#now all these locals yearn... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kamaluhkhan · 6 months ago

Text

IS IT CASUAL NOW?

pairing: vi x fem!reader word count: 14.6k summary: you and vi are both tired of complicated relationships so try the whole friends-with-benefits thing....and maybe forget the whole point of your arrangement in the first place. warning: lesbian situationships (there is so much angst and yearning), brief mention of (internalized) homophobia and struggles with addiction....but mostly cheesy domestic fluff and smut [oral (vi receiving), fingering (both receiving), thigh riding, slight bondage play, switch!vi has my heart] (18+) ! a/n: merry (belated oops) xmas girls and gays <33 i've probably spent way too much time on this but it's my BABY....kinda based on leighton and alicia's plotline in s1 of sex lives of college girls and ofc casual by chappell roan (there are many other chappell references throughout too hehe). also yes i made a mini playlist that consists of the songs that i think reflect this fic's sun, moon, and rising signs....pls enjoy and happy holidays !!!

♪: "angel baby" by troye sivan (sun); "pretty girl" by hayley kiyoko (moon); "casual" by chappell roan (rising)

“not even one week into the new academic year, violet rose atlas, captain of the varsity soccer team, has been suspended from gameplay due to recent unsportsman-like behavior, sentenced to 100 hours of community service, and banned from the local lesbian bar.”

mel removes her eyes from the screen to raise an eyebrow at you. you just shrug and take a sip of your coffee. you glance over at the clock on the wall.

11:09am.

“to top it all off, she’s late,” you declare, trying your best to hide the anticipation simmering in your stomach.

“what’s your deal, anyways? you totally flirt with her whenever she’s at the bar. not even we get that good of service,” gert points out. they’re searching through a stack of cd’s and cassette tapes for something to play.

“that was before.”

you walk over to sit next to gert, taking it upon yourself to choose the music. you settle on jagged little pill; alanis morrissette’s lush voice is a welcomed addition to your conversation.

“our funding is at risk,” you explain. “it’s like the dean assigned her to us because she knew it would end terribly and the board would have an excuse to finally cut us loose.”

“if they need an excuse, they’ll find one,” gert grumbles.

you shrug. “i just think violet is bad news, which is something i’d prefer we avoid..”

“the article does say that she punched maddie nolan in the face during an exhibition game against the piltover knights.”

“see? bad news. literally.”

“well, i think we lucked out,” sky gushes, though her focus remains on finishing her current project. she’s crocheting so fast that you only catch glimpses of her sparkly pink fingernails. you’re sure she’ll be done with this blanket before violet shows up. if she even bothers to show up. “the yellowjackets might’ve lost their captain, but we get to spend quality time with the hottest butch on campus.”

“whatever,” you sigh, though you don’t disagree with that description. you check the clock again — 11:11am — and settle against the worn couch. “since we have the time — mel, why don’t you read our horoscopes? i’m itching to see what the universe has in store for us today.”

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

vi spent the better part of last night crying and getting wasted in her bathtub with cheap dye burning into her scalp.

she just couldn’t stand the memory of caitlyn kiramman’s perfectly manicured nails running through her formerly pink locks as they kissed, tugging on vi’s hair to bring her closer —

enough. fucking pull yourself together.

cait’s moved on, that much is clear, with someone more like her. someone whose last name is on buildings all around the university of piltover’s campus.

so far, no amount of bar fights or red cards or late nights in some random girl’s bed seem to mend the heart that caitlyn shattered to pieces, but vi doesn’t give up easy.

soon enough, she’ll be back on the field, leading the yellowjackets to victory at nationals; she’ll finish all her classes, graduate with honors and have a great plan for an even greater future; all while having amazing, mind-blowing sex that won’t lead to serious heartbreak.

relationships are overrated, anyways.

the first step in this plan: spending 100 hours with a bunch of angry, bra-burning lesbians.

maybe vi will fit right in.

so, vi walks into her community service assignment with a wicked migraine and hands that look like lady macbeth plotted to murder an oil spill, but with her usual confident swagger nonetheless, as conversation echoes down the hallway.

“according to your rising, there will be a much needed spark in your romantic life. my guess is a fire sign is gonna sweep you off your feet.”

another voice chimes in, a gentle rumble. “could that be your sweet jules?”

“i’ve never asked about her chart,” an achingly familiar voice replies. it brings back memories of dizzying lights and strong whiskey coursing through her blood, but something else, too. a sky full of stars and too-sweet alcohol on her tongue. “paula was a fire sign, though, and that blew up in my face.”

“paula was a walking red flag.”

“yeah, well, apparently red’s my favorite color.”

“maybe that was just the heartbreak you needed to bring passion back into your life. do you feel that with jules?”

“i don’t know — maybe? we haven’t had sex yet.”

“passion isn’t just about sex, you know —”

“gert, i love you, but i cannot handle a sex therapy session right now.”

someone else giggles, bright and bubbly. “hm, i wonder what sign our pink-haired hottie is.”

vi clears her throat to announce her arrival, leaning against the doorway.

everyone turns to look at her then, with varying degrees of shock, and vi feels like she’s just walked into an after midnight roommate vent session.

she isn’t sure what she expected the space to look like, but zaun university’s women’s centre is well-lived in, defined by a sort of organized chaos. each wall is covered in posters and collages, multicolored flags and fairy lights; there’s a shelf in the corner with assorted trinkets and books piled high, a table next to it with baskets of condoms, pads, and tampons and informational pamphlets, and a door in the opposite corner, slightly ajar. a vintage boombox placed on the coffee table plays 90s alt rock, circled by mismatched seating with patterned blankets and brightly colored pillows strewn about.

someone with dark lipstick and an eyebrow piercing is drawing on their converse; a dark brunette wearing glasses is draping a blanket over the arm of a couch; another person is scrolling on their laptop, a gold necklace glittering on their collarbones.

vi’s attention is stuck on you, though, the origin of the aforementioned familiar voice: the very hot bartender from sappho’s, where vi happened to be kicked out of not even 72 hours prior.

you’re wearing a vintage wonder woman t-shirt tucked into faded blue jeans with a carabiner clipped to a belt loop. the sleeves of your shirt are rolled up, displaying your array of tattoos — vi’s already decided that her favorites are joan of arc holding her sword, a pomegranate that’s been cracked open, and lyrics from bikini kill’s ‘rebel girl’ (which admittedly, vi had to look up when she first saw). it’s everything vi’s booze-soaked brain had apparently memorized after many nights of staring at you across the bar counter, licking up whatever honeyed flirtations you’d spill from your lips. vi always noticed your hands, too: the many rings you’ve stacked on your fingers, the lavender sprig sprouting from your middle finger and venus symbol etched onto your wrist, the nails that are always clipped short and painted black.

one of those nails is tapping anxiously on your coffee mug, which has a picture of hayley kiyoko as lesbian jesus.

“pink-haired hottie, reporting for duty. though, i might need a new nickname.” vi grins; you roll your eyes. “i’m an aries, by the way.”

“good to know.” the brunette winks not-so-subtly in your direction before walking towards vi and extending a hand, gold bangles clinking together at the motion. “i’m sky, she/her. we had electromagnetic theory together last spring. it’s lovely to officially meet you.”

vi makes a big show of leaning down and kissing sky’s hand.

“nice to meet you, too, sweetheart.”

“such a gentleman,” sky giggles and leads vi to the patchwork couch. she curls up like a cat, and vi follows suit — the couch is cloud soft, and vi tries not to sink into the cushions. “i’m our supplies and communications coordinator.” she turns away from vi to look around the room. “okay, that’s my intro. who’s next?”

the person with an eyebrow piercing nods at vi, a sort of effortless greeting. “gert, they/them.” they snap the sharpie shut after writing ‘the future is intersectional’ on the tip of their toe. “i curate and design our newsletter, the black rose. i’m also in a band —”

“the sirens of zaun. yeah, i recognize you. you’ve played a few gigs at sappho’s.”

vi looks at you pointedly, and you take this as your cue to disappear behind the door, which appears to lead into some sort of office.

gert seems pleased, though. “then you might also recognize our lead singer….”

the person with the gold necklace, who vi does, in fact, vaguely recognize but can’t quite name, closes their laptop and waves at vi. “i’m mel. pronouns: she/her. i mostly deal with the finances around here. and, from what i understand, you’re already well acquainted with our fearless leader —”

mel is cut off by the sound of her phone alarm.

“shit — it’s already 11:30. our set at campus radio starts soon.” mel gestures at gert. gert picks up the bright red guitar case behind them and secures it around their shoulder as mel packs up her leather satchel.

“damn, i gotta get to class, too. the space-time continuum waits for no one.” sky gets up and gathers her things, too, stuffing yarn into a fruit-printed tote bag. “it was nice meeting you though.” she pats vi’s head affectionately before throwing out a loud: “see ya later, boss!”

mel and gert offer similar farewells, and you shout goodbye from the other room before the three of them are out the door. vi expects you to reappear a few moments later; when you don’t, she ventures into the office.

it’s smaller, but just as decorated as the lounge space. there’s a desk that seems to be more storage than actual use, littered with piles of books and old copies of the black rose. you’re sitting on a fluffy rainbow carpet that looks like every member of sesame street stitched together, writing something in a sticker-covered notebook.

“so, violet —”

“vi’s fine,” she tells you. she decides to sit on the floor next to you rather than the zebra striped chaise lounge.

you nod, rip a page out of your notebook, and hand it to vi. there’s something a bit too intimate about knowing what your handwriting looks like before even knowing your name.

“this is a run down of everything you’ll need to know, but real quick: we do feminist film fridays and trivia tuesdays on alternating weeks; our radical reads book club meets once a month, along with our slam poetry group, and we have a bunch of other events in between — workshops, art builds, discussion groups, and so on. sky keeps everything in the centre stocked, and occasionally the rest of us will pitch in when organizing a charity drive. our newsletter publishes the third wednesday of every month — gert puts it together, but we print in pairs since it could be a lot of work for one person. we have team meetings once a week to share updates, make sure we’re all on the same page, stuff like that. any questions?”

“wow, okay. that’s a lot.”

you smile. “i’m sure you’ll be able to keep up, varsity.”

“so….where do i fit in?”

“that depends on you, really,” you tap your glitter gel pen on your notebook, thinking. “like, i’m assuming you’re not well versed in feminist literature.”

vi puffs out her chest. “based on what assumptions? i’m not a dumb jock.”

“yeah, i know you’ve made the dean list ever since your freshman year.”

vi raises an eyebrow. “keeping tabs on me, wonder woman?” she teases.

you laugh. “don’t flatter yourself. sky’s the one who mentioned it to me. so, unless you mean your very large, unpaid tab at sappho’s...”

“the bar i was kicked out of, you mean.”

“well, yeah, because you —” you take a deep breath. “not the point. anyways, we don’t have a complete schedule for book club, so you can maybe take the lead on one of our meetings. do you have a favorite author?”

vi smiles at you sheepishly. “ah…..you got me there.”

“thought so,” you smirk and vi covers her blush. “if you’re curious, this bridge called my back is a good place to start. oh, and audre lorde is a classic and a personal favorite…..” you pause when you catch vi staring at you. she wants you to keep talking, to appreciate the way your eyes light up so enthusiastically, but you blink away, and a veil of professionalism falls back onto you. “sorry. anyways, we’re having trivia tomorrow — would you be able to help us out with that?

vi nods. “sure.”

“sweet.” you check your phone. “i’ve got a coffee date, so i should get going.”

“wait — you never told me your name, wonder woman.”

“well, it’s not diana prince,” you quip before finally introducing yourself.

“nice to finally put a name to the face.” vi winks at you, standing up. she extends a hand to guide you up. your hand is cold against her skin, your metal rings even colder.

“i’ll see you around, varsity.” before you’re out the door, you turn back around. “oh, and vi?”

“yeah?”

“don’t be late.”

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

you had stepped away for a quick smoke break — a habit you knew you had to kick — but you’re so fucking drained and it’s only wednesday.

you were up all night bickering with your girlfriend. it started with her admitting that she really doesn’t want to meet your friends, which transitioned into her asking you to not talk to anyone about her or your relationship, which prompted you to make a (maybe slightly insensitive) comment about how she’s welcome to stay in the closet but has no right to push you back in.

needless to say, you did not get any sleep.

you’re about to walk outside, and finally get a moment of peace, when your phone rings. it’s your sibling, and the fact that they’re calling instead of texting tells you that this conversation is about to be (A) exhausting, (B) infuriating, or (C) both.

the correct answer is C.

it’s the same story over and over again: your dad drinks too much, your mom is absent. it hadn’t been this bad when you were growing up, but you suppose you’d been around to ease the damage, or at least step in and take care of your sibling as needed.

“just — take a deep breath. you can come stay with me for the weekend, okay? it’ll be good for you to get away from the chaos for a bit….we’ll go apple picking if the weather’s nice, maybe start working on your halloween costume — whatever you wanna do.”

“you know, i’m not five anymore,” they mumble, stifling a small laugh along with some tears. “but…okay. that sounds nice.”

you smile to yourself, shoulder pressing against the door. “it’s a plan then. we’ll sort out the details later. and, don’t worry about mom and dad — i’ll take care of it. love you.”

you hang up and exhale as you finally push the door open, happy to finally get one moment to breathe.

except, just as you’re greeted by a crisp breeze on this beautiful late september evening, you’re also greeted by the sight of vi pressing someone against the brick wall, their legs wrapped around her waist as she kisses their neck.

something ignites in your abdomen, familiar after many nights of seeing vi at the bar, charming her way into another woman’s bed. except, it’s definitely not jealousy, this time.

(okay, maybe it is; but only a bit.)

they spring apart upon hearing the door slam closed. you recognize who vi’s with — maya, a sophomore who’s frequently attended women’s centre events since last year. she’s always been friendly with the team, but never this friendly.

“oh my gosh, i am so sorry!”

“you don’t have to apologize,” you tell her sincerely. her cheeks are flushed, and she’s busy smoothing down her skirt, clearly trying to distance herself from vi, who’s leaning against the wall nonchalantly. “i just need to talk to violet, so do you mind giving us a sec?”

you wait until maya disappears inside to cross your arms and glare at vi.

“so, it’s violet now, huh?” she teases, wiping red lipstick off her smirk.

“you were supposed to be helping facilitate this workshop,” you note.

“well, it is a queer sex ed workshop.” vi rolls her eyes. “i was giving maya a hands-on experience.”

you grit your teeth together. “and you just had to do that now? like you just had to go down on that third year during trivia last week?”

“well, see, i don’t have a ton of free time, and since i’m not allowed at the local lesbian bar….” she trails off, looking at you pointedly. “i’ve had to resort to multi-tasking.”

“multi-tasking.” you let an exhausted, bitter laugh slip from your lips. “you’ve showed up late to every single event in the past few weeks, and once you’re there, you’re either on your laptop, getting drunk, or hooking up with someone. tell me, violet, as captain of the yellowjackets — if someone on your team was acting like this, what would you do?”

vi narrows her eyes at you, like she can’t believe what you’re asking, and admits, “i’d call them out, tell them to do better.”

“right. and if they kept giving you empty promise after empty promise? you’d have to do something more drastic, even if you didn’t want to, yeah?”

no response.

shaking your head, you take out a cigarette. there’s only silence when you flick the lighter open and light it between your lips. you inhale deeply, letting the smoke enter your lungs, exhale slowly, and decide: “i’m gonna ask the dean to reassign you.”

“fine by me,” vi scoffs, but you swear that something close to disappointment flashes across her face. “clearly, this isn’t working out.”

“clearly.” you take another drag of your cigarette, and as vi walks back inside, you can’t help but try to get under her skin. you’ve had a bad week, between family drama and turbulence in your relationship with jules, and you’re just sick of people not giving a shit. “the year’s already started, so i doubt there’s something available. which means you’ll remain on academic probation until spring.”

and, okay — you do get some twisted satisfaction in how that makes vi stop in her tracks. you’re leaning against the wall, and she strides over to stand in front of you, her jaw and fists clenched.

“i’ll miss the whole tournament.”

you shrug, and blow smoke in her face. “i’ve given you plenty of chances.”

“but the team needs me —”

“you should have thought of that before you fucked up, varsity,” you snap. vi’s eyes widen; you’re usually more level-headed. “you’re cocky, irresponsible — ”

“i lost my scholarship,” vi blurts out, prompting you to pause, the cigarette millimeters from your lips.

you blink at her, blood still roaring in your ears.

“i…don’t know why that’s relevant.”

vi just sighs, so deeply that you feel it in your bones. you haven’t seen this side of her before — no flirtatious smile, no overconfident posture. instead, she slips to the ground, knees pressed to her chest. feeling a bit guilty for pushing her buttons, you slide down next to her. you offer her the cigarette, but she shakes her head.

“i…i’m going through a shitty breakup. i’ve been lashing out, and i lost my scholarship. i haven’t asked my parents for money, because the last thing i want is for them to worry about me. so, i started picking up these odd jobs to make ends meet, and the hours are a bit crazy so between school and practice and — fuck, there’s also shit going on with my sister that i won’t even get into now, but it’s a lot — and i also need to do this because i let my team down and i need to be there for them, whatever it takes, and i’m just so fucking —”

“exhausted, yeah.”

you can see more clearly now — the slump in her shoulders, the shadows underneath her eyes; you see her more clearly. you realize that you might have more in common with violet rose atlas than you initially thought.

“so the laptop —”

“finishing assignments.”

“the drinking?”

vi juts her chin out at your smouldering cigarette. “we all have our vices.”

“and the sex?”

her lips curl into a sheepish grin, and she shrugs. “we all need to relieve stress.”

you clear your throat, blinking away from her gaze and trying to ignore how you can feel warmth radiating from her body, so close to yours. “right.”

vi runs her hand through her tar-black hair. that should have been your first hint — nothing says lesbian breakup more than terribly dyed hair and questionable decisions.

“look, i know i can’t do everything, but i have to, and i’m still trying to figure out how.”

“well….as far as excuses go, it’s not the worst,” you admit. “thanks for telling me. i know that couldn’t have been easy.” you take a deep breath and get to your feet. “i stand by what i said earlier, though — this isn’t working out. you just can’t tell us that you’ll be helpful and not follow through. it means a lot, to a lot of people, that there’s a space like this on campus. mel, gert, sky— they all work so hard to make that happen, and that’s something i need to protect. i’m sorry.”

“wait.” vi grabs your wrist before you can leave. “i’m sorry. really, i am. i promise to do better.”

“you’ve made that promise before,” you point out. “why should i believe this time will be different?”

“because…you’re right. i’ve been too caught up in myself, in what i need, in what my team needs. i can see that you really care about your team, though, and i should have respected that. they’re — you’re — amazing, everything that you do to make people feel safe and heard and loved. i’m sorry for taking that for granted.”

wow. okay.

you did not expect that. you’re hoping that vi can’t feel your pulse quicken at her words, but you’re glad that she’s holding on to you, keeping you steady.

“yeah, well…flattery’s not gonna get you far.” you clear your throat. “but, you’re obviously going through a lot right now, and it can drive you crazy, feeling like you’re the one who —”

“has to keep everything together,” vi finishes, sliding to the ground once more. you follow. “seems like i’m cracking under pressure, this time. fucking everything up.”

“you’ve got a reckless streak.”

“must be the aries in me,” she laughs, softly. “apparently it’s my Ieast attractive quality. along with my stubbornness and selfishness.”

“well, i don’t think that’s the whole picture,” you assure her. vi looks at you incredulously. “i won’t lie and say that your actions aren’t….thoughtless sometimes. you’re more self-centred than selfish—”

“hey!”

“but you obviously feel some sense of responsibility, for your team, your family, for what you think is right. hell — the reason my boss asked me to kick you out is because you started a bar fight with that frat boy who was insisting he had the right dick to set lesbians straight.”

vi scoffs. “asshole.”

“i was about to throw him out, but you beat me to the punch. literally.” you nudge your shoulder against vi’s, and she chuckles. “and, yeah, you’re stubborn, which can be annoying, but it also means that you’d never give up, that you’re willing to keep trying despite the odds, so….”

“so….?”

vi’s looking at you with the widest, softest eyes. fuck, you never expected her to be this gentle, so much so that it you want to melt to her every need.

“i’m hoping third time’s the charm, varsity.”

vi smiles, the most sincere one she’s probably ever given you, and the scar on her lip stretches; for all your talk about responsibility, there’s a part of you who’d risk pushing your already tenuous relationship with your girlfriend to its breaking point just so you could kiss vi, guilt-free, just once. maybe you have a bit of a reckless streak, too.

“thanks, wonder woman. you won’t regret it.”

yeah. you kind of already do.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

vi would never admit it, but one reason she fought to keep her community service assignment here is because she wanted to keep seeing you.

she likes getting under your skin, seeing those pretty eyes roll whenever she strides in late for a meeting, that kissable jaw clench any time you catch her tangled up with someone else.

it almost makes up for all those nights at sappho’s you’d spent flirting back and forth, some sort of unspoken agreement between you to never go further.

sometimes, it’s just nice to have a crush in your back pocket, to know that they’ll always be there to admire and admire you back while others come and go.

the more time you spend together, though, the more vi realizes that you’re not just a fictional character in her head, in a fantasy she pictures before bed — no, you’re tangible.

vi watches as you bring special tea for gert when their period cramps are particularly painful; she listens to you console mel after another fight with her mother and offer advice to sky when she was hoping to ask out her lab partner. vi notices how you prefer your coffee with a dash of cinnamon; and she learns that you had your first kiss with a girl in your freshman year journalism class, and that your first tattoo was done by the same person. a stick-and-poke star on your ankle.

she can hear your laugh, feel the cool metal of your rings brush against her skin accidentally when you’re squeezing past her in a crowded room, smell your perfume when you hug her goodbye. you have stories and quirks and expectations and opinions that vi subconsciously files away as she gets to know you better.

you’re not just a crush, anymore.

you’re a friend.

vi likes having you as a friend. really — she does!

you’re a friend who makes vi’s heart jump at the sight of your name on her phone. a friend who smirks when vi blushes after you tell her she has the prettiest cheekbones you’ve ever seen. a friend who mentions this vibrator that gave you one of the best orgasms you’ve ever had, so vi orders the same one and maybe still pictures you before bed, imagining that you’re using it at the same time. except someone else might be next to you.

yeah, vi’s pretty sure you’re dating someone, but that’s something she hasn’t gathered enough information on.

not that it matters. she wouldn’t be interested in anything serious, anyways, after the mindfuck that was her relationship with caitlyn, and the damage she’s still having to heal from.

though, if that hadn’t happened, vi would have never gotten into a fight with maddie nolan, the second striker for the piltover knights, who taunted her during an exhibition game about how caitlyn is so much happier now that she isn’t disgracing herself with a filthy zaunite. vi would have never been banned from the first half of the tournament and chewed out by coach sevika for fucking up the yellowjackets’ chance at nationals.

vi would have never been put on academic probation and assigned to 100 hours of community service, either.

she certainly wouldn’t have been here, now, in the women’s centre office close to midnight on a tuesday, folding the most recent issue of the black rose when you walk in.

“oh. hey, v.” you drop down on the zebra-striped couch, your tote bag falling to the ground. “i thought sky was gonna be here tonight.”

vi shakes her head, removing one earbud and letting it dangle from the cord. “she’s got this huge chem report due tomorrow, had to meet up with viktor to get it done.”

“right…” you sigh and lie back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. a few moments pass, and there’s only your steady breathing. “what are you listening to?”

your eyes are closed when vi settles in next to you. it’s a relatively tight fit, but it doesn’t seem like either of you particularly care. vi gently places an earbud in your ear.

you snort, opening your eyes. “you could have just said the cranberries.”

“i’m surprised you recognize them,” vi quips. “it’s not your usual angry girl music.”

“well, sometimes people surprise you. this is actually one of my favorite songs,” you explain. “it’s in one of my favorite movies, too.”

“you’ve got mail?”

you furrow your brows. “when harry met sally.”

vi shakes her head. “no, ‘dreams’ is definitely in you’ve got mail. but, i agree that when harry met sally is a better movie.”

“you’ve watched nora ephron movies and enjoyed them?”

“well, sometimes people surprise you,” vi teases. “i can appreciate a good love story as much as the next person.”

you let out a short, airy laugh. you tilt your head and you’re so close to vi that you’re practically exchanging the same breath. your eyes land on her lips for a millisecond, and vi starts to lean in before you sit up abruptly.

“i could use some alcohol.” you climb over vi and go to the desk, pull out a half empty bottle of fruit-flavored soju from a drawer. you grab two mugs — the hayley kiyoko one, and another with frida kahlo. you stop short of pouring, looking to vi. she nods.

soon enough, you’ve got your legs strewn along vi’s lap, sipping lychee infused alcohol.

“can i ask you something?”

“anything,” vi answers, squeezing your calf.

“why’d you and caitlyn break up?” the question hangs in the air for a second before you add: “if you don’t wanna talk about it though, i understand.”

shit. it’s definitely not vi’s favorite topic of conversation, but….

“i think she thought that i was one of the good ones, that regardless of the way i grew up or the blood that coursed through my veins, i would be her perfect little charity case. people would be like: future president kiramman definitely cares about the poor — just look at the broke angry lesbian she’s turned into her docile wife!”

you suck in a sharp breath. “fuck that.”

“yeah,” vi laughs sadly. “the worst part is that she wanted me to be vulnerable with her, so i was, because i thought the more i opened up, the more she’d love me, but, in the end….i was too messy. i was too much.”

vi hates the lump that starts to build in her throat, the tears that threaten to spill. she cannot cry in front of you —

you grab her hand. your skin is cool against hers, and it eases her quickening heartbeat.

“you’re not too much, v.” your voice soothes her like honey, trickling down her throat. “it sucks, though, when they ask you to rip your heart out of your chest and get mad at you for bleeding out in front of them.”

