saying what m’feeling.”

She replaced the lid, leaning against the frame. “I feel like I’m a little lost here, Harry.”

He nodded, shoved his hands in his pockets so he wouldn’t fidget or reach back out to take it from her. His mouth felt dry. He wished he had taken her offer for a glass of water now.  “I know y’said y’thought we were fine. But m’not happy with how I treated you. Y’were an angel. The perfect girlfriend and I treated y’unfairly a lot. I guess I’ve really held onto that and some of those letters are old but when I hit low points I thought ‘bout what y’said back then. How I wasn’t on m’own. I was allowed t’be angry. But I had t’let people in. All that. I wrote t’you a lot over the years. M’therapist said it was actually one of the smartest things I’ve done on m’own,” he chuckled. “I want you t’read them. When y’have time. I guess. I don’t know,” he cleared his throat. “This is really scary,” he admitted.

“Okay,” she nodded encouragingly and reached out to his forearm. She squeezed it reassuringly. It was only a touch on his arm, and he felt so good feeling it. He knew it was her training kicking in. Like a broken, beaten student at her office door. “I can do that,” she assured him. “Do you want me to text you about each one? Or just a summary of all of them? Or do you want me to not say anything?”

He looked at his feet. “Fuck...” he whispered to himself. “I don’t know.”

“Okay,” she took a deep breath. “Thank you,” she smiled. “I’ll start reading tonight and I’ll decide in the moment. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want.”

He nodded, looked at his feet. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?”

“S’a lot.”

“I enjoy reading, Harry,” she grinned and moved her hand to his upper arm and soothingly rubbed up and down. “Thank you for trusting me.”

Of course he did. There was no one else he really did. He nodded, feeling nauseous but still lighter. “I’m gonna go now,” he swallowed.

“I’ll email you,” she assured him with a smile and headed inside.

*

Like it grows old real fast / how much you can love and not get it back / were we too attached? / It’s a shame how often goodbyes last / I thought we were better than that / I thought I was stronger at last.

The knock on the door was hurried, eager. Insistent on being heard.

At first, he felt frozen in the kitchen cleaning up the dinner he made himself and placing the dirty dishes in the sink. Maybe he imagined the knock. Maybe he was just dreaming again. Plus, she said she would email right? This wasn’t something to feel nervous about.

But the flutter of knocking continued. He hurried from his frozen position as the rapid taps hit the wood. He knew. His gut telling him exactly who was on the other side of that door. Taking a deep breath, he swallowed before pulling it out of the way.

“You bought me the house?!” She shrieked.

Harry dipped his head to avoid her eyes. “Yes.”

“Harry Styles, what the fuck?!”

He felt sick. “You hate it?”

Her eyes were red, glossy. Not what he expected at all. But why wasn’t it? This wasn’t normal. After a breakup of her own where she was sure she was going to marry the guy. Harry appeared out of nowhere. Telling her that he had a dream about her, and he hadn’t stopped thinking about her.

She covered her mouth and shook her head. “Harry,” she croaked.

“I’m—"

“You can’t buy me a house! We’re not even... Harry. This is insane! You have to see that!”

He shrugged. “I guess... but... I don’t know, kitten. I think about you all the time. I see this house in my sleep. I see our life in m’dreams every night.”

She was wearing only socks. Like she didn’t even have time to put on shoes. She held the paper in her hand wrinkled like she had read it hundreds of times already even though he had only given it to her the night before and he just knew which one was in her hands. She cleared her throat and read the date from ten years ago before she read the remainder of the letter.

To the resident(s) of 1278 Chestnut Street

My name is Harry Styles, and I am a college student in town. My girlfriend and I walk by your lovely home every day when we head to our favorite coffee shop after class. We love your home. Or I should say, my girlfriend LOVES your home. She claims it’s her dream home. The porch, the yard, the location... everything. She even loves your driveway. Every bit of your house is part of this fantastic dream she has of the life she wants in the future.

I don’t know if I’ll be with her forever. I am... working on myself. I’m not very good at all this relationship stuff. Especially when it comes to her. Quite frankly, I think she deserves way better than me. But on the off chance I am lucky enough to keep her in my life for as long as I would like, I want to make her dreams come true. She deserves that. She deserves every single one of her dreams to come true. She is the kind of girl that deserves every good thing that can possibly be provided for her.

If you ever find yourself selling, would you please consider emailing me first? Of course, if you have family that you plan on giving your home to, I understand. I can’t even promise I’ll be able to afford it, but I’ll want to know. If only to pass on the message to her somewhere down the line. She deserves the chance to have all her dreams come true.

I’m not sure where you are in life or if you have ever been in a relationship like this one. This girl is so special. She’s an angel. The kind of love that even a movie couldn’t show, or a book couldn’t write. I’m lucky to have her right now and I don’t know why she’s with me. I don’t know why I’m even sending this crazy letter other than I know I have to try. Even if she’s smart enough to leave me, I want her to know her dream home is available. Somewhere down the road. Even if we’re not on the same road anymore. That’s what she deserves.

I’m sorry to bother you like this. I hope you can understand what love can do to a guy in college with a girlfriend who is LEAGUES above him. Thank you for taking time to read this and I hope you continue to enjoy your lovely home.

Sincerely,

Harry

Her voice shook as she read it. “You sent that when we were in college.” He nodded, swallowed the lump in his throat and looked at the packet stapled together. “They emailed you,” she whispered. He nodded again.

“Dear Harry. We got your letter. When the time comes. We’ll be moving closer to our children. They’ve never expressed interest in our house the way you have. My wife and I met in college and believe me, I know a little something about finding the girl of your dreams. It’s nice you’re working on yourself. You deserve the life that fits this house too. We hope it’s with the girl that is leagues above you (although, we imagine she’d think differently). We’ll be in touch. The Andersons.”

Harry watched her flip the page as she made eye contact with him briefly before returning her gaze to the paper in front of her.

“Dear Harry. We hope life is treating you well. That you’re working on yourself, and your girlfriend is still around. If she’s not, we hope you’re not being too hard on yourself. We wanted to let you know we’ll soon be moving to a retirement community close to our son. We want to have you (and your girlfriend) over for dinner if you’re available. Let us know.”

Harry knew what was coming but he was still terrified. Why was she here? Barefoot. Reading the letters to him. What did she think.

“Dear Harry. It was so nice to meet you in person. Here is the contract we discussed. See you soon.”

He rubbed the back of his head. “Kitten,” he whispered.

“Dear Harry. We hope you get her back. Enjoy your home. Never stop giving out your love. The Andersons.”

She was teary, swallowing hard. Her hands were shaking as she held the papers in front of her. “You bought me a house.”

He nodded. There was a pause. “M’sorry I took so long.”

She dropped the papers and launched herself into his arms. He stumbled back at the impact. Her arms around his neck, her feet barely touching the floor as she tucked her face into his shoulder. “Harry,” she whimpered. Harry sighed, wrapped his arms tightly around her, one at her waist, the other hand cupping the back of her head.

“I’ve loved you for so long,” his voice felt raw. Like he was the one that was crying and shaking. Not her.

She sniffled and nodded. “I know,” because she did. She read every single letter. Watched the date change but one thing never did and that was the love she felt in each letter.

“M’so tired, kitten,” he croaked.

“Of what, baby?” She cupped his face. The emotion on his face was tender and nothing like she remembered from ten years prior. Her thumb soothingly rubbed his cheek.

“Life without you,” he closed his eyes tight. “This house is yours I want nothing more than for you t’have it, but I want it t’be ours.”

She sniffled, ducked her head briefly as she glanced around. “You decorated it for Halloween,” she whispered.

“You would have done better.”

She snorted. “Harry...”

“If this is the house that makes you happy then I want it jus’ as much, kitten. But you’re my home. You always have been.”

“I don’t know what to say Harry,” she whimpered.

“Say yes.”

“Harry...” she whispered.

“Please, I’m so tired of loving and loving and never feeling that way. I know s’how I made y’feel in college and y’jus’ dealt with it. Y’jus’ wanted love and I didn’t give y’what y’needed. But m’ready now. M’so ready t’do whatever y’need t’love you the way y’deserve. The way y’always deserved.”

Not for the first time in his life, Harry prayed that if this was a dream, he would never wake up.

He never thought he would hold her again. Never thought she would be in the house she always wanted. Or that she would know he was sorry for how he was back when he was an angry kid.

Perhaps most importantly, he never thought he would feel her lips on his ever again.

--

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[rootedinrevisions]

Just...Stay: Part 2

SUMMARY: Tyler has to prove himself and win back your trust after nearly losing you for good. As he tries to commit to building a life together, the past tensions resurface, challenging both of you to confront the insecurities and fears that have kept you apart.

PART 1 HERE

A/N: I tried to write this using some of the ideas that you guys had for where YOU would like to see the story go (ie: a little bit of Tyler groveling, her moving on, and Tyler having to try and win her back! Hope you like it! xx

WORD COUNT: 4.8k

WARNINGS: Angst. Fluff.

TAG LIST: SEE COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists or be tagged for a specific character please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added!

You stand on the porch, watching Tyler’s taillights disappear down the long, winding road. The ache in your chest tightens, and you whisper to yourself, He’s gone. This time, for real. You let out a shaky breath, gripping the porch railing as if it can steady the chaos churning inside you. You’ve waited so many times for him to turn around, to decide he wanted you as much as you wanted him. But he’d made his choice, and you can’t keep waiting for him to want you.

With a shaky breath, you went back inside, the echo of his last words still hanging heavy in the air. Your hands trembled as you reached for your phone, already pressing the familiar contact without needing to see the name. When the line connected and your mother answered, you could barely get out a word. But she didn’t need you to; she recognized the silence, the breathless, broken sound of you holding back tears.

“Oh, honey,” she said softly, with that knowing sadness in her voice. “You don’t have to say a thing. I know.”

The crack in her voice brought the tears you’d been fighting up to the surface. The dam broke, and everything you’d been holding in—the hope, the ache, the final goodbye—poured out, leaving you unable to respond as she filled the silence with soft, soothing words.

“I’m coming over,�� she assured you. “Just sit tight. I’ll be there soon.”

You nodded even though she couldn’t see you, wiping away tears as you settled back against the counter, feeling like the empty space Tyler left behind was somehow everywhere now, pressing in around you. The quiet house felt so much bigger without him in it, the emptiness swallowing every corner that once held laughter, whispered promises, and the comfort of his steady presence—even if it was always temporary.

Later, you and your mom sit in the living room, the stillness almost too much to bear. She’s wrapped her arms around you, her gentle strength holding you together when you feel like you’re falling apart. You try to hold back the tears, but the weight of everything—of hoping he’d turn around, hoping he’d realize he was making a mistake, hoping he’d come back up those steps to say he was staying—finally breaks.

Your mom rubs small circles on your back, her voice soft and steady. “He made his choice, and someday, he’ll understand what he’s lost,” she murmurs. “You did everything you could, honey. You deserve someone who’s going to put you first.”

You nod, though it doesn’t stop the ache gnawing at you. For the first time, though, you start to let the truth settle in: that you deserve more than the waiting, the hoping. That you deserve someone who chooses you fully, every single day.

Later that night you stand in front of the bathroom mirror, the harsh light making your face look even more worn from the day, you brace yourself for another quiet night. You slip into your pajamas, ready to try and sleep through the ache in your chest, when your phone lights up on the countertop. Tyler’s name stares back at you, as if daring you to pick up.

Your heart thuds painfully, and for a split second, you’re tempted. He’s calling, just like he said he would. But you can’t answer this time. You can’t let him back in, not after everything. So you hit the red button, sending his call to silence.

Thirty seconds later, your phone lights up again—his name filling the screen once more. The resolve you’d tried so hard to build threatens to crumble, but you steady yourself, knowing you need to stay strong. You told him what would happen if he left. You’d made it clear, and this time, you have to stay firm with that.

With a deep breath, you hit “Ignore” again, feeling both the sting of regret and the strength of your own boundaries. It hurts, but you know it’s what you need to do.

You turn your phone face-down on the bed, trying to ignore the nagging pull to check it. But when you do, Tyler’s message is there, waiting.

Tyler: Can we talk? I just want to talk to you.

You close your eyes, feeling the weight of every unsaid word between you. He wants to talk, but he still isn’t saying what you need to hear—no apologies, no acknowledgment of what he’s putting you through, just the same vague promises. Another message appears as you sit, reading it with an ache building in your chest.

Tyler: Please. Talk to me darlin.

You want to answer; some part of you always will. But there’s no real shift in his words, no sign that he understands what you need. It’s just Tyler reaching out like he always does, and leaving you to carry the weight when he pulls away.

So, you let the messages sit. They stare back at you, blue checkmarks confirming that you’ve seen them, leaving him on read for once. It takes everything in you, but you put your phone on silent and push it to the side. This time, you’re standing firm.

* * * *

A few months had come and gone since you’d last heard Tyler’s voice, and while the ache lingered, day by day, you’d felt it dull. The first few weeks had been the hardest—filled with reminders of him in places you hadn’t even thought to look. But with time, you’d found a new rhythm. You packed up his things and stored them in the barn loft, out of sight and mostly out of mind. There’d been a few days when you’d thought he might call again, but each week that passed with no message made it easier to let him go.

Then, just a few nights ago, you’d bumped into Matt at the bar. The quiet, shy boy you remembered from high school was still there, but he’d grown more self-assured, his conversations easy and light. He’d listened intently, asked thoughtful questions, and laughed at your jokes, which was a nice change after months of heartache. When he’d asked if you’d join him for dinner, his eyes hopeful yet calm, you found yourself agreeing without hesitation.

Now, as you finish getting ready, you catch a glimmer of that anticipation you thought you’d lost. It’s a soft, hopeful excitement, different from the wild spark you’d once had for Tyler, but maybe that’s exactly what you need.

As you slip on your shoes and give yourself one last look in the mirror, a strange mixture of nerves and excitement tingles in your stomach. It’s been so long since you let yourself look forward to something like this—putting on a new dress, curling your hair, and swiping on lipstick just to feel a little spark. It feels nice to step into a night that’s full of possibility, even if it’s quieter than the whirlwind you once imagined with Tyler.

Matt isn’t the kind of guy who will leave you on edge, wondering what comes next. That thought is comforting as you smooth the fabric of your dress and check your reflection one last time. He’s steady, warm, and easy to talk to, and when he’d asked you out last week, you’d felt a genuine flicker of excitement—a feeling you hadn’t allowed yourself in ages.

Your phone chimes, breaking the silence of your room. You glance over, expecting it to be a text from Matt saying he’s on his way, but instead, you freeze. 

Tyler’s name flashes across the screen, and for a moment, everything else fades.

Tyler: Hey. I know it’s been a while, but can we talk? I’ve been thinking a lot. Just… if you have a minute.

You stare at the message, feeling a swirl of emotions you thought you’d buried. It’s been weeks since his last message, and each day that passed without one felt like another small step forward. You’ve been letting him go—pushing his things up into the barn loft, moving him out of your thoughts inch by inch. But tonight, of all nights, he’s suddenly there, reaching out again.

The phone chimes again, and another message appears.

Tyler: I’m sorry. I miss you. Just thought you should know.

Your heart clenches, but this time, you feel a new kind of strength holding you back. You let out a shaky breath, reminding yourself that you deserve someone who doesn’t make you wait and wonder, who doesn’t leave just to come back again. Tyler’s voice and his words, tempting as they are, can’t keep pulling you under. Not anymore.

With that, you tuck your phone into your bag, letting his message go unanswered as you grab your keys. Tonight, you’re stepping out into something new, something steady and full of hope—maybe even something that finally lets you move on.

At dinner, you and Matt settle into a cozy booth near the window, the glow of candlelight casting a soft warmth across the table. You offer a smile, and he returns it, looking just as eager and nervous as you feel. The waiter takes your orders, and for a moment, you both fumble with your menus, using them as a buffer against the quiet that settles between you.

“So,” Matt says, clearing his throat, “how’s work been treating you?”

You launch into a polite summary, and he nods along, sharing his own stories from the hardware store, a few of which earn a chuckle. But as you finish, another silence slips in, and you feel that small, familiar tension build in your chest. You drum your fingers lightly on the table, scanning your mind for something—anything—to say. Just as the silence is about to become too much, Matt asks if you’re excited for the weekend, and you let out a quiet sigh of relief.

You tell yourself it’s probably just nerves, that this is normal. After all, it’s been a couple of years since you’ve been on a real date, and first dates are always a little awkward. But as you lift your glass to take a sip, you can’t help but think back to the times you’d come to this same restaurant with Tyler. How the conversation would flow so easily, sometimes even late into the night. You’d swap stories, share laughs, and talk about everything and nothing all at once. There was never a lull, never a forced smile or the need to fill the quiet.

You catch yourself before the memory sinks any deeper and shake your head, forcing a smile as Matt picks up on a new thread of conversation.

Stepping outside the restaurant after dinner with Matt, you hold the door open just long enough to make sure he’s following when you feel yourself bump into someone headed in. You stumble back, and strong hands instinctively reach out to steady you. You begin to apologize, breathless from the sudden collision, only to look up and freeze. 

Those familiar, green eyes meet yours, and for a moment, everything around you blurs. Tyler stands before you, in a red button-up, worn jeans, and that off-white Stetson you know all too well. He murmurs your name, his voice thick with something unreadable as he holds you in place for a heartbeat longer than necessary. 

But before you can react, Matt is by your side, his hand pressing warmly against your lower back, gently pulling you away. 

Tyler releases you, his gaze lingering as Matt asks if you’re okay. You nod, feeling a bit dazed, and allow Matt to guide you toward the street.

Tyler calls your name again, his voice softer, a thread of desperation woven through it. But you glance back only briefly before following Matt down the sidewalk, his arm curling around your shoulders protectively as he continues talking, oblivious to the moment that just passed. 

You try to steady yourself, but the weight of Tyler’s gaze is still on you, even as you walk away.

Watching you leave with someone else beside you, Tyler’s heart twists in a way he didn’t see coming. The sight of Matt’s hand resting comfortably on your shoulder, of you turning away from him so resolutely, strikes deeper than any storm he’s ever chased. It’s in this moment that something cracks, and he realizes with painful clarity just how much he’s let slip through his fingers. The thought of anyone else sharing the moments you once shared together is a weight he can’t shake. As he watches you disappear into the night, Tyler makes a silent vow to win you back, whatever it takes.

Matt drives you home, the quiet hum of the engine filling the comfortable silence between you as you watch the streets blur past. He’s considerate, not pushing for conversation, as though sensing the hints of distraction lingering in your gaze. When he pulls up to your house, he steps out first, hurrying around to open your door. You offer a grateful smile, following him to your porch as you fish for your keys.

Standing under the dim porch light, you both pause, caught in that familiar, tentative moment that usually ends with a goodnight kiss. Matt smiles, leaning in with a softness in his eyes that tells you he’s hoping for more than the simple goodbye you’re about to offer. And though part of you wants to bridge that gap—maybe even craves the closure it could bring—Tyler’s face flashes in your mind, his eyes catching yours across that restaurant entrance, and you can’t shake the thought.

You lean forward, placing a gentle kiss on Matt’s cheek before stepping back, your hand lightly on his arm. He seems to understand, though a hint of disappointment flickers in his eyes. “Goodnight, Matt,” you say softly, your hand dropping back to your side.

“Goodnight,” he replies, a warm smile slipping back into place. He pulls you in for a quick hug, his embrace steady and reassuring, but he doesn’t push for more. 

Watching him walk back to his car, you feel a pang of guilt. Matt’s a good man, and he deserves someone whose heart isn’t scattered across memories and what-ifs.

You let out a slow breath as his car pulls away, whispering into the stillness around you. You know you’re not quite there yet.

Minutes later you are in the kitchen, getting yourself a glass of water when you hear it. When you hear him. The rumble of his truck reaches you before the sight of it does, that familiar low, steady hum breaking the quiet night. You freeze in place, feeling the sound more than hearing it, the way it seems to settle into your bones and send your heart racing. You step over to the kitchen window, barely breathing as you watch him pull up, headlights cutting through the darkness until he shuts the engine off.

For a moment, he doesn’t move, just sits there, his silhouette still and contemplative. You’d know the tilt of his head, the set of his shoulders, anywhere. 

Slowly, he climbs out and makes his way up the path, boots crunching on the gravel. With each step he takes your mind races, grasping for words, trying to brace for the conversation you know he’s here to have.

When he reaches the front porch, he pauses, hands on his hips as he lets out a long breath. His eyes flick to the window, and you step back instinctively, as though he might see you. 

You feel a sharp pang in your chest, the past month of silence cracking open like fresh heartbreak. Then he’s knocking, the sound a low, insistent rhythm that echoes through the house, reaching you where you stand, rooted in place.

You take a deep, steadying breath, one hand reaching to your chest as if to calm the beat of your heart. You can’t avoid him now. Whatever he has to say, you need to hear it. Your fingers wrap around the doorknob, twisting it as you remind yourself to stand strong, to keep your heart guarded.

With one last breath, you open the door, meeting Tyler’s gaze—the same gaze that’s held you and let you go too many times to count. Tyler’s eyes find yours, raw and pleading, and his face softens in a way you haven’t seen in a long time. He takes a shaky breath, his words tumbling out in a rush like he’s been holding them back for too long. 

“I know I messed up. I know I’ve given you every reason to walk away,” he begins, his voice low and thick with emotion. “But I can’t lose you. I can’t…not like this.”

His hands run through his hair, and for a second, he looks at the ground, gathering himself. When he looks back up, his eyes glisten, and he steps closer, his words growing more insistent. 

“These last few months, you not talking to me… I can’t even explain how much that hurt. How much I’ve missed you—missed everything we had. I kept thinking, maybe if I left you alone, you’d be better off. But I was wrong, and now I can’t stand not being near you.”