“shit, i never thought of it so…viscerally, but that’s exactly what it feels like.”

“well you’re not a creative writing major,” you quip. “i know it still hurts — trust me, i know — but your heart was never hers if she treated you that badly. you deserve more.”

is it the alcohol messing with her brain, or does it look like you want to kiss her?

fuck.

vi clears her throat. “why’re you asking?”

you pull your hand away, take a sip of your drink. “jules broke up with me a few days ago.”

you’re single now. good to know.

“what happened?”

“i caught her kissing someone at a bar. a boy.” you roll your eyes. “maybe she just wasn’t ready, which is fine, but when we had it out, she told me that what we had isn’t what romance is supposed to feel or look like, which sucked. especially after being so….vulnerable with her.”

“you offered her that bleeding heart of yours, didn’t you?”

you click your tongue, pouring some more soju into each mug. “course i did, v. and it didn’t mean anything in the end. because relationships suck.”

“i’ll drink to that.”

you cheers, keeping eye contact.

“and you know what?” you take a big, long gulp. “i know that relationships aren’t just about sex, but i’ve been having to get myself off for months now and sometimes, i just want someone else to —”

“take care of you?”

vi sips her drink, watching you mull over her words.

“not sure if i’d put it like that,” you decide. “i just miss that excitement. when another person wants to discover what makes you feel good, and wanting to learn how to make them feel good, too. i miss having that connection with someone.”

“i’m guessing you didn’t have that with jules, then.”

“ha! no. and paula…the girl i dated before….let’s just say, she didn’t give a shit whether i felt good, in any sense.” you shift in your seat; vi senses there’s a story there, but she doesn’t push. “how about future president kiramman — she take care of you?”

vi can’t help but laugh. “nah. i mostly took care of her. she sure liked it when i got down on my knees for her.”

you hum.

“lucky her.”

you wink at vi, and she chokes on her drink.

i would gladly do it for you, if that’s something you want.

“is that a genuine offer? because, if you’re joking —”

shit. did vi say that out loud?

vi’s heart is beating out of her chest, but she sits up straighter to regain some level of composure. she nods.

no use in turning back now.

“i’m serious, wonder woman.”

you stare at her. “i really can’t have another relationship that’s just gonna crash and burn.”

“that’s not what i’m offering. i care about our - our friendship. i care about you.”

you swallow. “i care about you, too.”

“right, and when our friends need help with something….”

“we help them,” you finish. “so, you’re really just talking about casual sex. right now, on this couch?”

“yes,” vi answers. maybe a bit too quickly. “if that’s what you want, too.”

“that’s what i want,” you reply. maybe a bit too quickly, too. “but none of this one sided bullshit: you do me, i do you.”

vi takes your mug, puts it next to hers on the floor, and repositions your bodies so that she’s hovering above you, hips set between yours.

“sounds perfect to me.”

you finally, finally kiss and it feels oddly…familiar. you taste like lychees and nicotine and cherries, burnt sweetness, and your skin is so fucking soft.

“wait.” you tug on vi’s hair and she has to bite back a moan at how fucked out you already look underneath her, all wide-eyed and desperate. “just so we’re 100% clear: just sex.”

vi nods once. “no strings attached.”

“it’ll be casual.”

“we’re not doing the whole relationship thing.”

“promise?”

vi sticks out her pinky, grinning at you sheepishly. you roll your eyes ever so slightly, but still wrap your pinky around hers.

“promise.”

so, you take care of each other. no strings attached.

because that’s what friends are for, right?

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

v ⚽

are u busy rn? got out of my lab early and im bored

wndr wmn ☆

yeah, im at work

v ⚽️

leave early. im BORED and HORNY

wndr wmn ☆

ofc you are

v ⚽️

pls u love it

u know #6 isn’t just my jersey number ;))

i’m implying that i will give u 6 consecutive orgasms

wndr wmn ☆

yeah i got that

v ⚽️

so….

wndr wmn ☆

….

leaving now

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

“you sure about this, v?”

vi hums, looking up at you through hooded eyes. “isn’t it every girl’s dream to get tied up by the lasso of truth, wonder woman?”

you’re straddling her, still wearing your red and gold bodysuit underneath blue shorts that you’ve decorated with silver stars. your makeshift lasso of truth — really, just some gold rope — sparkles, tying vi’s wrists together to the headboard.

the theme of the women’s centre halloween celebration is always the same — dress up at your favorite female icon — but you’d never seen someone look as good as vi does. she dressed as trinity from the matrix, all tight, black leather and vinyl, showcasing her defined muscles as the gods intended.

now, she’s left in a sleeveless cropped top and black boyshorts, with her pants and jacket thrown somewhere on your apartment floor.

you have a feeling she really liked your costume, too, because she practically begged you to take control tonight.

“if it gets too much, our safeword will be —”

“sappho.” the slight whine of impatience in her voice sends a jolt right to your core.

“perfect.”

you kiss her lips, her jaw, her neck, your lipstick leaving angry red marks. you lodge your bare thigh in between vi’s legs, biting your bottom lip when you feel her already warm and wet, when you hear her whimper as you apply more pressure to where she needs you most. you reach into your nightstand for your vibrator and switch it on, teasing vi’s nipples through her shirt.

vi moans, deep and loud. not even thirty seconds, and she’s already pulling at the restraints, the headboard creaking.

“are you gonna be a good girl for me, violet?” you coo, inching the vibrator lower and lower, feeling her shake underneath you. “because we’ve got all night, and you better not break my bed.”

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

“hey, so — i found these in between one of the couch cushions, thought maybe they might be yours.”

you can only spare a glance at the item mel is holding up — you’re grading freshman papers, focused on this one student’s thesis about gender fluidity in shakespeare’s twelfth night.

“oh, those are vi’s.”

“hm. and just how is it that you know what her underwear looks like?”

you stop writing mid-sentence and look up at mel who’s giving you a pointed look.

you and vi had been the ones to clean up after feminist film friday last week, and one thing led to another….

in your defense: vi had been wearing these low cut jeans that showed off her v-line, and you could tell she didn’t have her usual sports bra on because you could see the outlines of her nipple rings through her tight, white tank top. it took everything in you to wait until people cleared out during the credits of the watermelon woman to pin her down and have her whimpering for you.

“i just…guessed.”

“right.” mel rolls her eyes. “so, you and violet are….what? fucking? dating?”

you clear your throat and take a sip of lukewarm coffee.

“we’re keeping it casual,” is all you say.

“are you sure that’s a good idea?”

you just shrug.

“just — be careful,” mel, always the diplomatic one, eases. she walks towards you, sits on the edge of the desk, and hands you the pair of black briefs. “i know we all teased you about it before, but i don’t want to see you get hurt. i’ve seen you get your heart broken one too many times.”

“it’s fine, mel,” you assure her, grabbing the piece of fabric and shoving it at the bottom of your bag. you’re visiting their owner after this, anyways. “vi and i are just friends helping each other out.”

mel raises an eyebrow. “well, you and i have been friends for years and we’ve never gotten that close.”

“that’s different.”

“how so?”

“i appreciate your concern,” you say, avoiding the question. “but it’s fine. nice, actually.”

“it’s your life,” mel sighs. “maybe don’t fuck on our couches anymore, though.”

your cheeks heat up. you turn your attention back to the essay in front of you.

“noted.”

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

vi starts showing up at your place after soccer.

she’s allowed back on the field during games now, so she appears with a winning grin, a grass-stained uniform and fresh bruises on her knees. one time, she had the remnants of a bloody nose after a header gone wrong, and you could taste copper when she pressed her lips against yours before she hopped in the shower.

you keep her go-to body wash stocked — bergamot and cedarwood scented old spice — but she always walks out of the bathroom smelling like your mango-vanilla shower gel. sometimes even your coconut shampoo. she slips on one of your oversized graphic tees, drapes a light purple towel around her shoulders to avoid staining your shirt with her cheaply dyed black hair, fading back to pink with each wash. she walks over to the fridge in her soft gray sweatpants rolled at the ankles and cracks open one of the spiced-pear red bulls as you pull ingredients out for dinner. usually something quick and simple, since it’s always a long week and neither of you have capacity for anything more.

vi chops garlic and tells you about her game; you boil water for pasta and tell her about the latest drama between students in your literature class.

you pretend you have all the time in the world.

because you both know that vi’s got the strap packed in her gym bag, that soon one thing will lead to another and she’ll be fucking you with it until you’re both sweaty and spent and exhausted in the best way possible.

you’ve established this routine together, agreed upon several unspoken rules: no pillow talk once it’s over; no actually falling asleep in the other’s bed; no crossing that thin sapphic line between friendship and romance.

no breaking that promise.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

wndr wmn

wanna come over? i’m watching bend it like beckham

v ⚽️

MY FAVORITE!!

i would love 2

but lucky fell asleep on me

we just finished devouring an xl pepperoni pizza

wndr wmn

remind me again why your one-eyed golden retriever likes pizza so much?

v ⚽️

come on it’s cute

[v ⚽️ sent an attachment]

wndr wmn

yeah, you’re cute

v ⚽️

come over here instead?

wndr wmn

omw

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

vi whines, and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“come on — hurry up.”

“you practically begged for this, v,” you chide.

“yeah, but you’re taking too long and your hands are fucking freezing.”

“it’s the irony deficiency, babe,” you quip. “now, are you gonna be a good girl and let me finish?”

“fine,” vi grumbles. she does stop squirming, though. you hum, pleased.

you certainly didn’t miss the way her breath hitches at the nickname. vi’s right hand, freshly polished, tightens on your thigh.

you’re not sure why she called you at 1:27am for your help with this, or why she couldn’t just do it herself, but you’re sitting on her lap, painting her nails the color of pomegranate juice, a color she had chosen from the options you brought.

sure, you were about to turn in for an early night, but the moment you heard her voice through the phone, you rushed over to her place wearing nothing but your pajamas — plaid boxer shorts and a spiderman shirt that vi wore last time she was at yours, and you haven’t washed since.

you stretch time out as much as you can, meticulous in every stroke, but painting her nails doesn’t take much longer. you start to move off her lap — it’s probably time for you to leave — but vi grabs your hips, a playful smirk on her lips.

oh, right. that’s the type of relationship — friendship — you and vi agreed upon.

shit. you’re pretty sure that you’re wearing your days of the week underwear. is it a turn-off that you’ve got on a saturday pair on a thursday?

it doesn’t really matter, anyways.

instead of initiating a kiss, vi takes the bottle of polish from you, swaps it for black, and gestures for your hand. you blink at her, until you realize what she’s asking.

“oh! you don’t have to —”

“you do me, i do you.” vi grins at you. “i thought that was our arrangement.”

you laugh, feeling warmth radiate from your chest.

it’s kind of….adorable, the furrow of her brow, the way she curses under her breath when a drop of nail polish falls onto your skin. she’s surprisingly gentle, too, one of her hands holding yours for support while the other paints.

while she focuses on getting the polish onto your nails in even layers, you busy yourself by counting vi’s freckles.

violet rose atlas has a constellation of freckles sparkling across her cheeks. you hope there’s enough time in the world for you to memorize every single one.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

v ⚽️

do u need more nicotine gum?

im at cvs rn

wndr wmn

yeah that’d be great!!

v ⚽️

i’ll get u the cinnamon one

that’s the one u like right?

wndr wmn

yep!!!

v ⚽️

okay cool

im also gonna get u some of those iron supplements

wndr wmn

my hero 🙏🏽

thank you sm

v ⚽️

ofc

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

“that red head was trying to get your number.”

“are you jealous, v?”

vi scoffs, sipping her cherry coke. “of course not. i’m just observant.”

you’d convinced your manager to let vi back into sappho’s. it’s nice, really, to see her back here again.

nice, but different.

gone are the days of staring at her from across the room, where she would be charming someone else, and only flirting with you when she came over to get another whiskey for herself and vodka something for her date. instead, she jokes around with mel, sky, and gert if they’re around, and sometimes brings her teammates in as well to play a game of pool. she usually has one drink, and then switches to something non-alcoholic. sometimes, vi doesn’t even come in for a drink; she just stops by to say hi before a team dinner or a study session.

(it’s fine — never once have you gotten an overpriced coffee from the cafe she started working at mid-october, and you probably stop by once a week between errands. that’s your excuse, anyways.)

so. things are different, but nice.

you lean across the sticky counter. “you want me to get down on my knees for you right now to prove which girl here i’d like to go home with?”

“baby….” vi shifts on the bar stool. it’s hard to tell under the dim multicolored lights, but you’re pretty sure she’s blushing, too.

“i think we both know you’d draw a bit too much attention to yourself. especially when i use my tongue to —”

“my car’s outside.”

you smirk. “my break’s in 15.”

you used to spend your breaks in the alley outside sappho’s burning through a cigarette. now you find yourself knee-deep in the passenger seat, eating vi out like she’s the last thing you’ll ever taste.

“f-fuck,” vi groans.

“feels good, yeah?” you tease her clit with her tongue, sliding two fingers into her easily. you work fast, determined to let her finish before you run out of time.

“so fucking good. i’m gonna —”

she clenches around your fingers; you lap her up eagerly, let her writhe against your face until she’s had enough.

you sit back on your knees once her hips still, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. you crane your neck to check the time on the dashboard, when you notice something in the footwell.

“vi! i thought i lost this.”

vi grins at you sheepishly, chest still heaving as you hold up the complete works of audre lorde, a tattered book with a well-worn spine and dog-eared pages.

“sorry. i meant to put it back on your nightstand once i was finished.”

you open to where she’s placed a makeshift bookmark — the ticket from an underground sirens of zaun show you’d both gone to. you’ve had this copy since freshman year, the scribble of your handwriting in the margins of practically on every page.

“it’s okay,” you tell her. “you like it so far?”

“yeah.” she grabs the book from you gently, thumbing through the pages. you wonder if vi registers the curves of her own smile, tender and bashful. “honestly, i’m not usually a fan of poetry, but it’s really cool how lorde writes about desire between women in such a tangible way, you know? i really liked this one verse in ‘recreation:’ ‘touching you, i catch midnight as moon fires set in my throat.’ it’s just so - so beautiful, the idea of something so domestic and mundane being almost magical, because that’s what it’s really like when —”

you don’t even realize that you’re staring until vi looks up at you and freezes.

“sorry,” she clears her throat, closing the book and setting it aside. “did i say something wrong?”

you assure vi that she did nothing wrong.

you exit her car, the taste of her lingering on your tongue, the feeling of her keeping your body warm on this cold november night.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

wndr wmn

hey

are you in town during break?

v⚽️

having dinner at my dads’ on friday but otherwise im here

why? u gonna miss me??

wndr wmn

lol

im having ppl over for friendsgiving on sunday

if you wanna join

v ⚽️

hell yeah

can i bring anything?

wndr wmn

just your pretty face

i’ll take care of the rest

turkey, cranberry, sauce, stuffing, sweet potatoes, pumpkin pie…

etc. etc.

v ⚽️

damn!!!!

full course meal

wndr wmn

yep

im basically wife material

v⚽️

pls we’re so over gender norms

but yeah

you are

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

vi has never been the type to wait by the phone for a girl to text, or to show up at her place after not hearing from her in a while, worried that she might have done something wrong.

yet here she is, standing outside your door.

it’s cool, though. completely platonic behavior.

she knocks.

there’s no answer.

she knocks again.

nothing.

vi waits another second, leaning her shoulder against the door.

“it’s me, wonder woman,” she tries.

hope flutters in her chest as she hears you shuffle, unchain the lock. vi stumbles as you throw the door open, but she recovers quickly to find you: smudged black eyeliner enhancing the shadows underneath your eyes, hair in disarray, clothes disheveled.

“i’m not really in the mood for sex.”

vi can’t help but laugh, even though your comment feels like a punch to the face.

“wow. figured you would think more of me by now than just some horny teenage boy.”

“look, vi —”

vi?

since when do you call her that?

“i’m sorry i missed the meeting today. i texted mel —”

damn, so your phone does work.

you’ve just been ignoring her calls and texts.

“but i’m just… it’s not a good time, okay? i’ll see you around.”

ah.

the classic generic excuse and non-committal statement combo.

you start to close the door on her before she even has a chance to get a word in.

the hits just keep coming.

thankfully, vi’s always been a good fighter.

“wait.” vi places her palm firmly on the door before you can fully shut her out. “i’m just here to check on you.”

your face remains unchanged.

“okay, well, you’ve checked on me.”

“yeah, i’ve checked on you. you look like shit.”

you glare at her. “well i’m sorry i didn’t have the time to get all prettied up for you. i know that you like me better that way.”

“that’s not what i —” vi inhales sharply. she’s a fighter, but she doesn’t want to fight you. “mel dropped the news — about admin officially cutting our funding. i knew how that would affect you, so….” vi lifts the bag of takeout. “i brought some thai food for us to share. a pomegranate, too, because i know you like seasonal fruit. it’s been a while and honestly, i just….i just wanted to spend time with you.”

you exhale, your eyes softening.

there.

a hesitant smile, an invitation to come inside.

there are clothes all over your floor and dishes piled high in the sink. your desk is littered with empty boxes of cereal and cans of an energy drink that normally you’d never touch. the blanket that sky had crocheted for you — lavender and pink checkered — is unfolded on your couch, your laptop half-closed on the coffee table in front next to two stacks of printed essays — ones marked with purple pen, the others untouched. in contrast, your bed is still perfectly made.

you take the blanket and wrap it around your shoulders, sitting at the kitchen table and curling into yourself. vi busies herself in cracking open the pomegranate, putting the seeds into the last clean bowl in your cupboard. the palms of her arm wraps are now stained a reddish-purple, but she doesn’t care.

vi manages to find two pairs of clean chopsticks for the thai food, and the two of you eat in silence.

“so….” vi starts, watching you stab a piece of chicken before popping it into your mouth. “you wanna talk about it, or….?”

“what’s there to talk about?”

“well, for starters, maybe tell me what’s been getting you into full hibernation mode? we haven’t seen each other in, like, a week.”

“six days,” you correct, chewing a mouthful of noodles. “last tuesday, we played pool during my closing shift at sappho’s. i lost. you made me down two shots of tequila because you’re a menace and you know i hate it.”

“yeah, but i drove you home and tucked you into bed with water and advil for later, so i’m also a gentleman. so, just tell me what’s been going on. we’ll figure it out, yeah?”

“it’s fine,” you grumble.

“clearly, it’s not. just tell me what you need.”

“what i need is to not be distracted,” you huff, avoiding eye contact. “i certainly don’t need you —”

“taking care of you, i know.” vi grabs your hand from across the table. she feels you stiffen on instinct, and then ease into the heat of her skin. “trust me, i wouldn’t be here if i didn’t want to be. so — humor me.”

vi squeezes your hand, hoping to reassure you.

you sigh. “i’ve just — i’ve been spiralling trying to figure out how the centre can keep going with, like, half our required budget, trying to see if we can get some external donors and i still need to finalize the venue and equipment rentals for our last open mic….and….and my sibling called again to tell me that things haven’t been great at home, so i want to go down there this weekend to sort everything out, but my car hasn’t been starting….plus i’m behind on grading, and i told my supervisor i’d have a complete draft ready by thursday and i’m not even halfway done, and that’s the same day we’re having that art build for the climate rally on friday, and i’ve been having the worst cramps since this afternoon, and all i wanna do is pass out and sink into my duvet, but i need to keep going —”

vi squeezes your hand again, this time more firmly. “you need to slow down.”

“i can’t.” you huff. “i have to keep everything from falling apart, and if i don’t….”

vi shifts to the chair next to yours, still holding your hand.

“but you can’t do it all if you’re too exhausted to take care of yourself. from the looks of it, you’ve been living off of frosted flakes, red bull, and zero sleep.”

you shrug. “if that’s what it takes.”

“if that’s what it takes, then maybe it’s not worth it.”

“don’t say that,” you tell her. “it’s all worth it. i just wish it wasn’t so…heavy.”

vi nods, because she really, truly understands. she gives you the advice she can see you giving her in another context.

“you ever think that maybe it wouldn’t feel as heavy if you…i don’t know…weren’t too stubborn to ask for help.”

“there are things that are my responsibility, violet,” you tell her, slipping your hand away. you reach for the bowl of pomegranate seeds, meticulously picking up one at a time with your chopsticks and crushing it in between your molars. “i can’t just pass those off to someone else.”

“fine. but what about other things? like the women’s centre stuff — we’re a team, right? so we’ll figure it out together, divide the labor so you’re not doing everything. and, maybe ask your supervisor for an extension, too? and, well, i don’t really need my car this weekend, so you’re welcome to borrow it.”

you pause, narrowing your eyes at her.

“you said…. ‘we.’”

“well, yeah. i’m part of the team, aren’t i?”

“but you’ll be finished with your hours in a week. there’s no reason for you to stay.”

“of course there is,” vi whispers, studying your face as it morphs from suspicious to something else, something gentler.

her heart is pounding as she waits for you to say something, so vi starts to dig into the pomegranate seeds, the juice surprisingly more sweet than sour. some dribbles out from the corner of her lips, and you reach over to wipe it away with your thumb.

“i’d love for you to stay,” you hum, smiling, and vi feels her chest glow with a brightness it seems only you can bring out. “turns out you give pretty good advice.”

“so…you’ll consider it.”

you shrug again. “maybe. i am very tempted to take you up on the car thing.”

“all yours, if you want it.”

“are you sure?”

“it’s fine, wonder woman. i’ll just carpool to practice — it’s better for the environment, anyways. can’t show up to the climate rally as a hypocrite, can i?” she jokes, and you roll your eyes playfully. “and, i’ll try to fix your car while you’re away.”

“wow. you are a gentleman.”

“gentleman? baby, i’m husband material.”

you actually laugh.

“i thought we were over gender norms,” you quip. “but yeah. you are.”

vi’s cheeks heat up at your statement. you most definitely notice her blushing because you break out into a toothy grin

“i missed you, v,” you admit. “any other words of wisdom?”

despite your tender smile, you look exhausted. vi just wants to hold you through it all, tell you it’s gonna be okay. instead, she settles for placing a gentle hand on your cheek, running her thumb over the deep shadow underneath your eye.

“get some rest, pretty girl.”

a few hours later, you wake up alone.

you have a vague memory of warm arms wrapped around you, a heart beating steadier than yours. your sheets smell like old spice, your apartment smells like fresh laundry. you get out of bed and notice that there are no more dishes in your sink, no more cans or containers on any surface. all the clothes you’d been meaning to wash are now carefully folded on your couch.

there’s a bright pink sticky note on your nightstand next to the keys to vi’s car.

you talk in your sleep. something about stargazing? maybe we can go when you get back.

drive safe. text me if you need anything.

xxx

- v

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

zaun yellowjackets vs. piltover knights.

two minutes left in overtime.

one goal standing in the way of their trophy. one goal to end piltover’s monopoly over the title of national champions.

caitlyn probably told her knights to be extra aggressive — win by any means necessary — so it’s been a long game of dirty plays and intentional fouls.

vi always puts her heart into every single game, but this time —

this time, it’s personal.

zaun’s defense works to regain possession and prevent piltover’s attack. ashe manages to intercept a pass between two knights, and is quick in dribbling the ball until mid-field. she sends it over to vi with a swift kick. vi’s quick on her feet, catching piltover’s defense by surprise, sprinting closer and closer to the goal. she makes it to the penalty box.

this could be the winning point.

vi has it, too. she’s so fucking close, about to fake out the goalie and kick into that hard-to-defend sweet spot — until a sharp, pointy elbow collides with her ribs so abruptly, it knocks the wind out of her lungs. she stumbles forward over the ball, knees skidding onto the grass. whoever it is also steps on vi’s cleat for good measure.

“fuck!” she looks up to see who it is.

of course. it’s maddie fucking nolan, who doesn’t spare so much as a glance as the ref doles out a red card. she nods at caitlyn as she walks off the field, no doubt following her captain’s orders.

her teammates help vi to her feet, and the ref makes sure everyone is in position for the penalty kick.

this could be the winning point. vi just has to ignore caitlyn’s icy stare from a few feet away, and the heart threatening to beat out of her chest.

vi takes a deep breath.

she looks to the stands. among the crowd of screaming fans, zaunites and pilties alike, is vi’s family. they’re cheering.

you’re there too, sitting next to them.

everyone is staring at vi, waiting for the whistle, waiting for her to make the shot, but the only person she stares back at is you.

you’ve got this, v, you had whispered to her the night before. she couldn’t sleep, so she called you. vi wishes she was back there, now — tangled in flannel sheets, lucky snoring at the foot of the bed, gazing up at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to her ceiling until she finally fell asleep in your arms.

but, vi’s on the field.

and this is the winning point.

the whistle blows.

she makes the shot.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

“i told you i wasn’t a jinx!” powder sticks her tongue out at mylo.

she’s all sweat and dirt and adrenaline, but, fuck, if vi isn’t so, incredibly happy and proud of her team, of everything they’ve been through, everything they’ve accomplished.

it almost doesn’t feel real.

just like it doesn’t feel real, seeing you talk animatedly with her sister’s boyfriend, laughing along with her siblings, smiling as you watch her dads hug and praise her.

when it’s your turn to do the same, you practically leap into vi’s arms, gushing about how amazing she was, how proud you are of her.

“this looks good on you,” vi hums, as you pull away from another hug. her fingers play with the bottom of the jersey, and she bites the inside of her cheek to ground herself in the moment. you, with her family. you, in her jersey. “thinking of joining the yellowjackets?”

“i think i’ll leave the soccer to you,” you tell her. “you were amazing out there. guess i should be calling you wonder woman from now on, huh?”

“wonder woman! that’s where i remember you from!” vander suddenly exclaims, stepping closer to the pair of you. silco turns around, too. “you once tried to get into the last drop with a fake id, didn’t you? under the name diana prince?”

“shit,” you laugh nervously, eyes flickering between vander and the ground as if you’re once again a teenager caught in the act. “i….probably did.”