He takes another breath, his voice catching slightly as he adds, “I want to come home. I want to be with you. I want to come back and stay this time…if you’ll have me.”

You feel your heart stutter, your mind racing to process what he’s just said. You’ve wanted to hear those words so many times before, but now…now that he’s here, your defenses come rushing up. 

You try to keep your voice steady, shaking your head as you take a step back. “Tyler…you don’t just get to come back whenever you feel like it. You left. You made that choice, and I—” But you stop, seeing the way he looks at you, eyes shining with the tears he’s trying to keep back.

He’s holding his breath, his chest rising and falling like he’s struggling to hold himself together. The vulnerability in his face hits you like a wave, breaking down the walls you’ve been trying so hard to build.

“Please,” he whispers, voice barely above a breath. “I know I don’t deserve it, but I…I just need you to know that you’re it for me. You’re home. Not just this house or the land…you, darlin’. Anywhere you are, that’s where I want to be. I don’t want to run anymore.”

You feel a knot in your chest tighten, torn between the longing in his words and the pain of what’s happened.

“Tyler,” you begin, voice unsteady, “I can’t do this again. I can’t open myself up just to watch you walk away.”

His hand reaches out, hesitating before he rests it on your arm, his thumb tracing a gentle line along your skin. “I’m not going anywhere this time,” he says softly, his voice trembling. “Not unless you tell me to.”

The look in his eyes tells you he’s here, truly here, every bit of himself laid bare for you. And for the first time, you see a man who’s willing to fight—fight to be with you, fight for a future together, fight to make up for every broken promise.

You cross your arms over your chest, the weight of his words sitting heavy in the air between you. For a second, it almost feels like you can’t breathe. His words are exactly what you’ve wanted to hear, but there’s still a part of you that’s scared—scared to believe him, scared to fall for this all over again. You take a step back, trying to distance yourself from the emotions that have flooded your chest.

“How do I know?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper but carrying the weight of every question you’ve been holding onto. “How do I know this time is going to be different? How do I know you’re not just saying what I want to hear, again?”

He pauses, his face tightening for a brief moment, before his eyes soften, his sincerity cutting through the uncertainty. “All I can do is prove it to you,” he says quietly. His words are steady, but there’s an ache beneath them, something that makes your heart skip. “I can’t change the past, but I can damn sure try to make up for it.”

He glances toward his truck, his hand dropping to the side before he looks back at you. “I brought an extra bag with me this time,” he says, his voice steady with a quiet determination. “I was hoping you’d let me leave it here. Maybe when I come back in a couple weeks I could come back with the rest of my stuff…and that you’ll let me stay.” He looks at you, his eyes open and honest, no pretense, no bravado—just the raw truth of a man who wants nothing more than to rebuild what he lost.

You feel the sharp sting of his words sink into you, and for a moment, you’re speechless. Tyler Owens, the man who once seemed so lost, so unsure of anything but the moment, is telling you he’s ready to plan. You feel the ground beneath you shift as he continues.

“I’ve talked to Boone, Lily, Dexter, and Dani about it,” he says, almost as if it’s something he’s already put in motion. “I’ve been thinking about moving up here, about making it work. I know it’s not just about me anymore. I know what I did, and I know what it’s going to take for you to trust me again. I want to be here, with you. And I’ve already been figuring out how I can make it work with storm chasing. With the team.”

The weight of his words hits you like a freight train. Tyler, who’d never seemed the type to plan, to make a life out of more than just surviving, is telling you that he’s thought ahead. He’s thought about you—about living with you. The logistics of his work, where he’d fit in with the team, how he could make it all work—things he’d never even considered before.

He never once brought up the idea of moving in, of building a future with you, before. Now, he’s here, telling you that he’s ready. And as much as your heart aches with uncertainty, something inside of you can’t help but feel the tiniest thread of hope tugging at you.

You swallow the lump in your throat, trying to find the right words, trying to keep your guard up, even as your heart beats louder with each passing second.

“How do I know this is real?” you whisper, your voice breaking slightly.

Tyler’s eyes are locked on yours, his expression soft and full of sincerity, the words that leave his lips quiet but sure. “You’ll know by what I do. Not by what I say.”

As you stand there, the flickering hope mingling with every guarded part of you, you can’t hold back anymore. You have to ask him, to hear him explain it in a way that might finally make sense.

“Why, Tyler?” you say, your voice laced with hurt and frustration. “Why do you do this? The hot and cold? Coming back and then leaving just when I start to trust that you’ll stay? Why am I never enough for you to choose me?”

Your words hang in the air, heavy, but Tyler doesn’t flinch. He looks at you, and for a moment, you see something raw and vulnerable cross his face—an expression you don’t think you’ve seen before. He takes a shaky breath, his hands running through his hair as he struggles to find the words.

“It’s not that you’re not enough,” he says, his voice soft but resolute. “You’ve always been enough—more than enough. It’s me who hasn’t been enough. I’ve been scared… scared of needing someone the way I need you, of letting myself feel things that deep. I kept convincing myself that I’d be fine on my own, that I didn’t need anyone, but that was never true.”

He pauses, glancing away before he meets your gaze again, his eyes intense and filled with regret.

“Seeing you moving on, watching you with him tonight…” He trails off, swallowing hard. “It made me feel something I never want to feel again. The thought of you with anyone else—it made me sick. It took almost losing you for me to see that I can’t keep doing this. That if I kept running, I was going to lose you, really lose you. And I’d have no one to blame but myself.”

He reaches for your hand, his fingers hesitant at first, as if he’s waiting for you to pull away. When you don’t, he takes your hand fully, his grip firm yet gentle.

“I know it doesn’t excuse anything,” he admits, voice heavy with sincerity. “I know I messed up. But being without you, thinking I’d lost you for good… it’s been hell. And if there’s any part of you that can still trust me, even a little, I want to show you that I’m ready to be here for real. To stay. I can’t keep running from the one thing that matters most to me.”

Tyler’s gaze doesn’t waver from yours as he takes a slow step closer, his hands resting at his sides, waiting. He opens his mouth, then closes it, the tension in the air so thick you could almost touch it. When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet, but you can hear the vulnerability underneath.

"Please, just… give me a chance," he says, his words hanging in the air.

You swallow hard, your heart caught in a war between hope and doubt. You’ve been hurt before, but everything in you is screaming to believe him. You close your eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, feeling the weight of everything that’s happened, everything that’s led to this moment. And then you open your eyes again, meeting his gaze.

"Tyler," you begin, your voice softer now, but still firm. "This is your last chance. If you mess this up, there’s no coming back from it. I can’t keep doing this. I won’t."

He nods immediately, his face lighting up with the smallest hint of relief. "I swear, I won’t. I won’t mess it up." His voice is more confident now, as if something in him has shifted—something that wasn’t there before.

You feel a knot in your chest loosen, though doubt still clings at the edges. But as you stand there, looking at him—really looking at him, all of the pain, the fear, and the uncertainty—starts to fade away. It’s like for the first time in so long, you feel like you can let your guard down, just a little. You give a small nod, the corners of your lips lifting despite the tears threatening to fall.

"I’m trusting you," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "Don’t make me regret it."

Tyler doesn’t say a word. Instead, he steps in closer, his hands gently cupping your face, as if he’s scared you might disappear if he doesn’t hold on to you. His thumb brushes along your cheekbone, a slow, tender motion. The air between you both feels charged, full of something real, something raw, something that hasn’t been there in so long.

And then, without another word, he leans down, his lips finding yours in a kiss that’s soft but intense. His mouth moves against yours with such tenderness, like he’s trying to pour everything into it—his apology, his promises, his love—everything he’s been holding back. You melt into the kiss, feeling his warmth, his sincerity, his desire for you.

The kiss deepens slowly, as if testing the waters, but it’s gentle, filled with the kind of care and emotion that you’ve been missing for so long. And in that moment, all of the fear and doubt you’ve been carrying seems to dissolve, replaced by something that feels like home.

When the kiss finally breaks, you both stand there for a few moments, foreheads resting against each other, breathing the same air. Tyler smiles against your skin, and you can feel the weight of everything shifting.

"I won’t mess this up," he whispers again, his voice thick with emotion. And for the first time in a long while, you believe him.

[srrynrk]

⋆. ��� ˚ Forbidden ! . . . ( 西村力 )

01. Style 운명 . Drabble 02. CONTAINS: Fighting, reader comes from a kinda bad home but it's not specified how, Riki's parents (his mom mainly) don't like reader euhhhh ! 03. wc ! 612

"It's not her fault! How often do I have to say that, you're blaming her for something that's not even her fault!" Riki shouted back at his mom

It was unusual for everyone in the house, Riki was close to his mom, so the constant fighting was a change "Riki I'm not going to tell you again... I don't like her. Okay? I do not like her."

Riki rebutted quickly "Why? What did SHE do to make you hate her so much? Not what her parents did, what did SHE do."

"Maybe SHE didn't do anything directly but Riki you need to understand when someone is raised like that, in a bad home, they carry those habits, they repeat them, and she is going to turn out no better than her mother." The room was silent, Riki was stunned, to say the least

He had never heard his mom talk that way, about anybody

As tension filled the air, Riki's expression became blank.

He turned around and started heading for the door, shoes already on as he barely got to his room after school before his mom started questioning him

"Riki get back here! We aren't don-" Her voice mumbled by the now shut front door

Riki knew he was fucking up his relationship, but he couldn't just stand by while his mom talked shit about you, that's not fair and it's not how he was raised

The walk to your house was quiet, spent in solitude as he thought of the excuse he would use this time

"Bad grades"

"Forgot to clean up after myself, again"

"Got into a fight with my sister"

No, none of them would work. He used a multitude of excuses as to why he got kicked out every time he'd ask to stay at your house, while the truth was, he was walking out on his own

But he couldn't tell you that 'cause then he'd have to explain why, then he'd have to explain the fight, which would lead to you figuring out why he's refused to let you meet his mom, which in turn, would make you upset, and he refuses to make you upset

Plus if you did know, you'd probably break up with him in fear of getting between him and his mom's relationship.

It's a shame you're so sweet

-

Stepping onto your front porch, he knocked, and as you let him he questioned if anyone was home besides you, to which you replied "No" like always

Now on your bed playing with his hair as he lays on your chest, you question "What did you do this time? Hmm??"

He thought for a second "I uh, got an F on my math test" He had already used this one a few times but it always worked so another time wont hurt

"Again??..."

He sighed "yeah." Pushing his head further into your neck

You sighed and kissed his head, ending the conversation there as you cuddled him tight, slowly drifting off into sleep, "I love you kiki" you mumbled

"I love you too my baby" (ew cheesy)

As much as Riki loves his mom, he can't stand hearing her talk so badly about the one person who makes him feel so loved and happy.

Maybe one day he'll tell you truth as to why he get's "Kicked out" so often, maybe one day you and his mom will meet, and she'll realize just how lovely you are, maybe she'll realize that despite everything, you're the sweetest kindest person, and that you truly make him happy.

But until then, he'll just have to keep making excuses as to why he got kicked out.

@taiyaakii

Im sorry this isnt very good, i wrote it quickly with no real story in mind >.<

[stylesispunk]

"Blind faith | part vi"

Priest! Joel Miller x night club dancer! reader

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

summary: The aftermath of Joel knowing part of your "secret" and everything falling apart between the both of you. w.c: 10k warnings: age gap (joel is in his late 40s and reader in her late 20s), angst, forbidden love, betrayal, violence, mentions of blood, mentions of guns. Reader is latina. English is not my first language. a/n: chapter six is here and first, excuse the amount of stupid things that have happened to me. Also, excuse me if this chapter seems to be overdramatic at times but is part of the story. Thank you so much for reading and sharing. Reblogs and comments are always so so appreciated. dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Joel was drowning into his third glass of whiskey. It was one a.m, everything felt silenced by the defeated sound of his own heart trying to find an answer amidst the chaos of his own thoughts echoing through the walls of his house.

He couldn’t sleep, still thinking on the fool he has been made by you. He had told you the truth no one knew about him. About his beloved baby daughter, he hadn’t had the chance to pour all his love to. He had broken his vows for you.

His fingers trembled around the glass as he stared at nothing. Just the floor. Just the night.

God, he had sinned.

And you?

You were in everything.

The curve of your smile in the edge of the wine glass. The shape of your hips still ghosting his palms. Your breath still warm in the hollow of his neck.

He hated it.

He hated that he loved you. Hated how fast you had carved yourself into his bones. Hated that he had told you everything.  He had broken every vow stitched into his skin. Every sacred promise. He had let you lay your head on his shoulder. Every time he had let his lips touch yours. Let you lie beside him in the dark. Let you wrap your fingers around his, not knowing you were already holding a knife.

Joel had never seen himself as a human. At least not ever since he had sworn his vows and he had given himself to God and his faith.

For him there was nothing else in the world that could make him feel like he belonged to the simplicity of being a human. There were not feelings, not reasons why he would make that effort again. He was a simply a God machine giving people advice and helping them to figure their guilt, sins and shit together with words that would soothe their minds.

But what about his mind?  

Where was the guidance when he needed it the most?

Where was the guidance when he felt love was making him weak?

Where was the guidance when you were his answer and the one making him weak?

“God…” he breathed, voice cracking, head tilting back to the ceiling as if the cracked beams above would give him answers. “God, I have sinned.”

A knock on his door woke him up from his own misery. He feared it was the same man as before. The only looking for you.

Gabriel.

Gabriel, your fiancé.

Gabriel, the man who had claimed you.

His heart and mind reeked with jealousy. God, he felt miserable.

He didn’t stand up, not even opened his eyes until he heard the soft voice calling him

“Joel?”

The moment he heard your voice, rage bubbled up. Rage and tenderness because you were still here, you were still his baby, his darling.

Your voice lingered in the air like a ghost he wasn’t ready to face, sweet and trembling and familiar in a way that hurt more than the whiskey in his veins.

“Joel… please.”

That please cracked something in him.

He opened his eyes slowly and stood up, taking a few seconds to sober up. Finally walking towards the door as if waking from a dream he’d tried to bury. He opened with such a pain on his bones it almost killed him.

There you were standing in his doorway, damp from the night, face pale under the porch light, eyes red-rimmed.

“Thank god” you said, throwing yourself to his arms instantly.

He didn’t know how to react. He debated between push you away from his life or letting you stay on his arms as long as you wanted. As long as he could hold you while during the time he had left.  The seconds felt long enough for you to notice the hesitation in him. The way his arms hovered before they finally wrapped around you.

And when they did, you melted into his chest after holding your breath for hours.

Joel held you tight, tighter than he should’ve, maybe. Like you were the only thing keeping him sane and mad at the same time.

He closed the door behind you with one hand, the other still wrapped around your back. The click of the lock echoed through the silence, making you feel like nothing could ever catch inside this place.

You were shivering in a way he wasn’t used to seeing. He guided you toward the couch, but you didn’t want to let go. And he didn’t force you to.

So, you stood there for a moment longer, wrapped in something too complicated to name.

“Have you been drinking?” You asked after feeling the scent of whisky everywhere.

Joel let out a low breath through his nose, not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. His hand was still on your back, fingers twitching like they couldn’t decide whether to pull you closer or finally let you go.

“Yeah,” he said, voice rough, like gravel soaked in guilt. “Does it matter?”

You leaned back just enough to look at him, eyes flicking over his face, the dark circles beneath his eyes, the redness lacing the whites. He looked tired. Like someone who hadn’t slept in days. Like someone who’d been drowning quietly in his own thoughts.

“I guess not,” you murmured, and your voice broke a little at the end.

That broke something in him too.

Joel cupped your face gently, thumbs grazing the corners of your eyes, your cheeks still cold from the night. He studied you like you were a puzzle he’d already solved but didn’t want to believe the picture it formed.

“Can I stay here tonight? Please?” You asked in a whispery tone, eyes searching doubts on his face.

Joel didn’t answer right away. His silence stretched long between you—long enough to feel like a lifetime, short enough to make your heart pound harder.

He was staring at you, and this time you could see the war behind his eyes. The love and the betrayal you were too naïve to see. The need and the ache. All of it, cracked and bleeding, tangled into something too human to name.

You feared it. What if he had regretted everything, he had done with you.

Finally, he gave a slow nod. Just once.

“Yeah,” he said, voice hoarse. “Of course you can stay.”

He stepped back only slightly, just enough to take your hand in his. His palm was warm, calloused, and trembling. He led you toward the couch, and when you hesitated, he looked at you again.

“Do you want the bed?” he asked, like it would make a difference. Like you hadn’t already shared a bed before. Like you hadn’t once laid beside him with your hand on his chest after making love like it belonged there.

“No,” you whispered. “I just want to be wherever you are.”

That did something to him. He didn’t show it much—Joel was too used to hiding things deep—but his jaw clenched. His fingers gripped yours a little tighter.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” Joel asked, gaze still ahead, not looking at you.

Your lips parted, but nothing came. You couldn’t lie to him again, but the truth? The truth might ruin everything you had shared.

“I can’t,” you said at last, barely a whisper. “Not yet.”

Joel nodded slowly. Not in acceptance, but defeated.

“Then I won’t ask anymore.” He said, plainly, locking eyes with you again.

You woke up at three a.m., the world outside cloaked in silence, the kind that only settles over small towns and broken hearts. You thought you had been able to sleep only for a reason.

Joel.

Even when your worst nightmares had been coming to catch you in the form of Gabriel. You had been able to pretend nothing was different from when he wasn’t in town, when he hasn’t found you. Pretending you weren’t restless because of it.

The room was dark, save for the moonlight spilling in through the window, washing everything in silver. You reached across the bed instinctively—searching for warmth, for Joel—but your hand met only the cold press of empty sheets.

You sat up slowly, the ache in your chest louder than your breath.

Joel wasn’t there.

You wrapped the blanket tighter around yourself and padded quietly through the hallway, the wood creaking beneath your feet. You found him in the living room, exactly where you'd feared—on the couch, asleep, or maybe just pretending to be. His body was curled slightly to the side, one arm hanging off the edge like he had fallen into that position after hours of unrest.

The bottle of whiskey still sat on the table beside him, almost empty now, the amber liquid glinting under the moonlight. The glass next to it held the dregs of another pour he hadn't finished.

Your eyes wandered to his face. Even in sleep, his brows were furrowed, as if some burden followed him into his dreams. You noticed how his lashes twitched every now and then, how his lips were parted just slightly, chest rising and falling in slow, uneven breaths.

It hurt.

God, it hurt to love him this much.

You sank to your knees beside the couch, blanket pooling around you. And for a while, you just watched him—memorizing every line of his face, line and shadow, like maybe if you memorized enough, the truth you carried would become easier to bury.

Like you were never to see him again.

You leaned in.

And kissed his temple.

Soft. Lingering. Like a confession you were too much of a coward to speak out loud.

His skin was warm under your lips. Too warm.

You stayed there longer than you should’ve, breathing him in, willing his pain into yours, hoping maybe he could feel what you meant, even if you didn’t say it.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, so softly it barely left your throat.

He didn’t stir but you almost wished he had.

But as the connection you both shared seemed harder to ignore. Harder to fight. His breath hitched. And then, slowly, he turned his head.

You pulled back just enough to see his face, your eyes locking in the dim light of the room. There was a storm behind his eyes, rage, grief, longing, but beneath it all, the love you thought you’d lost. The kind of love that made you ache to your bones.

He reached up, fingers brushing your jaw like he didn’t believe you were real.

Then he kissed you.

Not out of desire, but because he had to. Because something inside him cracked open and your name fell through. His lips found yours with a painful kind of tenderness, slow and aching and full of everything he was saving up to say. A kiss laced in apology, in heartbreak.

Your hand found the side of his face again, grounding both of you in that one fragile moment. It didn’t fix anything. It didn’t erase the lies or the truth you hadn’t told, but it was honest. It was him. It was you.

You both were real and he was the realest thing to love you had ever met.

When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed, breathing uneven.

His breath caught, and you felt it, right there, between you. The way he tried to hold himself together. The way he always did. But this time, it was slipping. He was slipping.

His hands trembled where they cupped your jaw, and you felt the warmth of his tears mingling with yours on your cheek, falling quiet and slow like the words he couldn’t quite bring himself to say.

“Joel,” you whispered again, barely able to breathe with the closeness. “What’s wrong tonight?”

He didn’t answer at first. Just stayed there, forehead pressed to yours, trying to hold back everything breaking inside him. Then, finally, his voice came out, hoarse and cracked.

“I don’t know how to carry this,” he rasped. “This love I feel for you… and the price of what it cost me.”

Your lips parted, your heart twisting. His voice was so full of sorrow, you could feel it like a bruise spreading through your ribs.

“I swore I’d never—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “I swore I’d never cross that line. And then you walked into my life and I didn’t even hesitate. I just let it happen. And now every part of me wants you, even the parts that were never supposed to.”

You touched his cheek, gently brushing away the tears there. “You didn’t do this alone,” you whispered. “You didn’t fall alone.”

He gave a shaky laugh, low and bitter.

Your eyes filled again, because you couldn’t stand to feel like he seemed to be ruined tonight. It felt almost destructive and poetic at the same time. “Joel,” you said, soft but certain, “you are worth loving. You always were.”

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you. His eyes were red, raw with emotion, and his voice broke completely when he whispered. “I would love to believe you.”

And you didn’t know how to answer anymore.

A few hours later, the morning sun spilled in through Joel’s kitchen window like it had no regard for sorrow. The kind of morning light that was supposed to promise hope, but only reminded you of everything that was slipping through your fingers.

Even the day didn’t feel as warm as always.

You sat at the edge of his bed, still wrapped in the blanket from the night before. Your hair was a mess, your throat tight from unshed tears. You hadn’t slept after you kissed last night. You had returned to his bed silently, curled into the space he used to fill, and stared at the ceiling while the weight in your chest pushed heavier and heavier.