“i kicked you out, told you to go home to themyscira.”

“yeah…i….i remember that.” you nod slowly, furrowing your brows. “except, i didn’t want to go home that night, so i lingered outside,” you continue. you turn to vi, and your face softens. “which was when you —”

“brought two glasses of cherry coke and rum,” vi finishes; she sees flashes of that night as you gaze into her eyes. “we climbed onto the roof and —”

that was her first kiss. vi never even realized until now, but —

you were her first kiss.

“i can’t believe i forgot that.”

“weird, how memory works,” you agree, tilting your head curiously, looking at vi with a newfound interest, like a ghost from your past.

“well, isn’t this a story we’ll be sharing on your wedding day!” vander chuckles, ruffling vi’s hair.

“don’t pressure them, darling,” silco chides, but the smirk growing on his face gives him away. he’s loving this drama. “they’re barely 23 — i doubt they’ve discussed marriage.”

“oh, we’re not —”

“yeah, we’re just —”

“friends,” you say at the same time, careful to avoid eye contact.

vi feels like she might burst into flames at the knowing look vander and silco share.

“well, violet, would your friend like to join us for a celebratory dinner?” silco asks.

so that’s how you’re sitting between powder and claggor, listening to them talk your ear off about the young innovator’s competition. vi’s sitting across from you, next to ekko, who occasionally pipes in.

you’re here, sharing the tradition of a post-game meal with vi’s family at the local pizza parlour.

caitlyn never even wanted to meet vi’s family.

a few pizzas are ordered for the table, and you eat and laugh and sip your soda along with everyone else. you make a flower out of your paper napkin and hand it to isha, who’s on the other side of powder, and she gives you a toothy grin in return. you answer all the standard questions about your job and major and plans for the future.

“after graduation, i’m probably gonna take a break, get some work experience,” you explain. “maybe save up some money for law school a few years down the road.”

“you wanna be a lawyer, huh? you sure you wanna be friends with a felon, then?” powder asks, blowing bubbles into her soda through her straw.

vi coughs, choking on a mushroom.

“powder!”

“what! she never told you?”

you shake your head, glancing over at vi who suddenly finds it hard to look you in the eye. your foot has been pressed against hers underneath the table all night; you pull it away now. she takes a big gulp of water; vi looks over at vander and silco for help, but they seem to be caught up in their own conversation.

“oh, damn! ” mylo adds, leaning over. “it’s a great story!”

“guys, maybe don’t —”

“but it’s a great story!” mylo insists. “shows what a badass you are!”

“she didn’t do anything serious, like murder or anything,” powder clarifies. “it was really just her pissing off some enforcers —”

“rightfully so,” ekko adds.

claggor nods. “we were just kids. they were harassing us for some bullshit, disruption of property or whatever, so vi steps in and things get heated —”

“it takes three of enforcers to get her handcuffed, but she manages to get a few nasty hits in before they send her off to stillwater —”

“she spends three days there —”

“i thought it was two —”

“no, it was three —”

“needless to say, this isn’t the first time vi has been sentenced to community service, but it seems she’s really enjoying it this time, thanks to you,” powder finishes, winking at you.

“well that’s….quite the story,” you finally say, voice steady.

“oh! let’s tell her about the time she stole from some enforcers that were hoarding food —”

as powder continues the story, and you listen intently, it’s hard to read your expression.

are you ashamed of being friends with her? disgusted by her family, her past? regretful that you ever let her touch you, let her into your life?

vi’s stomach turns when your eyes collide; she’s been down this road before, and vi’s scared that she knows exactly what you’re thinking.

she pushes her chair back and disappears to the bathroom before she has to watch you walk away.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

there’s a knock on the door.

“someone’s in here,” vi says. she grips the edge of the counter so hard, her knuckles turn white.

deep breaths.

this isn’t the same as before.

this isn’t caitlyn, who threw vi out like a piece of trash when something better came along.

then again, you never knew this much about vi’s past. you’re well within your right to —

there’s another knock.

“v? it’s me….i have to get going, but i wanted to check on you before i leave.”

“okay,” vi clips. she looks up at herself in the mirror; she had splashed her face with cold water to calm herself down. a drop falls from her chin. “bye.”

“are you sure you’re okay?”

“i’m fine. see you around.”

you sigh, and vi hears you settle against the doorframe.

“violet, let me in,” you press. “please?”

“i’m fine. you can leave.”

“okay, well, i’m not leaving until i see that gorgeous face of yours one more time,” you whisper. “i got all dolled up just for you, and all i wanna do is give you a proper goodbye….”

well, when you put it like that….

vi grabs some paper towel to dry her face and fixes her hair before opening the door for you. you smile knowingly, enter and lock the door behind you.

you lean against the door as vi leans against the counter, the marble digging into her lower back.

“okay, i’ll start because, frankly, i don’t have time to waste,” you state after a few moments of silence. “nothing i’ve learned about you tonight has changed how i see you. it’s just confirmed some things.”

“right. like how impulsive and violent and reckless i’ve always been,” she lists glumly, unable to look you in the eye.

“maybe you are all those things,” you pause. “but, i don’t fucking care. i mean, i do, because it’s part of you and i like who you are. i like you.”

your words do wonders to ease the tension throughout vi’s body, and she feels like she can actually take a breath.

vi’s eyes lock onto yours.

“you do?”

“i like who you are, every part of it,” you tell her. “well, i don’t like that you’ve had to fight your way through an unbelievably fucked up system ever since you were a kid, but the bottom line is that you’re the strongest, most compassionate person i know.”

vi blinks at you.

“funny, i was just thinking the same thing about you the other day.”

neither of you say anything for a minute or so, letting the sentiment linger in the small space between you. once more, you’re the one to break the ice.

“well, you know what they say about great minds….” you step closer to vi. you take her chin between your thumb and your index finger. "can you guess what i’m thinking now?"

vi shakes her head, throat suddenly very dry.

“i’m thinking that i’ve wanted to kiss you all night.”

“what’s stopped you?”

you grin. “i didn’t want to make a fuss in front of your family, but now that we’re alone….”

vi doesn't say anything, but instead closes the gap between your lips.

you kiss her, harsh and messy, tongue and teeth, swallowing her moans as your fingers snake down the waistband of her pants. you pull vi’s bottom lip with your teeth before moving to her neck, nipping along the outline of her tattoo. you bite down harder on her skin, right at her pulse point.

"what’s that you said earlier —” a low groan tumbles from vi’s lips when you start to suck just above her collarbones. another when your tongue soothes over the sting. “about a proper goodbye…?” she tugs your hair so that you’re looking right at her.

it’s quite the sight — your lips swollen, chest heaving, eyes curious and lustful.

“anything you want,” you whisper, all breathless.

vi hums. she slips a hand underneath the frayed hem of your denim skirt, and you gasp as her nails scrape against your inner thigh.

she likes that you’re here. here for her.

"get on your knees for me, sweetheart.”

she pulls down her pants along with her briefs, as you kneel before her without hesitation.

you drape one of her legs over your shoulder, giving your tongue better access to her cunt. vi grips your hair tighter, bringing you in closer, and you moan, sending vibrations up her body.

"fuck," vi hisses. you add a finger, while your tongue works her clit.

you bring her to the edge, stay with her even as her thighs clench around your skull. she expects you to get back on your feet right away, but you stay, adding another finger and sucking her clit. she moans your name.

you pull away slightly. "one more, pretty girl," you promise. your chin glistens with vi’s release; you lick your lips as you gaze up at her through thick eyelashes. "can you do that for me?" she nods furiously, and you get back to work.

after letting her ride your tongue and fingers through another orgasm, you kiss her ankle before releasing her leg. vi pulls you up to your feet, sucks the taste of herself off your tongue.

you pull away slightly, heart racing against vi’s chest.

vi swipes her thumb over the smudged lipstick below your lip. she studies you, admires you, like you’re a fucking work of art that belongs in a gallery, like you didn’t just fucked her through two consecutive orgasms in the bathroom at a pizza parlour while wham's "last christmas" plays through shitty speakers.

"take these off." vi tugs at your tights. you do as instructed, slipping off your underwear as well. she pulls you towards her, and lodges a leg in between yours. your bare cunt brushes against her thigh, back and forth as she guides your hips. "i can't believe you got all dressed up…. wearing my jersey, and this pretty little skirt even though it’s so cold outside. all for me?"

vi flexes her thigh muscles, pushing you down faster and harder. you whimper.

"all – all for you.”

vi feels her pussy clench, with the desperation in your voice, the stickiness of your heat against her skin, the smell of the two of you intertwining. your orgasm crashes into you, and vi holds you through it.

you kiss her ever so sweetly before removing yourself from her grasp, smoothing down your skirt and looking around for your underwear.

"where are my...."

you look over as vi tucks your fuschia thong into the inner pocket of her jacket.

"i'm guessing you'll buy me replacements for christmas."

vi flashes you a shit eating grin before putting on her own underwear. she then pulls up her pants, not wiping your release from her thigh. she likes the idea of walking around with you seeped into her skin.

when vi looks over at you, you’re as fully dressed as you can be and busy checking something on your phone. she only sees a flash of your lock screen, but it’s her. a photo of her and lucky playing at the park; there’s snow, so it had to have been a few days ago.

that doesn’t mean anything, right? people use photos of their friends for their wallpaper all the time.

“i really have to go,” you sigh. you pull a tube of lipstick from your pocket and step closer to the mirror. “hey — do you think we could switch shirts? not sure i should wear this to my next dinner.”

vi nods and you remove her jersey, revealing a matching fuschia bralette. she wonders what’s got you all coordinated — who else you’ve clearly dressed up for.

“so, you’ve got a hot date?” vi tries to act casual as she takes off her jacket, pulls off her shirt, and waits for you to answer. you take your time, fixing yourself in the mirror.

“something like that,” you finally say with a shy smile.

later, when isha’s asleep on powder’s lap in the backseat, vi thinks about how your date might have gone, if you’re taking them home to the same bed vi has fucked you in throughout these past few months.

where do you get off, fucking vi in the bathroom during dinner while her parents are at the table, only to leave for another date, wearing vi’s shirt, too?

“hey, can i ask you something?” ekko asks from beside her, cutting off the angry monologue in her head.

vi reaches over to turn down the music.

“sure, little man. what’s up?”

“what’s the deal between you and wonder woman?”

vi clears her throat, gripping the steering wheel. “what makes you think there’s a deal?”

“oh, please, we all noticed that hickey on your neck after she visited you in the bathroom.”

the car crawls to a stop as the light turns red, and vi adjusts the collar of her shirt.

“we’re just friends.”

“well, powder and i were just friends for ages,” ekko points out.

vi doesn’t notice that the light’s turned green until someone behind her honks. she steps on the gas, but the idiot behind her still cuts in front of her.

“asshole,” she grumbles, throwing them a middle finger for good measure. vi glances to her right at ekko, who’s scribbling something in his sketchbook despite only the streetlamps outside providing light. “so, what made you….realize that you wanted something more?”

ekko closes his book, smiling to himself.

“honestly? it was kinda a million little things, but what it really comes down to is that she’s the only person i could spend every second of my life with, and i’d still want more time. and, in my experience….it’s better to tell someone how you feel sooner rather than later.”

“or, some people prefer to wait a few weeks,” powder mumbles, stirring awake. “nice try, mister, but no interfering. i’m not losing 20 bucks.”

“wait — you’ve bet on my love life?”

ekko smirks. “so it is love.”

vi shrugs, pretends that she doesn’t immediately picture you in your kitchen, making her banana pancakes at 2am when she hears the word love.

“it doesn’t matter.”

because, it really doesn’t matter.

you’re out with someone else right now.

it’s over before it really had a chance to begin.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

cupcake

Hey, Vi

Just wanted to say good game today

You played brilliantly

Violet

cupcake

No need for the attitude

I was just trying to be nice

Violet

my apologies!!!

thank you SO much for recognizing my talent captain kiramman

i feel like i’m actually worth something now!!!

cupcake

Bitterness isn’t a good colour on you, darling

Violet

im NOT your darling

cupcake

I’m aware

I saw you earlier with that girl

Are you together?

Violet

idk

are you still with maddie?

cupcake

Actually, we broke up

I was hoping you and I could chat

Violet

what’s in it for me?

cupcake

The chance to reconnect with an old friend

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

you can excuse vi no longer attending the weekly team meeting. she finished her 100 hours around thanksgiving, so technically she didn’t need to be there anymore.

maybe you could excuse her ignoring your calls, or leaving your texts on read. it’s finals season, and she did mention picking up a few extra shifts to save up for christmas presents.

but you simply can’t excuse vi walking into sappho’s with caitlyn fucking kiramman, ordering drinks from you like you’re absolute strangers.

“what the fuck, vi?” you seethe.

vi glances at her date. caitlyn’s waiting for her back at a table, the glow of her phone screen illuminating her pretty face.

“what, should i have ordered something else? not every girl likes cherry coke and rum.”

you glare at her from across the counter, but start preparing their drinks nonetheless.

“why are you with her?” you throw some ice in a glass, the cubes clinking aggressively against the crystal. “are you back together?”

vi has the audacity to roll her eyes at you. “why’d you care?”

you catch yourself before saying something you’ll regret, something about liking her more than you definitely should considering the agreement the two of you had made.

clearly, vi doesn’t feel the same way; it’s not worth spilling your guts to her at your place of work.

“because we’re friends.”

“yeah, right,” vi scoffs. “you’re jealous, which you have no right to be because you’re seeing someone, too.”

you accidentally pour a double shot of vodka. you don’t really care, and mix the drink anyways.

“what the fuck are you talking about?”

“i’m talking about the date you went on the night of my championship game.”

“what date?” you slam the glasses in front of vi, so hard that you’re lucky they didn’t break.

“oh, don’t play dumb.” vi spits your name like it’s poison. “this whole thing started because you said you didn’t want a relationship, when really you just didn’t want a relationship with me. you used me until someone better came along. you lied to me.”

her eyes are glazed over, her voice shaking ever so slightly. you’re not sure if you’re more hurt or angry by what she’s saying, but it cuts deep; you continue as though you aren’t bleeding out in front of her.

“i don’t want a relationship with anyone and certainly not with you —”

“excuse me! are we able to order something?” someone with bright green hair and a septum piercing waves their hand in front of your face.

“yeah, just give us a second —”

“look, you and your girlfriend can fight on your own time.”

“she’s not my girlfriend!” you and vi snap simultaneously.

you glare at each other.

vi grabs the glasses from the counter, and walks away.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

it took many brainstorming sessions, many boring conversations with potential donors, and many, many tears, but you managed to secure enough funding to keep the women’s centre going for the foreseeable future.

it was a team effort, of course, so you just want everyone to enjoy this open mic night, the last event of the semester — even though you are weighed down by the absence of a certain someone.

the gallery space on campus that you rented out is both cozy and electric, decorated with fairy lights on the walls, with pillows and blankets on the floor for people to sit and watch performances. there’s a table with drinks and snacks, a corner for people to make art if they’re inspired.

you’re rearranging the food, watching gert perform an original song when mel slides in next to you, wearing a gorgeous white dress with gold accents.

“do you mind running to the office? we’re out of paint.”

“really? people don’t usually use the paint.”

“well, it seems to be quite popular tonight.”

“it’s fine. we still have lots of other stuff. they can just collage or something.”

mel shakes her head. “i really think you should go get more paint.”

“maybe ask sky? i should stay here —”

“you could use a break, too,” mel cuts you off, placing a hand on your shoulder. “you’ve been nonstop all day; the rest of us can hold down the fort for a little while.”

you concede, mostly because she’s right and you don’t have the energy to argue.

when you get to the office, you’re surprised to find the lights on. even more surprised that someone’s already there, sitting on the zebra-striped couch.

“vi?”

she jumps slightly when you say her name.

“mel texted me,” she rushes out like she’s been caught red-handed. “said she needed help with something she’d been planning.”

you frown, until you realize why mel must have sent you here, specifically.

you haven’t seen vi since that night at sappho’s; you’d been quite a mess after your shift, ranting to mel on the phone about how she’d been right and you should have been more careful, how you don’t know what you did that ruined whatever you and vi had, and you really don’t know what you can do to fix it.

you’re both too stubborn to reach out to the other, so it seems like mel decided to take matters into her own hands.

“yeah, i doubt she’s coming,” you tell vi.

“okay,” vi says, but she doesn’t move. “i, uh, i was hoping i’d run into you, though.”

“yeah?” you raise an eyebrow at vi, crossing your arms. “needed another vodka martini for your piltover princess.”

“she’s not — we’re not together.”

“oh,” you exhale. the animosity you were holding towards her evaporates, but doesn’t completely disappear. you watch her, watching you stand by the doorway.

there are so many things you want to tell her, but you don’t even know where to start. you know that you’ve hurt her. she hurt you, too.

but, also:

you miss the cloudy blue-gray of her eyes, the scar on her upper lip.

you miss her.

“do you wanna come sit?”

after being so far away from vi, for what feels like forever, you don’t hesitate to take her up on the offer. your knees brush together as you settle next to her on the couch, a jolt of electricity passing through your body at the contact.

“so, i admit that —”

“vi, you were right —”

both of you stop your sentences short, chuckling nervously. you each urge the other to continue, and only get caught in a similar mess:

“i fucked up,” vi blurts out.

“i lied to you,” you confess at the same time.

an awkward, unfamiliar silence hangs above you; you’re not sure what to do next.

vi takes the leap. she tells you that mel explained everything: that you had to attend a dinner with alumni and potential donors on the same night of her championship game, but you kept it from vi since it was already a big moment for her; that you haven’t been on a real date with anyone else since september. vi apologizes for jumping to conclusions and falling back into caitlyn’s arms, shutting you out when she should have just talked to you.

you’re the girl who was her first kiss, she says. the girl who lingered in a vague memory, appeared in the fiction of her daydreams, and then suddenly became too real.

“i like you. i really fucking like you. and if it has to be as a friend, that’s fine because i don’t want to lose you.” vi takes a shattered breath, blinking back tears. she fiddles with the ring on her index finger, anxiously bouncing her knee. you place your hand there to steady her, and she exhales. “i guess i’m just not sure….when you said you liked me that night at the restaurant….is that what you lied about?”

vi’s practically doe-eyed, waiting for you to respond.

you shake your head.

“i lied when i said that i didn’t want a relationship with you,” you admit, and the hint of a smile dances across her lips. “i had this major crush on you, you know? every time you came into sappho’s….i couldn’t help it. and then you showed up here and we became friends, and then we started….well, you know the rest.”

“duh. i was there,” vi jokes, easing into her usual, playful self.

“i can’t do the whole casual thing,” you continue, rubbing circles into her knee with your thumb. “i know we made a promise, but i just can’t, not with you. it’s like…in every other relationship i’ve been in, i was trying to run out the clock. with you, though, with us, i feel like there’s never enough time —”

vi grabs your neck and crashes her mouth onto yours before you can finish your sentence.

you’ve kissed each other many times, in many different places, in many different ways, but never like this: like you’re both willing to break one promise if it means forging a new one.

“will you be my girlfriend, violet rose atlas?” you whisper as you pull away, lips brushing against hers.

you start to count the freckles on her cheeks as she beams at you, pulls you into her lap.

“i thought you’d never ask.”

3K notes · View notes

girl-lostconnection · 2 months ago

Text

Thinking about Alpha!John Price x Beta!Reader today.

John, who leans always a little too close, presses himself into you ever so slightly, murmurs “Johnathan for you, love” and noses at your neck, coaxing out the faint soft smell of yours. Perfect darling for him, blushing so deliciously, hissing when he allows himself too much. Keeping him in line.

John Price whose hands are somehow always on you, thick fingers hooking in the loops of your jeans and dragging your hips to his, broad chest of his pressing into your back when he whispers “got you, sweetheart”.

He kisses you behind the ear, always lingering just a little to savour the taste of yours that he manages to swallow being this close to your scent gland. Licking air and not yet your skin, because you keep pushing him away, keep glaring at him like he is a dumb beast too keen on the idea of eating a local bookshop owner instead of looking for royal offspring. As he should have.

Dumb beast who is not realising that he shouldn’t rub his scent into you, that lingering pinewood and cigars kill all your chances to get a proper date with someone.

John, who hums when you protest and gently bites your neck, just holding you between his teeth, your pulse pounding into his lips.

Why’d you need dates with some boys, love? Don’t you have him? Isn’t he the best there is to get?

John, who keeps coming back just to chat you up, always with excuse to touch you, worming his way into your life until you don’t even notice that his thumb has been stroking your wrist for the last 10 minutes of your conversation.

He comes back after every deployment and rubs himself on you, smiling when you hiss and wiggle out of his grip. Feisty first thing after so long apart. He knows, sweetheart, he missed you too.

John who comes back once and has to swallow back a low growl, sound starting in his chest, his teeth itching because you don’t smell like him and you don’t smell like you.

He circles you around before pressing himself into your back, bracketing you against the counter, his nose diving into the neck of yours, beast in his head snarling when he finds someone else’s hickey there.

Kept yourself busy, didn’t you, love?

He’s been gone for too long, his scent got too weak.

John admits, he should have come back sooner, should have pulled you under a long time ago.

But he liked your little game of push and pull, he enjoyed the tag so much that he forgot he isn’t the only one playing.

An oversight, not a good thing for a captain.

John who is still hazy with the blood from last deployment, urge to tear another throat out simmering right under the surface when he presses his hips to your ass, slotting against you like perfect puzzle.

If he knew you’d get impatient, he would have taken proper care of you, sweetheart.

But he won’t make the same mistake again.

John Price, who takes leave of absence so he can stop taking suppressants for the first time in years.

Rut of his pounding in the back of his head, spreading through him like an infection, dripping under his skin like poisonous honey.

Sticky sweet, molten with yearning, hungry for blood.

Hungry for you.

John Price who clicks his tongue at you to stay behind your counter, as he locks the doors behind him and lowers himself down. On his knees, nudging your stance to widen.

So he can pull your jeans down, tongue sliding between your thighs, big hands holding you open for him.

No need to thrash, love. He isn’t letting go now. He isn’t backing away either, not anymore.

His rut makes you hazy, his rut clouds your head and makes you slip, bracing your forearms on the wooden counter, his ‘good job, sweetheart’ dripping slick between your thighs.

John eats you out until his knees ache, until your hips roll into his mouth, until the sweet faint scent of yours blends in with his.

Your whole bloody shop is going to smell like you have a man, love. Like you have John.

There is a low dangerous rumble in his chest when you try to pull away, to stop him from eating you out into overstimulation. Because where do you think you are going, sweetheart? You need to be nice and slick to take all of him.

You need to be soft and pliant for John to feed the thick length of his cock to your greedy hole.

“Goin’ to fuck attitude out of ya, lovie.”, John breathes out, biting your ass until you whimper trying to get him off and until the indent of his teeth is a red mark on you. First out of many. “Any bloke in this bloody country would be able to tell you are taken. Anyone who takes a step inside will know I was here.”, he growls, grinding on the plush of your buttock.

Not going anywhere now, love. Never again.

John Price who clicks his tongue when you whimper about condoms, because that’s just silly, sweetheart, you won’t need any of it with him. How are you supposed to feel his knot if you won’t let it in?

That just won’t do.

John Price who bounces you in his lap, thick calloused fingers holding onto the meat of your hips, slamming you down and pulling you up, until the knot of his pops inside of your hole, plugging you in, binding you to him for the next half an hour.

John Price who holds you in full Nelson, arms under your knees, teeth grazing your ear when he bounces you on his knot, pulling just enough so you’d feel the stretch, so you’d start whimpering for him, so you’d scent become sweeter for him.

Naughty fucking thing, you like him being mean to you?

John who lets the rut take reigns, so he can press you into the counter, biting all over your shoulders, snarling “mine, always mine, only mine” when you can’t help but arch. Whether to pull away or to press into him, he’s not sure.

John who licks the scent gland of yours, teeth itching to sink in, dumb beast in his head pulling him to rut into you. And Lord, you are slick and warm and perfect, squeezing him like you never want to let go, milking him for all he’s worth.

Perfect mate.

He humps into you like a feral dog, heavy thick hips of his pressing into yours, not letting you close your legs. Not when he’s folding you into the mating press and sinking his teeth in the crook of your neck, popping the untouched and unmated gland there. Binding you together, blending himself into you, drinking you in so your sweetness is always in his scent from now on.

Won’t be anyone else, love. Not for him. Nor for you.

John Price who presses your face into his neck, rasps out “bite, sweetheart”, his knot popping back inside of your hole — your legs twitching above his shoulders. Sweet thing, he’s too much for you without much of a preparation. But it’s okay, he will be better next time.

He will take you somewhere soft and warm, he will feed you meat and fruit, letting you lick juices off his fingers, he will suck on your tender sensitive parts until you are crying.

You just gotta bite, lovie, just sink your teeth in his gland, will ya?

John Price who licks his lips when you nuzzle in the crook of his neck, your teeth grazing his gland, your jaw trembling. Rode you ragged, didn’t he, love?

It’s okay, John will help, just open wide, aye?

John murmurs, voice half a growl when he presses your head into his neck, when he closes your jaws down on his gland, shiver running down his spine, everything clicking in place.

This is right. This is how it’s supposed to be.

John who kisses your face pulling you out the crook of his neck — your eyes gone, pupils blown wide and jaw slack when he ruts into you again.

Just one more orgasm, sweetheart, just one more. He knows you can do it, you can be good for him.

You can give him his reward for being so patient, you can thank him for not tracking down your now irrelevant suitor and not presenting you bloke’s fingers as a courting gift.

You can thank him proper and you will, won’t ya, lovie?

Come on, one more time, he rasps in your ear, fingers prying your mouth open and stuffing it until you are drooling messily all over him. Pretty thing, see how easy it is? Just had to come to your Johnathan and he would have taken care of this greedy hole.