You couldn’t shake the image of him asleep on that couch, face twisted in pain, like even his dreams knew what you were hiding.

You rubbed your palms over your knees. Tried to ground yourself. Failed.

This town was supposed to be a temporary sanctuary, a borrowed illusion to buy you time until you could find a place to plant roots and start again. And Joel—God, Joel—he had become your whole heart.

You’d told yourself this was only for a little while. That you could leave before anyone got too close. Before you got too close.

But you were already in too deep. Too in love with him that the thought of leaving him behind shattered your heart into pieces unable to get together again.

You would walk on fire for him. You would let other throw bricks at you, only to be with him.

And God, last night you had wanted to tell him. You wanted to say everything: the truth about Gabriel, about why he had found you, why you’d run. About the whisper of your name on a list you weren’t supposed to be on.

But fear had made a home inside you. And now? Now Joel was tangled in it.

You stood slowly and walked to the window. The sun was rising over the fields outside, light stretching long over the earth. You could see the church from here. You remembered sitting there in silence beside Joel, hands brushing innocently.

You had ruined his life.

You pressed your fingers to the glass like you could stop time if you touched it softly enough.

You heard a soft rustle from the living room. He was waking up.

And soon, you'd have to look him in the eye again.

Would you lie?

It was spring when everything fell apart.

You remember the way the city felt, after time was holding its breath. Like everyone had started speaking in code. Streets that used to pulse with life felt quieter, even when crowded. Eyes darted faster. Names dropped from conversations like broken like delicate porcelain.

You were coming back from rehearsal, your toes still pointed in your worn ballet shoes, your muscles aching from hours of movement. The theater had always been your favorite part to be at—your escape from the noise outside. The only place where you didn’t have to choose sides.

Until that day.

You still remember the look on Mariana’s face, your best friend, your partner on stage, your sister in everything but blood. She’d waited for you by the back door of the studio, her cloth wrapped tight around her neck, eyes wild in urgency.

“Don’t go home,” she whispered.

You laughed, because what else could you do?

“I’m serious,” she hissed, gripping your arm. “Your name was mentioned. On a list.”

That stopped your heart. You thought you’d hidden it well. Your conversations, your meetings, the way you stayed after shows to pass messages, to deliver notes, to make your voice heard when the world was determined to quiet it. You thought you’d danced your way around it all.

You didn’t speak. You just nodded. And she kissed your cheek like it was goodbye.

You never saw Mariana again.

Later that night, Gabriel had shown up to your house where you’d gone. His eyes were frantic, his military jacket soaked with droplets of a spring rain “They came to your apartment,” he’d said. “They tore it apart.”

Your breath stopped. “My brother? My parents?”

“They weren’t there.”

He didn’t look at you when he said it. Gabriel had begged you to leave with him. To disappear. “I’ll find a way” he said. “There are people across the border—friends. We just need to get out.”

But something in your gut told you not to go with him. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was the way he looked at you, like you were already half a ghost.

Like you were already death.

So, you ran. Alone.

………………………………………………………………………………..

You stood in the doorway, watching him as the first light of dawn filtered through the curtains, casting soft shadows on the floor. Joel was still lying on the couch, his body curled into a tight ball as if the night had pressed him down, heavier than it should have. His eyes were half-closed, groggy from sleep, and his hair was mussed, falling in wild, dark strands around his forehead.

When his eyes finally met yours, there was a faint, almost apologetic sigh that escaped his lips. “Sorry,” he muttered, blinking like he wasn’t quite sure where he was. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep here.”

You didn’t move from where you stood. Your feet were frozen, almost like you couldn’t bring yourself to step any closer to him.

“You drank too much,” you said, your voice a little sharper than you intended, but the words slipped out before you could stop them. They hung in the air between you like a reminder of the distance that had been created, like a wall that neither of you knew how to tear down.

Joel rubbed his face with his hands, his expression tightening for a second before he relaxed again. He was tired. You could see it in the lines of his face, in the way his shoulders slumped. But you could also see something else. Guilt. Pain. And maybe a little bit of regret.

“Yeah…” His voice trailed off as he pushed himself up into a sitting position, wincing slightly, like even that small movement hurt him. “I know. I don’t... I don’t usually drink like that. I never do, actually.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, still standing by the door, your eyes not leaving him. You wanted to say something—anything—but the words just wouldn’t come. The silence between you stretched, thick and suffocating.

“Is there something bothering you?” You asked, fearing the worst. Fearing he had regret loving you, that his love to God and his faith was bigger than you.

Joel’s eyes flicked to yours at the sound of your voice, but there was something distant in them. Something that made your heart sink. His gaze softened for a split second, but he quickly looked away, like he didn’t want you to see what was going on behind those tired eyes.

God, he wanted to hate you.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck like he was trying to massage away the tension that had built up there. "I don't know," he said, defiance in his voice, also thick with exhaustion. "Maybe it's just—everything. Everything that happened... that I've let happen." His eyes finally met yours again, but this time they seemed a little more guarded, a little more distant.

"I don't regret loving you," he lied, almost as if he was reassuring himself that was partially true “But sometimes... sometimes I wonder if I’ve lost myself” He ran a hand through his hair, looking frustrated with himself. “What’s right, you know?”

Your heart twisted at his words. You wanted to rush over to him, hold him, tell him that it didn’t matter, that whatever doubts he had, you were here, right here, willing to stand by him no matter what. But something in his expression stopped you. Something told you that even though he loved you, something deeper—his faith, his sense of duty, something you couldn’t quite name—was pulling him in another direction.

“I just… I don’t want to be the reason you lose your way,” you said quietly, your voice thick with emotion you didn’t know how to hide. “I know what you believe. And I know I don’t fit into that life.”

Joel’s jaw tightened, like your words hit him harder than he expected. He stood up slowly, walking toward you, but the gap between you felt just as wide as it had before. He stopped a few steps away from you, standing there as if he was weighing everything in his mind.

“You’re right” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze was intense, full of things left unsaid. “And I don’t know how to make it work. And maybe I don’t have the strength to fight for you.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as his words hit you hard. You hadn’t realized just how much you were holding in until they started to fall, tracing silent paths down your cheeks. You couldn’t stop them, couldn’t stop the aching in your chest as the weight of what he was saying settled over you.

“Joel…” Your voice broke, the name coming out as a whisper, fragile, like it didn’t even belong to you anymore. “I never asked you to give up your faith. I just... I just want you. All of you. Not the parts that fit into some idea of what you’re supposed to be. Just you. The man I...” You swallowed hard, struggling to find the strength to finish. “The man I love.”

His eyes softened for a moment, but it was a softness, pain, like he was trying to absorb your words, but the weight of his own burdens was making it impossible to do so. He looked down at the floor, shaking his head as if he couldn’t bear to look at you, as if looking at you was a reminder of everything, he felt he couldn’t have.

“You don’t love me,” he whispered, voice shaking now, as if the words were cutting him too. 

The words hit you like a slap, cold and unexpected, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. Your chest tightened, and your thoughts spun, dizzying in the sudden, unbearable weight of what he had said.

"What... what do you mean?" The question barely left your lips, as if the very air between you had thickened, made it impossible to say anything that could break through the suffocating silence.

Joel’s hands clenched at his sides, his eyes still cast down, not daring to meet yours. Joel's jaw clenched tighter, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. His eyes remained averted, unable—or unwilling—to meet yours. “I am a priest.” he growled, voice rough with barely contained anger. “I’m married to God and I broke all the vows and promises I made for-for—”

“For what?” you asked, almost challenging him.

Joel’s chest heaved as he took in a sharp breath, his fists still clenched at his sides. He didn’t answer you right away, his gaze still fixed on the floor like he was trying to find the strength to look at you—like he was searching for the words that would make sense of everything he was feeling.

“For you,” he finally whispered, voice trembling with something raw, something that tore at the edges of his pride. “I broke every damn vow for you.”

You took a step forward, your heart aching at the admission, but you couldn’t let yourself get too close—not yet. Not with the weight of his words still hanging between you. “Joel, I—”

“No.” He cut you off sharply, his voice suddenly fierce. “Don’t. Don’t try to fix this with words. That you still love me after what I’ve done. After everything I’ve given up for... for this.” He gestured between the two of you, his frustration growing as his anger cracked through the cracks of his guilt. “You think it’s that easy?” His voice broke, the weight of his words pulling him apart.

“I don’t know how to feel anymore,” he added, his voice quieter, almost pleading. “You—you—were supposed to be my redemption.”

You swallowed hard, emotions building up in your throat, each word from him slicing through you like a sharp blade. You wanted to reach out, to take his face in your hands and make him understand that nothing about this had been easy for you either. That you had never wanted to be the reason he was torn between love and faith.

“Why did you come here and ruin everything?” Joel repeated, his voice harder now, edged with frustration and something that felt like betrayal.

His words hit you like a slap, raw and unforgiving, and for a moment, the world around you blurred. You opened your mouth, but no sound came out—like he had stolen all your words, all your defenses, with that single sentence.

You stood there, fighting the knot in your throat, trying to piece together what had been shattered between you both. His anger, his hurt—it stung, but it was laced with something deeper, something that felt like love twisted into resentment.

The silence hung heavily between you two, the air thick with unsaid words and broken promises. Joel’s eyes softened, but there was a coldness in them now, something that made you feel smaller than you ever had.

He swallowed, his voice shaky, but firm. “I can’t do this,” he said, his gaze dropping to the floor as if he couldn’t bear to meet your eyes. “I need you to leave.”

The words hit you harder than anything else. You didn’t understand at first. You stared at him, waiting for the catch, waiting for the reassurance that he didn’t really mean it—that he still wanted you, needed you. But there was none of that. His face was set, his jaw clenched, as if he had made a decision he couldn’t take back.

“Joel…” Your voice cracked, but you forced the words out.

You took a step forward, heart pounding in your chest, desperate to reach him, to make him see the truth of how much you needed him. Your hands trembled slightly as you reached for him, your fingers gently cupping his face, the warmth of his skin contrasting with the coldness in his eyes.

“Please,” you whispered again, this time your voice thick with emotion. “Don’t shut me out. Don’t push me away.”

His eyes flickered at your touch, a momentary weakness that made your heart flutter with hope. But it quickly faded, replaced by that familiar wall he’d built around himself.

“Don’t you get it?” Joel’s voice was rough, each word like a knife. “I’m not good for you. I’ve never been good for you. I am not a man you need; the one would fit into your life.”

Your fingers tightened around his jaw, pulling him gently toward you, forcing him to look into your eyes, to see the depth of your feelings for him. “You don’t get to say those things and pretend there’s nothing bothering you” you said fiercely, your breath shaking. “What have changed?”

His breath hitched, his brows furrowing as if he wanted to argue, to find some reason to push you away, but the look in your eyes—so raw, so full of pain and love—stopped him.

“I need you and I love you,” you whispered, the words breaking free before you could stop them. “I need you, Joel. And I can’t leave you now.”

For a moment, everything was still. The world outside felt distant, as if the two of you existed in a bubble, suspended in time. His lips parted, as if he wanted to say something, but no words came. His breath was shallow, and you could see the internal war raging inside him.

You held him there, your forehead resting gently against his, feeling the weight of everything that had passed between you. Your hands lingered on his face, waiting for him to make a decision—waiting for him to choose you, to let you in.

“Please,” you whispered again, softer this time, your voice breaking. “Don’t push me away, not when I need you the most.”

For a brief, fleeting moment, Joel’s eyes softened, and something flickered within them—something that felt like the remnants of the love he had for you, buried beneath the weight of everything else. Before you could speak again, before the words could form in your throat, he closed the distance between you.

His lips found yours with a force that made your heart race. It wasn’t gentle, but it wasn’t angry either. It was raw, desperate, filled with everything he’d been holding inside. His hand moved to the back of your head, pulling you closer, and you could taste the whiskey on his lips, the bitterness mingling with something deeper, something painful.

When he finally pulled away, the air between you was thick, the tension unbearable. He looked at you, eyes dark in confusion, his breath ragged, like he wasn’t sure how to breathe without you.

You could see the battle inside him—the love and the pain, the anger and the guilt, all tangled together. He ran a hand through his hair, sighing deeply, his chest rising and falling with each breath.

“I need time,” he said, his voice quiet but firm, like a man trying to hold on to the last bit of control he had. “I need to think. I need to figure this out. But not today.”

You nodded, your heart aching with each word that passed between you. You didn’t want to leave him, didn’t want to be the one to walk away. But you could see the wall he’d put up, the armor that he was trying to maintain.

“Can you leave?” he asked, his voice breaking slightly. “Just... just for today. I don’t want to say things I’ll regret. I just... I need some space. We can talk later. When I feel better.”

Your throat tightened, but you nodded again, your fingers brushing against his as you stepped back.

“Okay,” you said softly, your heart shattering with every step you took away from him. “I’ll leave. But I’m not going far.”

Joel watched you opening the door and leaving the safety of his house, leaving him behind with a heavy weight on his heart.

And his thoughts drifted to the prior night.

Gabriel didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at Joel, like he’d been carrying this decision in his chest for hours.

Then, he stepped forward and held out a small piece of paper.

Joel’s brow furrowed. “What’s this?”

“My number,” Gabriel said quietly. “And the place I’m staying.”

Joel didn’t move.

Gabriel sighed, not with annoyance, but something closer to tired concern. “If something happens… if you perhaps see her…please call me and tell me.”

Joel’s jaw tightened. “Why would I do that?”

“Because she owns me a lot and I’m not leaving her.” Gabriel said plainly, his voice firm, unwavering.

Joel stared at the slip of paper in his hand, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles whitened. The numbers blurred for a second, like they were mocking him. Like they knew.

He sat down slowly on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor but not really seeing it.

You had lied.

The thought came uninvited, poisonous. He tried to shake it off, but it sank its claws in, deeper and deeper the more he let it twist in his chest.

You belonged to Gabriel.

You weren’t his.

You never were.

The house was quiet when you stepped inside, but it wasn’t the comfortable kind. It was the quiet of something waiting to unravel. The shadows on the walls were familiar, the smell of lemon cleaner still the same. But it wasn’t the home you had made of yourself anymore.

Not after Joel’s dementor. Not after feeling he was slipping through your fingers like water in your hands.

You walked further in, your fingers brushing against the edge of the hallway table like muscle memory, and then you heard movement in the kitchen.

Carmen was there, sipping a cup of coffee as if she were waiting for you to appear.

“Did you spend the night at the father’s house?” she asked as if it the chance was poison.

Not a “Good morning” just a simply question.  

You looked around, and felt your chest tighten. “So, this is what it’s come to?” you asked back not answering her question, voice barely above a whisper. “You tell Billy everything when you promised you wouldn’t say anything about me and Joel.”

She set down the cup in her hand, leaning against the counter. “It mattered. You’re—”

“I’m nothing,” you snapped, stepping closer, heat rising behind your eyes. “Don’t ever say it was because you care because—”

“And what were you doing?” Carmen shot back, her jaw clenching. “Sneaking around with a man who told you from the beginning it couldn’t happen. A man who wears a collar, for God’s sake.”

You flinched like she’d hit you.

“And yet he chose me anyway,” you said, your voice trembling with the ache in your chest.

“Did he?” she asked, not because she wanted to hurt you but because she wanted to understand what thoughts were running inside your mind.

Something flickered in her eyes—guilt, maybe. Or regret. But it was gone too fast.

“You don’t belong with him,” she said, voice low. “You don’t see it now, but someday you will.”

You stepped closer, meeting her eyes squarely.

“You don’t get to decide who I belong with.”

The silence was sharp. Years of shared history hummed like a storm in the walls.

“I love you like a little sister, you know?” she spoke, “And you don’t deserve to spend your life hidden beneath the cloaks of a secret.”

You didn’t say anything because you knew he was right. She took a step closer to you.

“You already told me why you are here, Estrellita. Don’t waste your life hiding anymore.” She spoke.

You looked down at your hands, twisting your fingers without even realizing it. The way she called you Estrellita—it broke something open in you.

You had never learned what it meant to love someone in silence. You had always been so carefree, not used to a life of being caged. You were not used to run from your past like it was a fire at your back.

“I didn’t mean to fall for him,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like that.”

“I know,” Carmen said gently. “But it did.”

You looked up at her then, and for the first time in a long time, you didn’t see her as just the woman who’d tried to protect you, who interfered or judged or told you what was right. You saw the friend who held your hand when you needed the most the first time you arrived here.

Tears welled in your eyes again. “I thought I could outrun it, Carmen. I thought if I didn’t say it out loud, if I kept it buried… it wouldn’t follow me here.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, voice quiet.

“Gabriel.” You said, his name felt like poison on your lips. It tasted like blood. You wiped at your cheek. “He is here. He found me and I think he wants to take me back to home.”

Carmen’s face went still—like something in her braced at the mention of his name. Her breath caught, her posture tensed, and suddenly all the softness from before hardened into something sharp and protective.

“He’s here?” she asked, barely above a whisper. “Are you sure?”

You nodded, your hands trembling now as the weight of saying it out loud settled on your chest. “Last night… at the club. I didn’t imagine it. He was watching me, then he left.”

Carmen blinked, like she needed a moment to absorb that. “That bastard,” she muttered under her breath, her voice suddenly laced with steel. “You think he wants to take you back to your family?

Your throat tightened. “No. He must have been caught up.”

“That’s why you ran in a hurry from the club last night?” she asked.

You nodded, “I went to Joel’s because he wouldn’t find me at a priest’s house.” you pause for a bit, “but he was acting strange too and I feel like I’ve ruined his life and I cannot stop running.”

Carmen took your hands then, firm but not unkind. “Listen to me,” she said, fierce now, “Fathe-well, Joel is not the important thing now. You are not alone. And whatever this Gabriel thinks he’s going to do—he’ll have to go through me first.”

You gave a watery laugh, and she smiled, only for a second,before her face turned serious again.

“You’re not performing tonight.” She said, as a momentary solution to this issue.

Your brows furrowed. “What? Carmen, I have to—”

“No.” Her voice left no room for argument. “You’re not getting on that stage tonight. Not with him out there. Not when you’re this shaken.”

“I’ve been through worse,” you whispered, but it didn’t even sound convincing to your own ears.

Carmen shook her head. “This isn’t just stage fright or nerves. This is fear, real fear. And I’m not letting you walk into that spotlight like nothing’s wrong when we both know you’re still looking over your shoulder.”

You looked down at your hands, her grip still grounding you. Your skin was clammy. Your thoughts raced. But there was a small, stubborn fire in your chest.

“He’ll think I’m hiding,” you said quietly.

She arched a brow. “He’ll think you left this town.”

You didn’t answer.

She took a seat next to you “Then, he’ll leave and you will be fine okay.”

You stared at her, those words hanging heavy between you. He’ll think you left this town. Like it was easy. Like he would just pack up and vanish the way you should’ve months ago. But something inside you twisted at the thought—something sharp and aching.

You shook your head slowly. “But I don’t want him to keep looking for me,” you said, voice trembling, almost ashamed of the truth.

Carmen turned to you, eyes searching. “Then what do you want, mi niña? Do you want to run forever? Or do you want to finally live your life?”

You blinked back the tears forming again. Your throat burned.

“I want to stop feeling like I have to choose between running and breathing,” you said. “I don’t want to face Joel while feeling like this.”

Carmen was quiet for a moment, then nodded. “Okay,” she said. “Then we make a plan. But not tonight. Tonight, you breathe. You eat something. You sleep with the door locked. And tomorrow—if you want to tell Joel the truth—we tell him everything. Together.”

You looked at her, the fear still clawing at your insides—but for the first time, you didn’t feel alone in it.

“Okay,” you whispered.

The house was quiet, almost too quiet. Carmen had gone to the club a couple hours ago, but sleep wasn’t coming to you. You sat curled up on the couch, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders like a shield, though it did little to ward off the storm building in your chest.

The TV played some old black-and-white movie on low volume—just enough to keep the silence from swallowing you whole. Shadows danced across the walls, flickering every time the screen flashed. You’d been staring at it for who knows how long, your thoughts looping, racing, tangling.

How do you tell Joel?

How do you say it without breaking whatever fragile thread you still have between you?

What if he doesn’t believe you? What if he thinks you play with him?

You’d rehearsed the words in your head a thousand different ways, none of them good enough. None of them could undo what had been done, or explain why you hadn’t told Joel the truth from the beginning.

The silence broke with a sudden ring that pierced through the stillness, loud and jarring. You jumped, your heart lurching into your throat. For a second, you just stared at the phone on the table, afraid to move, afraid of what—or who—was on the other end.

Your breath caught. You stared at the phone for a long moment, your finger hovering over it like it weighed a hundred pounds.

Then—almost without thinking—you picked up.

“…Hello?” your voice came out smaller than you wanted it to.

There was a pause on the other end. You could hear the faint sound of his breathing, uneven. Like the person on the other side didn’t know what to say either.

Then finally, low and tired and rough, a voice came through, saying your name.

You closed your eyes, your chest tightening.

“How are you?” Joel asked, the words thick and quiet. “I… I know I don’t deserve to ask, not after this morning.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out at first. Just a breath. Just silence. And then, “It’s fine,” you said softly. “You were upset.”

“No,” he said, and you could hear the guilt straining in every syllable. “I was cruel. I pushed you away and I didn’t mean to. I just—”

He exhaled sharply. “I was angry, but not at you. Not really. I was angry at myself. And I took it out on you. I’m sorry.”

You let the silence settle for a moment, heart thudding dully in your chest.

“I know,” you whispered. “It’s okay.”

A beat passed. Then another.

“Can you come to the church?” Joel asked. “Now. Please.”