He would have made it better. And from now on he always will.

Till death do us part, sweetheart. If he has to say anything about it.

#my stars is it anything?are we vibing? cause I do very much so #cod mw2 #call of duty #girl.snippets #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #captain john price #omegaverse au #omegaverse #beta!reader

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covetyou · 6 months ago

Text

solstice

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: smut (PiV), competency kink, grumpy/sunshine, he falls first, yearning, angst, almost enemies to lovers, Tommy being a little shit, no use of y/n, Jackson!Joel word count: 4k summary: Three little words. Joel heard those same three words damn near every day for the last seven months. Most days, they were the only words you said to him. Sometimes, if he was lucky, you'd say them more than once. Other days, you didn't say anything to him at all. He liked those days least of all.

A/N: happy holidays @trulybetty! thank you for being so lovely about this being a little late. I was only going to go for one or two of your prompts for the @pedrostories secret santa, but then my brain went why not all of them, and now here we are.

divider by @saradika-graphics

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Three little words.

"I got it."

Joel heard those same three words damn near every day for the last seven months. Most days, they were the only words you said to him. Sometimes, if he was lucky, you'd say them more than once. Other days, you didn't say anything to him at all. He liked those days the least.

You said other things too, of course. He heard you speak to other people. Not always nicely, but he heard you. You said more to him on occasion too. Out my way or put it down were some particular favorites, but none said more so than those three, tiny, little words.

I got it.

Because you did. He had never met a woman who had got it more than you. Strong, capable, and everything he ever tried to be. He watched every day how you'd got it. Climbing up ladders with tiles stacked on your shoulder, hauling wheelbarrows full of gravel, chopping wood in bitter wind and cold. You had it, and he watched, wanting it too.

The only problem was, he wasn't too sure what it was.

To begin with, it was the respect you commanded that he yearned for. He had that, once. Not here. Fuck, never here. The people here would barely look at him for the first few weeks. But you? They listened to you. If you said move they listened, even if it was with a roll of their eyes. If you told someone to fuck off to medical, they went without a grumble. They trusted you. Even if you weren't particularly generous with your smiles.

You were the exact opposite of what Joel was finding he had to be.

In Boston, people feared him, and that kept him, and Tess, safe. It was for the best. The people here feared him too, at first. Maybe even still now, if he was to be honest with himself, but he'd worked hard to change that. He met the mumbled good mornings with as much of a smile as he could muster. He went for drinks with his brother, made small talk with the locals even when he didn't want to. He tried to get into Maria's good graces, but never quite succeeded.

And he worked. With you mostly. Jackson didn't have much use for hired muscle or someone who could smuggle shit discreetly - not outside of the daily patrol shifts they wouldn't let him on yet, anyway - but they did have use for contractors. Plumbers, electricians, carpenters, anyone who was good at doing shit with their hands. Those were things that had value behind these walls and, luckily for him, that meant he had value too. For the first time in a long time, he meant something to people.

Just not to you.

As much as he smiled, and made small talk, and helped out fixing shit in this place that was now his home, he could never get through to you. He'd try to help you out, only to be knocked aside - sometimes literally. You barely looked at him. Spoke only when necessary. Once, you'd even told him to fuck off.

He did.

At first he took it all personally. He moped, and kept his sour mood hidden from his brother and Ellie. Then, he saw how you were with, well, just about everyone else, and that lessened the sting.

But, as time wore on, Joel saw other things too. Where at first you'd seemed rude and abrasive, he now saw the kindness and compassion you treated everyone with. If you told someone to go the fuck home, it wasn't because you wanted them gone it was because you wanted them rested. If you let people struggle, strike their thumbs with a badly aimed hit of a hammer, it was to help them learn. You never did let anyone make the same mistake twice. And, because of you, no one did.

It was with the waning of spring that his desire to be you changed into something different and entirely more confusing.

As the gardens and trees exploded in the frenzy of summer, you shed your layers. Literally, not figuratively. You still stayed firmly closed up as your jacket disappeared and made way for a shirt hung loosely about your shoulders. Then, even that found its way around your waist and Joel had to come face to face with the bare, strong expanse of your back while you worked in nothing but a tank top, the patch of sweat at the small of your back blooming while he watched.

It was for the best that he didn't think about what you looked like walking towards him during those relentlessly hot months, with nothing but a thin tank top pulled across your chest. It wasn't something he should think about in public, anyway. It was something he kept for late at night, when those three little words echoed around his head and you showed him just how much you really, truly got it.

By October, Tommy had caught on. Your jacket was fastened back around you, and you were as hostile as ever. You breezed past him one morning, hooking a ladder over one shoulder, toolbag gripped in your other hand.

"I got it."

By now, Joel knew you did.

By now, he wanted to come with you anyway.

So he did, grabbing his own set of salvaged tools and heading up to the latest reno with you, only to have you square up to him the second you saw him.

"I said, I got it."

Five words. It was a good day.

So good, that he couldn't keep his eyes off you in the Tipsy Bison that night. You weren't in here often - from what he could tell, you didn't do much outside of work - but the people who shared your company seemed to enjoy it. You sat soft and quiet in the corner, listening in to their conversation more often than you contributed. But, when you did, they laughed, and Joel caught himself smiling, and Tommy caught him too.

"Never thought you'd be more of a ray of fuckin' sunshine than anyone else, but there's a first for everythin', I guess," he'd said, tilting his glass to the table in the corner where you sat.

Joel took a swig of the last fresh cider of the season and shrugged.

"You got an eye for her."

He sputtered, choking on the tart, sweet liquid. "No I ain't."

"Well you got somethin'," said Tommy, clinking his glass against Joel's own. "If it ain't an eye it's your-"

A harsh kick, and a grunt loud enough to turn every head in the bar later, and Tommy dropped it entirely.

For about a week.

Tommy ribbed him at dinner, drinks, lunch and just about every time in between. Called Joel 'Sunshine' even as he scowled. Asked about his girl as if you were anything other than a person who hated him. Slung his arm around Joel's shoulder and told him all about the birds and the bees, as if he'd ever forgotten.

He couldn't forget. Not with you running around barking at him and keeping him in a seemingly permanent state of arousal. If it wasn't your voice and that angry way you talked at him, it was just about anything else. He couldn't escape it.

It was how you did everything he could do, and more. What he had in strength, you had in technique. Your hands - fuck, did he watch your hands - were rarely unblemished with dirt or scrapes, but they were adept at everything you put them to. He couldn't look away, even if he knew each minute he looked was a minute quicker he'd be when he touched himself to the thought of you later that night.

The taunts stopped with the first snowfall.

"If you're really that interested, should talk to her," Tommy said instead. "Bark's worse than her bite."

"You're still sayin' she bites, though."

"Sure she would if you asked nice enough, brother."

Joel didn't ask.

He didn't ask the morning he woke up early to see the town blanketed in thick snow either. He simply went out, picked up a snow shovel and began working until the sun came up. He didn't expect to find you at his door that evening, or for you to grab him and throw him outside, pushing him up against the side of his own house.

"What do you think you're playing at, Miller?" you growled up at him, pushing him firmly against the siding.

Joel stared, dumb-founded, your hands curled in the front of his shirt - touching him - and blinked down at you.

"I don't give a shit who you are or what you've done out there. I am not scared of you and I am not having you take my job."

You ignored him more after that. Days went by with barely a word to him - not even a scowl thrown his way if he made too much noise or offered to help someone out on a job.

As for him, he couldn't stop thinking about it. Every day for weeks that night played through his head, memory of the feel of your hands on his chest and your face so close he could feel your breath, until Christmas was on the horizon and a pit of fear began stirring in his stomach. You were a balm to it, somehow. Something to focus on when the fear got too much and kept him inside, away from the crowds of happy people.

Every single I got it was more of a comfort than the last. It could have been the familiarity of it, or the way those words came softer and softer as the season wore on. Sometimes he'd head by the workshop to ask if you needed a hand, just to hear that soft rejection one more time.

Until late one cold afternoon, it didn't come. You were alone, blowing warm air onto gloved hands, and when he asked you simply nodded, and he followed.

You worked together in silence until the sun set, when you turned to him as you parted ways.

"S'hard this time of year, but joy and grief can exist at the same time, y'know."

He didn't go to the Bison that night. Or the next. He let the grief crack open his chest instead, and let it pour out over his bedroom floor for two whole days.

On the third, he let the joy back in. Ellie reeled off new jokes from a book she found in the Jackson library. He held his nephew and rocked the teething babe to sleep. He went back to the Bison - you weren't there - and celebrated the impending holiday.

Seven months, three days, and about as many hourssince he stepped foot back in Jackson. Damn near every day he's heard those three little words, and he'll be damned if he goes another without them.

With the day as short as it could ever be, the sun tracking low in the sky, he finds you.

"I got it," you say softly, when he asks you that very same question he always does.

"I know."

He doesn't know how your lips end up on his - because it is you who kisses him. He doesn't know how his fingers find themselves under your shirt either, the coldness of them making you gasp into his mouth until you're pulling apart, both wide eyed.

He does know you taste like fruit, even in the dead of winter. He always suspected it - knew your sweet tooth by the berries you couldn't resist and the sweet treats gifted to you. He knows your fingers are as cold as his when you hand him a shovel.

He does know, even though you got it, you let him help anyway.

You clear streets and roofs of snow together until the sun goes down. He follows at your heel in the dark, cold biting through your layers as you both stomp the snow off your boots, shovels thrown down, workshop locked up. You barely even look at each other until you're staring through the fog of your own heavy breaths on Joel's front porch. He doesn't know how to welcome you in - he never was too good with words - so he simply unlocks the door and pushes it open.

You step inside.

Layers are shed before the door even closes. Heavy coats dumped on the couch, boots toed off and left this way and that. The hat on your head stuffed in a pocket - he can't remember which.

You move upstairs - worked on this house, you say - and pull him into his own bedroom before his lips even touch yours again. But when they do, they do. Joel's frantic with it, feeling the softness of you so close to the hardness of him. His hands hold your waist, rooting you to him, but then you're moving them up and under your shirt to the flair of your ribcage. The curve of your breasts fit perfectly against the cradle of his thumb and forefinger, and he thinks of everything his hands have done, this is what they were made for.

It must be. When you whine at the feel of this thumb stroking across your pebbled nipple, he thinks for the first time in a long time that maybe his hands aren't so monstrous if they can pull such pretty noises from you.

In fact, the things they've done don't seem to matter at all when he gets to touch you, to pull sounds from you so sweet he'll be tasting you on his tongue all over again just from the memory of them. For all the harm these hands have done, they could never hurt you. You would never let them. You'd tear him apart first.

And he'd let you.

You swallow his groan when you palm his length over his jeans. He stiffens beneath your touch, warm and firm, and grinds into your hand. It's been so long since he's felt the touch of anyone other than himself. He could come just grinding himself against the firm press of your hand against him, if he thought about it too hard.

So he doesn't. He focuses instead on the soft plink plink plink as you run a nail up his ice cold zipper, the way you bite his lip, tangle your fingers in his hair.

He tries to take off his own belt, cold fingers fumbling against even colder metal, but you mumble I got it into his mouth, and his knees quiver.

You do. You always do.

His belt is pulled off and you're tugging him by the loops of his pants and pushing him against his own bed, the sheets still rumpled from the morning. You slip off your own and toss it to the side too, tangling it with his on his bedroom floor. Then, you're so very close to him again, his thigh between your legs as you nip and suckle on his bottom lip. He holds you close - one hand finding its way under your shirt again, cupping your breast fully this time, and the other pulling you firmly against his strong thigh.

You warm his thigh with the burning heat between your legs, grinding yourself against him, the seam of your jeans pulling tight against you. Moans you were pulling from him a moment ago are silenced by your own, your nails digging crescents into his arm as you burrow your face into his neck in an attempt to stifle them.

You're better than he ever dreamed. Softer. Warmer. Stronger. The sounds you make so much prettier than he ever thought. Those three little words so much sweeter within these walls than any other.

Even when you strip off layer after layer, it's better than he dreamed. Summer was barely a taste of you, he realises, when your shirt, your tank, your soft bra, all tumble to the floor and you climb onto the bed behind him.

You kick your jeans off, and he pulls his down too. He can't get his shirt off quick enough, the scars on his body forgotten as he strips bare for you as you watch, lust barely turning to curiousity as you take in the sight of his body.

"Come here," you tell him, and he obeys. You're softer with him when he lies beside you then. Grasping hands turn to gentle strokes, his own hands on your bare flesh mimicking your gentle movements across his skin.

When your hand trails down to his cock, squeezing once again when you feel him throb in your palm, he has to pinch his eyes closed and pretend he's anywhere but here.

"Been a long time," he says through gritted teeth. "Long, long time."

Me too, he thinks he hears you whisper before your lips latch to his again and his soft, worn boxers are slipped down his legs, kicked to the side, forgotten.

You don't look at him, and for that he's grateful. He's less grateful when you start to play with your own nipples and toy with the edge of your panties. He presses a kiss to your shoulder instead, hiding his face against you and breathing you in.

When he opens his eyes again, your panties are off, thighs spread, one hooked lazily over his own, the other stretched out on his sheets.

"Don't have to," you mumble, when he looks down at you, stunned look obvious on his face.

"I want to."

He touches you and you let him. His hands run all over your body, rough, calloused palms dragging across your soft belly, your hips, your thighs. He's dreamed of this, and still it's better than his wildest fantasies.

When your hand wraps around his bare cock, pumping his length once, twice, he thinks that's better than any fantasy too. You practically drag him by the cock, tugging gently to pull him towards you until he's kneeling between your thighs. You lazily stroke him, swiping precum across his tip and making him jerk in your grip. His own hands play with your thighs, massaging and squeezing them, drawing his fingers closer and closer to your apex.

Seven months, three days, and twenty-something hours since he stepped back into Jackson, he slips into you for the first time.

And, fuck, is it divine.

You're slick, and wet, his cock gliding across your skin before he pushes into you, and you both gasp.

He's slow. He trembles. His fingers make dents in your thighs as he grips them. You shuffle your hips, make yourself comfortable, and he holds steady while you adjust to the intrusion. Then, you pull him in, grabbing him by the neck to steal a kiss while he makes space for himself deep inside you, rocking each tentative inch into you until he's rooted inside.

You adjust - let the tenseness in your core release - and he barely holds on. And, just when he thinks he's got a hold of himself and begins fucking you in slow, languid movements, your hand moves and you say those three little words.

"I got it."

For the first ever time, he stops you. His hand pins yours to your hip, his movements stilling as you frown up at him, a threat on the tip of your tongue. So, he begs.

"Let me. Please."

And you do. He slowly swipes a spit slicked thumb against your clit, and watches as you melt into his sheets. By the look of you, the pure relief on your face, he thinks this could be the first time you've ever truly let go, and his ego soars.

It soars again when your legs tremble, rocking his thick cock in you as his thumb works slowly over your clit. You moan his name, and he groans too. He can't keep it back. It's the first time he's ever heard you say it, and he doesn't think it could sound better. Your eyes find his when you say his name again, testing him, only to pull another groan deep from his chest.

A small nod is all you give him as a sign you want more. His thumb moves quicker, popped into his mouth to taste you just for a moment before it swipes around your cunt where you grip him, and back up to your clit.

You come on him, face turned into his sheets, brow furrowed, mouth open as you moan and shake, trembling and pulsating on his cock as you come.

For you, he keeps going. Let's you ride out the waves, fluttering against him, as he barely holds back from the brink himself.

If this is all he gets - if you push him off and walk away now - it would be a good day, he thinks. But you don't. He doesn't even get chance to ask if you want him gone when you're pulling him down, kissing him, rocking your hips against him and murmuring against his throat for him to fuck you.

So, he does.

It feels sloppy, and awkward, his hips not quite knowing how to move any more as he snaps them against yours.

"Don't stop," you whisper to him with a scrape of your teeth against his shoulder. "Don't stop."

He's never been able to disobey you, he realizes. He's never had reason let alone want to. Even now, he does as he's told, keeps fucking forward into you, mattress squeaking and bed rocking as he finally, finally, finds his rhythm.

It's easy then. You spur him on, grip him tight, wrap your legs around his waist. He grunts, growls, can barely stop himself from panting, looking down at you and how you stare back at him and he thinks fuck, this is what it's like to be trusted by you.

With a sudden gasp, he pulls out, slipping from your wet heat to rut against your sopping cunt until he's spurting ropes of come against your mound and belly.

He apologizes, tries to admonish himself for being so quick. You tell him to shut up, hitting his shoulder. He does.

You both sigh in the afterglow. Even in the before, he never had times like this, he doesn't think. It was always frantic, too quick, too drunk, too fumbling. In the after, he could never quite relax enough to enjoy it fully. In the now, it's just about the best he's ever had.

You're still covered in him. Your fingers play idly in it on your belly, and he glows. He'd trace patterns with it over your skin, if only you'd let him. But then, you're up and gone, and he fears you're gone for good until you waltz back in and throw yourself next to him, mess cleaned from your skin as you stretch and yawn beside him.

"I aint tryin' to take your job, y'know," Joel tells you some time later, when the afterglow wanes and sleep pulls at him.

"Right."

He looks to you, the roll of your eyes and tug of a disbelieving smile on your lips visible in the glow of the bedside lamp.

"I promise. I'm just tryin' to... be some place."

You're still. And silent. He thinks he's fucked up for all of one second, until you're smiling sadly up at the ceiling.

"I get that," you say softly. "This is a nice place to be, all things considered."

And, though he thinks he knows what you mean, Yes, he thinks, this is a nice place to be.

This is a good day.

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cherryite · 1 month ago

Text

barkeep

summary. as a bartender at one of the sketchiest bars in gotham and a med student, you and red hood aka jason todd have a symbiotic relationship. you give him free drinks and patch him up and he makes sure you don't get murdered walking home. at least, thats all you two say it is. (word count. 3.8k)

content. jason todd x reader, gn!reader, bartender!reader, yearning, friends?? (kinda but not really) to lovers, pining, idiots in LOVE ???

warnings. blood and injuries, mentions of alcohol, not proof read oopsie

author's note. why this took me 5 million years to write i don't know, but i'm excited to write more for jason because thats my shawty fr

Working at the sketchiest bar on Park Row, more locally referred to as Crime Alley, hadn’t exactly been your dream gig. But as a med student with a brutal class schedule and rent breathing down your neck like a wild animal, options were slim. And unfortunately, this place paid — mostly in cash, always on time. As much as you wanted out of this part of town, it always had a way of pulling you back in, like an addiction you couldn’t quit.

The bar’s nearly closed now. The lights are dimmed low, casting long, flickering shadows against the walls, and the red glow of the liquor store sign across the street bleeds through the grimy front window like blood out of a wound. All customers and staff besides you have left, leaving the bar quiet — almost eerily so. You’re hunched over the register, thumbing through crumpled bills, when you hear it: the soft click of the front door, followed by the heavy thud of boots against the old floorboards.

You don’t even have to look. You know who it is. Your eyes flick sideways, catching a glimpse of him in your peripheral as you finish counting the ones.

“Trying to sneak up on me, Hood?” you call out, voice dry as you click the register shut and turn around, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

He’s already slumped at the bar, a heavy silhouette of exhaustion wrapped in blood splattered leather. His cargo pants are scuffed and torn in places, the usual overkill of weapons strapped haphazardly across his frame. Classic Red Hood. Classic Jason. The low, rasping chuckle that rolls out of him is muffled beneath the red helmet, but it still manages to sound amused. His head tilts back, the movement slow and deliberate, his neck craning as he looks at you. Even with the helmet on, you can feel the weight of his gaze, sharp and unwavering.

“Key word tryin’,” he says, voice thick with static from the modulator.

You scoff, rolling your eyes, and duck behind the bar. You retrieve the emergency med kit you started keeping there after the second time he stumbled in bleeding all over the bar floor. Sometimes you can’t stop thinking about how lucky he is — to have stumbled into an empty bar, conveniently being manned by a tired bartender who just so happens to be a medical student.

“Rough night?” you ask, circling around the bar and sliding into the seat beside him as you snap the kit open. Without a word, he shrugs off the jacket, grumbling under his breath as if his bones ache from the inside out.

“When isn’t it a rough night in Crime Alley?” he mutters, a tired edge making its way into the corners of his voice.

You wonder—do all of Gotham’s finest have it this bad? But you already know the answer. Crime Alley is his turf, and it chews him up more often than not. You’ve — unfortunately — lived in the Alley your whole life. Not that many places in Gotham are good places to grow up, but the Alley specifically was awful. You can remember nights when you wouldn’t sleep, the sounds of gunshots ringing in your ears, sirens haunting your dreams like lullabies from hell.

He lifts the helmet off and sets it gently on the bar’s freshly wiped surface. You almost scold him for dirtying the bar again but you don’t, you just glance at him. You still remember the first time you saw his face, just a few months ago. He’d come in the same way, trailing blood, a bullet having kissed too close to his jugular. Could have killed him if it had been just an inch closer. You’d needed to remove the helmet to keep him alive, keep him breathing. He’d let you see him. Really see him for the first time.

After profusely apologizing and praying you wouldn’t ever say anything, he assured you — probably delirious from blood loss— that it was fine. He even tried to make a joke about knowing where you worked and lived if you talked.. You swear you nearly fainted and he had to quickly reassure you that he was joking.

Now, as you glance over, you catch the dark curls damp with sweat, the lone white streak stark against the rest, curling messily against his forehead. He’s handsome, annoyingly so in your opinion, with broad shoulders, a boyish face, and a sharp jaw. There's a crook in his nose, from having it broken one too many times and a thin scar on his left cheek, faded and pale from age. You turn back to the kit before you stare too long, but not before you catch the way his eyes linger on you. They’re blue with tinges of a stormy grey-green, and startling in their clarity. But you don’t have time to be distracted.

“What hurts?” you murmur, fingers sifting through gauze and bandage wraps, already prepping for the worst. He exhales slowly, the sound almost like a sigh, but heavier. You can feel the tension radiating off him in waves, like his muscles haven’t stopped bracing for a fight, even now that he’s sitting here with you.

“Side,” he mutters, gesturing vaguely to his ribs. “Took a hit. Might’ve cracked somethin’.”

You wince sympathetically, tugging your stool closer. “And yet you came here instead of a hospital.”

He huffs another half laugh, dry and rasping. “Hospitals ask questions. You don’t. It’s good practice for med school anyway.”

The silent ‘I’m also legally dead’ hangs in the air between you, so you don't argue. You just reach for the dark fabric of his undershirt, peeling it back to reveal the bruising underneath. It’s already a deep, angry color, shades of violet and black blooming across his side like a storm cloud under his swelling skin. Blood has started crusting over a shallow gash in his side just under it.

Your hands hover a moment over the worst of it, instinctively gentle, and his breath catches just slightly when you touch him. You press gently, only to assess the damage, he groans when you press near a middle rib. The sound causes you to draw your hands back instinctively.

“Definitely bruised,” you murmur. “Maybe fractured at worst. I can’t feel any cracks and you’re not breathing as bad as someone with broken ribs would be. You got lucky.”

“‘M always lucky,” he says, voice dipped in sarcasm.

You glance up at him, raising an eyebrow. “You? Lucky?”

His lips twitch, and just for a second, “Always.”

You think about how he can’t be that lucky, especially since he’s previously died. You try to not to bring that up, honestly it was an accident you even found out, like most things you learn about him. He had been bleeding profusely from a stab wound in his abdomen, and when you’d lifted his shirt, you saw it. A very real autopsy scar on a very not dead man.

Maybe it’s the bartender in you that gets people to open up, to spill their secrets. Maybe it was also the high amount of pain meds coursing through his veins. He explained, very vaguely. You didn’t press more after he told you, didn’t ask how it was possible. Yust patched him up, like it was the most normal thing in the world. He doesn’t like talking about it, so you don’t.

You shake your head, grabbing a portable cold pack, cracking it to activate the cooling agent and pressing it against the worst of the swelling. He flinches, not much, but enough to betray how much pain he’s hiding..

“We should wrap this,” you say, nodding toward the gauze. “And you need rest. Like, actual rest. Sleep. More than three hours on a cardboard box somewhere.”

“You offering a bed?” he teases lightly, and the way he says it, soft, laced with something fragile beneath his typical aloofness, makes your stomach flip.

You look at him fully, something warm curling in your chest as you finally push the words past the knot in your throat. “I’m offering my couch. Don’t push it.”

He chuckles again, and this time it sounds just a little more real. You wrap the gauze carefully around his ribs, your fingers brushing skin, and despite yourself, you notice the way his breathing hitches every time you get too close. When you’re done, you seal the kit shut and lean back a bit, observing your handiwork.

“You’ll live.” You meet his gaze again, meeting his eyes as they stare down at you, just letting your words soak in. Just him. Just you. Just the quiet thrum of a city that never sleeps, and the two of you stealing a moment of peace in the shittiest part of it.

“Someone’s gotta look out for you,” you say softly, breaking the silence. “I’m serious. You can sleep on my couch tonight. Rib injuries make it hard to sleep, so you should really be resting somewhere safe. And semi-comfortable.”

He opens his mouth like he's about to argue, but ultimately he decides not to fight you on it.

You make sure the kit is fully secure, placing it back behind the bar in its hiding spot. You can feel his eyes tracking you as you move about the bar, going through the motions of closing. He doesn’t ask for a drink tonight. Usually you offer him your shift beer — the one drink you get free per shift — half out of gratitude for walking you home, half because the alcohol helps take the edge off whatever he endured that night.

Trying to ignore the shiver that runs down your spine, you wipe down the final surfaces, flip off the neon sign that flashes in the window, and lock up the register. You try not to let your mind wander, try not to peek at the tired man still slumped at the bar as he gingerly attempts to pull his leather jacket back on with a grimace. You hover a bit, watching him to make sure he doesn’t need any help, even if he would never ask for it. He struggles a bit as he slides off the barstool, and he doesn’t stop you when you quietly nudge your shoulder under his arm, easing his weight across you to steady him. Once he’s steady, you slip away from him as you both make your way out of the bar. You lock it behind you, hitching your your bag over your shoulder

“Come on,” you say, your voice has a gentler tone to it now. He doesn’t argue, he just gives a nod quietly and falls into step beside you as you walk. This in itself isn’t new. He always walks you home after stopping at the bar. It’s part of the unspoken arrangement between the two of you: you fix him up and sometimes give him a beer, he makes sure you get home in one piece.

The streets are half asleep, half alive at this hour of the night. The buzz of faulty streetlights and the distant buzz of sirens are the only noise that fills the air, aside from your footsteps. The night air is cold and it bites at the skin of your face as your breath fogs around your lips. Jason’s walking a little slower than usual beside you, his stride careful but still steady, probably favoring his side so as to not agitate his ribs further. His broad shoulder brushes yours now and then as you walk beside each other, close enough that you can feel the rough leather of his jacket where it touches your sleeve.

“Thanks again,” he murmurs as he breaks the silence, eyes on the ground. “For patching me up.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” you reply, the corner of your mouth tugging up a bit. “It’s the least I can do.”

“But I do have to —,” he stumbles a bit over his words, his voice partially strained. “Thank you. I mean.”

There’s a beat of silence. He glances over at you, his bright eyes catch the light of the street lights overhead. “And for offering the couch. Thank you— again,” he adds. It’s quieter this time, and you can feel the uncomfortable thump in your chest when you realize he sounds vulnerable.

You look at him, and something in your chest aches a little. He isn’t one for showing his emotions, at least not around you. On occasion you catch him, flushing embarrassedly after he says something a bit awkward, but he manages to mask it well around you at least.

“It’s not a big deal,” you say. “Figured I should keep you overnight for supervision.”

He huffs a tired laugh, but there’s something in his eyes when he looks at you as it lingers—it looks soft. You wonder if anyone’s ever looked out for him like this before. You wonder if he’d even let them. You wonder why he’s letting you.

By the time you reach your building, he’s drifted a little closer. Not quite touching, but the space between you feels smaller somehow, like he’s a shadow attached to your back. He follows you up the steps, like he always does when he drops you off. You can feel his eyes in the back of your head and he just watches your back like he always does. But tonight’s different, because he always leaves you at the door, by the time you’re safely inside he vanishes like he was never even there.

But tonight he won’t vanish, at least not right away.

You slide your key into the keyhole, trying to ignore his presence behind you. You unlock the front door to your apartment, shoving it open with the usual force because the door catches weirdly sometimes. You leave a mental note to yourself to text your landlord about it (again). The apartment is quiet as you lead him in, moonlight shines through the window in your kitchen, illuminating the small space.

Your apartment is modest but yours and you’ve found ways to make it comfortable with your limited funds. A plush beige couch takes up most of the space in the living room, a large dark wood bookshelf that overflows onto the floor finds its home on the wall, and a coffee table that’s covered in medical textbooks. Various plants adorn the space, pots and planters scattered over nearly every surface that they would allow. Kicking off your shoes, you hang your jacket on a hook on the wall, turning to look behind you. Jason stands in the doorway, his gaze fixated on the deadbolt of your front door.

“You should get this fixed,” he comments, opening and closing your door a few times to test the lock, twisting it a few times to investigate. “It’s not safe.” His eyebrows are pinched together, eyes fixated on the latch before he breaches the threshold of your apartment, closing the door behind him.

“I’ve texted my landlord about it like, three times,” you say with a sigh, dropping your keys into a ceramic dish by the door. “Scumlord’s ghosting me.”

Jason doesn’t say anything for a moment, dropping his helmet on the floor with a soft thud, his frown deepening. He shifts on his feet, like he’s weighing if he should say something. You think he mumbles something under his breath as you search for an extra blanket for him, but you opt to ignore it.

Jason almost immediately collapses on your couch once his boots are off, groaning a bit as he makes contact with the plush cushions. The sound is caught somewhere between exhaustion and relief. You have to suppress the small smile that curls at your lips as he sighs, shifting until he finds a comfortable spot.

You hand him a blanket, before padding over to the small armchair across from him. you curl into the cushions, tucking your knees against your chest. Your fingers play idly with the hem of your sleeve as you observe him quietly. He tilts his head toward you, a few strands of his dark hair fall over his forehead. When he sees you’re already looking at him, his gaze falters. He quickly drops his eyes to the coffee table, like being caught under your attention makes him nervous. Something on the table catches his eye as he reaches out to pick up a book that rests there.

“You read these?” He says, inspecting your worn copy of The Hunger Games.

“Yeah,” you say, your voice soft as the day starts to catch up to you. “I’ve read all of them. Started rereading them a few weeks ago.”

Jason thumbs through the worn pages with a surprising gentleness. You can’t help the way your eyes drag to his knuckles, bruised and scabbed over as he brushes through the first few pages, inspecting it.

“I’ve been meaning to read them,” he murmurs, absentmindedly flipping through pages. “Just— haven't had time.”

You nod, stretching your arms up over your head as a yawn escapes you. The motion pulls your shirt slightly at the hem, the fabric soft from too many washes as it exposed your midriff. Jason’s eyes flit to the movement—quick and fleeting—but when he meets your gaze again, he averts his eyes back to the pages in front of him.

“You can borrow mine if you want,” you offer, blinking sleep from your eyes.

His face expression changes a bit, vague disbelief tugs at his brows. “You sure?” he asks, his voice is tentative as his eyes flicker up to meet yours.

You brush some of your hair out of your eyes sleepily and nod, your gaze steadily trained on him. “Of course. I have all of the trilogy. It’s no problem, really,” you insist.

Jason’s eyes once again travel down to the book in his hands. His thumb runs down the crease of the spine, his expression muddled.

“Thanks,” he mutters, though you barely hear it. You hum lightly in response to his thanks. The silence you two sit in isn’t uncomfortable, just peaceful and calm. The city hums faintly outside of your window, muffled now and more distant, like it knows better than to intrude on the moment.

A yawn draws itself from your throat again, and this time you don’t fight it as you shudder a bit. The warmth of the room has made your limbs heavy, and the comfortable silence only deepens the tired pull of your eyelids.

Jason notices the noise, his eyes immediately finding your form. “You— You should sleep,” he says, gently, and the tone of his voice makes your skin tingle.

“So should you,” you murmur in response, already uncurling from the chair.

He doesn’t argue with you, but there’s a hint of hesitation in his eyes as you move to the short hallway that leads to your bedroom. You find yourself hesitating in the doorway of your room, your fingers brushing against the frame as you glance back at him over your shoulder. He’s watching you again, not bothering to hide it this time and it makes your stomach flip. He hasn’t moved yet—still perched on the edge of the couch, the book clasped loosely in one hand. The soft lamplight brushes over his features, highlighting the purpling bruise on his cheekbone.

“You can take my bed if you want,” you say quietly without really thinking of the implications, your fingers twitch from where they grasp the doorframe. "I feel bad making you stay on the couch."

Jason shakes his head almost immediately, and you think you should actually go to sleep because you swear you see a flush on his cheeks. God, you really should go to bed. “I’m good here. Couch is fine.”

You nod, trying not to let the twinge of disappointment show on your face, but what else would you have expected him to say. Of course he would say no. Still, a part of you wants to insist. Wants to say that he doesn’t have to sleep like a stranger on your couch. Wants to hold him close and protect him from whatever haunts his dreams. But you don’t. You just linger there for a moment longer before speaking softly.

“Goodnight, Jason.”

He looks up at you like he wants to say something more, his eyes searching your face but you aren’t sure what he’s looking for. He looks like there’s something lodged in his throat that he can’t quite swallow down, catching whatever he wants to say. Despite this, all he says is a quiet, “Night.”

You retreat into your bedroom quickly after that, the door left ajar behind you. You lie in bed longer than you mean to as you pull the cool sheets up to your chin, listening for the sound of movement from the living room. Your mind wanders as you allow your mind to drift to Jason, probably thumbing through the book in his hands still. A deep part of you wonders if he’s thinking of you. You wonder if he knows you’re thinking of him, or if he even cares.

For a fleeting moment as you fall asleep, you wish he’s followed you in— not for anything else than to bathe in the feeling of his presence.

When you regain consciousness in the morning, your eyes nearly snap open as you take in the sunlight spilling through your curtains, pale and golden. Immediately thinking of last night's events, you throw the covers to the side. You find yourself quickly padding into the living room, your bare feet slapping gently against the hardwood of your floors.

The couch is empty. There’s a thump of disappointment in your chest as your heart rate slows.

The blanket you’d left out for him is folded neatly on the back of the couch. The spot where he’d laid last night is faintly indented, like a ghost of him lingers in the cushions. The books you lent him are gone, and you can’t help the grin that tugs at your lips.

And when you check the front door out of habit, peering out into the halls of your apartment, as if you will catch a hint of red disappearing from view. Your gaze catches on the lock as you close it, because the deadbolt doesn’t catch like normal.

It’s been fixed.

The lock, the one that’s been broken for weeks, now clicks cleanly into place when you shut your door. The deadbolt slides smoothly, no catch. You stare at it for a long moment, blinking against the sudden tightness in your chest. You don’t have long to bask in the feeling, because your eyes are now drawn to a small pink sticky note that clings to the door. Unsure how you missed it earlier, you pluck it off the wood of the door, examining the neat, small words.

Fixed your lock and thank you again for the books. Hope you sleep better knowing it’s fixed. Someone’s gotta look out for you. - J

#my writing!!#jason todd #red hood #jason todd fanfic #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood x y/n #dcu #dc comics #red hood fanfic #gn reader #fanfic

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bitchlessdino · 5 months ago

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the one where the stranger you fake date turns out to be your childhood friend (m) [1]

A Valentine collaboration hosted by @camandemstudios and their masterlist

Pairing: office manager!seungcheol x childhood friend!fem!reader Genre: romcom, smut, fluff, slight angst Word count: current 12.5k (total w.c. 34.4k) rating: R Summary: In a world where relationships mattered just as much as money or status did, Seungcheol found himself wrapped up with a person from twenty years ago. He didn't know how you remembered him, and frankly he didn't know how he remembered you, but the way you've reentered his life, like a gust of wind, he didn't think he'll ever forget you now. tags: MDNI, Childhood rivals to Best friends to Ex-best Friends to Strangers to Fake Dating to Lovers (try to keep up), childhood trauma, mentions of neglectful parents, random idol features, reader and seungcheol in their 30s, grump x sunshine, fake dating au, office au, taekwondo buddies, virgin!seungcheol, experienced!reader, food & alcohol scenes, yearning, smut tags to be provided in part 2

author note: Thank you to @tusswrites @gyuswhore @lovetaroandtaemin the title is so fucking long because this is the longest fucking thing i've written in my entire life. A little inspired by those ridiculously long ass anime titles that don’t need to be that length like they don’t need to be this fucking long, but they just are and it’s dumb, but I cackle every time I look at it. I'm dedicating this to @haologram who does this on the regular somehow and has been supporting me throughout the whole process bc this drove me nuts.

“Looking for fake girlfriend for hire aged 25-35, preferably with job, neat, and single. Negotiable compensation. About myself. I am a 30yo, 5’10 male with six figure job trying to relate to my colleagues by appearing as though I have a Significant Other. Your required duties will only be your punctual company to public events. Serious inquires only. Thank you.”

You stared long and hard at the Craigslist listing before quickly shooting a message, not giving yourself a moment to hesitate and regret your choices and quickly clicked off the window to avert your attention elsewhere.

Craigslist was not a website you browsed every day, but today was not like every day. Today commemorated your last and final friend who celebrated her relationship hitting their two year milestone, reminding you that you’re the final single on the lonely island that was your life.

For as long as you could remember, everyone—including you—had been in some kind of relationship. And for some convoluted reason, having a girlfriend/wife/mother status mattered in the circles you ran, especially now when your dating history has been stretched and chewed like bubble gum. At this point, you weren’t closed off to anything, not even fake relationships.

You were sick and tired of putting in the effort of meeting these guys with nothing to come out of it; it was dud after dud, shitty date after shitty date. At the end of the day, you knew you were just meeting other people to satisfy the expectations of others, succumbing to the pressure of being coupled up with anyone to have your happy ending.

This was your chance to say fuck it. If they were all so insistent on seeing you date someone, you were going to give them just that. It didn’t matter who it was.

The Craigslist guy seemed to be in the same boat. Albeit, his situation sounded more unique compared to yours, he was also just trying to survive in this inherently judgemental world. You could imagine a compromise that would benefit you both correspondingly. It was just a matter of convincing your new potential faux beau that you were in desperate need of his assistance.

Then again, how bad was his situation that he needed a fake girlfriend to make himself remotely likable?

You didn’t know it yet, but in Choi Seungcheol’s case, it was dire.

The effect he had by walking through the sixty-story VENTE Co. building already brought locals to shivers, but the air of the department he led was frigid whenever he passed through. Each heavy footstep of his grew louder as he made his way to his private office, and always with that empty soulless stare that never ceases to miss a day at work. No subordinate would dare even think of locking eyes, nor breathe the oxygen lingering on him, until the door closed behind him with no air to escape.

Before Seungcheol came to power as office manager, the rumors circulating about how he got into his position of power before transferring over to his current branch were the kind you’d hear about in fiction. Word got around about the possible blood he spilled, the secrets he told, or even the secret withheld for exploitation to get where he is now. This wasn’t any lowly position, after all, he was ten to twenty years younger than his colleagues holding the same position, earlier on track than anyone else in the company for someone who wasn’t an heir or a product of nepotism. Everyone assumed the gossip must’ve had some truth to them.

Even Chan, the poor new intern fresh out of college, had fallen victim to the water cooler talk and seamlessly fell into the office dynamics. He cowered in his cubicle after seeing Manager Choi pass through the hall, clutching the toner cartridge he was asked to change out that now stained his fingers. And a breath of relief escaped him to hear the sound of a closing door.

Seungcheol didn’t do anything aggressive or violent with the way he ran the office, but he was a man of a few words. He neither confirmed nor denied these rumors, he just never addressed them, thinking maybe that’s how it should stay. Instead, he let the stone-cold glare that made the hairs on people’s necks stand upright speak for him. He didn’t go to company events, or plan them for that matter, he would just work his hours (often more hours than less), send out his orders, and leave work without saying so much as a goodbye.

And why would he have to? He was the boss. He didn’t need to do more than what was necessary.

Yet, there was something he craved that couldn’t be achieved in the current workplace climate. Something he didn’t realize until it was already too late to turn things around unless the world was flipped on its head.

From a young age, he was taught being feared was a good thing. It’s why his parents would put him in hard-hitting hobbies like taekwondo, hapkido, and boxing. He was groomed to be a leader who was strong, demanded his power, and strived to be the apex.

Yet, he was never taught that being lonely was something that came along with it. That climbing ranks, that gaining power and authority could make him feel so empty inside. Just like climbing the top of Mount Everest alone, it was just as cold and lonesome if no one was there to see it.

One weekend, curiosity got the best of him, and he wondered on the search engines if this feeling was normal, if others had this problem, or if it was a side effect of his ambition. Research and being a net explorer was a hobby that he fell victim to on occasion, this being an extreme case where he could not seem to grasp. One trending word led to another and then the web sucked him into a spiral of Google snippets from Reddit stories to self-help guides.

What had felt like minutes had actually been hours since he started his search and he was beginning to get impatient until articles about How to be Likeable popped on his screen. Like many of the others, it sounded like nonsense or gimmicky, but one title stood out to him amongst others.

He scoffed as he moved his mouse to scroll through the pages, thinking it couldn’t have been that easy or perfect, but it just was. Unlike everyone else’s advice that told him to ‘smile more’ or ‘show positive body language’ (whatever the hell that meant), if he had a significant other defending him and complimenting him all the time, he wouldn’t have to do the work. They would do all the talking for him. He just had to compensate them enough to make it happen. It was idiot proof.

And that’s how he found himself on Craigslist, the site that seemed to have it all with no exceptions. His post was decent, vague enough to not make his status or identity known, yet enticing enough to possibly arouse a candidate. He just had to be sure they were someone he could work with.

After scouring through about twenty to thirty scammy and near-illegal offers, one piqued his interest, the single sensible response amongst a hoard of crazies. Maybe he found his girl. His fake girl that is.

“Hello, Are you still looking for a girlfriend? I seem to suit all your criteria.”

Things were looking up for Seungcheol, all that was next was the meeting. Being the workaholic he was, Seungcheol only managed to squeeze you in for a 45-minute interview during lunch, but it had to be by the office, giving you both the smallest time window imaginable. His lunch was the only time he would be able to do transactions such as this, and any weekend of his was solely for his leisure. Talking business–such as a fake dating proposition–on his well deserved weekend was not something he wanted to pencil in his calendar.

The coffee shop was perfect, only a ten-minute walk from the VENTE Co. building if Seungcheol speed-walked, and if he was early enough, he could get a freshly made deli sliced sandwich they were known for to have on his way back. However, he didn’t want to prolong this interaction more than he needed to. He knew that others from the office would occasionally visit or pass by this same cafe, but it was the most viable option. He just needed everything to go according to plan and at his pace. So far, it seemed as if it was; all that was left was your punctual arrival–but that moment had passed ten minutes ago.

He looked at his watch impatiently, tapping his foot in the incessant way he would, sighing as everyone that came through the passing door didn't even spare him a glance, maybe even some actively avoiding his eyes. He started to wonder if his description of himself was specific enough: male in his 30s with dark hair in a tailored gray suit. It wasn’t rocket science. Yet, not one who arrived looked like his potential match.

Seungcheol was beginning to think he wasted his time, his energy, and his effort. Is that what it felt like? To put heart into something and be burned after. He hadn’t felt anything like this since—

He groaned, scanning the perimeter self consciously and never feeling more humiliated in his life. As if he was actually stood up from a date. Running his tongue against his molars, Seungcheol scoffed, plucking himself off his seat as he bowed his head to avoid eyes. He was filled with silent rage, seething with resentment for someone who did not even bother to show up and reject him in person. This was one of the reasons why he didn’t date.

As if on cue, the automatic glass doors opened, and a hoard of familiar voices were boisterously laughing as they entered the cafe, joking and jabbing at each other, as if ready to cue the sitcom music any time now. However, as Seungcheol barely lifted his gaze, they stopped in their tracks, flight or fight responses taking over and the instinct to survive this encounter held precedence above anything else. They straighten their postures like soldiers in a line up, changing their light atmosphere in the flip of a switch.

“Mr. Choi! Good to see you,” Seokmin greeted, his smile quivering.

“D-do you like their coffee too! How good to know,” Soonyoung followed, eyes shifting.

“Did you just have lunch, sir?” Chan managed to say while staring at his own feet, hiding behind Hansol, who respectfully nodded and kept eye contact to a minimum.

The office manager nodded, scheming an escape route to retain some ounce of the dignity he had left, if any. The exit was a mere couple of feet away. He could just walk out, and his subordinates wouldn’t have a say against it. The plan was ready to be set in motion until he felt something–rather someone, coiling their arm around his bicep. Their warmth jolted him erect, making him stand pin-straight, much like his employees when they came across him.

His head snapped at the unheralded intruder, locking eyes with a pair unexpectedly warm and wide, staring back at him with an unspoken fondness, and glint of humor. He couldn’t help but feel as if he’d seen them before, along with that smile that broke out so wide the cheekbones reached their eyes, but somehow still effortless.

“Forgot something?” You asked, beaming at him with anticipation, clinging to him for companionship.

Seungcheol narrowed his eyes at you, his intrigue now replaced with puzzlement and his head was filled with noise, none of which making any sense, starting with the person in front of him. “You–”

The crowd of Seungcheol’s colleagues all started harmoniously greeting you, their eyes lighting up and genuine smiles forming for the first time since encountering their superior outside the office. You were quick to entertain them, never leaving Seungcheol’s side as his arm essentially became a leash, lugging the thirty-year-old man around like a purse dog, and being at the receiving end, he was too stunned to object.

“Hi, you must work with this guy right here,” you grinned, nudging into Seungcheol with the crown of your head.

“How do you know Mr. Choi, Miss…” Jihoon began to ask, curiosity radiating off of him as much as it did everyone else.

“Well,” you took Seungcheol’s hand out of his pocket, interlocking your fingers together, earning a bigger reaction than a simple thousand-yard stare from the office manager. “I’m Seungcheol’s girlfriend.”

Everyone involved in the conversation stared at you as if you had grown a second head and Seungcheol looked at you as if you had grown a third.

“You and Mr.Choi?”

“This is news to us!”

“You both look so good together!”

You quietly laughed as they all prodded you with questions, while your supposed boyfriend did what only what his motor skills would allow him; that was to observe, watching how your expression turned just naturally light and jovial as you blatantly lie in front of the strangers before you. It’s when he realized for once in his life he feared someone, and it was this smiley little creature that lied through their teeth as easily as they breathed.

“Well, I’ve got to walk him back to the office,” you rolled your eyes playfully, “otherwise he will not go back, and he’ll lose track of time. It was nice meeting everyone. Maybe I can do it officially in better circumstances!”

“Of course! We’ll see you in the office, Mr. Choi!”

“Yeah, see you! Pleasure meeting you Miss!”

You made your way out of the cafe and onto the sidewalk and gunned for it as soon as you were out of their sight, all while he was still holding your hand, having not spoken a single word the entire altercation and not knowing a single word to speak thereafter. You sighed when you found an alleyway away from prying eyes, hands on your knees as you panted, reminding yourself you really needed to take advantage of that at home gym equipment you bought for yourself. “Finally. Wow, they’re really nosy, aren’t they?”

“Who the hell are you?” he finally asked.

You lifted your eyes to meet his eyes, seeing the pits of black that glared down at you. If you were phased by it, you didn’t let it show, only dusting yourself off as you stuck out your hand. The unwavering grin on your face. “Didn’t you hear? I’m your girlfriend.”

“You’re late,” he pointed out plainly.

“Yeah, you try to catch three buses and a subway to get here.”

“You could've gotten a cab.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “And waste my money? No, thank you.”

“You’re getting compensated anyway. Why would that matter?”

You gave him a teeth baring grin, ulterior motives written all over your face. “Well, actually, I had a deal in mind.”

Seungcheol scoffed, scanning his eyes over you as judgment fogged his vision. He trusted you as far as he could throw you–which frankly, could be really far, but there was something frightening about you. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. “I’m not a gigolo and never plan on being one. You had one job and it was to be punctual and you’d get paid. How is that so hard?”

“But I did a good job, didn’t I? Pretending to be your girlfriend?”

He didn’t want to admit it, but you made a good point, and knowing you’ve already made an impression back at the cafe, the younger guys in the office had probably spread the news throughout the floor by now, if not then throughout the whole building. Just like those vicious rumors had spread. Except maybe for once the word ‘conniving’ or ‘intimidating’ wasn’t being used in the context.

He sighed, growing weary, checking his watch for the time, since he was in desperate need for this encounter to be wrapped up as soon as possible. “What is it you want?”

You grinned. “Well, to be honest. I need a fake boyfriend–”

“No.”

“But–”

“That’s not how things are going to work. I pay you to work for me. You do a job. And that’s that. There’s no deals to be made here.”

You chuckled, shaking your head in disbelief. “Wow, sorry, but this is actually crazy to me.”

“How the real world works? I do apologize that no one’s ever taught you that.”

You shook your head, smiling. “No, it’s just…Choi Seungcheol. You’ve really grown up, haven’t you?”

“Excuse me?” He asked, hearing his full name as if he was being told a slur. “However, you found my name, my status, you have a lot of nerve–”

“Eight years old. You had just won champions for competitors under ten and you felt like you were on top of the world. You wanted to scream but not because you had won, but because no one was there to watch you win, not anyone you cared about anyway. Except for one person, the person competing against you. So you screamed together at a nearby cliff in the mountains. You were still sad, bawling your eyes out, but at least you weren't alone.”

He couldn’t breathe. In his chest, something grabbed at his lungs, and it squeezed, cutting off his airways. His gut tightened and jaw clenched. He had never planned on being reminded of that time of his life again. “How…”

“Hi, Cheol. It’s good to see you too, bud.”

Seungcheol had a particular youth, and as a kid, he was forced to do more than enough to prove himself. Achievements were not only required but expected of him. If he won something, it was the standard. He had to learn quickly that everything was meant to be earned, not given, both fear and attention.

You were weird. You had a lot going on, and he didn’t like that. Yet, you took the same classes he did, performed as high as he did, were recommended to the same competitions, and commended for simply existing. It was blasphemy. His young little heart couldn’t fathom such anarchy.

He couldn’t understand it before, but he was jealous. Jealous of you, your family, your dynamics, and everything you represented. You were ignorantly happy, and he hated that you still were just as good of a student as him, even if it was just at taekwondo.

Things started to make sense when he decided to place focus on himself, the gold, the medals, and everything he’s worked hard to achieve. Why did it matter that you were barely great at taekwondo, he excelled. Not only that, he was getting straight As, a model student, and someone respected and feared amongst his peers.

Well, those kinds of kids don't cry when their parents don’t come to their taekwondo championships, do they? No matter how many times he’s reminded them of the day to ensure they make it. He felt so pathetic. So utterly alone. He was a fucking winner, yet he was whining and crying about mommy and daddy like a loser.

“Hi, are you okay?” the snot-covered young Seungcheol turned his head, seeing you, a silver medal winner asking if he was okay. Pathetic.

He was going to brush you off. Quite literally shove you away for wasting his time and invading his personal space, but you sounded so concerned, voice light and warm like sun rays, and before he knew it, your arms came around him, pulling him into a tight hug. His tears soaked someone else's uniform that day and that frustrated him like hell.