You hesitated. The question hit you hard, like he’d reached through the phone and gripped your wrist. You stared at the dark window, the flicker of the TV, the stillness of the house. Carmen’s warning echoed in your head.

“I can’t,” you said. It came out too fast, too brittle. “I… I shouldn’t.”

“Please,” Joel said again, more urgently now. “I just— I need to see you. I can’t sleep. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

You squeezed your eyes shut. You could almost feel Carmen’s disappointment if she knew you were even considering it.

But his voice was breaking. And your heart… your heart was already halfway out the door.

“…Okay,” you said, barely above a whisper.

You could hear the breath of relief he let out, like he hadn’t believed you’d actually say yes.

“I’ll be waiting,” he said.

And then the line went dead.

The room felt impossibly quiet. The truth still weighed heavy in your chest, but your feet moved on their own—toward the door. Toward him.

Despite everything.

Despite Carmen.

Despite Gabriel.

Despite the danger.

You were going to Joel, where he would be waiting with the lights up to protect you.

The old wooden doors of the church creaked open, the sound echoing softly through the vast, candle-lit silence. The night air clung to your skin as you stepped inside, the scent of old wood and melted wax wrapping around you like a memory.

Joel was there.

Up by the altar.

His back to you, shoulders slightly hunched as he lit one candle, then another. The glow bathed him in gold, flickering shadows dancing across his frame like ghosts.

You stood there for a second, just watching. Your heart thudded so hard it almost drowned out the quiet. You opened your mouth.

“Joel,” you said, softly.

He stiffened immediately. The match in his hand paused mid-air before he extinguished it slowly, fingers curling around it like he didn’t want to let it go. Then he turned.

There was no smile. Just dark, tired eyes locked on you. His face unreadable. Haunted. Like he had traveled miles through his own mind just to meet you here.

You wanted to say something. You thought of all the ways you could start but nothing felt right. Nothing touched the heaviness pressing down on both of you.

He finally spoke.

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

You swallowed, stepping closer. “I almost didn’t.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “Why did you?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it. “Why did I do what?” you finally asked.

His jaw tightened as the question cut through the quiet like a blade.

“Why did you lie to me?” he asked, like each word cost him something to say.

You stood still, the faint glow of candlelight brushing your face. There was nowhere to hide in this place, no shadows to slip into, no noise to drown out the truth. Just him. And you. And all the pieces of what you’d broken between you.

You looked down for a second, then met his eyes. “I—What?”

Joel took a slow step forward, the echo of his shoes heavy against the church floor.

“Don’t do that,” he said, voice low. Controlled. But his hands were clenched into fists at his sides. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

You stared at him, a dozen answers caught in your throat. None of them good enough.

“Gabriel,” he said. Just the name. Nothing else. And still, it landed like a punch.

Your breath caught. “Joel…”

“You are engaged to him.” He shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was holding back something ugly. “All this damn time, you were engaged while messing up with my head.”

You flinched like he’d slapped you.

“No,” you breathed, shaking your head. “It’s not—Joel, it’s not what you think.”

His laugh was humorless, bitter. “Isn’t it? ‘Cause from where I’m standing, it looks pretty damn clear.”

Your chest rose and fell rapidly, fingers trembling at your sides. “I left before. I left everything behind when I came here. I’m not engaged to him I never was I—”

“I don’t believe you.” he called out.

You took a slow step forward, trying to mend what was broken. Your voice quivered as it left you. “I never said yes. I never said yes to him, Joel. I—”

Your words die in your lips because he wouldn’t even look at you now. His jaw was tight, arms crossed like a shield, like if he let them fall, he might shatter.

“I told him I didn’t want that life,” you continued, trying to reach him. “I told him I wasn’t his. I ran, Joel. I ran from all of it. From him. From the danger I was in.”

Joel’s eyes flicked to you, something cracking in his expression—but not enough to let you in. “You should’ve told me,”He said, low. “You should’ve trusted me with the truth.”

“I wanted to,” you said, stepping impossibly closer. “Every time I looked at you, it was right there, stuck in my throat. But I was afraid. Afraid you’d look at me like you are now.” You paused, “You told me I could do it when I feel ready.”

He held your gaze for a long beat, pain written deep across his face.

You took another step, just a breath away now. “Joel, please. It’s not what you think it is, there is so much more to tell. The truth of it.”

Silence pressed in. You reached out slowly, placing your hand gently over his. He didn’t pull away.

“I’m standing here asking you to give me a chance to explain.”

His fingers twitched beneath yours—like maybe, just maybe, part of him still wanted to hold on.

"I'll ask god to get rid of those feelings you have for me.” He said, letting go of your hand “I'll pray for you."

Your hand hung there in the space where his used to be, suspended in the air like a ghost of something that had once meant everything. His words hit harder than any shouted accusation could have—quiet, measured, and final. A blade wrapped in velvet.

You stared at him, throat tight. “Don’t do that,” you said, barely above a whisper. “Don’t erase what we had like it was nothing.”

Joel turned away from you then, his jaw clenched, his silhouette bathed in candlelight and heartbreak. “I ain’t erasing it,” he muttered, almost to himself. “I’m just tryin’ to survive it.”

A bitter silence followed.

"I don't want to get rid of them!" You shouted at him.

"Don't. You lied!” he shouted back, while pointing his finger at you.  

"No, I didn't." You cried out

"You did! You made me sin. I knew I should have never touch you, never should have loved you.

"don't say it, you will regret it" you warned him, before he could say anything else.

"The only thing I will regret is you."

You didn't even have time to completely allow your heart to break after hearing those words. You were stunned. No words could even come out from your lips.

He was staring at you now, eyes wide with something that almost looked like remorse—but it was drowned out by the rage, the hurt.

“I never lied to you,” you finally managed, your voice barely a whisper, as if speaking louder would make it too real.

Joel shook his head, his face twisted with frustration, as if your words were a foreign language he couldn’t understand. “You don’t get it, do you? You—you—taught me how to love, how to want things I shouldn’t. And now I’m left here, broken because of you.”

He took a step back, his fist clenched at his side. “I should have never let myself feel this way about you,” he spat, and the words felt like venom. "I should’ve never let you in."

Your heart shattered in the silence that followed. You could feel the crack of it deep within you, splintering everything you thought you understood about him, about you, about what you could have been.

"You don’t mean that," you whispered, the words trembling on your lips. But even as you said them, you felt the truth settle into your bones. He did mean it.

Your hands moved on instinct, cupping his face, your fingers trembling as they touched his skin. His jaw was tense beneath your palms, but you didn’t care. You needed him to feel it—to know it wasn’t a lie.

“Joel, I love you,” you breathed, desperate, broken. “Please, let me—”

But he pulled your hands from his face, slowly, painfully, like he hated the way it felt to do it.

“No,” he said, voice low and steady. “You belong to him. To Gabriel.”

You blinked, your breath catching in your throat. “What…?”

He didn’t flinch. He didn’t stutter. “That’s why I called him.”

The words hit you like a slap.

Your hands dropped to your sides as your mind spun. He called Gabriel. Joel called him. He called him.

“Why would you—” your voice cracked.

But then, before you could finish, you heard it. A voice behind you. Smooth. Familiar. Sickening.

Your name, spoken with a twisted fondness. “Aquí estás.” (Here you are) Gabriel said.

You turned slowly, dread creeping up your spine like frostbite.

Gabriel stood just inside the church doors, shadow stretching long behind him. He looked at you like he always did, like you were something that belonged to him.

Your stomach dropped.

Joel’s voice was behind you, sharp and cold. “Now he can take back what’s his.”

Your knees went weak. Everything around you blurred except for that one terrible truth.

He’d brought you here. He’d brought him here. Joel did it.

You couldn’t breathe. The room spun, the walls of the church closing in like a vise around your chest. The candlelight flickered, suddenly too bright, too hot.

Your heart pounded against your ribs like it was trying to escape, and the sound of Gabriel’s footsteps—calm, deliberate—only made it worse.

You stumbled back.

“Don’t,” you rasped, lifting a trembling hand. “Stay away from me.”

But Gabriel kept walking. And when your back hit Joel’s chest, you realized you’d moved without thinking.

You were hiding. Behind him. Joel stiffened in surprise as you pressed against him, your hands clutching the fabric of his shirt like it was the only thing tethering you to the earth.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice cracked and broken. “Please don’t let him take me.”

Joel didn’t say anything for a long second. You could feel the tension in his body, the confusion, the conflict. He’d expected anger—guilt, maybe. Not this. Not you trembling behind him like a trapped animal.

He looked over his shoulder, saw your face, pale, wet with tears, breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps and something shifted in him.

he murmured your name but you couldn’t speak. Gabriel was close now, too close, his steps slow and confident. “Ya no puedes seguir arrancando” (You cannot keep running anymore)

You flinched at his voice. Joel turned to look at you again, really look at you. The panic in your eyes. The way you were clinging to him.

And suddenly, everything didn’t seem so black and white anymore.

“You tricked me” you said through shallow breaths, chest heaving.

Joel’s jaw tightened.

Gabriel frowned. “She’s confused. That’s all this is. She always gets like this.”

You shook your head frantically. “No, no, please don’t listen to him. Joel, you have to believe me.”

Your fingers twisted tighter in his cassock Joel’s eyes flicked from you to Gabriel. And for the first time… doubt. Real, sharp, dangerous doubt crept into his face.

And he took a slow step in front of you, this time not to give you away.

But to shield you.

“What the hell do you want from her?” he asked, low, directed at Gabriel now.

Gabriel blinked once, then gave a short, breathy laugh—quiet at first, then building, echoing through the old church like a sick hymn.

“A priest?” he said, incredulous, mocking. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” He looked between you and Joel like the punchline of some cruel joke had just landed in his lap. “There’s no way you fell in love with a priest.”

You flinched at the sound, but Joel didn’t move. His jaw clenched tighter, fists at his sides.

Gabriel took a step forward, his shoes tapping softly against the stone floor. The candlelight caught the edge of something cold and metallic beneath his coat—then, slowly, he pulled it out.

A gun.

You froze.

Joel’s arm instinctively shot out in front of you again, forcing you back behind him. His voice dropped lower, sharp as a blade. “Put that down.”

Gabriel cocked his head like he was considering it—like this was all just some twisted game.

“You think wearing that collar means something to me?” Gabriel asked in defiance.

Joel didn’t flinch. “She’s not going anywhere with you.”

“Joel—” you whispered, barely able to breathe.

Gabriel’s gaze cut to you, and his smile returned—cold and cruel. “You always were good at pretending,” he said.

“No,” you whispered. Your voice was shaking, but your spine straightened.

Joel stood solid in front of you. “You’ll have to shoot me first.”

Gabriel raised the gun slightly, hand steady. “That can be arranged.”

Gabriel’s arm rose, the gun steady now, aimed directly at Joel’s chest. His eyes had gone dark, void of reason, swimming with something far worse than jealousy.

“You have no idea what she did to me,” he hissed. “No idea what she owes me.”

Joel didn’t move, didn’t blink. “She doesn’t owe you a goddamn thing.”

Gabriel’s finger twitched on the trigger.

“She does,” he spat. “You think she’s innocent? You think she ran away from nothing?”

You were trembling, the edges of your vision tunneling, the air thick and heavy in your chest.

Gabriel sneered, not even sparing you a glance. “You always have a choice. And you chose wrong.”

Joel took a step forward, deliberate, protective. “You’re not taking her.”

Gabriel’s hand raised with him, following the movement. “She’s mine. I bled for her. I ruined myself for her. And she walked away leaving me paying the consequences?”

Joel’s voice was low, but it rang with conviction. “You are not taking her” he repeated.

For a second, Gabriel’s face twitched—something unhinged cracking behind his eyes.

“She’s not yours to save,” Gabriel said. “And when I’m done with you—she’ll remember that.”

Joel didn’t budge. “Try me.”

And that was when Gabriel’s hand jerked. The sound of the gunshot split the silence

Joel hit the ground with a cry of pain, the bullet tearing through his leg. The sound of it—the thud of his body, the ragged gasp that ripped from his throat—split you open.

“Joel!” You dropped to your knees beside him, your hands already pressing over the wound, desperate to stop the bleeding. His cassock was soaked within seconds, your fingers slipping in the warmth of his blood.

“No, no, no—stay with me,” you pleaded, voice trembling, cracking. “You’re going to be okay, just look at me. Please.”

His jaw clenched, but his eyes still found yours. There was pain there, yes, but something else too. Something soft, even now.

Before you could answer, a force yanked you backward by the arms.

“Enough,” Gabriel growled.

You screamed, thrashing against him, kicking and clawing. “Let go of me!”

His grip tightened. “You think this is about him? Him? After everything I did for you, you choose a fucking priest?” His voice broke on the word, madness trembling under the surface.

“You shot him!” you shouted, your voice shrill and full of rage. “You could’ve killed him!”

“And maybe I should have,” Gabriel hissed near your ear. “Maybe then you'd remember what you own me."

You struggled harder, your eyes locked on Joel still lying on the floor, bleeding, trying—despite the agony—to push himself up for you. For you.

“Don’t touch her,” Joel said, voice hoarse, weak, but full of fire. “Don’t fucking touch her.”

Gabriel laughed, wild and bitter. “You can’t even stand.”

Gabriel’s fingers dug into your arms as he dragged you toward the church doors, your heels scraping against the floor. You kicked, shouted, screamed Joel’s name, but he was behind you now, and bleeding, and you couldn’t get to him.

“Déjame!” (Let me go!) you cried, nails raking at Gabriel’s hands, but he didn’t flinch. His grip was iron, and the fury in him had snapped something loose. Something terrifying.

He shoved the doors open with his shoulder, the night air crashing into your lungs like a slap.

“Ahora nosotros tenemos una conversación pendiente, fugitiva,” (Now we both have a a pendant conversation, little rebel) he spat, his voice low and venomous. “Creíste que podías huir de mí, ¿eh? ¿Que podías esconderte detrás de un maldito cura? (Did you think you could run and hide behind a fucking priest?”

You struggled, tears streaming now, hot.

He kept dragging you down the steps of the church. “¿Después de todo lo que hice por ti? ¿Después de lo que sacrifiqué? (After all I did for you? after all I sacrificed for you?)

“Déjame!” you screamed, the words ripping from your throat.

He slammed you against the hood of a car, the breath knocked clean from your lungs.

“No me pongas a prueba,”(Don’t try me) he growled.

People had started to gather—neighbors, passersby, drawn by the shouting, the shot, and the slam of doors, the chaos erupting outside the church. You could hear the murmurs, the uncertainty in their voices, but no one stepped forward.

Except one.

Mr. Langdon appeared at the edge of the crowd, his eyes wide in horror. “What’s going on here?!”

Your eyes locked onto him, desperate. “Go to the Father!” you shouted, voice raw. “He’s bleeding! Go help him, please!”

Mr. Langdon hesitated, then turned, finally breaking into a hurried limp toward the church steps.

Gabriel leaned in close, his voice slithering in your ear like a curse. “Ahora te vas a subir al auto y me vas a escuchar,” (Now you’re going to get in the car, and you’re going to listen to me.) he whispered, so low only you could hear.

You shook your head violently, heart hammering, eyes darting from one stunned face to another in the crowd. Why weren’t they doing anything?

“Help me!” you cried out. “Please!”

And then—Carmen. She burst through the people, Billy right behind her, both of them panting from the sprint, eyes wide with panic as they took in the scene.

“¡Hey!” Carmen screamed. “¡Déjala!” (Let her go!)

Billy didn’t even hesitate; he ran toward you.

But it was too late. Gabriel jerked open the passenger door, dragged you inside with terrifying strength, and slammed it shut.

You fought, your hands pushing at him, legs kicking wildly, but the doors locked with a heavy click, sealing you inside. Your cries were muffled now by glass. Gabriel’s hand clamped over your thigh, keeping you still as he started the engine.

Outside, Billy was pounding on the window. Carmen was screaming your name.

And all you could do was look back through the glass—at them. At the church.

At Joel’s silhouette, just now staggering out under the arch of the church’s door, his hand clutching his side, eyes locked on the car that was taking you away.

And then it moved.

Gabriel drove, leaving this town behind.

Oh god, what have he done?

Tags < 3 @jasminedragoon @mandaloriankait @jellybeanxc @spencercmlover @lilac-boo @disco-fairy75 @correapunk @existentialdreadofhumanity @secretcheesecakenacho @laliceee @exzidss @missladym1981

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[mintyys-blog]

MORE THEN JUST BUSINESS — mark grayson x reader

WARNINGS: none

Y/N had always admired real estate. From the glossy magazine covers to the sharp business deals, everything about it fascinated her. She spent her days attending classes and reading about the industry, all while envisioning herself working beside the biggest names in the business.

But being just a few blocks away from a successful real estate agent like Debbie Grayson, Mark’s mother, made her dream seem closer. Much closer. Debbie had become a mentor to Y/N, offering advice and sharing stories about how she’d built her career from the ground up. In return, Y/N did her best to help out whenever Debbie needed a hand with anything, whether it was organizing papers or running errands. It wasn’t long before they spent more time together than just business.

Every afternoon, Y/N found herself at the Graysons’ house, often perched on their porch with a cup of coffee, listening to Debbie’s advice about selling homes, the importance of staging, and the strict, complicated regulations that governed the market.

“You have to know the area like the back of your hand,” Debbie would say. “Every neighborhood has its quirks. You need to know where the best schools are, what the local market is like, and how to sell the house with its unique charm.”

Debbie’s passion for real estate was infectious. Y/N could see herself thriving in the industry, her own future just as bright. They laughed together, shared stories, and Y/N soaked in all the lessons.

Then, of course, there was Mark.

Mark Grayson, Debbie’s son, was quiet but kind, a bit reserved but thoughtful. Y/N didn’t see him much at first; he was often off with his own set of friends, busy with school, or simply keeping to himself. But as Y/N became a more frequent guest at the Graysons’, their paths crossed more often.

One evening, while Y/N was on the porch with Debbie, sipping lemonade and listening to one of her many insightful stories about the importance of curb appeal, Mark came out with a basketball in hand.

“Hey, Mom. Y/N,” he greeted, his voice soft but warm.

Y/N turned, offering a smile. “Hey, Mark! You going for a game?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “Just shooting some hoops.” He paused, glancing at Y/N. “You’re here a lot, huh?”

She laughed, feeling the flush of embarrassment creep up her neck. “I guess so. But mostly for the great real estate advice,” she said, nudging Debbie with her elbow.

Debbie chuckled. “Well, she’s got a lot to learn, but she’s coming along great.”

Mark raised an eyebrow. “Real estate, huh? You thinking of following in my mom’s footsteps?”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah, actually. It’s always been my dream. Debbie’s been helping me a lot.”

“That’s cool,” Mark said, then glanced at the basketball. “You want to come shoot around? It’s a great way to clear your head.”

Y/N hesitated for just a moment before nodding. “Sure, why not?”

The basketball court was just a few steps away, and soon they were both laughing as they took turns trying to make shots. Mark’s easygoing nature made Y/N feel comfortable, and before long, they were talking about everything and nothing—real estate, the future, and how they each saw their lives unfolding.

“Sounds like you’ve got a good plan,” Mark said as he grabbed the ball from Y/N and tossed it in the air with practiced ease. “So, when do you officially start selling houses?”

Y/N grinned. “Well, I still have to pass my exam, but I’ll be ready.”

“Debbie’s been really good to you, huh?”

Y/N nodded. “She’s amazing. I don’t know where I’d be without her. She’s been like a second mom to me.”

Mark smiled, his eyes softening. “She’s a good one, alright. She’s always been there for me, even when I didn’t realize I needed her.”

As the sun began to set, they continued their game, laughing, exchanging stories, and slowly getting to know each other better. Y/N realized that she liked Mark more than she had anticipated. He was down-to-earth, humble, and so different from the typical high school jock.

Over the next few weeks, Y/N’s visits to the Graysons’ house became a regular occurrence. Every time she was over, Mark seemed to pop in unexpectedly, joining them on the porch or offering to help her with her studies. They found themselves bonding over things that were completely unrelated to real estate—like movies, their favorite bands, and their shared love of cheesy pizza.

One afternoon, after a particularly lengthy chat about market trends, Y/N stood to leave, gathering her notes and heading for the door.

“Hey, Y/N, wait up,” Mark called from the living room. He was standing there, his hands in his pockets, his expression serious but warm.

“Yeah?” Y/N asked, turning back to him.

“I was wondering… if you ever want to take a break from all the real estate stuff, maybe you could join me for a coffee sometime. No work talk. Just… you know, a little fun.”

Y/N blinked, surprised but pleased. “I’d like that,” she replied, smiling.

And so it began—the first of many coffee dates, casual hangouts, and, slowly, the growing connection between Y/N and Mark. As she continued to learn from Debbie, it was becoming clear that there was more to life than just business. There was also the possibility of something special, something that could develop alongside her career. And she was more than willing to make it happen.

[saiyanprincessswanie]

The Ultimate Risk - Part 3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader 

Word Count: 5975

Series Summary: Reader is a full-time college student at 30 years old who is starting over in life. When she loses her full-time job as a waitress, CEO James “Bucky” Barnes steps in with a proposition. Can he sell you on a way to help you by offering a Sugar Daddy companionship? Who will get feelings first? Can a Sugar Daddy relationship really work out?

Series Warnings: Sugar Daddy au, Reader is 30 & Bucky is in his 40s, reader has trust issues, talks of anxiety, angst, eventually falling in love, smut, oral (m & f), nicknames (sweetheart and doll.)

The Ultimate Risk Masterlist

A/N: @avengers-assemble-bingo for James Buchanan Barnes - 108th Birthday Bingo 

Square: Sugar Daddy (card #4B 024)

A/N 2: Thank you to my beta writers @lfnr-blog-blog-blog & @gremlin-girly. Thank you to @late-to-the-party-81 for the header.