It had to be you of all people to see him cry. His rival. The bane of his existence. Well, the bane of his existence had nice hugs and smelled like strawberry smackers and sweat. He didn’t know how he knew what those were but remembering it all now, it’s exactly what they were.

It was then you convinced him to scream from that cliff with you. You both screamed so loud that it made the birds nearby fly away out of fear, and it made you both belly laugh so hard you fell on your backs. The tears had dried against his flushed cheeks by now, but he still felt them coming, every passing second just reminded him that his parents didn't find him all that important to celebrate. And when you noticed, you made him scream some more. Screamed until your throats hurt.

And you were right, he wasn’t alone anymore.

He had something to look forward to at every taekwondo class now other than the sense of accomplishment. He had a friend to spend time with. And for the next few years, you’d continue to be that person for him. His person. The only person who would know how to break him out of the mental prison he was forced into since birth.

The times waiting around to be picked up, he’d spend time with you, getting ice cream or eating the convenience store snack that he’s been told would rot his brain and eat away at his skin. Other days when they felt like it, they’d ditch class entirely, pretending they were sick just to go watch a movie or find somewhere far away to be themselves, alone together.

Then you both turned eleven. Eleven was when things changed almost drastically. New insecurities formed at that delicate age. Taekwondo classes were harder, kids were getting bigger and stronger, meanwhile you were getting taller. Taller than Seungcheol even, and that shook him.

Maybe that’s when your dynamic started to change. Then came a ripple of bad events, tumbling forward like a domino effect that led to the demise of your friendship. A series of events that Seungcheol forced himself to repress as it gnawed at him like a bad infection.

But not like the way your presence did at this very moment.

“Out of all of the people that answered…”

“Kind of like fate, huh?”

Seungcheol shook his head. “Or Divine punishment.”

You furrowed your brows. “Hey.”

"Okay, so, what? You think because we were peers in a Taekwondo class together it meant something?”

“Well, not really, but, you don’t think it’s nice to see a friendly face?”

“Someone I haven’t seen in twenty years is something I would hardly call friendly.”

Your smile fell a little for the first time, only to pick right back up as if it never happened. “Ouch, hurtful. But, I'm still very down to help you play your girlfriend; if you’ll help me, that is.”

Seungcheol looked over at you cautiously, wondering why you, someone who once threw caution to the wind, would take matters into your hands and fake-date for any reason. “Why do you need the help?”

You shrugged. “Bragging rights.”

His eyes could not roll further back into his head. “Can’t do that with a real boyfriend?”

“And you can’t get a real girlfriend to get your employees to like you?”

He stared back at you unamused, but with nothing to come back with.

You shrugged, knowing you had him backed into a corner. “Like it or not, we are alike, you and I. And, we kind of know each other, so it works out.”

“...How much do you actually need this?”

“Just as much as you do.”

He found himself contemplating, crazy enough to think that he could make a situation like this work. “Fine, we’ll draw up a contract at our next meeting during my next lunch hour.”

He started taking his leave quickly in the direction of his office building, not looking back. Still, you called out to him, with more to ask. “Our next date. Why not this weekend?”

“I’m not wasting my weekend for this.” he shouted back, his back shrinking away out of view.

“You’re not going to waste your weekend on your girlfriend?” you shouted louder, only for it to be no use; now you were just a woman screaming by yourself in an alleyway.

You didn’t have too many expectations for this appointment, you were just blessed that you were a freelancer and could make time for it at all. Otherwise, you would’ve never made that lunch. You managed to sneak past his line of vision, eyes darting at him immediately and processing his features before slowly backing away into a corner and taking up a booth. You wanted to observe him before you eventually met him face-to-face, ensuring he wasn’t some weirdo until you realized the face you were looking at was the spitting image of someone you once knew 20 years ago.

You had to be sure, pulling up your phone immediately to stalk any possible social media pages. You found a perfect match and the exact name. Hand over your mouth, you were beyond shocked, You hadn’t thought about this boy in ages and here he was before you, a grown man. A hot, brooding man.

What the actual fuck.

He started getting up, frustration and impatience written all over his face as he let out a big huff, and you couldn’t help but break out in a smile seeing him sulk until the panic sunk in that he was trying to leave. As he began to head to the door, the exits were blocked, the people passing through all smiles until they laid their eyes on him, and immediately you see their bodies tense up in his presence.

You were beginning to understand the severity and unease that settled in the room when he was present. It was as if their lighthearted comedy turned into a thriller in a matter of seconds. At that moment, you saw your window, so quickly you jumped through it.

You chuckled as you remembered his expression when he first caught sight of you, the pure confusion and bewilderment on his face when you introduced yourself to his coworkers. You were surprised yourself when he did absolutely nothing, but perhaps he showed it as a sign of faith, or maybe he was just that out of it.

Nonetheless, things seemed to work in your favor, and the fake boyfriend you’ve come across was none other than the Choi Seungcheol. A mixed bag of emotions, but something you could work with, way better than any internet creep. It just looked like there was a lot of catching up that needed to be done.

And soon enough, you were about to catch up to the fact that Seungcheol meant business and was anal about his terms and conditions.

“You have to be punctual, that was your only requirement in the ad alone. There cannot be a repeat of yesterday.”

You nodded, watching as he entered it in the shared document you both had displayed on both your laptops. “Okay, fine, but are you sure about discussing this here? What if you have a run-in with your coworkers again?”

“We’re in the corner, so we’re less likely to be spotted, and if we are it’ll look like another lunch…date.”

You raised an eyebrow, stopping at mid-sip of your Americano. “What was that?”

“What?”

“Why did you say it like that?”

He sighed, eyes visibly dull. “Like what?”

You moved your head animatedly, trying to prove a point. “Like you were choking on it. Like you were revolted by the idea of a date. A date with me?”

“Nothing personal. Don’t get defensive. This stuff is just arbitrary to me.”

“What’s arbitrary about it? People go on dates with people they like and sometimes fall in love. It happens every day.”

“Not me,” he retorted, typing in an important detail.

“So you don’t go on dates?”

“I work. Like everyone should be doing.”

“I work.”

He glanced up from the screen. “What do you do?”

“I freelance.”

“Hmm.” His eyes averted back to the screen. “Vague.”

“I make a good wage,” you emphasized. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

However, he didn’t seem to look convinced. “Are you sure you don't want to be financially compensated?”

“Shut up. I’m doing fine. Let’s get back to the contract please.”

“Finally.”

Things were officially being drawn up electronically before being sent over for you to sign, giving you a sense of relief and a weight off your shoulders. You craned your neck, feeling the strain of peering down at a laptop have its effect on you. “Okay looks like it's all good. Looks like we can finally be in business. What will be our first move, considering you are the first to have proposed the idea?”

“Yes, well, that will be the office party the company is hosting. Usually, everyone is required to attend, and I've skipped many events like it–”

“And you want me to come with you to make you look good for your team?”

“No, I want to make you an excuse so I don’t have to go.”

You furrowed your brows. “That’s counterproductive. Literally the opposite of what I’m here for.”

“But neither of us would have to go.”

Your fingers curled up into your palms, forming halfhearted fists before you unfurled them, trying to cherry-pick the right words to get through this tinman’s head. “You have to realize that simply having a girlfriend is not enough for people to like you. It’s about talking you up, showing off your redeeming qualities. Getting people to understand Seungcheol the person, not Seungcheol the boss.”

“Are you proposing I have no redeeming qualities?”

“You were trying to use me as an excuse to avoid going to a company party. What were you going to do with that time on your own?”

“That’s none of your concern.”

“This is exactly why you need my help, Cheol,” you reminded, feeling like you’re lecturing a cat about not scratching up the couch.

He gave a light grimace, “You don’t need to call me that childish abbreviation. I have a whole name.”

You leaned over from your seat, staring over at him wide eyes, fluttering your lashes and feigning a lovestruck grin. “I need to give you a nickname if we’re dating. What about Babe? Baby? Honey? Lover?”

“Seungcheol is just fine,” he answered, unaffected, not bothering to look past his laptop.

Your smile dropped in an exaggerated scowl as you pulled yourself back down, crossing your arms. “How have your other girlfriends dealt with you?”

Seungcheol suddenly had nothing else to say, his eyes started darting everywhere but you, leaning back against the booth and preoccupying his mouth with his scalding hot vanilla latte.

Your eyes narrowed at him suspiciously as the silence persisted and the click-clacking of his keyboard, “Seungcheol, you have dated before, right?”

His eyes flitted back to you like a flickering flame before it went out, directing themselves back to his laptop, typing away at something at a more urgent pace, or looking as if he did.

“Oh my god. You haven’t.”

“Silence,” he finally said.

“You…You haven’t been on a date with anyone? With a woman? Or even a man?”

He rolled his eyes, groaning under his breath. “Don’t make a scene.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” you reassured, “of course, I'm just very surprised…and confused. For 30 years of your life?”

“It was never something I prioritized.”

“Middle school. High school. College,” you began listing off.

“I went to an all boys school, and college does not leave much time for dating when you’re getting your Bachelor’s and Master’s.”

You waved your hands bizarrely. “So what? You worked your entire life?”

“Yes.”

“…Hmm.”

“What?”

Curiosity killed the cat, so the cat never came to know Seungcheol and apparently he never came to know the cat. “So if you’ve never been on a date, your intimate life…?”

He raised his brow, and sighed, realizing he was doing that a lot today. He closed his laptop, placing his hands neatly in his lap. “That goes without saying, but yes. I haven’t been intimate with anyone.”

“Right,” you responded, processing the information in real time.

“Are we done here? Is this game of 101 questions over with?”

“Just one more.”

“What?”

“What are you so big for then?” You asked earnestly.

His brows furrowed, before a subtle cocky smile crept against his face. “A healthy body in its top form is crucial for the average working man. It keeps my physical and mental health from deteriorating, and it’s the only way I can keep up with work, from carrying heavy work loads to travel. Aesthetics weren’t the goal, but thank you for noticing.”

“I didn’t compliment you for being big now, did I?”

Time running out on the clock, your meeting came to a close. You walked out together, keeping up appearances, and despite your protests, he started to hail you a taxi. You frowned as it arrived, seeing him open the door all gentleman like, but the stoic expression tattooed always on his face said otherwise.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I’m not walking you to a bus stop, so take the cab. I’ll pay if you’re in dire need of financial assistance.” You had choice words to say on the tip of your tongue before he ushered you in the back seat, ducking his head in and tapping his card on the machine to pay. “Wherever she wants to go.”

Looking up behind the back of his head, you caught the sight of a few familiar faces, the same ones that you ran into yesterday with and quickly you suddenly found yourself wrapping your arms around his torso. He stiffed under your touch, his arms stuck up hovering above you inside the car. “What are you doing?” he questioned, tone cold.

“Don’t look,” you whispered, “but I see some of your coworkers. Just roll with it until they’re gone.”

Your chin settled into the crook of his neck, fastening yourself and determined to hold on until they were out of sight. Meanwhile, he stared down the slope of your spine, watching your hips shift to comfortably align with his, fitting yourself around his frame, and he helplessly took in your perfume wafting in his nose, noting its clean and pleasant scent. Before he realized, his arms rose, hovering around over your back and moving to close in to claim your warmth.

”Okay, it looks like they left.”

Instead, you released him with a light shove out of the car and patted him on the back before waving him off. He watched as it drove off, your hand waving back at him frantically before the car turned left at an intersection and disappeared on the road. From then, Seungcheol quietly returned to the office to organize his thoughts. Down the street, past the front desk, up the elevator, down the hallway, and entering his office. In all that time, he still could not make sense of what just happened.

But then again, he was learning that he didn’t make sense of a lot of things. Like company dinners, why did they matter?

In fact, Seungcheol had his gripes about company dinners. They were loud, rambunctious, and were centered around drinking until one needed their stomach to get pumped. Don't get him wrong, he enjoyed the occasional glass of whiskey and a fine wine, but that’s not what this was.

Tonight, he was surrounded by blue and green bottles, then silver and green cans, all mixed to create a revolting concoction that the team seemed to thrive on to make the night a tolerable one, but what would have made it tolerable for a certain office manager was his fake girlfriend. His eyes shifted from one side of the restaurant to the other, seeing each member of his department slowly loosening their reins as alcohol poured into their system, pinking their cheeks and slurring their words. He did not look forward to the kind of conversations spoken out of turn under the influence.

The manager had been offered a drink five minutes after his arrival, surprised at the minimal spillage with how much Chan’s hands were shaking as he held it with both hands. Nevertheless, he accepted with a wordless nod as the cup was set in front of him, another working man comfortably escaping the clutches of Manager Choi.

Seungcheol was beginning to get annoyed at your tardiness. First it was the initial meeting—the one he still hadn’t gotten over—but now this was the first official public outing. You never cease to amaze him with careless conduct, as if life didn’t have consequences. It was almost as if you never grew up. This was starting to feel like a mistake.

“There you are!” Warmth snaked around his neck and tucked around his chin as someone’s cheek flattened against his.

He didn’t have to look to know it was you; only you were brave enough to commit this far, but he had just as much of a reason to be convincing as you did. He slightly turned his head, a vision of you in his peripheral before you faced him with a grin. “I’m sorry I’m late, don’t be mad,” you lightly pleaded, jutting your lips in a pout.

“Where have you been?” he bluntly asked, hoping it sounded concerned. It did not.

Your pout sunk deeper and you took the empty seat beside him, tugging on his arm. “I told you not to get mad!”

“She’s real?”

“You owe me 50 bucks! Cough up!”

The voices were growing louder, more banter rising at your sudden appearance, and Seungcheol was starting to wonder why he ever wanted this attention in the first place.

“Is this for me?” you asked pointing at the horrid cocktail Chan placed in front of your fake boyfriend before he then covered the top with the back of his hand.

“You evaded my question.”

“I was getting ready and lost track of time. God forbid, I try to look nice for my boyfriend and the people he works with.”

He lightly scoffed, almost impressed with the girlfriend's act.

“So you’re really Mr. Choi’s girlfriend?” An employee you’ve yet to meet sitting across from you asked.

“Yes! Why is that so hard to believe,” you chuckled.

Soonyoung, well off his rocker and having already taken down a bottle or two of soju, was quick to intrude. “Well, because he’s terrifying.”

And not even a second after, his coworker–Seungkwan, if you recall correctly–clasped a hand over his mouth, his eyes growing wide as saucers before immediately clarifying. “He’s exaggerating! Mr. Choi just seems very…reserved and independent. Maybe too involved with his work?” The man trod lightly, lowering his gaze as Seungcheol shot his eyes back at him when he might as well shoot laser beams. Seungkwan felt them burn through his skull as he internally scolded himself, repeatedly tapping his mouth, for possibly speaking out of turn.

You nodded, pouring yourself a shot and following with a slice of beef off the grill. “It’s true. He’s a lunatic.”

The room went silent, all eyes falling on you as your words sunk in. The second hand fear was palpable, even Soonyoung began to sober up. Seungcheol scoffed, turning to the side as you enjoyed your free meal, not giving a second thought to your insult.

“I tell him he’s always in the office. Always, always! When is he gonna make time for anything else? He might die in that office one day,” you egged, taking another piece of meat followed by another shot.

The young man who introduced himself as Joshua tried his best to come to your rescue, “Miss, that might be–”

“It’s why I started visiting him during lunch. If I didn’t he would live off chicken, rice, and those disgusting whey shakes, wouldn’t he?”

Team member Jihoon chortled before immediately piping down when he saw Seungcheol’s quick side eye before the manager directed his attention back to you, who had a lot to say. The entire team stood, thinking their superior was seconds away from blowing up his shit in your face, they braced for impact. Instead, he rested his elbow on the dining table, rubbing his fingers to his temple, simply responding with, “You’re so loud.”

You pointed childishly, taunting him as if it was recess at a playground. “See, he doesn’t even have a comeback! He isn’t human.”

“Why did I invite you again?”

“Because I’m pretty and delightful?”

“No, seriously.”

Relief fanned out amongst the crew, and held breaths were released as chuckles and smiles took their place. They could breathe knowing that they had you to distract him, settling the nerves they had. Finally, most of them could find themselves enjoying the rest of the night and drinking all the soju and beer their hearts desired.

Throughout the evening, you and Seungcheol would bicker, picking each other apart like an old married couple as the rest watched, occasionally joining in when a common interest was brought up. You would usually engage as Seungcheol just quietly sat back listening, sometimes silently agreeing, learning more things about his employees this one night than the entire year he’s been manager. Seungcheol hadn’t experienced anything like this, or if he had, he didn’t remember.

“You’re enjoying this,” Seungcheol said under his breath, watching you finish a third lettuce wrap.

“I am,” you whispered, chuckling.

“This is the strangest combination I’ve ever seen, but it strangely works,” Jeonghan, one of the more honest members of the department, confidently stated.

Joshua joined in, agreeing. “They really compliment each other for some reason.”

“How did you two meet anyway,” Jihoon politely asked, “If you’re comfortable telling that story.”

You turned to Seungcheol, “You want to tell them or should I?”

He gave you a look, one that said, it’s your job, and you quickly got the hint.

He was prepared for some cliche, something dumb like out of a romance movie. What he didn’t expect was the next words to come out of your mouth.

“We actually are childhood friends.”

“You’re the same age?!”

That set them off. Suddenly flurries of grown adults gather around you to hear your story with their starry eyes, eating out of the palm of your hand with every word. It was a talent how you could lie, sprinkling in bits of the truth for authenticity, making every word that came out of your mouth sound like scripture. All while you tossed back soju shots and Seungcheol nursed a single beer in his hand.

“You’re like a movie, childhood rivals to estranged friends to lovers, wow. Lifetime would pay millions,” Chan gushed with red cheeks, covering his face with his palms.

Jeonghan suddenly pounced at an exciting idea. “Love Shot. Love Shot. Love Shot. Love Shot.”

They rest followed after him, chanting louder and louder. “Love Shot! Love Shot! Love Shot! Love Shot! Love Shot! Love Shot!”

Seungcheol shook his head. “No, no. We’re not doing that.”

The chants immediately faded out, only a whisper of its remains left in the form of a lost Soonyoung.

“Don’t take it personal, guys. He’s a lightweight. He’s had that beer since he came in and still hasn’t finished because we both know he’d be out like a light if he drank even half of it,” You taunted.

Seungcheol felt challenge brew within him, narrowing his eyes back at you. “Oh, yeah?”

“It’s okay, Honey, being a weak drinker doesn’t mean it's the end of the world.”

The office manager huffed, standing up slamming the metal dining table and startling everyone around him. “One of you, any of you, bring us some soju and two of the biggest glasses you have.”

Their feet scrambled, and demands were met. Your fake boyfriend smirked back at you as he started filling up your glass, pushing it toward you before he started filling up his.

“Lun-a-tic,” you sounded, claiming the glass.

You scooted closer holding the cups in the air before locking elbows and gazes. The glass pressed to your lips, the bitter liquid making it past your mouth and feeling it burn down your throat and then brewing something sinister in your gut, having you struggle to finish it. Meanwhile, your opponent drank his as if it was water, his eyes staring back at you in mockingly, grinning apparently despite his lips being preoccupied.

This little shit.

You both ended with a clean finish, slamming the cups on the metal surface, and you’re swarmed with cheers, reminding you that you had an audience. The heat was instantaneous, spreading all over you like fire, as your eyes grew heavy, the rush of cheeks becoming less coherent and just noise at this point of the night.

“Yeah, they definitely did taekwondo together.”

“I have never seen Mr. Choi that competitive before. He’s so cool!”

That last bit made Seungcheol snicker as he wiped the remaining alcohol off his lips, observing you as you uncharacteristically remained quietly seated with nothing else to say. “And I’m the lightweight? Can you even stand up right now?”

You gave him a mocking look, pulling yourself up from your seat and began doing all the sobriety tests you could possibly think of. From talking in a straight line to touching your toes, you made sure to do all the nine yards. After feeling like you succeeded (you didn’t), you then blew raspberries in his face until finally doing your perfect impression of a big buzzer. “Try again!”

Seungcheol fell off his chair laughing, face bright red in the matter of seconds, belly laughing and stunning everyone that was lucky enough to witness before he crawled up to get back in his chair. He pointed at you, still laughing, “You look so stupid!”

“Oh,” Minghao pointed at his superior’s face, “He has a dimple.”

“Nevermind that, he’s laughing.”

“Take a picture! Take hundreds of them!”

The rest of the night became a blur, a chaotic blur Seungcheol was probably better off not remembering, but all of the things he did remember made him feel warm. Or perhaps that was the alcohol lodged into his system. Company dinners can be alright. He probably won’t go to all of them, but one here and there wouldn’t hurt.

The next time Seungcheol felt awake was when he was in his bedroom, the sun peeking through the curtain as it beamed down on him. It was rare for him to wake up after the sun came up. “What the…”

He had no idea how he got home, pulling the covers off himself and immediately looking for his phone and found it conveniently plugged, and said that it was– “9:34. Fuck.”

"Rise and shine, sunshine,” you said bursting through the room, and Seungcheol immediately threw the covers back on, hiding his body as soon as he realized he looked the shittiest he’s ever looked. “How the fuck–why the hell are you in my apartment? How the hell are you in my apartment?”

“I took you home yesterday.”

“There’s a keypad!”

You giggled. “You put in the code for me. Drunk you is very nice.”

“You were drunk too!”

You clamped your hands over your ears. “Stop yelling, god. I sobered up hours before you did. Hangover still sucks though.”

“Still doesn’t explain how you found out where I fucking live.”

“The ID in your wallet, of course, which you should really be more careful about giving it to people when you’re drunk because, holy shit, I would've scammed you. What if it got into the wrong hands?”

“I’M LOOKING RIGHT AT THEM!”

“OW! Chill out. How are you not hungover right now?”

“I am, but–shit, none of this is making sense.”

“Well, while you have your mid-life crisis, I left a hangover cure and breakfast on your coffee table. Eat it, you’re going to want it. I’ve got to go.”

“Wait.”

“Yeah?”

“Did you sleep here?”

You shrugged, “Oh the couch. It was like 2am and I was still tipsy, I wasn’t gonna go out there and become a statistic.”

“You just slept in a man’s apartment like nothing.”

“It’s your apartment. I’m fine.”

“Am I not a man?”

You rolled your eyes, waving him off. “You are hardly a human, iRobot. Now go eat. Oh, and remember next Sunday is my day, Carts and Tarts. Golfing and brunch with some of my college friends, I’m sure you’ll like it.”

“What did I tell you about weekends?”

“Make an exception, yesterday went extremely well. I think everyone is warming up to you a bit more, and all you have to do is stand next to me. And maybe smile, but that's it!”

He groaned, throwing a pillow in his face, the migraines kicking in hard. “I feel like shit.”

“Which means it was a success! We’ll go over what you’ll be wearing and a bit of characterization over the week.”

“Characterization?” Seungcheol mumbled, the word foreign on his tongue.

“Enjoy your Saturday!”

Carefully, you walked out, closing the door behind you and hearing the automatic lock click in pace. You passed through his front lawn, making your way past his gates, and you took sight of his neighborhood–admittedly prettier in daylight– before heading down the sidewalk to hail a cab. Waiting for one to arrive, you marinated in what transpired the night before and the images played in your mind in full color, as if it happened just moments ago.

“Fuck, you’re huge.”

“You tol’ me ta’ already.” Seungcheol murmured as he buried himself into your shoulder, letting you drag him to the entrance of his residence.

“What’s your code?”

“Secret,” he giggled.

To which, you rolled your eyes. “You put it in then.”

You pushed him closer to the keypad, holding his wrist up to the screen and lifting up his head so he could see the numbers. His eyelids almost sunk to the bottom, but it was barely visible enough to make out what was in front of him. “Oh, I know this game, I’m good at games…”

“I’m sure you are, try this one out.”

His finger limply hovered over the keypad, giggling up a storm.“ 0…5…2…6.”

“You said it was a secret and said it out loud anyway, are you that drunk?”

“I win!”

“Oh, my god.” You rushed him inside, hoping none of the neighbors showed up or were nearby to have heard that, and scanned the perimeter for his bedroom. His instinct kicked in the second he entered inside, and he pulled away from you, taking himself upstairs.

“He’s gonna fucking kill himself.” You trailed behind him, on every step behind him, ready to catch him behind every tumble, and ensuring that Seungcheol in no way hurt himself as he made it up those steps.

As he finally reached the top floor, he turned the corner, entered a very obvious bedroom, and collapsed on the king-sized bed in the center. He laid sprawl, limbs spread wide like a starfish, and the biggest grin on his face that showcased his dimple gracefully embedded in his cheek.

You chuckled before dragging his body up the bed, urging him off the covers to usher him under. “Okay. I’m leaving now.”

You then turned away, about to leave when felt something wrap around your wrist pulling you near the bed.

“Don’t go.”

Your head back to see Seungcheol at the brink of tears, his features softening at the sight of you as he curled up into bed, sniffling. You dipped a little closer. “You don’t want me to leave?”

He shook his head, whining childishly, “Stay…”

He pulled you closer, now ushering you on the bed, and suddenly you were there together, him ready to sleep all tucked in, and you firmly sat because a grown man with the most heart wrenching puppy dog eyes asked you not to go.

So you stayed, just as he asked, and slept in the living room once he was sound asleep.

You smiled to yourself, regretful you didn’t take a picture or record a video of the incident. Although, if you did and he found out, he would’ve killed you. Or, you would’ve had some delicious blackmail material. The world may never know. You were just happy to know he still had that side to him. It was refreshing, and honestly, it made you a little hopeful.

Now you had to see if you could drag it out of him sober.

“Now to be the perfect boyfriend, my friend group has always said that the guy had to check at least five of these boxes.”

He looked back at you, not showing any interest in the matter while absentmindedly drinking his Americano that he used to hate, but he’s been enjoying a lot more lately thanks to you. “Is this all really necessary?”

You nodded determinedly. “You’re unlikable, and you need lessons. Yes, this is very important.”

“I’ll have you know I’ve received two good mornings today, and only five people decided to hide from me.”

“No one should be hiding from you,” you rubbed your chin in thought, “Sounds like you still need work. I might have to phase in a new method.”

“Excuse me, what new method would that be?”

“Never mind that. For now, Carts and Tarts. The girls have always said a guy needs five things: eyes, ears, mouth, heart, and…” Your gaze lowered to his nether regions, and Seungcheol did a double take, covering his privates with a pained expression.

“Those are just body parts, and have some decorum, would you?”

You pointed to the first box you needed checked. “Eyes: they need to be able to pay attention to you, notice things about you that you or other people wouldn’t otherwise see. To be loved is to be seen.”

Seungcheol listening to your reasoning and then mentally noting it for later. “Ah, and ears.”

“Listening to what you have to say. Being heard is just as important, but it doesn’t stop at hearing the words, it’s understanding the meaning behind them, which brings me to…”

“Mouth. To speak?” he easily guessed.

You nodded, passing him a cookie. “Ask questions. Learn why they’re happy, sad, angry, or anxious. Or even, include them in your conversations, sometimes they want to hear what you’re interested in. I think you’re getting where I’m going next.”

He took apart the cookie, breaking it in half, and passed it back to you. “Heart. Have a passion for something.”

“Ding. Ding. Ding. Sometimes it's a job, or a family, or a passion projection, but there needs to be ambition and drive, but most importantly and above all, they love you. If they love you enough, they can balance both. They should have something in their life besides you, but still love you, you know?”

Seungcheol was buffering a bit on that last one but he decided not to question it. “I’m assuming that last one has to do with coitus?”

Mid-chew of your snack, appalled enough to speak with it still in your mouth while spewing out its crumbs, “Why would you use that word?”

“I knew I would invoke an interesting reaction, but not cause an avalanche.”

You rolled your eyes, tapping your mouth with a napkin. “Everyone wants to have orgasms in their relationships, it’s at the top of their Christmas list. I’ve seen so many relationships get broken up because the sex sucked or someone has a weird kink–and I’m not kink shaming! Being weird can be cool.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he said plainly.

“I’m just saying.”

“Never in my life did I expect this to be the topic of today’s meeting.”

You flatten your hands against the table, a satisfied smile on your face. “Well, now you understand. Try to pretend you're at least any one of these, and play up the boyfriend bit. You already know a little about me, just put it to good use.”

He observed you, studying your intent under the humor and lighthearted candor. “You really care a lot about this.”

“It’s just annoying how much they care about how much I'm getting laid. They’re a very large and very involved bunch.”

Seungcheol shut his eyes in disdain. “Why do they care?”

“Everyone is just either dating, married, or engaged. I'm the last person left, and I haven’t had a relationship that’s lasted more than three months. I just want them to lay off, make them think I'm dating someone with marriage in mind.”

“And when we don’t get married?”

You grinned, as if you have been waiting for this question to be asked. “I’ve curated a long 2-year plan to make us look like a committed couple. We fall in love passionately, so in love that we summer together and backpack over Europe, Asia, seeing all the great seas, seeing the world together…but then, I come back home, sad and single because even though you proposed and are desperately in love with me–”

“I think there are some plot holes–”

“You fall ill bitten by a radioactive spider exploring a jungle and pass away,” You concluded, exaggeratedly gasping into your hands.

“...isn’t that the plot to Madame Web?”

“You actually watched that?”

“You don’t know what I do on my weekends.”

“Watching awful movies is what it sounds like.”

He looked up to the ceiling, trying to visual all this together, as if any of this was remotely feasible. “We live in the same city, has it ever occurred to you that I could bump into any one of them?”

You shrugged, “Easy. You turn around and run in the other direction.”

“Your plan is horrendously flawed.”

“You wanna get married then?”

“Where’s the spider? I can get a headstart.”

“Just be a good little boyfriend.”

Seungcheol tsked.

“What?”

He looked off at the window, noticing that it was going to rain soon. Things needed to pick up if he wanted to get back to the office dry. “I just wouldn’t have thought that you of all people would cater to a society that cared about something superficial like having a boyfriend.”

Your smile faltered. “Well, a lot has happened in 20 years. And who says I’m catering to anyone? Ever consider maybe…forget it.”

He narrowed his eyes, challenge burning through them, “What? Finish your thought.”

“We’re done here. Just come on Sunday, follow the dress code, and don’t be yourself,” and with that you threw your tote over your shoulder and walked out, not bothering to wait for him to trail after you, hailing a cab on your own accord.

The rest of the week you would make your lunch ‘dates,’ but it would be mainly for show, having you only swirling your straw in your drink as you moped, halfheartedly being present for most of the time. Usually, Seungcheol would appreciate silence, but from you, it was deafening, even with the background noise of the cafe.

He pretended not to notice, sitting in silence with you, but he’d occasionally look up, seeing you glued to your phone, only interacting with him when it came to what they were contractually obligated to do for one another. He should’ve been pleased, yet, he was dying to talk to you.

Sunday finally came around and unfortunately, your bad mood had traveled with you, even in your cute little tennis skirt get-up you had been looking for the opportunity to wear. At least, Seungcheol had made the effort to look the part for the day. That morning you met, and he surprised you with his cooperation by looking like every country club asshole you've ever met, down to the pristine khakis and golf shoes with matching socks. You wondered if he bought that before the plans were set in motion, or if he already had it lying around. Either way, he looked convincing enough to persuade a few friends.

“Good job,” you whispered halfheartedly.

“How long do we have to be here?” He mumbled under his breath, cutting into his spinach omelet after forgoing all the possible carb options, just like you expected him to.

“Two hours, tops. Just watch them get a couple swings in and we can excuse ourselves after, say we have another thing we gotta go to.”

You were then greeted by a familiar voice, beckoning you from the other end of the table. Her eyes were bright and perfectly cat eyed, lips pink and glossy, but her voice was mature and curious, dying to pull the information she could out of you. “So, how did you two come to know each other?”

Chaeyoung had always been an instigator, asking the pressing questions and demanding answers. It was natural for her as a news investigator, and she was the one who insisted your new boyfriend come to initiate him into their pack. This happened to be the first time you accepted her challenge, earning her intrigue, and like she did with all your boyfriends she’s had the pleasure–or more often displeasure than not–of meeting, she had to get the rundown. And she would do whatever she could to get it.

You cleared your throat, wiping your lips with a tablecloth. “Well—“

“Not you, darling, let’s hear it from Seungcheol.”

He hadn’t prepared for this, snapping his head at you a glint of panic was in his eyes. You grinned over at Chaeyoung, holding onto Seungcheol’s hand that rested on the table. “Don’t go interrogating my boyfriend, he just got here.”

“Well, it’s only fair to tell his version while he's here. There’s never been a gathering as big as this with your other boyfriends. He has to be special if you brought him here today.”

“Chaeyoung—“

“I can tell the story,” Seungcheol finally reassured.

You looked at him confused then bewilderment, fearing the words that come out of his next could be the end all be all of this entire charade.

You had to stop him before he ruined this. “Cheol—“

“She came crashing into my life, and I haven’t known peace since.”

If your eyes bulged any bigger, they would be falling out of your head. “I—“

“Really?” Chaeyoung’s interest got piqued, leaning in closer as the everyone else at the table lowered their voice, hoping to listen in. “How so?”

“We had met before. A long, long time ago, and I couldn’t fathom her existence in the slightest. She was a mind bending whirlwind, like no one else I’ve ever met before, and I couldn’t get her out of my head. That period of our lives we spent almost every waking moment with each other, telling each other things that we promised not to tell anybody else. Like an oath. And then all of a sudden, one day, we lost contact. No calls, no letters, no voicemails. We didn’t speak to each other for years until…,” he turned to you, a subtle softness in his eyes that only you could barely recognize under that cold, stiff exterior. “We passed by each other at a cafe near my office. I didn’t know what to think of it first…but she called it fate.”

He turned back to everyone, and they all just stared, peering at the newcomer as if he was a saint dropped from the sky, while the women at the table swooned after listening to his story, clinging onto his every word.

“Men like him do exist…” Yeri said dreamily, ignoring her longtime boyfriend, who at the moment was scarfing down his fifth quiche.

You were shell shocked, jaw actually dropped slack until Seungcheol stuffed an egg tart in it, occupying your mouth to avoid suspicion.

“And he’s feeding her. Why don’t you feed me?!”

“Dammit, they’re adorable.”

You weren’t sure who you were sitting with anymore. The fake boyfriend you hired was a calculating, condescending, arrogant prick that relied on you to make him look good. How was he doing a better job than you?

“Do you golf, Seungcheol?” Baekho inquired, warming up to him after hearing the sweet fable. “If so, we have to see your swing.”

He replied back with a shrug, “I’ve dabbled, although I was going to take it easy today.”

He rested a hand on your shoulder. “This one isn’t sure how long we can stay.”

You glared at him, how dare he push the blame on you. You looked back at Baekho apologetically. “We had a prior engagement. I’m sorry. I mixed the dates up and couldn’t cancel on either one of you.”

“Oh, well, that doesn’t mean you can’t play. Just a round, what do you both say?”

Seungcheol looked at you, an unreadable expression on his face, and you truly do not know how to approach it in the slightest.

“Okay, I guess a round can’t hurt.”

Baekho along with many other guests lit up in excitement. “Well, what are we waiting for? On the field, we go!”

Several members of the brunch got a head start on the field, taking their clubs and carts as they started heading off the first hole. Meanwhile, Seungcheol pulled you aside, seeing that you were both alone with no one else to eavesdrop. “Do you know what you’ve just done?”

“What? It’s one round.” You shrugged. “A game can’t be that long.”

A pained expression struck his face, wrinkles forming on his forehead as he tightly shut his eyes. “Have you ever played golf?”

“No, I was never interested in it.”

“Jesus—do you see how big this field is? An average game of golf is four hours, sometimes more.”

Your eyes were about to shoot out of their sockets like any of the golf balls on the field. “Four hours?!”

“Yes, and you just,” he sighed, “Come on.”

He took you by your hands, noticing them covered in a pair of gloves before dragging you to your designated cart. “Why the hell do you own golf gloves if you don’t golf?

“I thought today was the day I’d start,” you cried, nearing the verge of tears as you came to the realization of the eternal hell you’ve subjected yourself to.

And Seungcheol did not lie, it felt as if it would go on forever. As everyone was putting, the sun was beaming down on you, slowly but surely killing your will to live. At this point, you welcomed it. You already started to envy the ice in your lemonade that melted, seeing it was given the mercy of peace from this endless boredom. You weren’t used to being outside for this long. During these brunches, you would be inside in the spa by now with mud baths, not getting ready to be spattered in mud puddles when a ball hits water.

“Fore!”

“Just let the ball hit me right at the temple, right here,” you quietly mumbled from your golf cart, watching Baekho in front of you take a swing as a couple of other members of the brunch spectated from behind.

Seungcheol reunited beside you, taking a swig of his water bottle and sweating after swinging a few times around the field. “I guess this counts as my workout for the day.”

“Congratu-fucking-lations,” you responded sarcastically, numb to all feelings.

He leaned over the golf cart, arms over the cart roof. “You had every opportunity to say no.”

“And I didn’t, okay? You gonna rub it in my face?”

He grinned, that dimple you once found cute growing increasingly irritating. “Potentially.”

“You’re actually having fun, aren’t you?”

He shrugged, not denying it. “Golf is entertaining on occasion, and it’s true I didn’t plan on playing, but it’s kind of nice to be playing with a group this big. It used to be just me and father.”

“He taught you how to play?”

“He thought it was good to teach about control. It forced me to utilize the amount of strength and helped me understand optimal angles. Once you master that, you can get closer to reaching your optimal target. He said that’s just about all you need to be the person you want to be in life.” Although he sounded as if he spoke fondly, a storm brewed in his gaze, one that it seemed like it would persist if you pressed on any further.

“Wow…somehow you made golf even more boring.” You stepped off the cart, stretching your legs and bending your knees to make sure they don’t give out on you in pins and needles. “I might go back to the club house. Get something more to eat, catch the news, learn about some new propaganda, anything but this really.”

His gaze pulled up behind, staring past your head at coming towards you both, eyes widening in fear. “Look out!”

His arms wrapped around you, clutching your body before he tore you away from the ground beneath you, and shielded you from the incoming impact. Your face buried in his chest, hearing the deafening screech of wheels scraping the grass as it dug into a puddle conveniently in front of you both and just in the way of the vehicle gone rogue, splashing mud water onto whoever was nearby.

“Oh shit, my bad!” Beomgyu, the cart boy and designated driver of the vehicle, said quickly before driving off.

Your heart was beating out of your chest, pounding against his as it raced at the same erratic pace. Your bodies intertwined with one another, his caging yours like a momentary safe haven. He pulled back you to level with him, feeling his firm grip hold you steady. “You okay?” Seungcheol asked, scanning you over.

You panted softly, your breath caught in your throat, since you were still in shock from the near collision that had just happened before calmly nodding. He looked you over, dusting any dirt and debris off of you, and he finally let you free once he was sure for himself you were fine. “You should’ve just stayed on the cart. That could’ve gotten really bad,” he scolded, pushing your golf cap over your eyes.

“Hey! Oh my god! What happened?”

Your friends rushed over after seeing the scene, prodding you with concerning questions to which you answered with ‘I’m fine’s and ‘okay’s. However, amongst the noise, you finally took notice of Seungcheol, specifically, the aftermath of the incident and his clothes stained in murky brown specks and splotches.

“Your clothes…” you pointed out with a guilt ridden face.

He shook his head reassuringly, “I’ll change once I get home.”

“Nonsense,” Minhyun retorted, “Grab something from the merch shop. Complimentary of course.”

“I appreciate it,” Seungcheol nodded, “I do think I’ll have to take her back home. I don’t know if I can keep playing after that just happened.”

“Of course! We understand,” Junhui agreed, looking toward you empathetically. “Make sure she’s okay, and take care, kid.”

“Thank you,” Seungcheol said, finally getting on the cart and driving off the field. It wasn’t until you were halfway across the field that you realized what he had managed to do in the matter of seconds you had. You pivoted your head to him, seeing that the concern that was once on his face melt into his default expression, phlegmatic with a hint of arrogance.

“You evil genius.”

Seungcheol smirked, looking at you through his peripheral vision. “‘Strike the iron, while it’s hot,’ I believe the saying is called.”

You made a visit to the merch shop as Minhyun suggested and met with the shopkeeper about getting their signature embroidered shirt with the country club's logo on the breast. He welcomed you, saying he was expecting you both after getting a call, but apologizing for the limited sizes. It was out of both your hands at that point, so you accepted it, handing Seungcheol off the medium and hoping for the best.

“I think this room is good.” You looked for an empty multipurpose for him to change into after seeing all the bathrooms nearby were closed for maintenance. The efforts to go further across the club for other bathrooms wasn’t worth the trouble, so this seemed to be the next best thing.

He followed after you, holding the shirt and walking in nonchalantly as you tried to quietly close the heavy door shut. He peered over at you, watching you behave strangely suspicious. “What are you doing?”

“Closing the door!” you shout-whispered. “What if people see us sneaking around and think we’re doing something indecent?”

“You think shutting the door quietly and whispering makes us look any better?” he asked in a normal volume.

“Well, when you put it like that,” you respond in your normal volume.

He rolled his eyes before pulling the bottom of his shirt up and over his head, seeing every inch of his abdomen: every muscle, every curve, and every vein.

“Woah,” you quickly turned around. “Just couldn’t wait to get your clothes off in front of me, could you?”

He scoffed, putting his dirty shirt aside before picking up the new one. “Why’d you turn around? Nothing you’ve never seen before, I’m sure.”

“Did you just slut shame me while you’re the one taking your clothes off? The gall!”

He pulled his newly acquired shirt over his head, feeling it hug his body as he stretched out the fabric. “You can look now.”

You spun back, seeing that the shirt they’ve got might have been a tad smaller than they anticipated, compressing against him to the point that his muscles bulged at the seams, leaving almost nothing to the imagination. He might as well not have worn a shirt at all. “That might be a bit small on you,” you stiffly pointed out.

“Well, it’s all we have.” He looked in the reflection in the mirror placed on the wall, unfortunately agreeing with you, checking himself in the mirror and already feeling it start to chafe.

“I’m surprised you did that today,” you brought up. “The speech, then the crazy save, wow.”

He scoffed, “Yeah, so was I. You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. How did you improv all that so quickly?”

He shrugged, attempting to stretch the fabric even a little bit, hoping it wouldn't tear. “I didn’t really. I just said how I felt.”

“Wait, really?”

He slightly turned his head. “Yes. Like how I couldn’t fathom how someone as insane and careless as you existed.”

You clenched your teeth, knitting your eyebrows together, “You fu-“

“Or when I couldn’t get you out of my head. It’s true, I made it my life’s mission then to beat you at every taekwondo match possible.”

“I hate you so—”

“And you said it was fate, not me, so technically I didn’t even lie.” He turned back, walking back to you, “Then again, omission is a form of lying on its own. You would know since lying to my employees is like an Olympic sport to you.”

Your nose scrunched, displeased. “Your welcome, whatever. We fooled them. Good work. That will keep them off my back for a couple weeks.”

He clapped his hands. “Good, sounds like my work is done.”

“Ha. For now. Your end though, still requires a lot of work. Look forward to that overtime.”

That’s where phasing the new method came in. It was a risky move that you had your doubts about, but considering the trauma bonding that fine Sunday, you were sure Seungcheol could warm up to the idea. However, it couldn’t work if he knew it was happening, that’s why he had to go in blind.

[part 2 immediately found here]

Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han @camisun93 @emmmui @toruro @novalpha @nvmrljk @feat-sun @tinkerbell460 @aaniag @tacosandbitch @kyeomiis @wonwooz1-blog @horanghaezone @stagefrjghts @pantumin @aaniag @mochisdayone @gyuguys @idubiluranghae @flwrshwa @itsmarieposa @palmsugr @apriyada @skittlez-area512 @choco-scoups @actuallynarii @tournesol155 @vvvlog @nerdycheol @christinewithluv @alyssa19123456 @kwonhs96 @scheolrriess @ch-rrycloud @fancypeacepersona @obsessionreads09 @userelv @minahaeyo @cookiearmy @wonwooz1 @carefully325

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kiss-me-muchoo · 20 days ago

Text

𝐌𝐲 𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲 || 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐨 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary_ Right after Lucy breaks up with Harry, he is left with an extra ticket to Iceland, so he invites the most unexpected person to go with him: you, Lucy’s sister. Only to return to New York and learn that he knocked you up.

warnings_ age gap (unspecified), spoilers for the movie, pregnancy, angst, they fuck and then it’s slowburn, fluff, Lucy and reader kinda have beef (but they love each other), NO PROOFREAD, BEWARE (I’ll edit grammar and blah blah later okay?)

Notes_ just please listen in order while reading:

1. Relationships

2. So Close

3. Guess You Could Say I’m In Love

4. My Baby (Got Nothing At All)

♫ ♪ the worst playlist 4 Pedro

✰ Index (+ fics here)

୨ৎ───୨ৎ───୨ৎ───୨ৎ───୨ৎ

It was the perfect night of extremely late spring, when it was not cold anymore but you still needed a light jacket. You had been out, leaning against the railing of a bar, smoking and looking at the passing city.

You heard the door opening and when you turned to look over your shoulder, you spotted Harry: your sister’s new boyfriend.

He also noticed you and barely smiled at you before walking closer. He was on a phone call, something about a meeting and appointment.

“Work call?” you asked after he hung up.

“Yeah. Lucy didn’t mind” Harry said and you allowed yourself to groan and roll your eyes at his words.

“Let me guess. She was talking with John?” you asked, and Harry seemed embarrassed, but he disguised it so well that he nodded.

“That woman is all talk-talk and no moves”

“I guess you’re her-“

“Lucy is my sister” you revealed to the man. “Well, my half-sister”

“I see, and… Why do you say that? About her?” He asked, making you sigh.

“You’re dating her. I don’t want to spoil your relationship” Harry chuckled, he stepped closer, also leaning on the railing like you.

“Swear I won’t tell…”

“Pinky promise?” You offered your pinky finger and he twirled his around yours. You spotted his gold ring and you finally confirmed that he was actually very rich.

“Pinky promise” he swore.

“Lucy claims she wants to secure a partner with money rather than loving them. But I know she yearns for sickening love”

Harry as the smart man you knew he was, understood quickly. Didn’t say anything, but you knew he would start thinking about your words eventually.

“What about you, kid? Do you want sickening love?” He asked and you crossed your arms, looking down at your boots.

“I once experienced it, as a teenager. But now… Not so sure. I don’t know if I have it in me anymore”

“We find it…”

“Childish” you finished for him.

Both of you smiled at each other.

…

You weren’t sure if it was a good or a bad thing that NYU hired you to be an advisor just weeks before the spring semester was over. With so much free time, you found yourself going to dance classes for adults and getting a volunteer job at your local library.

It was early in the morning when you had just finished getting ready to go to the library when your phone vibrated.

An unidentified number appeared on the screen and you debated whether to answer or not. You decided to pick it up, since it could be related to work.

“Hello?”

“It’s Harry…”

You frowned confused. Why was your sister’s boyfriend calling you? You had barely spoken to him before and after the night at the bar.

“Harry, hi. How did you get my number?”

“Your number is on the staff members list of NYU” he said and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Right. Well, How can I help you, dear?” You had no idea why he was calling. Lucy and you weren’t as close as it appeared.

She was the big sister and since your father preferred your mother before hers, it was not a secret in the family that you slowly became the priority.

You had just finished college unlike Lucy, who was a dropout. You barely had ex-boyfriends and couldn’t care less about dating, compared to her.

“I know this might sound weird…” he started, making you press the cell phone harder against your ear and cheek. “Lucy just broke up with me and we were supposed to take a flight to Iceland in the evening. And… She’s gone. I have this extra ticket and since you two have the same last name- I thought…”

You stopped listening to whatever he kept saying. Only focusing on the first part.

What would you do in Iceland with your sister’s ex-boyfriend? You didn’t know.

Then you thought about Harry himself. You barely knew him, he was wealthy, and apparently perfect according to Lucy.

Wouldn’t he prefer to take a model or fitness queen with him? And beyond that, Did he tolerate you enough to invite you?

“Harry, Are you sure? Cause-“

“Please, say yes. I can get you a room of your own and-“

“Perfect. I’ll send my driver to pick you up at 4:00. In the meantime I’ll put your name on the ticket” Harry said with evident optimism. “You have a passport, Right?”

“Yes, I have a passport” you confirmed with a smile.

“Great, I’ll see you later, kid” and he hung up.

You sighed, confused, happy, and overwhelmed. You weren’t sure why you said yes, you weren’t even sure if you completely liked Harry and you definitely weren’t telling anyone.

You went to grab your passport with the fear of finding it wasn’t expired. And when you saw it was all under control, you smiled.

It was a trip to the unknown. But you weren’t scared. In fact, you were curious about knowing better Harry and why Lucy broke up with him.

…

He was actually perfect. Harry went straight to see if the luxurious hotel in Reykjavík could give him another room for you. To his dismay, nothing could be done, but you assured him it was okay.

Sharing the same bed was not an issue. Not when the bed itself was bigger than any bed you had seen before.

He booked a private trip to walk inside a volcano and then, he rented a private spot in the Blue Lagoon, where hundreds of tourists waited to get a relaxing time in the waters but you two passed through all of them like nothing, as if Harry owned the place.

It was a medium-sized pool with amazing views of the mountains covered in green fawn and the gloominess of the surrounding water. You felt like a child, like a Nordic mermaid.

Harry had been nice, giving you hundreds of compliments and sharing light talk. He was very handsome, you noticed when he entered the pool. He had two scars in his thighs and you wanted to ask about it but you didn’t want to make him feel awkward. His wet hair made him look younger, but his fit appearance did all the work.

And as you enjoyed the feeling of swimming and basically savoring the water, Harry could only eye you with curiosity. And you wondered if he was noticing how childish you could be.

“I’m sorry. It’s just that I love the water” you admitted, finally taking a seat instead of remaining wandering. Your cheeks disgusting the embarrassment as they already were red from the vapor of the waters.

Harry only offered you a brief smile.

“I don’t mind that you’re enjoying this”

“I never thought of visiting Iceland before” you admitted, looking at the portrait views of the place. “I’m ignorant of much of the beauty the world has to offer”

“Where do you want to go? Paris?” You chuckle, shaking your head.

“I mean of course I want to go to Paris but I’ve always had a thing for Italy and Japan” you admitted. “And lately I’ve thought about how much I’d like to go to Malaysia”

“Malaysia?” Harry asked with genuine interest as you nodded.

“Yes, it’s perfect”

“I never thought about it” you shrug at the man sitting across from you.

“I can’t believe Lucy wasted the opportunity to experience something like this…” you said and Harry seemed to get thoughtful. He turned away from you, his arms leaning on the rocks and looking at the biggest mountain in the place.

“You were right…” he said taking you by surprise.

“I was?” You asked with shyness, thinking maybe you’d gone too far.

“Yeah, about her wanting sickening love…” you didn’t know if it was correct to ask for more details, but Harry spared you the silence. “I can’t love so easily, I just want companionship and stop hearing my mother that she wants me to marry”

“Then find someone who also just wants companionship. No actual love and pointless sweet nothings” you said taking a place beside him, feeling your muscles relaxing thanks to the water.

Harry turned to his left to eye you. He smiled and chuckled.

“You’d make a hell of a good wife for my mother” You shook your head, chuckling as well.

“Oh my god, Why?”

“She and my dad have a chunky age gap. She always tells me to date younger women…”

“Well, most relationships with age gaps don’t work well. But there are somewhere… the relationship sticks” you started, trying to choose the right words. “I hope that yours sticks too”

Both of you smiled at each other.