Please Read, Reblog, & Comment. It lets me know you like my work. 😊💜

I do NOT consent to translating or reposting my work on any social media platform, app, or third-party site or run through AI. If you see my work anywhere besides my personal Tumblr & AO3 accounts, it has been stolen.

It was ten in the morning when Bucky picked you up at your apartment. He wanted to show you the space that his friend, Steve, had for rent. You weren’t sure what you were expecting, maybe something with a second bedroom so you could paint. When Bucky pulled up to a beautiful house, your jaw dropped. Outside on the porch was Steve who was waving at you. 

“Ready to take a look, sweetheart?” Bucky asked as he watched you take the home in. Your giddiness made him smile.

“Is this for me?” You questioned as you stared at the house waving back at Steve.

“If you want it to be then yes. Come on, let's go greet Steve.” 

You both got out of the vehicle walking hand in hand up to Steve. The two men greet each other with a hug and Steve turns to you giving you one as well. You weren’t used to hugging people but this was Bucky’s best friend so you made an exception. 

“So Steve, is this the place you were telling me about?” Bucky asked as you grabbed his hand again.

“Yeah, this was a place I built years ago intending to settle down with Peggy. But you know how that story goes, Buck.” Steve sighs for a moment. “Anyway, I know you said your girl needed a bigger place and I was already looking to rent this out so why not hook up your girl?”

“Well, I appreciate it, punk. I know I love this house already, but let’s see if she does. Now, let's go inside and take a look around.” Bucky states as you grin at both men.

Steve leads the way while you both follow behind him. The porch was beautiful and already came with furniture on it. You loved that you could come out here and drink your morning coffee. 

The outside of the house was white and had a cute blue front door. As you enter the two-story house you instantly notice the open floor concept. To the left, you had a large living room with a beautiful stone fireplace. The colors were cool tones in the living room. Continuing through the living room you walked into a kitchen and dining room that was huge. Stainless steel appliances with light oak cabinets on the wall made you gasp.

“My goodness, this kitchen is amazing! I would love to cook here and sit at this bar to eat. I’ve never seen anything like this before.” You say excitedly. 

Heading out of the kitchen there was a half bathroom, to the back of the house was a laundry room that was as big as your living room in your apartment. It had the latest high end model washer and dryer. Walking out of the laundry room you found the first bedroom. The room was big enough to be an office in the front. 

Bucky was watching you take the house in. He could tell that you loved it and there was still upstairs to see. If this is the place you wanted it would be yours in a heartbeat. He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze and you turned back at him beaming. Bucky loved seeing you this happy.

Steve led the way upstairs as you both followed him. In front of you was the next bedroom and full bathroom. The bedroom you loved as it gave you plenty of outside light.

“This will be my painting room,” you declared as you walked around the spacious room. 

Steve nodded his head. “That’s what I made this room for actually. But it was for me to do my sketches here.”

Bucky grinned at you. “This would be a perfect room for your painting. I can see you now in here creating new work.”

“If you think this room is great, wait until you see the master suite,” Steve stated as he led you to the final room. 

The master suite was huge. You walked in and were immediately speechless. Again, the windows were everywhere and gave you a beautiful view outside. You walked over to the closet and giggled.

“You have got to be kidding me. This closet is the size of my bedroom in my apartment! This could hold my old and new clothes perfectly. Plus, there is room for more.”

Bucky and Steve laughed at your reaction. 

“I think she likes this place, jerk.” Steve softly spoke to Bucky. 

Bucky watched as you headed into the master bathroom and you squealed in delight. “I think so, punk.”

“Bucky this bathroom has a claw foot tub and a huge shower separated. Double vanity so I can place all my stuff.” You come skipping out of the bathroom and a huge smile on your face. “This is perfect. It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of.”

“The question is, sweetheart, do you WANT it?  Say the word and it’s yours.”

Bucky watched as you nodded excitedly. 

“Yes, I would love to live here,” you gleefully stated.

Bucky turned to Steve and chuckled. “Looks like we will be renting this beautiful house from you.”

“That’s great. I’m happy for you both. I will get the documents drawn up and faxed over to you tomorrow. You can move in at the end of the week. Here are the spare keys to the house.”

Steve handed you the keys and you all headed back downstairs. The guys were talking as you headed outside. The neighborhood was quiet and filled with houses like this one. You sat on the front porch swing and sat in silence. This was amazing and you pinched yourself to make sure you weren’t dreaming.

Both men walked outside and were laughing. You watched them as they joked with each other. It saddened you for a moment because you wished you had a friend like that.

Bucky glanced at you and sensed your mood shift briefly. He walked over to you and reached a hand out for you. 

Hesitantly, he took your hand and rubbed the back of it to ease your mind. “Are you ready to go, sweetheart?”

“I’m ready. Though I have to say this place is perfect and so beautiful. I can’t believe I’m going to be living here. Thank you for thinking of me to live here.” You bit your bottom lip as Bucky pulled you in for a hug.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. Now let’s go car shopping.” 

You squeal in delight as Bucky leads you back to his Escalade. You turn to wave goodbye to Steve one last time before climbing into the SUV.

Bucky gets in the driver's seat and pulls away from the house. His hand seeks yours and gently holds it.

“So what car does my doll want? It can be anything you want and the price doesn’t matter.”

“Honestly I’ve had my eye on the 2025 BMW X5 SUV. It’s enough for me to feel comfortable yet look spacious.” 

Bucky smirks at you. “If that’s what you want then let’s go get it.”

Bucky drove for twenty minutes until he reached a BMW dealership. You both went inside to talk with a salesperson. Bucky did most of the talking explaining what you wanted. 

You chimed in on the color and things you wanted to come with the car. Just so happens they have what you are looking for and you can drive home in it today. 

You were excited to be getting the SUV you wanted. It was a red BMW and fully loaded. Bucky and the salesman negotiated prices. You watched Bucky with ease as he shook the hand of the salesman finalizing the sale. 

Bucky got up from the chair and walked outside with you and the salesman. The BMW SUV was pulled to the front of the building and you let out a squeal of excitement. Bucky smiled at your expression and watched as you hopped into it. He rounded the BMW to the driver’s seat.

Pulling out his phone Bucky looked at you and said, “smile.” As you did he took a picture of you. He wanted to remember you at this moment. 

“Since this SUV is yours now why don’t you follow me to the bank so we can get your allowance setup since it’s almost the first of the month. Gotta make sure my girl is taken care of.”

You smiled back at him. “Thank you, Bucky for the rental house and the car. I’m a little overwhelmed but I’m so happy. I feel like I’m in a dream.”

Bucky took your hand and kissed the back of it. “This is not a dream sweetheart. This is just what’s to come in our arrangement. I want you spoiled. I want to see you happy.”

Your heart fluttered at his statement. It’s only been a couple of days and he has spoiled you rotten so far. How were you supposed to get used to this? You inwardly smiled at the thought of being treated like a princess. No one has ever done what Bucky has. You weren’t sure if you would ever get used to this but for now, you’re going to enjoy it while you can. 

“So what happens with my other car? I mean it’s kinda on its last leg.” You wondered what to do with it because right now the apartment has one space for your vehicle. 

“Don’t you worry about that sweetheart. I plan to have a scrap yard pick it up from you today and they will give you a couple hundred dollars for it. I will make the call on the way to the bank. All you gotta do is follow me.”

You nod your head. “Okay, let's go.” Sitting back you pull your seatbelt on while Bucky closes the door. You take in the feel of the BMW and smile wide. This SUV was going to be perfect for you. It had space, it was comfortable and as you follow Bucky out of the parking lot the ride is smooth. “I can get used to this ride in no time,” you say out loud to yourself.

You follow Bucky back into town where you both park at this huge bank. Getting out of the BMW you lock the doors and head over to Bucky who just got out of his Escalade. He smiled at you as you stood before him.

“Are you ready sweetheart?” 

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Bucky takes your hand and you both walk into the bank. You can tell by the looks of it that this bank is for the richer folks. There were leather brown chairs in the waiting area but Bucky didn’t wait. He walks up to an office that says Tony Stark and knocks on the open door. 

Tony looks up from his computer and greets Bucky. “Ah, Bucky, good to see you and who is this lovely lady behind you?”

You peeked out from behind Bucky and smiled at Tony. Bucky introduces you to Tony and you both shake hands. Tony tells you both to take a seat.

“So what can I help you with Barnes?” Tony asked.

“I’m here to set up a monthly draft from one of my accounts to hers.” Bucky sits back and watches Tony nod his head.

“How much do you want to be transferred into her account monthly?” Tony was typing on his computer as they spoke. 

“I would say five thousand should be sufficient to start with. What do you think sweetheart?” Bucky looks over at you and your jaw drops.

“Fi-Five thousand? Bucky that's a lot of money don’t you think?

“Well, you do need to pay for food, gas, and whatever else you may need personally. I want to make sure you have enough.”

“How about we say three thousand instead and call it even?” You reply and bite your lip.

Bucky grins at you and nods his head. “Fine three is it but if you need more do not hesitate to tell me. Deal?”

You lean closer to him. “Deal.”

“You both are so cute together. Setting up the monthly draft. Now, I just need your information hun.”

Pulling out your checkbook you hand it over to Tony who starts typing in your information. Within minutes he handed it back to you and printed off paperwork for Bucky to sign. Once signed everything was finished.

“Thank you Tony for doing this for me. I will be calling you tomorrow to start setting up her bills to be pulled from this same account.”

“Anytime Bucky. I’m always here if you need me.” Both men shook the other’s hand and you stood up from the chair. “It was a pleasure meeting you too hun. I hope to see you both again.”

Bucky and you left the bank together and headed to your apartment. You both parked at the curb and got out. Bucky went to the Toyota and took your license plates off the car. 

You started moving things from your old car to the SUV. After twenty minutes you finished and the scrap yard tow truck pulled in front of the car. You watched Bucky and the driver talk for a few minutes. Then the driver handed him a paper.

Bucky walks over to you and hands you the piece of paper. Turns out it’s a check for three hundred dollars that the tow truck guy gave Bucky.

“Now you have a little more money to put in the bank. Hopefully, you can buy something nice for yourself.” Bucky grinned at you and you wrapped yourself around his arm.

You both watched as your car was towed away. A part of you was sad but the other part was excited over your new BMW. If your ex friends could see you now they would be excited for you.

Heading up to your apartment Bucky followed you up. Opening the door you both walk in and you grab menus. 

“I don’t know about you but I’m hungry. You pick something out and I’ll call it in for delivery.”

A few minutes later Bucky picked out Chinese food from one of your favorite places. You called the food in and they said it would be twenty minutes.

In that time you and Bucky started making a list of all your bills that need to be paid every month. He even writes down your student loans that have to be paid. 

“Bucky you don’t have to pay them. They’re in the thousands of dollars and my debt that I racked up.” You whispered nervously.

“I know I don’t have to do this but I want to. I want you to be debt-free and not worry about any of your bills while you focus on college. Now let’s focus on the positives of this arrangement between us.” 

You smiled at him and nodded. “You‘re right, let's focus on the positives.“ You gave Bucky all the information he needed to pay off your debts and current bills. It was weird to think you would have no debt.

By the time you finished up everything the food arrived. Bucky paid for the food and placed it on the counter. You both dug into the food and once again sat on the couch. 

“So the charity event we are going to in three days is formal. I was thinking your long black dress with a high slit would be a good choice to wear. I have a black suit and tie to match. If that’s okay with you?”

“That sounds perfect to me, Bucky. Though all my stuff is at your penthouse and nothing has been washed or steam cleaned.” Your anxiety started to kick up a little as you thought of everything you had to do.

“Don’t worry doll. I already had all your dresses cleaned. They are in the spare room closet waiting for you. I figured you could get ready at my place so we could save time,” Bucky stated.

You let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you for doing that for me. I think that would be fine getting ready at your place.”

You both ate in silence as you filled up with food. When you were done you placed the dishes in the dishwasher and cleaned up after yourselves. 

It was nice having Bucky around. You didn’t feel lonely when he was with you. Though your anxiety still flared up at times Bucky would help you calm down and breathe. It was nice having a companion to do things with.

Bucky watched as you put the leftovers away. You were definitely lost in thought but you had a smile on your face the entire time. He wonders what you’re thinking of. He knows he is thinking about you all the time. Bucky has never met anyone like you before and that makes him nervous but excited for the future.

Bucky’s phone rings and he takes the call. Talking for a few and feeling annoyed he hangs up the phone.

“Sorry to take that call but it’s work. Unfortunately, I have to go in this afternoon as it's an urgent matter. I had a wonderful time spending half the day with you.”

You give a small pout but nod. “I understand. Work calls you have to go in. I’m going to be busy with online classes anyways tonight to get ahead work-wise.”

“I will see you later sweetheart. Take care of yourself and start to pack in between your schoolwork. I’m thinking of moving you into your new place sooner than later.”

Bucky walks up to you and kisses your forehead. You wrap your arms around him and hug him.

“Thank you, Bucky for today. I had a blast.” You give him one last squeeze hug and part from him.

“I will text you later. Goodbye, sweetheart.”

“Goodbye, Bucky.”

Bucky walks out the door and leaves you behind. You couldn’t really complain considering the day you had. For now, you would concentrate on your schoolwork and get yourself ahead so you could enjoy yourself later.

Several days have passed and you’re all caught up with schoolwork. You attended your classes and handed your work in on time. You have heard from Bucky through text only as he has been busy with work. However, he made sure to text you this morning as the charity event was tonight.

Bucky: Hey sweetheart, how is my doll doing today? Are you ready for the event tonight?

You: Hi Bucky, I’m doing well today. Both excited and nervous about tonight. I’ve already showered and just waiting for you to pick me up. 

Bucky: Excellent. I will be heading to get you within the next hour. Also, don’t be nervous about tonight. I will be with you every step of the way tonight.

You: Thank you Bucky, that means a lot to me. 

You took your time applying makeup and doing your hair that an hour flew by and Bucky was at the apartment. You grabbed your makeup just in case you needed to do touch ups. Grabbing your purse, makeup bag, phone and keys you head to the door to greet Bucky.

“Hey, doll.” Bucky warmly says looking you over. “You look beautiful. I can’t wait to see how you look with the dress on.”

“I’m sure I will look fine. Just dressed up.” You try to blow off the compliment because you don’t see yourself the way he does.

“You’re more than fine, you are gorgeous to me. I’m sure you will be turning many heads when you show up.”

Locking the door behind you, you made your way towards the stairs. You both walked down them and headed outside to his Escalade. Bucky opens the door and you climb in. Once he is inside he pulls away from the apartment and heads to his penthouse. 

You sit in silence trying to control your breathing as you were nervous about tonight. Would you be able to fit in among the wealthy class? You start to fidget with your hands.

Sensing your nervous energy Bucky reaches for your left hand and lightly holds it. Bringing your hand to his lips Bucky kisses your knuckles. 

“It will be okay sweetheart. Just remember that I will be with you all night.” Bucky tries to calm you down the best he can while driving. He does breathing exercises with you and that helps calm you down. By the time you get to the penthouse you’re breathing normally again.

Pulling into his parking space you both get out and head for the elevator. Bucky hits the button to the top floor as you both are inside. When you finally reach the top floor you both get out and head to his front door. Once inside, Bucky shows you to the spare bedroom where you will get ready.

The dress was hanging on the closet door when you walked in. You stare at the dress and take in the beauty of it. Your stilettos are underneath the dress and you can’t wait to play dress up. 

“If you need anything I will be down the hallway in the master suite.” Bucky states as he smiles at you and leaves.

“Thank you, Bucky.” You call out as he heads to his room.

You shut the door and take a deep breath. You got this… Undressing, you get down to your black lingerie and unzip the back of the dress. You slip into the dress and start to zip it back up but realize you need help. You slip your feet into the expensive stilettos and take a quick look at yourself in the mirror. You do have to admit you look pretty.

Continuing to get ready you touch up your makeup and hair until you’re satisfied with the way you look. About thirty minutes have passed so you decide to go to Bucky’s room so he can help you with the zipper. 

Walking to the room you hear the click of your heels on the hardwood floors. Your heartbeat is beating a little fast due to your nerves. Will he like you dolled up? You stand outside his door for a few seconds then knock on his door softly.

About thirty seconds pass and you hear him walking to the door. Upon opening it you’re met with Bucky standing in an all Black suit and tie. He looked straight out of a GQ magazine.

Bucky cleared his throat to get your attention. “Sweetheart, you look gorgeous.”

You offer a shy smile. “Thank you, Bucky. I was wondering if you could help me and zipper up the rest of the dress?”

“Absolutely doll. Just turn around and I will help you.”

You do as you’re told and turn for him. His fingers are gentle as he grabs the delicate zipper and slowly drags it up the rest of the way. You can’t help but shiver from his touch. Exhaling, you turn to face him and offer a smile. 

“Thank you, Bucky. I appreciate your help.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.” Before you could walk away he calls out your name and you turn to look at him. “I have a gift for you that goes with your dress.”

You followed him into the master suite and couldn’t believe how big the room was. He has a California king-size bed up against one wall. Two expensive chairs off to the sides, a bookcase, a gigantic walk-in closet, and a master bath off the other side of the room. You can’t help but stare. This was the biggest bedroom you have ever seen.

Bucky walks back over to you carrying a black velvet jewelry rectangle box. You had no clue what was inside as the box was medium-sized. He had a huge smile on his face as he approached you. “I got you something that will go with your dress. I hope you like it.”

“I’m sure I will Bucky.” Your eyes went from Bucky back to the rectangle box. What could it be? A necklace probably but you weren’t sure.

Bucky opened it up and inside was a diamond tennis necklace with matching earrings. You gasped at how beautiful it was. The diamonds were clear in color. The look was elegant and sparkled. This had to cost a pretty penny. “Bucky, I don’t know what to say except it’s beautiful.”

Bucky took the necklace out and undid the clasp. “Here let me put it on you.”

You turned your back to him and let him put the necklace on. Once the clasp was back in place his soft firm hand lingered for a moment on your neck before he removed it. You were nervous about having something so expensive around your neck. You turned back around to face him and he handed you the earrings. One by one you put them on and smiled back at him. He walked you over to the closet mirror and you were finally able to look at the jewelry with the dress. It was beautiful against your skin and the diamonds sparkled in the light.

“This is yours now, so you can wear it with your dress clothes. I wanted to do something special for you and this occasion just called for it.”

Touching the necklace and earrings you take a slow deep breath. “This must’ve cost a fortune.”

Bucky chuckled. “No price is too much for you sweetheart. Just focus on how beautiful you are and how happy you make me. Remember to breathe and if you get too overwhelmed let me know so we can leave at any time. All I have to do is make an appearance.”

Nodding your head at him you say, “That sounds good to me.”

“Now my dear let us go have some fun.”

Bucky looped your arm with his and you both walked out of the bedroom heading to the front door. Grabbing what he needed he led the way out of the apartment. Getting to the elevator Bucky pushed number one instead of the parking lot. 

Once you reached the first floor you walked through a stunning grand entrance foyer. Walking through it took your breath away as Bucky continued to lead you through it and outside. At the curb sat a black limo waiting for you both as you headed down the steps. A driver opened the door for you and you climbed in followed by Bucky.

The drive was fifteen minutes away so you took in the drive like you were in some fairytale. You have never been in a limo dressed the way you were. You looked over at Bucky who was grinning at you. Your hand found his and gently squeezed it.

“I know I’ve already said this but you’re so beautiful. I can’t take my eyes off you.” Bucky gently squeezed your hand back in reassurance.

“Thank you, Bucky. You’re handsome as well.”

You both made small talk all the way to the charity event. Then you pulled in front of a hotel. You heard of this place before from people at the restaurant. It held major events here among the socialites in New York. Tonight was going to be an important night for the charity being held.

“Are you ready sweetheart?” 

“I am.” You anxiously answered.

“Take my hand and remember to breathe.” His voice was soothing and gentle. 

The door opened and Bucky stepped out of the limo. He held his hand out to you and you grabbed it while getting out. Some cameras were taking pictures of you both as you made your way inside the hotel. To the right was a ballroom where everyone was filtering in. Your arm was looped in his now as he led you through the crowd. Bucky was saying hello to some people who briefly greeted him. They looked at you and nodded in return. 

“Would you like a drink doll? Some wine may take the edge off.” Bucky asked.

“Yes, please. I could use a drink.”

You both walked over to the bar where you both ordered a glass of wine. Once you were handed yours you took a big sip and felt the wine start to warm you up. You needed to be careful because you were a lightweight and the last thing you needed to do was embarrass Bucky. 

He led you through the sea of people and found an open table. Bucky held your chair out for you and helped you scoot into the table. As he took a seat a man came over to Bucky and greeted him. Bucky shook the man’s hand and greeted him back. The man looked over to you and smiled. 

“And who is this lovely lady seated to your right?” The gentleman asked.

Bucky gave him your name and the gentleman smiled.

“Sweetheart, this is my business associate T’Challa. He is my second in command in my business.”

“Oh, what a pleasure to meet you.” You offered a friendly smile back.

T’Challa took your hand and kissed the back of it. “The pleasure is all of mine.” T’Challa took a seat to Bucky’s left and they started to chat about the business. 

As they talked you could hear them discussing plans to release a new prototype for disabled veterans who have lost a limb from being in combat. Bucky was talking about a government deal that would help them start with veterans first and then expand the project as needed. You were fascinated to learn that this is the business he was in. You just learned the charity event was for disabled veterans so it made sense he would be working on something like that. When they finished talking a young woman approached T’Challa and greeted the three of you.

“This is my sister Shuri. She is the head department leader in these prototypes we were discussing. We call it Wakanda Technology. She is literally a genius,” T’Challa said.

Shuri shook your hand. “It’s nice to meet you. Anyone who can put up with Barnes is an absolute angel in my eyes.”

“Now, now - no ganging up on me.” Bucky chuckled.

“Just remember Barnes if you don’t take care of your girl I’m always here to do so.” T’Challa jokingly says.

“Okay, enough out of you two.” Bucky teased back. 

The night continued with the dinner that was brought out for everyone. The tables were full throughout the ballroom. Bucky had kept his promise by including you in the conversations with his friends and colleagues. Seeing Bucky light up at times and laugh brought a smile to your face. This man is something else and you had to admit you love his business side as well.

There were speakers at the podium and guests who kept coming over to Bucky to not only talk about his business but also to meet the radiant woman he brought. It both made you anxious and excited that people thought you were a princess in your outfit. 

It had been about two hours when Bucky decided it was time to leave. Both you and Bucky said goodbye to his friends and headed to the limo that was waiting. Once inside the limo, you couldn’t help the yawn that you released.

“Tired, sweetheart?” Bucky asked softly.

“Yeah, just a little bit. Plus I can’t wait to get out of this dress at your place.” You looked at Bucky who swallowed hard at your admission. “I just mean changing back into normal clothes is all.”

“I knew what you meant doll.” Bucky watched you with his dark blue eyes and smirked.

The fifteen-minute drive back to his place was in silence as you looked outside at the moving city. It was a nice evening of meeting his friends and colleagues. Especially when you learned about his business. He is helping millions of veterans nationwide with his technology and prototypes. That to you proved his kindness and generosity.

When the limo came to a stop you were back at his place. Getting out Bucky once again gently gave you his hand and you took it. You headed back up to his penthouse on the top floor and once inside you kicked off your heels. Bucky chuckled as you let out a loud sigh of relief. Moving to the spare bedroom you called to him.

“Hey, Bucky can you help unzip me so I can change?” You called out.

Bucky shrugged out of his jacket and rolled his sleeves up as he approached you. His tattoos on his arms were like a work of art to you and you couldn’t help but stare for a minute. You wondered what the rest of his body looked like under the suit. Was he covered in tattoos or was it just his arms?”

You turned around for him when he reached you and he slowly unzipped the dress for you. His knuckles rubbed softly against your skin. 

He placed a soft kiss on your shoulder and whispered in your ear, “I caught you staring at my tattoos again. Is there something you like?”

You shiver at the sound of his voice and how close he is to you. “I love the art behind some of them and the unique designs. They are beautiful to me.” You turn around, look up into his blue eyes, and hold your breath. What you would give to feel his lips on yours. He must have been thinking the same thing as he took a step back.

“I will leave you to change.” Bucky smiles and walks out of the room heading towards his room.

You close the door and let out the breath you were holding in. You changed quickly back into your clothes and took the jewelry off. There was no way you were bringing it to your small apartment. 

When you were fully ready you opened your door and carried the jewelry to Bucky’s room. He was about to come out when you showed what was in your hands.

“Can I keep this safe with you for now until I move into the new place?”

Bucky smirked at you. “Of course you can doll. I will keep it with my watches.” Bucky took the jewelry and put it back in the velvet rectangle box. He walked it to his walk-in closet and came back out to see you. He was dressed in a black t-shirt and sweatpants that hung low on his waist. If you would ever see him like this in public you would never guess he is a billionaire. 

Together you both walked out of his penthouse and to the garage. He opened the Escalade door for you and you climbed in. When he got in on his side he turned the SUV on and pulled away to head to your apartment. You held hands on your way home and you couldn’t get the kiss on your shoulder out of your head. Did it mean something or was it friendly? Maybe you were trying to see something that wasn’t there. Yes, he was affectionate but being anything more was not what he was looking for. 

Bucky pulled up to your apartment and turned the SUV off. He walked to your side and once again opened the door for you. You hopped out and walked to your building with him following behind. He walked you all the way to your apartment door and waited while you unlocked the door. 

You turned to face him and smiled. “Thank you so much for bringing me out tonight with you. I had a lot of fun.”

“Anytime sweetheart. I'm happy you could join me as well. We will have to do this again sometime soon.” Bucky leaned in and kissed your forehead. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Goodnight, Bucky.” You went into your apartment and sighed. You couldn’t wait until the next time you went out with him.

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[letorip]

kiss with a fist [ii]

"Blood sticks, sweat drips, break the lock if it don't fit, a kick in the teeth is good for some, a kiss with a fist is better than none"

===+++===

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: you signed up to help tara with her stupid plan. not whatever the hell one would call this.

warnings: implied sex, use of alcohol, puking, arguing loudly and wrongly, curse words(?)

word count: 5.2k

A/N: sorry to make you wait so long, but here's the second part. there will probably be a third, so fear not, the story doesn't end here. i originally thought i would be able to just end it off right here, but it’s going kind of really well and i think a third or maybe even a fourth part is more reasonable

===+++===

===+++===

For almost the entire walk to the frat house, Tara didn't actually say much. It surprised you too, the way she just glanced around the city that passed as you walked and fiddled with her nails. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, but you were so used to Tara having something to say that it made you speak instead.

"Wow, for once, you're speechless," you commented as you passed under a streetlight. Tara shot you a glare, shoving her hands into her jean pockets.

"Would it kill you to shut the hell up?"

“There we go, back to normal. Why are you being weird?”

“I’m not being weird,” she scoffed. “Mind your own business.”

"I'm just saying."

"Well don't say. Don't say."

===+++===

The party fucking sucked. It was quintessential college, with frat boys who attempted to yell over the loud music that rattled your eardrums. Coolers upon coolers of shitty, cheap beer sat against the far wall, and a crowd had gathered around them to pick off all the free alcohol they could. Maybe a year ago this would’ve been fun. Now you found yourself disenchanted with the ordeal.

Tara was off god knows where, doing god knows what, which you figured was the point of the arrangement anyway. You weren’t too concerned with tracking her down, especially if situation also presented itself as a pleasant bonus— not having to put up with her.

Chad had wandered out of the room when he saw you and Tara arrive together hand in hand, going deeper into the party without a word. He was usually the one you hung around with at these kinds of things, but he had been a sad little dog with his tail between his legs since you and Tara announced you were meant to be a few days before the party. It seemed some of your friends were still adjusting.

The immediate reaction after Tara said “soooo, we’re together,” was to laugh, like you two were doing a bit. It got less funny when they saw you both blankly staring back at them and then Tara grabbed your hand and held it up with a forced smile.

The whole group was going through a somewhat awkward seven stages of grief thing. Chad was avoiding you completely, Quinn was a bit annoyed you were off the market now after an egregious few months of hitting on you, and Ethan was the only one to be a bit normal, even though it was clear he too had a crush on Tara and was disappointed with the matter.

When Mindy had gotten over her disbelief, she dove right into an endless game of questions, only occasionally staved off by Anika. "So who confessed first?" had been one of the first ones, accompanied by a glint in her eye. Tara jumped in before you could even open your mouth, eager to answer.

"(Y/n) showed up on my porch, all sweaty and disgusting looking, just smelling so unbelievably bad it was overpowering-”

“I had been working out,” you rolled your eyes. “That’s why I was sweaty."

“Mhm, whatever. Anyways, apparently they were just being such an asshole because they were in love with me," Tara said, with a wide, shit-eating grin. "Right?"

You had to hide your glare behind your solo cup. "Mhm. I was just overflowing with it. I have so many things to say about you."

“All nice things,” Tara corrected.

“Yeah. That’s what I said.”

“Was it?”

“Uh huh.”

Mindy’s questions followed you everywhere she did. Who kissed who first? Who’s more cuddly? Have you guys slept together yet? They volleyed back and forth and you and Tara fought for the first word each time to pin it to the other with gleeful sadism. Of course, it was then flipped around once the next question came and you would huff in annoyance at the other for being an asshole.

It wasn’t as bad of an arrangement as you had dreaded. You only had to be couple-y when other people were watching you two interact, or when Sam would glare in suspicion. Hold hands a few times, smile, share a glance. Other than that, things stayed mostly the same. The group probably appreciated you both not acting head over heels for the other and you liked it because it meant you didn't have to pretend to like her.

Tara had a brazen way about her that made you roll your eyes. She never took no for an answer, had a teasing remark for anything, and always felt the need to be doing something. Other people seemed to find themselves charmed by it. Others, but not you. Never you.

The walk there had been about all she could take of your personality, and the moment after you two were seen together, she ditched you at the door and wandered off to the dance floor. After that you had lost track of her, and ended up splitting your time between the kitchen, the bathroom, and the front room, away from the crowd. Mindy found you there, tugging Anika along with her.

"Cut the bullshit," She said with an eye roll, sitting right down on the couch in front of you. Anika plopped down next to her. "There's no way in hell you got together with Tara."

You grinned, sipping your beer and partially using it to block your expression. "No, we're together. I really like her."

Mindy scoffed. "You're a terrible liar." Your cheeks warmed and you tilted your head to the side.

"We have to separate you two like warring chihuahuas every time we hang out together," Anika said. She leaned forward and narrowed her eyes in a study of your face. "You're not confessing your undying love."

"I did."

"You didn't!" Mindy said, and she threw up her arms.

"I did."

"You didn't," Anika snorted.

"I...," you looked at them both, "...are you guys going to snitch?"

"Snitch to who?" asked Mindy. Now they were both leaned in, like eager children around a campfire. You swallowed.

"Sam." Mindy blinked. Then she sat back.

"What the hell did Tara get you involved in?" she asked. As much as Sam was part of your group, it was known not to fuck with her, and that's exactly what Tara was making you do.

You frowned. If anyone was going to ruin the plan, it probably wouldn't be Mindy or Anika. "You can't tell Chad, but we're not actually together."

Anika raised her eyebrows and shot Mindy a glance. "That didn't take a lot of brain power to figure out." You shrugged.

"Well, we fooled Sam. Tara needs a fake partner so she can go to parties and see people and stuff. And, well, you know how Sam is about that stuff."

Mindy crossed her arms. "And you said sure?"

You shrugged. "I mean, I didn't really see why not. Plus, she was being super annoying about it. Showed up at my house. She was begging, almost."

"So, you what, took pity?" Anika asked, giving you a look. You rolled your eyes.

"Trust me, it's not because it's fun. She's way too annoying and she'd probably say the same thing about me."

Mindy frowned, looking out the doorway and into the booming party. "Chad wouldn't like it."

You sent her a worried look. "Please please please, don't tell Chad. I know he's upset by the whole thing, but Sam would literally kill me if she knew I was helping Tara run around town."

"I don't know...," she said. "I know Tara wants freedom, but this is kind of bullshit, (Y/n)."

"It won't be for long. She just wants to meet someone. When she does, it's over. Life goes back to normal."

"Do you guys have a target in mind, or something?" Anika asked, a bit amused.

"Not even a little a bit. It’s like, her second party ever,” you shrugged. “I don’t know if she’s really dead set on a person yet.”

“Well… she better figure it out soon.”

“Mhm.” You looked out the same glass door and into the booming party outside. Through the jumping crowd, you could see in the distance Tara, who was dancing with her eyes shut and a smile spread wide across her cheeks. She looked happy like that.

You took a swig of your beer.

===+++===

The boom of a fist on your door shook the thin walls of your apartment, and you jolted awake to hear three more hit the wood.

“OPEN UP (Y/N), NOW!”

Immediately, a headache washed over you and you groaned. You tried to smush your head into the pillow to make it go away but there were the banging fists again, and you sat up, letting your legs dangle off the edge.

“OPEN THE FUCK UP,” came the voice again, and you blinked. Oh shit. You knew that voice. You clambered to your feet and stumbled out your bedroom and down the hall in a dusty pair of shorts and shirt. “I’M NOT KIDDING! OPEN THE—”

You pulled the door open like a deer in headlights, seeing Sam seethe on the other side with her fist raised. Nostrils flared, forehead creased, eyes narrowed. She looked about ready to rip your head off.

“You,” she said, spitting the word. You flinched. “Where the fuck is Tara?!”

Shit shit shit shit shit. Had she not gone home the night before?? Things felt a little bit fuzzy still. You remembered grabbing another beer from Ethan and flopping down in an armchair, then another and another, and then maybe wandering home while the sun started to rise. Had you seriously lost track of the attempted murder victim on her first night out???

You blinked, already aware that your cheeks were a dusty pink. "I, uh... she, um..."

Her hands went to her hips, glaring at you expectantly. "Well?! Where the hell is my sister?!" When you were still staring like an idiot, she threw up her arms. "I fucking knew I shouldn't have trusted you with her! This is what I get"

You stared, feeling a lie (though probably a clunky one) come to your brain. "I think her phone must've died, but she just left."

Sam's eyebrows rose, but you weren't sure if it was in disbelief or even more rage. "What do you mean?"

"We, um," your eyes went to the floor, feeling her glare laser itself into you as you spoke. "We got super drunk last night at the party, and I brought her back here and we both fell asleep," you looked back up to see her giving your pyjamas a once over, nose wrinkled. You flushed. "No! No— we didn't do that. We just fell asleep."

Sam looked at you for a moment, then crossed her arms. "I waited all night for her, you know," she said.

You nodded. "I know. I'm so sorry, it won't happen again."

"It won't." Sam repeated. "When I don't hear from her for a whole night, you know what I assume happened, right? You know how that feels?"

You swallowed. "I do."

She sighed. "I'm really trying here. I know she doesn't want me worrying about her, and I know she wants freedom. So I'm trying, (Y/n). Don't make me regret it."

"I won't, Sam." It felt like a giant wedge in your throat, and you tried to smile at her but she continued to frown, and she turned around and walked off. The moment she was gone, you spun around and slammed the door. You dashed through your apartment, grabbing your phone off your nightstand and quickly pulling up her contact.

Little Shit (do not pick up). You pressed the button and put it up to your ear, wandering over to the nearby curtain and lifting it to look out onto the city. "Come on, come on," you pleaded aloud. "Fucking pick up, asshole."

After the third ring and a good prayer to god even though you weren't especially religious, it stopped ringing and you could hear her grumbling.

"Tara??" you rushed. "Tara, where are you?"

"Mmm," she groaned, "the hell do you want so early?"

You scoffed. "Tara it's almost noon." There was a pause on the other end of the line.

"What?"

"Uh huh," you grunted. "Your sister just almost ripped my door off it's fucking hinges because she doesn't know where you are. And you know what, neither do I!" There was some shuffling from her end, and then what sounded like running footsteps.

"I went home with this girl last night, I just woke up," she rushed. "Sam is going to kill me!"

"She almost killed me!" You almost yelled into the phone. Now that the worry had subsided you were left with anger. "She almost killed me because you wandered off and didn't go home."

"It's not like I meant to fall asleep," she argued back, and you could hear some talking in the background in faint voices. "I must've slept through my alarm— wait, what did you tell Sam?"

"That your phone died, and you were on your way home."

"WHAT?! (Y/n), this girl's apartment is at least fifteen to twenty minutes away," Tara said into the phone.

"Well it's not like I knew that, now is it?" you shot back, scratching your arm, "considering I didn't know if you were even alive until you picked up."

"God, not you too. I'm fine, drama queen."

"Drama queen?"

"Yeah, drama queen," Tara repeated, and more noises flooded in. It sounded as if she was in the city now, walking, "you sound just like Sam. I picked you because I thought you knew I didn't need a babysitter."

"That's not being babysat, Tara. That's making sure you're not dead," you rolled your eyes.

"Well, I'm not."

"Good."

"Great."

"Fine!" you shot back.

"Awesome."

You sighed into the speaker. "Pick up some flowers or something on your way back. Claim that's why you're late."

"Good idea, actually," Tara hummed.

"I know." And you hung up.

===+++===

You found yourself at an identical party the very next Friday night too, and the Friday after that, and after that too. The walls were just as stained. It smelled just as full of mold. This one didn't have a front room for you to barricade in, so you sat at the bar top instead, in the kitchen with your chin rested on the cool granite.

It had taken a whole night to get rid of the hangover from a few weeks before, and in doing so you had remembered why it was exactly that you didn't find these things too fun, anyways. You hadn't gotten anywhere near as drunk since. Mindy and Anika had decided on date night instead, and Chad and Ethan were off to watch a movie that originally you would've been invited to, had it not been for Tara.

It was painful, that Chad was ducking you. The irony wasn't lost, that the more time you spent with your fake girlfriend at parties and outings like a couple, the closer you got to actually repairing your relationship with him. You still would've rather gone to the movie, though.

You could actually see Tara, from where you sat. Through the bar window in the kitchen, she was on the dance floor, moving along with the rhythm of hard EDM as best she could. It was a giant mob of people, all clumped up and hopping around in excitement, and you didn't especially want to be out there.

As you watched, a guy came up behind Tara, tapping her on the shoulder and smiling down at her. You thought nothing of it, until you got a longer look at the guy's face. In the revolving, multicoloured lights that hung over the crowd, you recognised him in an instant, standing straight up and weaving your way through the party.

"You having fun, Carpenter?" He asked, with a douche-y smirk on his face as he said it. You rolled your eyes, coming up behind Tara and standing right behind her.

"I—" but you interrupted her.

"She is, Frankie," you shot, staring at him and crossing your arms. Tara whipped around to you with a glare.

"(Y/n), go away," she whispered loudly. But you stood your ground.

"Tara, literally anyone but him. I mean, anyone—"

"That's not your decision."

"Sam tased him in the balls last time. I mean, come on, you have to know he's a douche."

Frankie scoffed. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

"(Y/n) is just a—"

"—We're dating," you interrupted again. "So fuck off."

"No, we aren't," Tara shook her head. "Not really."

"Yes, we are," you nodded at Frankie. "Please leave. She's not sleeping with you tonight." He frowned, but started to walk off.

"That's not your decision, asshole!" Tara scowled and she reached out an arm to stop him. "Frankie, stay. You know what, I wasn't going to, but I will now."

"Frankie, leave. I mean it, you creep." You turned to her and glared. "Tara, listen to me, you—"

"No! Frankie, stay. Maybe I need the company," she shot back, narrowing her eyes. Frankie looked between you both, as did a few other people in the room who were starting to notice.

"They literally call him Date-Rape-Frankie, Tara. There's no way in hell you're sleeping with Date-Rape-Frankie. Frankie, leave."

"Frankie, no, stay. Well, what if I want to?"

"Then you're being stupid."

"Bold choice of words coming from you! You're not my mother."

"I'm not trying to be your mom, Tara. I'm using basic common sense. That guy is a creep and a perv," you pointed to him.

"Hey!" Frankie interjected, raising a hand to your shoulder.

"Fuck off!" you and Tara said in unison, dismissing him to glare right at each other.

"Well maybe I deserve the freedom to sleep with weirdos and whoever I want! I mean, who are you, the fucking sex-Nazi?"

"I don't have a problem with literally anyone else, Tara, but he's a weirdo!"

"Well then let me make that call! I'm not five. You don't need to baby me, I know he's a weirdo!" People were definitely staring now. You were both shouting, but a lot of it was drowned out by the EDM. It didn't stop others watching you point in each others faces and scowl.

"It's not babying you, Tara! It's basic caring! You have no clue about this shit, this is like your fourth party ever!"

"I've managed this far, haven't I?!"

"What, you want a cookie?!"

"Yeah, maybe I fucking do! I'm an adult, asshole! Let me do adult shit!"

"Wow, it's so adult and mature of you, to sleep with creeps and get hungover every Friday. How adult."

"Well, maybe it's not, but who gives a shit! I'm having fun for once! I'm being free without a fucking serial killer on my ass! I know you can't relate, but Christ, take the stick out from your ass!"

"Real nice," you shook your head. "This is what I get for helping you. Of fucking course." Before she could reply, you turned around and headed out the sliding glass door, into the fenced-in backyard. There was a pool back there, and you collapsed into a wrought iron pool chair, right near the edge.

People watched you warily, as you sat out there, but within minutes, the party was resumed. Even from outside, you could hear the thumping bass shake the windows gently as the glass moved in the panes.

There was a faint scent of petrichor from the small patch of grass out there, and the sky rumbled in the distance. It was peaceful out there, with small hanging fairy lights and the pool in front of you. You propped your legs up on the glass table and tried not to scream.

This was exactly what you should've expected, from Tara. Of course she would be selfish. Of course she would be brash. A part of you wasn't surprised. Disappointed, sure. But not surprised. You just sat there and tried to cool your breathing, watching the city lights in front of you.

You must've sat like that for an hour or two, just watching the city. It didn't feel like long enough. You might've even felt at peace, until you felt a hand on your shoulder.

"Um...excuse me?" You craned your neck around, looking up in your chair to see a concerned guy looking down at you.

"Are you (Y/n)?" He asked, awkwardly scratching his neck. You nodded, confused.

"Uh, yeah? Do we know each other?"

"No! No, I was asked by Tara, I think was her name? She wanted me to get you. She's your girlfriend, right?"

The worry came back, and you stood up. "Why, what happened? Where is she?" Sam was really going to kill you.

"She's in the guest bathroom, I think she's sick."

===+++===

"Tara?"

"(Y/n)?" you heard a very uneasy voice on the other end.

"Can I come in?" you asked, and when there was no response, you let yourself inside. She was on the other end of the massive bathroom, leaned up against the bathtub with her head close to the toilet bowl.

Tara looked absolutely green, with her hair sweatily stuck to her forehead and eyes barely open. "Christ Tara, how much did you have to drink?" you asked in worry, coming to stand over her.

"Oh, just—" she gagged like she was about to puke and you bent down to grab her and tug her towards the toilet bowl. You spun back to the guy in the doorway, who stared at you both with wide eyes.

"Can you get me some crackers and Gatorade?" you asked him, sending a hopeful glance. He nodded and closed the door, and you turned back to Tara, who was bent over the toilet bowl.

You moved her gently and lifted the toilet seat up. "Are you okay?" you asked with a frown. You felt like an idiot the moment it left your mouth.

She raised her eyebrows. "Do I look okay?" Tara mumbled.

"Well, no."

"Thass' good," she slurred. "I had too many," she hiccupped. You nodded.

"I'd say so. How much did you have Tara?"

She giggled. "This many." She held up four fingers with a giant, toothy grin and slumped with her arms encircling the toilet bowl.

"Since when?" you blinked.

"Since you got allllllllll pissy!" You sighed, hands going to her hair and pulling it back. She wrinkled her nose at you. "Why are you touching my hairrrrr?!"

"So you don't vomit all on it, idiot," you replied, shaking your head. Tara huffed.

"I'mnuh gonnuh puke."

And then Tara puked. Everywhere.

===+++===

You both sat there, that way, for about ten minutes. Tara vomited three times, during that span, and when she was done, you handed her the crackers and Gatorade and told her to do her worst.

She downed them in another fifteen minutes, sitting in the bathtub and eating while you sat leaned up against the bathroom wall, across from her, just in silence. The sounds of the party seemed to have died a little bit as the night droned on, and by now people would be wandering home or to someone else’s place.

While you waited, you shot Sam a text, letting her know you’d bring Tara home and that she was okay. Sam didn’t reply but she saw the message, and you figured that was good enough. When you checked the weather app, Tara finally spoke, coming to her senses a bit with more food in her system.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, staring down at the package for the crackers in her hand. “Thanks.”

You shrugged, staring at the toilet in front of you. It probably reeked in there, but at this point you were nose blind. “For what?” You meant for that to be it, just a small little acknowledgment, but Tara shook her head.

“Thank you for that. For being here.”

She stared right at you when she said it, and you knew she meant it with conviction. You nodded. “I know we don’t always get along, but I had your back, back there.”

“You have my back?” she asked, smiling a little and grabbing her Gatorade from the edge of the tub.

“I agreed to help you, didn’t I?”

She paused for a moment, then nodded. “You did, yeah.” Tara looked over at you, then tilted her head to the side. “I still don’t get why, though.”

“You were honest, for once.” It came from a surprising place, and you said it before you entirely knew you were speaking. You didn’t completely know what it meant either, until after you said it, but the words passed between you almost like a new understanding.

A few moments of silence came and went, before she spoke again. “I walk silently places at night in case I hear I’m being followed. By Ghostface. Same thing as when I’m home alone. I don’t do it as much anymore, but I still do it sometimes. Don’t tell Sam, please please please. She’ll make me go to therapy.”

“Okay,” you said, nodding gently. You leaned your head back up against the wall, craning it up to look at the ceiling.

“Why are you being nice to me?” She asked. You laughed, tracing the popcorn pattern of the roof with your eyes.

“I’m not the devil, Tara.”

“…Neither am I.”

“I know,” you said, and you reached your arm out for a cracker. She gave you one and you crunched down on it, while an especially large bass hit came from the speakers outside. “God, this music fucking sucks,” you groaned.

Tara nodded. “It’s really hard to dance to.”

“Well,” you shrugged, “it didn’t seem like you were struggling earlier.”

Tara frowned, then tilted her head in curiosity. “What’s your favourite song?”

You raised your eyebrows in amusement. “Why?”

“Just wondering,” she said.

“Okay… you’re going to laugh, though.”

“Am I?” she grinned. You nodded.

“Do you know that one song, The Promise, by When In Rome? It’s from the 80s, it’s super cheesy?”

She stared off for a moment, in thought, then shook her head. “Don’t think so, how’s it go?”

You rolled your eyes, but began to quietly sing it in a tone that wavered in between spoken word and humming. It was terrible and you were tone deaf, but it was the song. “If you need a friend, don’t look to a straaanger. You know in the end,” your voice broke a little at the low note, and Tara giggled but you continued, “I’ll always be thereee.”

“Wow.”

“Mhm. And then it skips a little bit and the chorus goes, ‘I’m sorry but I’m just thinking of the right words to say, I know they don’t sound the way I planned them to beee.’”

She cut you off with her hand, laughing hysterically. You felt your cheeks flushed, and in any other time you would’ve been annoyed with her laughing at you. But this didn’t feel mean. You just smiled right back.

“That was good, actually,” she managed, between small laughs. “Why is it your favourite?”

“Um,” you shrugged, “my brother used to sing it to me, years ago when I was scared.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” Tara said, leaning her head on the tile wall of the tub.

“I have six.”

She blinked, then sat up straight. “Since when?!”

“Always, Carpenter,” you shrugged. “Everyone knows.”

“Everyone who?”

“Chad, Mindy, Anika. Even Quinn.”

“I didn't know. How come you never talk about them?”

”I just don’t,” you frowned. Tonight was definitely not the night to get into that. Instead, you pivoted topics. “Why, what’s your favourite song? I showed you mine, now you’ve got to show me yours.”

“I’m ninety nine percent sure that’s not how that saying is used,” she laughed, “but fine. When I was crying as a baby, my mom sung me this song, called Baby, I Love You by The Ronettes.”

“Don’t think I’ve heard of it.”

Tara shook her head. “Probably not, but they’re the same group that does that one song Be My Baby?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Apparently my mom had Baby, I Love You playing in the hospital, when I was born and everything. It’s kind of comforting. When I miss her, I play it.”

“How often is that?”

She shrugged. “More than you’d think, considering she’s a giant asshole.”

"That's always how it is."

"Mhm... and just so you know, I know Frankie was a creep. I wasn't actually going to do anything with him. Just flirt. Have fun."

"I know. I wasn't trying to babysit you, I just wanted to warn you. That creep has so many stories."

"I know. I just don't like being told what to do, sometimes. It's a whole thing. I'm working on it, seriously."

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you didn’t say anything at all. You both sat in what you assumed was a prolonged silence, until you looked down finally to see Tara’s eyelids falling heavy.

You stood up with a sigh. “You should go home.” There was no reply, and you checked out the small window in the bathroom to still see it was pitch black out. It was definitely too late to send her home this sleepy, and after the incident a few weeks ago, there was no way Sam would let her stay at yours. “Tara,” you nudged her.

She groaned, rolling over in the tub and snuggling up. You rolled your eyes, then looked out the window one more time with an annoyed grumble.

===+++===

The longer you had to walk with her on your back, the more you regretted this. Her arms were wrapped around your neck, face pressed onto the back of your shoulder and knees held up by your hands. You couldn’t see her, but you knew her eyes were shut and she was super close to being actually asleep.

"We make a good team, you know," she mumbled into your shoulder. You knew she was being funny, but you were too tired to laugh as you trudged up the hill. Carrying a drunk girl home was not at all what you had anticipated of the night, and though it had been shitty at the beginning and shitty until almost the very end, you could definitely say it wasn't shitty right then.

When you arrived at her apartment complex, Tara was soundly asleep and Sam came out to meet you both, taking her sister from you and stumbling with her towards the door. In the distance, right over another hill, the sky was already beginning to lighten up a bit.

Right as both Carpenters reached the door, Tara stopped for a moment to turn back to you with a smile. "Thanks, babe," she said with a cheeky grin that was only half awake. You smiled back.

"You too, babe."

Sam rolled her eyes, pulling Tara through the door. It was a pleasant night, still with the same faint scent of rain oncoming. In your weird, newfound peace as you walked home yourself, you didn't see that Quinn was watching you from the upstairs window.

===+++===

so that was fun lmao. anyways there will be a part 3 but you and tara are kind of maybe friends now? now it's time for feelings 😈

[crystalbeetle888]

Second Chances Pt.3

Dog-hybrid 141 x Autistic-coded Reader

Your world is turned upside down, when a stalker forces you to adopt a support-hybrid, leading you to meeting his friends and possibly biting off more than you can chew.

Word Count-

Warnings- no more stalker yippee, alcohol consumption, suggestive content, symptoms of anxiety and depression, getting handsy, first kiss ;P

Master List

The following months were hectic, between packing for the new house, commission work, and keeping John entertained and exercised, you found very little time to just sit down and relax. But that was all gonna change, once you finally moved in to your countryside abode. It was only 40 minutes out of the city, and 10 from a small seaside town.

The change would do you both some good, you could continue to work remotely, with the added luxury of the outside world not overstimulating you, and John could actually retire or find some farm work, as guardian restrictions become more relaxed in rural and less populated areas.

However, there was one problem. It would become more difficult for John to visit his pack members and isolation from their community isn’t good for hybrids, as it can make them antisocial and aggressive.

You didn’t think that would happen to him, but you wanted to make sure anyway, so you bought him a phone and gave him their contact information so they wouldn’t lose touch. Totally not because you were sick of organising their play dates.

The time flew by and before you knew it, you and John were packing up the last of your things into your car, before making the drive out to the property. Your lawyer said that the house was in a ‘reasonable condition’, but you weren’t so sure about that, having never actually seen the house in person.

The dirt road seems to stretch forever, over rolling hills covered in sheep and fields of crop. The road splits the horizon, on your right a deep mysterious forest and on your left fields of green. As you pull around the bend a tall rustic looking house comes into view.

"This must be it" you say, pulling into the driveway. The house was a lovely two stories farmhouse, with white walls and a blue shingles roof. You park on the grass, parallel to the front door.

Hopping out, you ascend the porch before trying the door. Locked. Looking around you notice various plant pots lining entrance.

"Let me", John begins sniffing the air around the plants before settling on one. He lifts it up and underneath is a vintage-looking key.

He looks to you smugly, "Okay, open the door then" you chuckle at him. John rises, inserts the key, and pushes the front door open, dust bellowing up in a large cloud.

"Oh my.." you cough dramatically, covering your mouth with your sleeve, John shielding his face as the dust settles.

Entering the house, the inside is shrouded in darkness. You test the lights, it flickering erratically before finally allowing you to see. The foyer was tall, the stairs to your left follow the wall up to an open walkway. "Looks like we've got some work to do" John gazes around at the thick pelt of dust covering every surface. "Yeah.." you cringe.

Opening all the windows and doors, you begin by aggressively sweeping the floors and dusting all the surfaces. You pull off all the sheets covering the furniture and make a pile outside. Before leading the hose through the bathroom windows and rinsing the entire room down.

Finally able to bring in your belongings, you place them in the living room with a heavy thud. You let out a pained groan as you stretch your back straight, "Should've let me do it" John looks down at you, hand placed on his hips.

"I'm fine, I just twinged my back" you wave him off, before attempting to lift your bag again. John swoops in, lifting it effortlessly "Let me help" he mumbles to you, his breath fanning over your face, tickling your neck.

Your chest swells with fondness, "Thank you" you whisper back.

He nods, before taking your stuff to the master bedroom downstairs. You following close behind him, "You sure you don't want this room?" you twist your hands nervously, not wanting to take something he wanted.

He places your thing on the bed, "Nah, you can have it love. Wouldn't wanna you to have you climbing those stairs everyday, aye" he rubs your upper arm in comfort.

You sigh in defeat "Okay, as long as you're sure", "I am" he gazes down at you warmly. A moment passes between you, not an awkward one, just a something calm and familiar.

John clears his throat, squeezing your arm lightly "You hungry? I'll defrost that lasagna". You nod enthusiastically, stomach twisting in at the thought, "Yes please" you practically beg him. He laughs, tail wagging gently.

After a hot meal you and John decide to test out the hot-tub on the back porch, having had cleaned it earlier. You walk out into the crisp evening air in a two-piece bikini, to find John already in the water. "Does it work?" you tiptoe over. "Why don't you come in and find out?" he say playfully patting the spot next to him.

Walking over, you dip your feet in slowly, the heat causing your skin to prickle. Submerging yourself up to your neck, you groan in pleasure.

"That good huh?", you moan in response.

Sitting up properly, the water falls midway up your chest, the steam heating the rest of you sufficiently.

"You know, I wasn't sure about this place originally, but I think it's starting the grow on me" you keep your eyes shut as you talk to him. He hums in agreement, trying not to stare as your chest rises and falls. Your damp skin glistening in the moonlight, your lips slightly parted, the bikini, GOD the bikini, he was torn between whether it showed too much or not enough. Either way he definitely didn’t want Soap seeing you in it. Horny bastard.

You twist uncomfortably in the water, your back twinging in pain again. “You alright?” John clears his throat, trying to keep his head.

“It’s my back again” you grumble "I just can't seem to get this knot out".

John freezes in thought for a moment, the cogs slowly turning in his head, "I.. could try to get it out?" he leans back against the rim of the tub, acting very casually.

"What, like, massage it out?", "Yeah, if you want" he shrugs.

You pause, weighing your options "Alright sure, just no claws please".

He chuckles at you "Turn around then". You shift, facing away from him.

Scootching up behind you, John tentatively places his hands on your back, firmly massaging the muscles. You sigh contently, as he works at the painful areas. His heart racing as you lean into his touch.

"Is this alright?" he mumbles next to your ear, his deep gravely voice sending pleasant shivers down your spine. You moan weakly in agreement, mind completely relaxed. He continues to work at your back, the sun setting low in the background as you let out a long tired yawn.

"You're not falling asleep there, are you?" he chuckles, his breath tickling your exposed neck. You whine and squirm against him, your body tingling all over. He was borderline teasing you at this point.

Releasing you, John runs his hands along your back soothingly, “Maybe you should head to bed” he suggests. You nod sleepily, yawning as you lumber out of the tub and head inside, “Good night John” you call over your shoulder, “Don’t stay out too late, you’ll catch a cold”.

He chuckles quietly, “Good night love” he calls back to you, receiving a lazy wave in return. John sits in the tub a moment longer, watching as you enter the hall to your room, finally passing out of view, before letting out the puff of air he was holding in.

He then proceeds to turn the hot tub off before stepping out onto the porch, his growing hard-on strains uncomfortably against his board shorts. All that squirming and moaning you were doing, really did a number on him. You’re so sensitive.

John sighs in annoyance, his pointed ears pinning against his skull. The closer he got to you the more… frustrated he became, not at you of course. Just at his dick. He wanted things to develop naturally, but didn’t know how to get that ball moving without scaring you.

‘Humans are so complicated’ he thinks to himself.

Turning off the lights and locking the doors, John creeps upstairs to his bedroom, ready to call it a day. And deal with his growing issue.

Weeks go by, and you and John are going steady in your new house. You were doing well with work and even started going on evening walks with him, now that the world didn’t overwhelm you. And John, started work at a local wool farm, just down the road. The two of you settled in to a new routine easily, however, you've begun to get the feeling that John is unsatisfied with his situation.

It started off small, a flat tone when speaking, grouchiness blamed on missed sleep, disinterest at mealtimes. Then escalated to opting out of movie night, and avoiding to speak for days on end. His behavior made you anxious, making you feel as though it was somehow your fault, despite not knowing what you could have done wrong. So you reached out to Simon for help.

You- Hay, I was just wondering if you could give me some advice? It's in regards to John. S- Shoot. You- He hasn't been himself lately. He seems depressed maybe? Idk he's really disengaged and won't talk to me. Maybe you guys can try? S- I'll talk to the others then get back to you.

You sigh in relief, hoping that they can get to the bottom of this.

You spend the rest of the day food shopping in town, before returning home to make dinner. Barbeque pork ribs with a cheesy vegetable bake. Something John had enjoyed you cooking before.

You work away in the kitchen, anxious for his arrival. Finally, as you're setting the table, he arrives home,"You're back, I'll just plate up and then we can eat..", “Don't bother setting one for me love" he mumbles.

You freeze in confusion "W-why?" you stutter.

"I ate earlier" he shrugs, "I'm gonna have a shower now, stink like shit" he chuckles lightly to himself, before walking off upstairs.

You stand there in shock, the rejection stinging your eyes as your try to fight back tears. Taking a deep breath you attempt to settle your nerves, "Well fuck you anyways, not like I cooked you a nice ass dinner" you whisper frustratedly to yourself.

Returning to the kitchen to serve yourself a plate and eating it by yourself at the table, your thoughts simmering with anger. As your finishing up and packing everything away, you can hear John walking down the stairs "Want me to help with the dishes?" he leans against the doorway to the kitchen. "No, I can do it myself" you dismiss him, refusing to make eye contact. He lingers for a moment before sighing and walking off.

Once the kitchen was clean, you head to your bedroom, passing through the living room as you go. John, siting on the leather couch watching T.V, turns to look at you, "Did you wanna watch something?".

"No, thanks. I'm tired" you mumble as you walk away from him. Entering your room, you curl up on your bed and begin to doom-scroll on your phone.

A message popping up breaks your depressive spell,

S - I’ve talked to the others. We think coming and seeing him will help.

You - That’d be great! When are you free?

You - You think he’s just missing you guys?

S - We are free for 2 nights next week. And yes.

You - Okay, that suits me. I’ll let him know.

S - No. we’ll surprise him.

You - Ahah okay.

The following days were emotional torture. You were excited for the boys to come over, but also still annoyed at John’s behavior. The two of you skirting around each other to avoid conflict. Or maybe it was just you who was avoiding him.

When the day finally arrives however, your mood finally lifts. You go shopping in the morning to prepare for their appetites, catching John’s attention as you lug the bags inside, “You need some help?” He pokes his head in the kitchen. “Nope, I’m good. Thank you” you call back to him, shooing him out of the room.

John couldn’t tell what had changed your mood so quickly, but your energy was contagious. You practically buzzed around the house, cooking snacks and desserts, cleaning around upstairs, setting up the house just nice. It’s like you were nesting. Do humans even do that? He wasn’t sure. Your hormones didn’t smell any different, so it’s not like you were in heat.

He decided just to keep an eye on you, figure out what you were up to. But before he could question you, the rumbling sound of a car echos through the valley. His ears prick at the noise, tail standing on end.

“Someone’s coming” he approaches the front door, peering out of the window. “I know” you reply, walking past him and opening the door, “Surprise!” You cheer excitedly.

John looks outside, the car pulling into the driveway opens its doors, Simon, Kyle, and Johnny hopping out. “Aye Cap, what’s up!” Johnny calls out.

John turns to you “You organised this?” his tail flutters from side to side.

“Yeah? Well.. Simon helped me” you wring your hands nervously. John’s heart burns at the gesture “Thank you love” he grasps you by both shoulders.

The boys pile into the house, bags in hand as they greet their mate. The pack was finally whole again. You flutter back into the kitchen to prepare lunch, a large barbecue complete with sausages, kebabs, burger patties, and an assortment of vegetables and cheeses. You can hear John laughing loudly with his friends, as he shows them around the property and get them settled in their rooms. The pack tramples down the stairs and into the living room, just as you’re taking the platters of food outside. “Need help love?” John practically radiates with happiness, his tail wagging excitedly. “Yeah, you can grab the rest from the kitchen thanks” you call over your shoulder, the boys following you outside.

“That smells great Bonnie” Johnny chases you, practically on your heels.

“We haven’t had a home cooked meal in forever love” Kyle whines, nudging Johnny away from you.

“I think the word you’re looking for is thank you” Simon chastises them, a grumble rumbling from his chest.

The two of them tuck their tails in embarrassment, “Thank you”, “Thank you lass” they say in unison.

You laugh as you arrange the food on the table “It’s all good, I’m just glad you’re all here for John” you wave them off.

John arrives with the last of the food and a case of beer, you all settling down to eat and enjoy the sun. Chatter and laughter fills the backyard, John clearly feeling at home again. The sight filling your heart with joy.

As the day passes, you all gather around the fire pit to watch the sun set and stars emerge, sharing silly stories and fond memories.

"-and that is how I stopped a horny Bear-hybrid from mauling us to death, with nothing but a bottle of rum and my thick guns" Johnny flexes on us dramatically. You laugh at his ridiculousness, the boys cringing at his seriously exaggerated story.

“Anyway.. do you have anyone special in your life?" Kyle redirects the groups attention to you, causing you to flush underneath their gaze. "Ah, no, I'm not very good at that kind of stuff to be honest" you squirm uncomfortably in your seat.

“Leave her alone Gaz” John warns him.

“I’m just asking. You know we’re all still a little curious about you” he grins at you playfully.

“Ah well what do you want to know?” You wring your hands.

“Well I don’t know? What kind of qualities do you look for in a partner?”, “That’s enough Kyle. Don’t bother her with stupid questions” John’s tails stand on end.

“Alright, alright” Kyle throws his hands up in defeat, you laughing nervously.

The tension makes you fidget, an unsettled feeling crawling its way under your skin, “You know.. it’s been a long day, I think I’m gonna call it” you yawn fakely.

“You sure love? Don’t let the boys bother you” John places a reassuring hand on your forearm. “No it’s not that. I’m just tired, you boys have fun though” you grasp his hand, giving it a squeeze, before standing and heading inside for the night.

John turns back to Gaz, ears pinned in disappointment. “Nice one” he grumbles.

“Aye don’t blame me, the bird was tired” he defends himself. John crosses his arms, shaking his head.

“Ack don’t worry about him. He’s just annoyed his girlfriend went to bed without him” Johnny laughs at him. “We’re not dating, or mated” John bares his teeth in warning.

“Seriously? How long is this going to take?” Johnny asks. “Maybe he’s lost his spark” Gaz jests.

“Watch it mate” John warns them again, becoming even more tense. “Alright boys, leave him alone” Simon chastises them, the group falling silent.

“… Are you.. trying to court her?” Gaz asks him seriously. John sighs, wiping his hand down his face, stroking his beard. “She just.. sensitive, and I don’t want to fuck it up” he mumble dejectedly. His pack mates nod in understanding. “I’m sure it’s just a matter of time aye, you’ve got that hybrid charm 'bout ya” Johnny grins at him.

John chuckles shortly “Yeah sure. I think I'm gonna turn it in for tonight, I'll see you boys in the morning" he stands with a grunt. "Night Cap", "Night mate, "Night", they reply.

Once in his room, John lets out a sigh, wondering if it really was just a matter of time, or if you're just not interested in him. He decided just to be patient, and see how things unfold for now. But little did he know his friends were planning something.

The following day, they put it into motion. It started with breakfast, the boys waking up early to make you two a feast, except they brought yours to your bed, surprising you with a delicious poached egg on toast, with bacon and hollandaise sauce. The perfect eggs benedict. This rubbed John the wrong way, as he had never set foot in your bedroom before. And he obviously wanted to.

Next, it was helping you with laundry, despite you saying it was okay and they didn't need to. Johnny turning to look at him as he hangs out your bra, a mischievous glint in his eye he knows all too well.

Then, it was them waiting on you at lunch, insisting you take a break and allow them to cook for you. They bring you food, beer, and anything else you may want.

It’s was like they were making a collective move on you. Providing food, entering your den, touching/scenting your belongings. They were crossing a fucking line.

The last straw was the hot tub. That fucking hot tub. The boys were already in there, soaking their bones in the hot water, when you walked out onto the porch, again in that bikini. Johnny whistling when he catches sight of you, “Look at you lass! Aren’t you a bit Bonnie” his tail wags aggressively. You laugh at them bashfully, slightly drunk from the beers at dinner.

“Come sit here lass” he scootches overs, making a space between him and Simon. John’s ears pressing to his skull in frustration.

Slipping in between the two hulking men, you settle into the hot water, groaning as your muscles relax. “Cozy innit” Simon jokes, you all fitting very snugly against each other in the tub. You laugh, feeing silly from the alcohol.

“Just the way we like it aye?” Johnny grins widely at John, swinging an arm around your shoulder, tugging you in close. You giggle at him, placing a hand on his chest, not noticing the growing tension in the group.

John, finally having a gut-full, lets out a low growl, the water rippling around him as the sound vibrates from his chest. You turn to him in shock, surprised by his aggression, “John?”. He halts the sound, his ears drooping low and shoulders tense as he makes eye contact with you. He shakes his head before stalking out of the tub and heading inside. Your gut twists uncomfortably as you watch him go, “Maybe you should chase after him?” Simon suggests. Not so subtly.

You nod, that’s a great fucking idea, before getting out and chasing after him. You find him in the kitchen, hunched over the counter, his shirtless, muscular back glistening under the lights, “Are you alright?” You approach him cautiously.

He turns to face you, ears lifting in surprise “What are doing here?”,

“I came to see if you’re okay. Are you okay?”,

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine love, you can go back out there” he wipes his hand down his face. Your don’t buy if for a minute. Stepping in closer, you grasp his forearm gently “I don’t want to go back out without you” you whisper to him.

He gazes down at you, searching your eyes for clarity, “What is this?” He mumbles to you, his hot breath fanning across your face. You tilt your head in confusion “What do you mean?”, “Please love, please don’t do that to me” he begs you, his eyes pleading.

“John, I’m not sure what you’re taking about” your heart races at the proximity, your cheeks flushing under his gaze. “I can’t stop thinking about you love, and I know it’s not exactly appropriate given the circumstances but-“ you cut him off with a quick peck on the cheek. Pulling away you cover your mouth in embarrassment, “I’m sorry. It felt appropriate” you squeak, your face blushing hard.

He stares at you in shock, mind completely empty. “Don’t be” he says dead seriously, causing you laugh uncontrollably. Why do you always laugh at the worst of times.

You cover your mouth, attempting to control yourself. “Love? Love” he laughs airily, grasping your shoulders as he attempts to gain your attention. You squeal and laugh against your hand, shaking your head with your eyes closed.

“Come on, look at me lovie” he cradles your head with both hands, forcing your attention back on him, and not your overwhelming thoughts. Opening your eyes and lower your hand you hesitantly gaze into John’s eyes. Eye contact is so uncomfortably intimate.

He goes to say something, it falling short on his tongue. He looks down at your lips before looking back up at you, you nod.

He caresses your face gently “I don’t know how a dog like me could ever deserve someone like you” he whispers to you, your lips brushing together before he finally kisses you. His beard tickles your face. Your hands tracing his bare shoulders as you fall deeper into the kiss.

Separating, but remaining close, you gaze at each other for a moment, stuck speechless by the moment.. before a muffled cheering interrupt you followed by a choking noise. You both chuckle, “Maybe we should go back, make sure Simon doesn’t kill them” you suggest, smiling up at him widely. “Maybe in a minute” he mumbles before going in to kiss you again.

[nmn-yty]

— ๋࣭ ⭑࿐ first time ｡o♡⋆˚｡⋆.

read part 1: here!!!

pairing: lee know x reader

summary: caring for a bunny seemed harder than you thought

tags: 「SFW! fluff! (ik the title is misleading but i promise this is all fluff!) | hybrid!lee know | referring to lee know as minho | soft!lee know (he's even cuter in this one) | hyper lee know>< | bunny bath time! | the neediest bunny ever | another sweet little kiss! | reader has no gender」

word count: 1.7k

a/n: back at it again! ik ive said it so many times throughout my blog but im truly thankful for all the likes and reblogs(◞‸◟)♡ this will not be the last of my bunny lee know endeavor but stay tuned for more hybrid, skz, and kpop stories in the meantime! also keep in mind that ive never owned any pets so the animal behavior is based on memory of things ive seen online, dont come for me pls>< anyways, i hope this one lives up to the hype of the first part, enjoy!!! (also i apologize for not posting sooner><)

+ stylized lowercase, missing punctuation (not done on purpose), and minimal revisions

a few days in and the days seemed to get harder and harder for you. not because minho was causing you any trouble, but because the fluttery feeling in your stomach kept growing the more you spent time with him. it was scary how perfect he was in every way.

you were sitting on your couch enjoying a nice hot drink, when the familiar sound of thumping on the wood floor caught your attention. you looked down to find a playful bunny minho. he was scurrying around your feet, even moving his paws to your legs.

"what's wrong?" you set your drink down on the table in front of you.

minho kept on pawing at your legs. you reached down to pick him up, placing him in your lap.

"i can't understand you when you're in the form, you know?"

he looked up at you with a nonchalant expression, you expected nothing out of him. before you knew it, you had a hybrid minho sitting in your lap bridal style, hands wrapped around your neck. the weight and size change startled you, but he loved to tease you and transform whenever he pleased.

"can i please go outside for a bit?" he was really bouncy and sounded out of breath. you had to remind yourself that he was a wild animal. although you took him in to stay in your house, his animal instincts couldn't be suppressed.

"okay, but only for a little-" he cut your sentence off by changing back into a bunny, still knocking you off guard.

he scurried off your lap and towards the back hallway, scratching at the door for you to open it. he looked back at you with those big dark eyes. they always sparkled perfectly in the right lighting. seeing him being all hyper as an animal was truly so endearing. you've always wanted someone like him in your life. the universe definitely planned out your lives to be intertwined.

you rolled your eyes from his fast movements and got up. the second you opened the door wide enough for him to fit, he dashed out onto the grass. it has still been snowy for the past couple of days, but today the grass held a light layer of snow from earlier that day.

he was hopping around the entire yard, sniffing around bushes, chewing on some of the obtainable food he could get his mouth on. you could see the footprints and tracks beginning to circle around the snow. the whole surface of your yard was being fully inspected by him.

you couldn't help but sit down by the steps of your back porch. hugging your knees in admiration, you followed minho's path all throughout the whole time you were out there. you couldn't help but get flustered about the racing thoughts in your mind. something as simple as watching him be comfortable in his environment made you feel at ease.

what you didn't know was minho found himself wanting to be human more for the both of you. it was exhausting for him at times, but he couldn't help but laugh with you, smile with you, feel with you. he never got to experience these moments with anyone before. he wanted each adventure with you to last for hours.

he looked up to find you staring at him, which made his heart race faster than it normally should. draining energy fast, he flopped on his back, waving his paws and feet in the air. getting a chuckle out of you from the distance, he felt satisfied. the sudden urge to dig overwhelmed his thoughts, getting back to his feet and digging straight down from where he was standing.

luckily, you had your mind to distract you from his actions. he started to go feral, getting the dirt and snow all over his face.

drifting away from your daydream, you found your white fluffy bunny turning brown from the dirt and snow.

"minho, no!" you quickly ran over to him, making him realize he was likely in big trouble. thinking two steps ahead, he dove out of your attempt to grab him. shocked and stunned, you still chased after him. he was running steadily back towards the house. the universe was on your side though, as the back door was closed and all minho could do was try to reach up and grab the handle. however, being in his small form, he failed miserably.

"cmon silly," you bent down to grab the squirming animal in your arms, the warmth from your body making him docile and shut down.

once you got to the bathroom upstairs, you gently set minho on the floor. his eyes were slowly closing and he tried his best to keep them open again. before he could fall asleep, he jolted himself awake, which unfortunately turned him into his hybrid form.

"do you want me to take my clothes off so you can bathe me?"

his question made you whip your head around in shock, stuttering nonsense to try and distract yourself from the image of himself being naked in front of you.

"dont be difficult... turn into a bunny so i can wash you quickly."

he let out a small whine, almost like it was his plan all along to get dirty and have this scenario go his way.

you crossed your arms and gave him a dissatisfied look. you weren't really mad at him, you just wanted the day to end quicker so you two could snuggle in bed together.

one big movement turned him small again, he hopped onto your legs, as you had knelt down to get comfortable. you turned on the water in your bathtub and ran some warm water about two or three inches from the bottom. placing him inside the tub, you grabbed a cup to scoop up the water onto his body. the first rinse was quick, he even shook some water off himself like a dog which made you smile.

the scrubbing process also went by fast, working your fingers gently through his coat, the dirt coming off completely. you picked up the cup again, filling it with water. washing the soap away, he shook his body again, trying to dry up as fast as he could.

"calm down minho! ill dry you off in a second."

the water beginning to flow down the drain, you picked up a sopping wet minho from the tub and placed him on the rug next to you. the towel to dry him was hanging on the side of the tub. you laid it flat against your lap, picking him up again and placing him on top of the towel.

you wrapped him up in the towel, trying your best not to cover up his face. you patted and rubbed the cloth into his body, making sure to cover all the spots. his ears, his tail, and his paws all becoming dry and fluffy again.

he hopped off of your lap, turning to his hybrid form. this time you expected something from that big of a leap. you were starting to learn and master his behaviors. he was sat on the floor facing you. for some reason, his hair and ears were still wet in this form. he held one of his ears out, squeezing it to wring out the remaining water off himself. you got to your knees and threw the towel over his head. going a little harder this time, you scrubbed his hair dry to the best of your ability. you noticed him closing his eyes in comfort, especially when you got to his ears.

he looked up at you through his messy hair. he hummed softly, he was so happy you were taking such good care of him. not noticing at all, when you removed the towel his bunny ears went away. he was noticeably more dry and your job was done. you turned around slightly to drape the towel on the tub again.

he let out a cute yawn, so ready to flop into bed and get some sleep. when you turned back around you couldn't help but notice some brown specks on his face. did he have freckles this whole time and you were just too star struck to notice? you reached out to rub his face, making him freeze and have his full semi-conscious attention to your actions. the specks turned to brown streaks against his skin.

"youve been digging so much in the dirt, come here."

he scooted over to you, patiently waiting for anything to happen next. you realized now his nose and cheeks were lightly covered in dirt. you reached over for a new towel and quickly turned the faucet on to run some water on it. swiping the warm cloth on his cheeks, his face became very pink. you didn't know if it was because of the pressure you applied to his face, or if he was actually having some emotional reaction to this.

his gaze was so sensual, almost like his mind had gone to mush and he could only display emotions of pure submission. his thoughts became chaotic, trying to resist the urge to tackle you and have you all to himself.

after a while you could feel your face burning up, scared about any of his next moves or words.

"why are you looking at me like that?" the dirt was almost gone. you moved closer to his face, only inches away in order to get the last bits off.

minho didn't answer you, instead he stared more intensely at you, patiently waiting for you to finish. putting the towel down, you gently rubbed the wetness off his face. even more skin to skin contact was making him lose control. the hue of pink showing from his face becoming almost cartoon like.

"mm tired," his eyes began to droop again. he wanted his last conscious thought to be that he was secure next to you. as dramatic as ever, he laid out his body in your lap, slowly beginning to drift off and finally recharge.

this feeling was starting to become a natural occurrence in your daily lives. whether he was a small bunny, a cute hybrid, or a human who could actually sweep you off your feet, you had him. he felt safe around you and wanted to be near you. using one hand to meet his hand, rubbing it gently to soothe him, you used your other hand to play with his hair. even as a human, he was still soft and cuddly. you bent down to place a small kiss on his head, making him nuzzle himself deeper into you.

part 3 is up! click here!!!

♥︎taglist: @lailac13 @palindrome969 @lunathewonyoungstan @syedazarintasnim @yourlocalstayyxi @mmarusa @yukichan67 @qwonyoung23 @cupidcures @verynormalsstuff @leezanetheofficial

© nmn-yty ★ 6.07.2024

[s0urlemone]

A night ☾ - Stardew Valley headcanon

About what happens when you don’t play for a long time, but it’s soft.

Warning! there’s typos probably don’t judge me

I’ve read many stories and hcs about what happens in Pelican Town when you, the player, don’t touch the game for a long time - the panic that fills all the inhabitants when they realise the farmer they’ve grown to love so much has suddenly disappeared leaving no trace, clothes covered in dirt still in the dresser and all their belongings intact all over their little house that Robin has spent so much time restoring for them. They might’ve left a spouse behind, too, and said spouse can’t accept their sudden departure. Is it their fault? Were they not good enough for you? The thought of Shane starting to drink again or Alex bitterly wondering if he’s destined to be miserable as his father loved to remind him is heartbreaking.

But my headcanon is a little softer, wholesome even.

When you pick up the game in the morning, after saving it just a couple of hours prior, you wake up in your bed with your spouse by your side, ready to start a new day, to feed your animals and scratch your kitties’ ears, to water the crops and gallop through the city to help your neighbours with their quests.

So I imagine that when you’re not playing, it’s simply nighttime.

An endless night where your spouses can snuggle up with the farmer. Where they can share whispered, soft little secrets in the cozy sheets, the fireplace crackling in the background. A night to dance with Emily in front of the jukebox, her laughter filling the living room as she swirls around with her “two-left-feet” spouse. You stop twirling around only when you place your lips on hers to distract her from your lack of skill, both of you smiling into the kiss. Or to hear Elliott’s soothing voice read his latest writing - and he always gets a little bit nervous about it, even though he knows he’s in a safe space and you would never judge him or his work in an offensive manner. He keeps you with your head on his stomach as he sits up straight in bed, his fingers running through your hair.

A night where you and Maru sit out under the porch, a fuzzy blanket over your shoulders and a cup of scorching coffee to warm up your hands and keep you from falling asleep after 2 am as she regulates her telescope to watch the stars with you. Where Leah, sitting at the kitchen table in silence as you do the dishes, draws a quick sketch of your side profile - she does that a lot lately - in the golden light of the lamp, the colour of your eyes making her heart skip a beat every time.

A night where Sebastian can hold his sleepy spouse on his lap as he finishes working on a project for his demanding client, his left hand lazily stroking your back as you rest your head on his shoulder. He loves to place kisses on your forehead, so soft that it seems like a butterfly has just brushed your skin with its wings. Where you and Alex share a tray of fresh baked cookies, a new recipe from his grandmother, as you binge watch a show on the tv - you usually try to keep the television out of the bedroom, but sometimes you two can get so lazy he just brings in the one you keep in the living room so you can snuggle up under the sheets.

A night where Hailey sits on your lap, wearing one of your “dirty” shirts, as she grumbles about the fact you don’t take care of your skin enough, her soft, pretty hands applying creams on your face as you try to steal a kiss every now and then, only to be reprimanded - and then, eventually, granted what you want. Where Harvey timidly massages your sore shoulders, his strong, delicate hands lingering a couple of seconds more because he loves the sweet intimacy of the moment you’re sharing. And he loves when you finally get to relax, because he gets to relax too when he’s not worrying and fussing over your recklessness.

A night where Penny asks you advices about what topic she should teach Vincent and Jas next, her auburn locks out of her ponytail as you massage her scalp and run your fingers through it to help her relax a little. She leans back and places her head against your belly, the sight of you in the vanity mirror making her blush. Or where you and Abigail make a mess in the bathroom because you’re trying to dye her hair of a new shade of purple where the roots are starting to grow in a lovely brown colour. The problem is, you can’t stop sharing kiss after kiss and now your clothes are full of dye, too.

A night where Sam gets to rest on your chest, lulled by the soothing rhythm of your breathing. He can’t help but crack jokes in the dark, but as the night gets deeper, he finds himself completely engulfed into your warmth, the comfort you radiate making him finally feel safe. And Shane finds that same comfort in your embrace, your arms like an indestructible shield from all the shadows of his past. He’s like a scared cat into your arms, searching for your touch, in a night so endless he will never be afraid again.

I love the angst too, but I am feeling really emotional lately and I wanted to share something soft. 💗

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

Hey, I was possessed with the need to write this interaction but with no story to tie it to, so now here's this. Takes place post canon.

While sailing with his brother over the last nine months had been everything they'd needed and more, Ford was willing to admit it was good to be back in Gravity Falls. The time with his brother had healed some deep ache inside his chest, but knowing hed soon beseeing his grand niece and nephew, along with all the residents and old friends he'd left behind, was a similar balm.

What wasn't a balm was the monstrosity built behind what had once been his house.

Since Soos had moved into the shack with his girlfriend and grandmother, the Pines were now technically homeless. Soos had been very willing to move back to his old house, but Stan had simply said he'd 'handled' it and not to worry. Ford had been very worried, but he was trying to learn how to trust his brother again, and had simply left him to it.

This proved to be a mistake, as now there was a second, terrible house now built behind the first. It was further in the woods so as to be outside the idle view of visiting tourists, bit still close enough to be considered in its back yard.

Ford stared at it, feeling some kind of emotion as Stan burst through the front door and starting hauling in their luggage. Everything on the ground and second floor was made of a sturdy dark wood, with a green front door and circular windows. If he kept looking at just that, he could almost pretend it was a normal house.

Unfortunately he couldn't, and his gaze moved to the third floor that had been built with what looked like purple wood and colorful stained glass windows depicting several familiar images, had a balcony, a slide, and what could be an observatory, topped with a multicolored rainbow roof. The whole house was built around a giant pine tree, with its large branches casting shade across the entire structure. There was no way to know what the inside looked line without looking, but he was to enraptured with the strange upper floors and the fact that the more he looked, the more he noticed the strangeness carried over to the bottom floors as well.

There were small wards carved around the doorways and windows, one of the second floor windows was suspiciously hinged, as if built to be jumped out of dramatically, and if he leaned to the side he could see what looked like a large porch wrapping around the back with built in seating, a swing, several cannond, and a giant slingshot.

Too many windows were vaguely pig shaped to mistake who helped design the whole thing.

"Stanley," he called, grabbing the suitcase at his feet and dragging it inside, "what is this."

"What's it look like Six!" Stan called out from deeper in the house, "It's our new digs!"

"Let me clarify," Ford followed the sound of his brothers rummaging to find him in what had to be the living room, leaning back in cozy looking couch holding a soda, "why do we have another house, why does it look like this, and where did you get the funds for it, because I know our findings weren't enough to cover a project this large."

"Soos is still taking up space in the shack with his lady friend, so we needed someplace to stay," Stan said, wiggling deeper into the couch, "I asked Mabel to help design it with Dipper. Told her to go wild, because-"

"I GAVE YOUR EVIL CLONE A MILLION DOLLARS!" Fiddleford screamed into Fords ear, cackling as Ford shouted and jumped away, then scuttling over the the couch to climb onto the back and sit hunched over.

"What he said," Stan said with a smirk, sipping his soda as Ford rubbed his ear and scowled.

"Fiddleford, always good to see you. Why are you giving my brother a million dollars."

"Hey, he didn't give it to me, he paid me. I'm doing him an expensive service here."

"Really?" Ford raised an eyebrow, then turned towards Fiddleford with a questioning tilt of his head, "what on earth are you paying Stanley a million dollars for?"

"Hey," Stan said, eyes darting around suspiciously as Fords narrowed, "we don't need to worry about the details, just-"

"He done did tell me he'd stop swerving to hit me with his car if I have him a million greeneronies!" Fiddleford cackled, then leaned in and held up a hand and pointed at Stan behind it, like he was sharing a secret.

"Poor fool don't get that i got one over on 'em!"

"I see." Ford put his hands behind his back as he watched his brother start to sweat and Fiddleford chuckled to himself, "and why is that something you need to pay Stan for?"

"Ain't it obvious?" Fiddleford gave him a pitying look, like he was the strange one here, "Stan here has the car, I need to pay him to get him to stop."

"Sounds like good reasoning to me!" Stan yelled, hunching further into the couch and avoiding eye contact, "I hit man, man pays me not to keep doing that. Let's continue on with out lives."

"No, I think I'm a bit stuck on the fact you've been hitting my friend with your car. On purpose it sounds like."

"Hey!" Stan sat up, outraged, "don't make it sound like I was the only one doing it! Lots of people hit McGucket with their cars! He ran out in the road all the time!"

"Its true Stanford, I wasn't in the best place for a while," Fiddleford sighed, then grabbed his hat and clutched it to his chest, "I'd just wander around all willy-nilly, and good all Stan here was the only one who'd remind me to always be aware of traffic. Never know when a car will smash through a guard rail, destroy some fencing, then try to slam into you as the driver yells 'fifty McGucket points!' Or somethin' out the window."

Ford had never seen his brother rehunch and look away so fast.