…

The dinner was great. You were surprised at how great you got along Harry. He was older and had more experience in every single aspect but he listened to your stupid bullshit and followed along. Just like you listened and asked about his stuff. It was like actually befriending someone. But in the middle of a Scandinavian five-star dinner and Vínarbrauð for dessert.

Then both of you wished good night to each other and went to bed. He never made you feel awkward or obligated to do anything and you loved it.

But you couldn’t sleep. Harry had been rolling over the bed for hours. You didn’t mind, but you grew curious as to why the sun was still up. Until you are seated on the floor, looking at the balcony and you remember it was a time of the phenomenon called Midnight Sun. The sun barely set over the horizon.

The sky looked red, purple orange, and with hints of magenta, with the rest almost completely dark. You couldn’t recall a sunset as beautiful as that one in Iceland.

“Can’t sleep?” Harry asked, startling you.

“You scared me, shit. But… No, for some reason, I cannot”

“Jet lag. I can’t sleep either”

His dark grey pajama pants and black t-shirt made him look cozy, even worthy of cuddles, but as the non-love person he was, you knew that’d be hardly a reality.

“We can postpone tomorrow’s agenda”

“No, I’m fine. You planned out everything already, I can’t make you cancel or postpone….” Maybe you sounded a little too hysterical, but you felt slightly entitled to enjoy everything Harry had planned for the trip. Even if it was meant to be for your sister.

Anyone would’ve said it was morally wrong and imprudent to accept the trip invitation. But… Why not? Harry was great and he wanted company. You thought he offered the ticket to you because it was cheaper to change first names and leave the same last name.

“You can say no, y/n. The fact that I have you here with me doesn’t mean you have to accept everything I planned” Harry said with a kind smile. One that made you realize he was a really good person.

Perhaps Lucy was right: he was perfect.

“You’re far too kind, Harry. I swear I’m insisting because I want to enjoy this trip” You lied in the slightest, but Harry didn’t seem to notice.

“Good girl,” he said patting your head and you playfully yanked his hand.

“I’m not a dog, man” Both of you chuckle until there are those smiles again.

Since that night in the bar, you felt some peace when that exchange of smiles happened. And you felt it again in that hotel, in Iceland.

“Maybe it was meant to happen this way” Harry said looking at the still Midnight Sun. “To have you here and not Lucy…”

“Could be destiny telling you to have a female younger friend”

“Or you just wanted to save money on the extra ticket” Upon hearing your words, Harry started cackling, which made you smile confused.

“You think I did it to save money?” You nodded and he kept laughing.

“I knew you were rich but no this reach”

“That gives me more points, right?” Then you cackled, patting his knee.

“You seriously have been brainwashed”

“Why so?”

“This thing about dating being a business” you said with a slightly frustrated tone. “It’s all total bullshit, just find someone who you enjoy spending time with, don’t cheat on them, and call it a day”

“So if I wasn’t rich, Would I still be a fair option for you?” Harry asked.

“You’re good-looking. Despite being older than me, you’re hot so… That’s a good start for me, so yes”

“What about being shorter?”

“Why? You had the limb lengthening surgery?” You asked and he remained quiet, looking at you deeply in the eye. So you started cackling again.

“For real?” Slowly, he nodded with genuine shyness.

“Oh my god. If you were my boyfriend, this where I kiss your cheeks, tell you I don’t give a fuck but make fun of it for the rest of our time together”

Harry only glared at you with a little smile. The faint light of the room is getting brighter as the sun would soon start to rise again. But Harry thought you looked radiant, with no makeup or trying to make yourself look desirable. At one moment he thought he would regret taking you with him. But he was glad since you were good company.

“That’s it. Now you know my darkest secret, now you’re entitled to be my friend forever” he joked, so you offered your hand.

“Friends forever, then…” you said, shaking his big and warm hand.

He didn’t let go of your hand at first. And when he did, his fingers passed to caress your cheek, testing the skin of it. It took you by surprise, but you found yourself leaning closer to him.

As he started to lean as well, you thought twice if it was a good idea. But there wasn’t much to think about when you already had Harry’s lips on yours.

By the way, his lips tried to take complete control, you understood that Harry was a dominant lover. He wanted the power of giving pleasure and when you started to feel his weight pushing you backward, you also understood he was more interested in your release rather than his.

“Harry…” you whispered before leaning backward completely.

“Should we stop?” He says on your lips, his hands stopping their movements in your hips.

You instantly missed the way his thumbs caressed your hip bones, the ache between your legs growing at a desperate speed.

You finally got on your back, your right hand barely touching his chin. His beard tickled you and when he accidentally moved his head, you touched his lips, so you pushed him, urging him to kiss you again.

“Do you have condoms?” You asked, trying to articulate coherent words as Harry pushed your shorts aside, quickly feeling how you weren’t wearing any underwear. He gasped and gave your wet lips a soft pat before nodding as you moaned for the first time in the night.

“Yeah, in one of my bags” you nodded back, trying to focus on getting the protection first. But dear lord, his fingers rubbed you so well, expertly gathering your crystal clear juices and making a wet mess in your clit. Your legs opened wider by instinct.

“Go and get the damn condom before I start getting wetter and needier” he smirked and when you thought he was going for the condoms, he slid two of his clean fingers in your mouth.

“I think, you come first and then I get the condoms” It shouldn’t have turned you on how bossy he sounded. You were pretty boring when it came to sex, but… What were you seeing in Harry that he was making you feel so aroused?

“Now, suck my fingers while I use the rest on your pretty cunt” You moaned in his fingers and closed your eyes when he started fingering you. All the time comes to remember the damn condoms.

It was safe to say that neither of you remembered the booked whale sighting tour for the next morning.

…

Was Harry your friend, friend with benefits, lover? You couldn’t tell.

Iceland was a dream. It made you feel sad to return to New York. But as the days passed, you quickly got back to your old routine and self. You remember your life was also great with no man sleeping by your side, dealing with debts, and not having five-course meals.

Until he called. Exactly two weeks after returning home.

“Am I talking with the most optimist woman in New York?” You smiled, remembering how Harry started saying you were too optimistic while trying different things in Iceland. Or when things got a little rocky after visiting a melting glacier.

“I believe that optimistic woman stayed in Iceland, sir” he chuckled and it made you smile wider.

“I should’ve called sooner, but I was so busy. How are you, kid?”

“It’s okay, I get it. I’m fine and you? How is job and life going?”

“Things are fine. Things are fine…” he repeated.

There’s a comforting silence for a couple of seconds. You heard the birds near your window and the sound of traffic down the block.

“So… We should see each other one of these days” you felt your heart pounding, fluttering, and sending shockwaves through your body. The same thing that happened with people who made you happy. You couldn’t tell but you really wanted to befriend Harry.

“Yeah, we should hang out or something” you agreed quickly.

“Great, I will call you soon…”

“I’ll be waiting. And Harry?”

“Yes, darling?’

“Thank you for everything”

“You thanked each day. I know…”

You hung up with a big big big smile.

…

Three weeks later, life inverted, in the most twisted and unexpected way.

You had declined each call from Harry Castillo, you were with a confectioner to get a dress for Lucy’s wedding with John. And you were six weeks pregnant.

It all started the weekend after Harry called. You have a cozy Saturday alone at your apartment and decided to have wine. It tasted great but you felt odd. And the next morning, the nauseous feeling started.

Two negative pregnancy tests later, you still felt sick. So you started ignoring Harry until you knew with certain details if you were pregnant or not.

Turns out you were, you needed thousands of vitamins to have a healthy pregnancy and apparently a husband or at least a boyfriend. You didn’t know what to do.

You didn’t even know if Harry deserved to know.

In Iceland, you saw how he placed the condom each time he was about to fuck you. Each time he trusted you, you wished he wasn’t wearing a condom so you could feel better that delicious vein his cock had. What was the point then?

It didn’t make sense. But there was a creature that didn’t even look like a fetus yet inside your womb.

When Lucy came to your place with the news that she was getting married to John, you genuinely felt happy for her. But even better for John because you knew him since you were a teenager and he was a great man, only that he needed to get a better job.

Lucy asked you to be her bridesmaid and you couldn’t say no. Because for the first time, you felt light while being with her, you couldn’t ruin things. So you didn’t tell her you were pregnant.

And horror of horrors, the day of the wedding, when you were ready with your bridesmaid grey dress while trying to get a cab, you found Harry leaning against a ridiculously expensive car, his driver ready to any command of his.

The color in your face drained. You gripped your purse tightly. He was wearing a suit and looked sad.

“You look very pretty” was the first thing he said, almost making your eyes grow wet.

“Harry…” you said.

“I called…”

“I know” you admitted with shame.

“Then why you didn’t answer any of my calls?”

“I’ve been sick” his expression changed, from dissatisfaction to worried.

“What? Are you okay? Is it serious?”

“No, uh… anemic breakdown and a meltdown combined” It wasn’t a complete lie. You were anemic and you had a meltdown. You were only skipping the part of Harry’s child growing inside you.

“I’m truly sorry. I know it was stupid but-“

“Hey, it’s okay. But you worried me, next time you tell me. Talk to me, I can’t cook but I’ll try and I can get you the best medicine”

Your eyes finally grew wet, but you swallowed the lump in your throat.

“I wish I could hug you right now”

“You can hug me, I don’t like love, but I’m human, dear”

You crashed into his arms and called it pregnancy hormones, but you kept holding Harry so dearly that you forgot about so many things while doing so. Except that, you felt worse for keeping the most important thing from him.

“We’re good then. And why are you so nicely dressed, little lady?” The nickname made you punch his arm as he made you spin around once to pay attention to your dress.

“Lucy is getting married” you revealed.

Harry couldn’t hide his shock.

“Really? With that actor?” He asked with pure curiosity. “What was his name? Uh-“

“John…” you told him and he nodded. “They’ll have a communal wedding and I’m the bridesmaid”

Harry subtly looked up and down at you, he was relieved to hear that you were not actually avoiding him. It was so weird that he was actually interested in you when he never pursued young women.

And it felt even better to not really care about Lucy’s love life.

“Can I take you to the wedding then?” He asked with a gorgeous spark in his eyes.

You weren’t sure if it was the best idea, but you couldn’t say no at that moment.

“Yes, you can” Then he opened the door of his car for you and the ride was comforting. You easily avoided sharing too many details about your sickness with Harry, but it didn’t mean you weren’t slowly feeling anxious about the whole issue.

When he dropped you at the place, you just couldn’t tell Harry to leave.

“We are going to have a little party at Lucy’s mother’s place upstate after the wedding. Do you want to come?” You asked feeling shy and small. He could’ve easily rejected you but he only smirked and started walking you toward the entrance, offering his arm,

“If Lucy and John have no problem. Then yes…”

“I hope not…’ but you knew it could get a little awkward.

And so it did, the moment Lucy appeared in a simple but beautiful wedding gown along with John, the smiles dropped when they looked at Harry.

“What did I miss?” She asked as she hugged you briefly.

“Uh, I wanted to say it sooner. But we’re…” In fact, you were clueless about your status with Harry. But soon he answered for you.

“We’re seeing each other,” Harry said, gently squeezing your arm. It took you by surprise and a little smile appeared on your face.

“She’s barely out of college” Lucy commented, sounding a little too judgemental.

“I know, she works at NYU” Harry answered, not feeling threatened at all.

So cynical, but polite and confident. That was Harry trying to not let the tension escalate between him and Lucy.

“And that’s great. If they get along, that’s also great. Right, Lucy?” John also tries to lighten the mood.

As Lucy was still eyeing Harry, you started to feel nervous. So John, took you by the arm.

“Hey, y/n. Why don’t you pick our seats?” You nodded immediately, but you didn’t want to let go of Harry, until you looked up at him and he offered a warm smile with a tilt, urging you to go with John.

“If you break her heart-“ Lucy starts, pointing at Harry with defiance.

“You know I won’t” he interrupted her.

And the truth was that Harry had so many points in his favor.

“Fine, go and sit with her”

…

It was a beautiful and humble party in a modest house. You remembered a few Christmass spent at that house: blue with white facades and too many flowers.

You forgot about a lot of Lucy’s family, and seeing them again was nice. She genuinely looked happy and relaxed. You knew she quit her job as a matchmaker and was trying to simply help plan weddings.

And it resulted in curious how hers was so light, classic, and homely.

Harry seemed to get along with the party, you wondered if he would feel like an outcast since it wasn’t a luxurious wedding, and it surprised you that he embraced humility as if he wasn’t part of the richest families in New York.

“So… you and Harry?” Lucy asked as soon as she appeared to take a seat beside you.

You sighed, nodding while watching Harry dancing with Lucy’s grandmother.

“I mean, I don’t know if we’re a thing but… is something”

“How couldn’t you tell me?” It was unsure if she was just curious or resented, but you wished it was just doubt and shock.

“I- I don’t know, it just happened”

“You’re aware that he’s older, avoidant and dominant. Right?”

“Lucy, I’m well aware of that. It’s not like I’m marrying him” Suddenly you felt irritated by his accusing tone. And you didn’t want to fight but as she kept bombarding you with comments, you started feeling anxious.

“Oh, you would. With all the materialist things he can get you. You’d hardly be willing to leave him…”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lucy finally snapped out of it, she realized she was getting on your nerves.

“You can never be happy for me, it’s always judge and judge and judge. My god, Lucy, just let me live the way I want!”

“…y/n” Lucy grabbed your hand, placing the free one on your cheek.

“You’re pale. Are you okay?” She asked with worry.

At that moment you realized your hands were turning numb, your vision was getting blurred and you could only hear a pitch, Lucy’s voice sounding distant.

Then nausea started its way through your chest and throat.

“My blood pressure is dropping”

Lucy yelled, calling for John.

Lucy’s mother, John, and Harry gathered around you.

You couldn’t see well but you knew Harry was right there, telling you to breathe and asking for water for you.

“Is she sick?” John asked, fanning you.

“Maybe she’s dehydrated” Lucy commented, debating whether to call for an ambulance.

You looked very pale and you couldn’t even lift your hands anymore.

“Dear, Are you pregnant?” Lucy’s mother asked you with a relaxed voice.

You distantly heard her and started nodding.

“You got my sister pregnant?” Lucy started screaming at Harry. John was trying to calm her and the rest of the guests were looking at each other in confusion.

“Harry, get her inside the house, please” Lucy’s mother had always been nice to you, despite not getting along with yours, she was always kind and soft-spoken to you.

You barely felt Harry carrying you all the way from the backyard to the living room of the house.

…

The sound of water being poured finally made a return to reality.

Harry handed you a cold glass of water and you thanked him.

“Do you feel a little better?” you only nodded, looking for any sign of anger from him. But Harry looked calm, he got on his knees, facing you and looking so deeply into your eye that sent shivers through your spine.

“Is it true? You’re actually pregnant and is mine?”

“I- Yes…” you admitted, lowering your head.

‘And you weren’t going to tell me?”

“I wasn’t sure. I don’t even know if I’m having it…”

“How far are you?” His eyes felt heavy on your still flat stomach, with no specific emotion on his face.

“About six weeks…” the air felt thicker but not suffocating.

Harry remained calm, making it harder for you to understand what he was feeling.

“Harry, I don’t want to ruin anything. I really like you and I enjoy your company. This was an accident…”

“A one-of-a-kind accident,” he said, and his attempts to joke, made you feel less stressed out.

The condoms were fine. But he didn’t doubt some had a defect. That’s why only dated women who were on birth control. But… he couldn’t judge you, you were in your right to stay out of it. In fact, Harry admired you for opposing it, but it came with a great cost. And for some reason, he couldn’t be angry.

He was not getting any younger, his mother would hate the idea of him getting a woman pregnant before putting a ring on her finger. But he liked the idea.

“I’ll respect whatever you choose to do. But I’d like you to keep it, let’s have a kid. I promise we’re going to be fine”

Finally, you felt like you could breathe again. Not really because you desired to become a mom. Or because you wanted to tie Harry to you. But because now you had an answer. It was your time to choose.

“Are you sure?” You asked leaning forward, very few inches of distance between you and Harry.

“Yeah, I am,” he said before caressing your cheek. “I’m going to take care of you so well, darling”

Lucy saw the exchange from afar, from the sprint door his mother had in the kitchen. She found herself smiling. And accepting her maths was once again wrong. You and Harry Castillo made a match.

…

[ First Trimester]

The whole place smelled like chicken broth. You were drinking hot hibiscus tea while flipping through a fashion magazine.

“Holy fuck…” you heard from the kitchen. At first, it startled you but then, you started chuckling.

“Are you okay there?”

“Everything is fine, sweetheart”

Harry was attempting to cook for you. You were three months pregnant, he was coming at least three times per week to see you. But when you faced a whole entire week of nausea and vomiting, he stayed the whole week.

Slowly, you were getting used to having him in your life. The only bad thing was that you two had never defined the relationship. And you weren’t desperate to do so, but it was odd whenever an old lady asked if you were Harry’s wife.

“Dinner is ready…” Harry announced.

You made it to the kitchen and he had placed two bowls of chicken broth along with cranberry juice glasses. You stared at the scene in awe.

“We can order delivery if you don’t like it”

“No! Harry, don’t! It smells great!” you reassured him, caressing his hand.

He would never pressure you. But as Harry saw you slurping at the soup and engaging in whatever conversation he brought up, he wanted to make you consider marriage.

He was growing too comfortable with you.

He wasn’t in love and doubted he’d ever be. But felt nice, having a couple without a facade.

…

[ Second Trimester ]

Hospitals made you uneasy. Not even clinics were as terrifying as big white sanitizer-smelling hospitals. But there you were leaning in a cold bed with Harry sitting beside you.

It was the fifth-month appointment and so far, everything seemed to be going well. The nausea stopped and so the hormones became overproduced. You started staying some days at Harry’s penthouse and he got you a full maternity lingerie wardrobe to wear for him. It was silly, but you two had so much fun despite not being an ordinary couple. The relationship was still undefined, but it was too good, so you avoided the subject as much as he did.

“Alright, parents. Are we ready to know the sex of the baby? Or would you like to print the results?” The nice old doctor asked.

Harry and you exchanged looks before smiling at each other, nodding at the same time.

“We’d like to know now…” you said at the doctor. She was one of the best in New York and Harry easily got you an appointment with her during the second month of the pregnancy.

“Alright then… Let’s see” the cold gel in your womb almost made you squirm. But the warm touch of Harry’s hand on your shoulder relaxed you.

Through the echography, you start to see faint parts of the baby’s body. The head, what seemed like an arm and leg, and then… you squeezed Harry’s hand.

“It’s a girl, congratulations!” The doctor yelled. “I’ll go print some pictures and then I’m back to clean your belly.

You smiled again, and then Harry leaned closer, kissing your cheek.

“You heard that, baby? We’re having a girl…” Harry whispered in your ear, making you blush and caress his knuckles.

You were becoming addicted to him. But you knew it had to be the pregnancy playing with your emotions.

…

[ Third Trimester ]

Charlotte; Harry’s sister-in-law offered and insisted on throwing you a baby shower. You couldn’t say no, but you warned her how you wanted to be a casual party with no storks and sandwiches and games.

And it worked out.

She rented a rooftop that felt like a dream despite not being too ostentatious. There was pink everywhere, but it wasn’t blinding. People congratulated you and Harry and constantly asked if you two would get married. Others are reserved to compliment your outfit. You picked a sundress with comfortable heels, curled hair, and orange makeup. Your belly popped out weeks ago, and by the time of the baby shower, you were seven months pregnant.

And you were scared. Not because your due date was approaching, but because you were utterly in love with the father of your baby.

The sickening love knocked at your door and didn’t seem to want to leave.

Harry looked gorgeous as ever, he was in dress pants in sand color with a salmon pink shirt. He was proud of being babygirl father-to-be. And that was one of the many reasons that made you feel like you couldn’t live without him.

The cake was cut and some guests had already left, but there was a song from The Ronettes that Harry and you loved, so he asked if you wanted to dance with him.

“Charlotte outdid herself with this shower” you commented while placing your head on Harry’s chest.

“She did. Everything was nice…”

“Pink suits you” you dared to tell him, which made him laugh.

“Really? I never wear pink. But I’m getting used to it” his comment made your heart flutter.

“Same for me” you admitted.

“Be for real, baby. Everything fits you…”

“Even this bump between us?” The hand on your shoulder came to rest on your belly.

“That only makes it more special” Your smile was overflowing.

And just when he said that the baby kicked.

Harry felt it and sighed in disbelief. He couldn’t believe he was going to ask Lucy to marry him.

After you, nothing would ever top the feeling of having a woman like you in his life. And to your luck, he was also scared to be falling in love with you.

…

You were late. Harry was about to call you to see if everything was okay, and then you knocked on his door.

“Why are you sweating so much?” Harry asked upon opening the door.

“I came all the way here from my place walking?” you revealed and Harry huffed in disbelief.

“Are you insane? Why would you do that? You’re pregnant, y/n!” Harry pushed you inside his penthouse.

“Harry, I’m being too lazy, I can’t even hit my usual gym routine anymore”

“You’re insane. My baby girl must be so tired” You grew accustomed to having him kissing your bump whenever you two reunited after days of not seeing each other.

“Your baby girl was screaming, begging for a trip”

“When she’s at least four months old, I’m taking my girls to Malaysia like you always wanted” You wanted to rip your heart out and stop seeing him as the most perfect human being.

You wanted to scream you loved him. But you weren’t sure if Harry broke his boundaries like you did.

“You don’t have to…”

“I want to. You deserve it” Slowly, he dragged you to the kitchen, showing you delivery food bags and a pizza box.

“Now, we’re going to clean you up a little bit and then we’ll have a nice dinner and then watch those horror cases you like to see” he started kissing your neck, aiming at your melting point, you gasped, immediately getting turned on.

“Are you sure getting me cleaned is the first thing we’ll do?” Harry chucked, spinning you to kiss you on the lips.

“I can clean you and have a nice time with you at the same time, doll” It was a promise. He washed your hair and then gave you your head. Great communication, promising goals, nice sex. Harry was able to give you the world even if you ignored his money.

…

The moment you felt the bed wet, you got so embarrassed that you almost cried. But soon you started feeling contractions. The pain is ten times worse than the darkest periods of a year.

You looked at the clock and it was 5:00 am, Harry soon was awake as well.

“Are you okay?” He asked, yawning before sitting to take a better look at you.

You wanted to answer, but you let out a big moan of pain.

“No… I think she’s coming today, Harry” he stood up only to come around the bed and sit beside you. “Harry, it hurts too much!”

“Hey hey, baby. Look at me please” You struggle, but you do as he says. “Breathe, just like in the courses we took. Breathe…”

Trying to find some peace, you sigh, holding his hands and expecting the pain to pass.

“You can do this. You will bring our babygirl today and it’s going to be fine” You start nodding with tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

It’s too much happening at the same time. But there is your Harry holding onto you and urging you to keep going at the same time.

You need to tell him. To say-

“I love you” both of you say at the same time.

…

June, June, June, June…

That was all you could say. Over and over again. Ever since you woke up, she was already dressed in a pink onesie with an embroidered duck and gloves covering her tiny hands.

She had a head full of golden hair and had the same kind of eyes as Harry. She was born in the evening and smelled so unique that made you kiss her temple over and over again.

The moment you pushed her out of your body, you fell asleep and the rest of the day was blurry.

“She’s perfect. Isn’t she?” You asked the following morning. Harry hugged you from behind, feeling your body covered in bandages.

“And she smells perfect” Harry replied, feeling your body against his. You threatened to get surgery if your body didn’t return to normal after a year of giving birth. But Harry reassured you that he would love you no matter what.

“Here…” Harry offered you an envelope and it made you frown.

June was asleep, her soft breathing making you look at her like being under a spell. But Harry was still your core shaker. You opened the envelope and gasped in surprise.

Three tickets to go to Malaysia in the fall.

“Harry…” before you could speak, he hushed you.

“One thing in exchange…”

“Yes, dear?”

“Marry me” he told you with a big smile on his face.

Your cheeks burnt and you started giggling, only to end up crashing in his arms and kissing him all over his face.

“Sure”

“Sure that’s all you’ll say?”

“What else do you want me to say?” He rolled his eyes and hugged you tightly against his chest.

“God, I love you”

“June and I love you too, Harry” you assured him, hearing his heartbeats.

“So much?”

“Maybe a little too much, baby” you concluded.

_________________________________________

Taglist: @mirandablue1 @hopperbopper @aeriaselle1711 @persiar9 @qtmoonies @isa942572 @luvrrish @chewie-bars @particularlypuppetry @sweetlovepascal @samslvrgirl @holydreamflower @hummusxx @llamaproblem @sydneyandioop @gretagergwigsmuse @callmefroggy10 @withakindheartx @everandforeveryours @qyoongi @umadirectioner @bellatopo25 @dilfs4life69 @inlovewithchrisevans123 @littlemisslovesjpbp @arcticversed @maniac-penguin @destinythepanda

#pedro pascal x reader #harry castillo x reader #harry castillo x you #harry castillo #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal characters

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lanadelreyscokewhor3 · 26 days ago

Text

GOLDEN HOUR- D. GRAYSON

day nine of the june bug masterlist

pairing: dick grayson x florist! fem! reader (sex pollen)

word count: 4.1k

summary: a handsome stranger has captured your heart and affections, so its only natural you call for him when a mysterious plant sprays you in your flower shop, and you start to feel... rather funny.

warnings: SMUT, sex pollen used, riding dick grayson on the floor (hell yeah), heavy praise kink, lots of petnames, grinding/ dry humping, man handling, fluff and yearning, making out, swearing, slight masturbation

“ baby, don't you know? that you're my golden hour, the color of my sky/ you set my world on fire, and i know, i know everything's gonna be alright”- golden hour, kacey musgraves

The birds chirping in the morning was so peaceful it reminded you of heaven on earth.

Or at least- your version of it.

It reminded you of the soft countryside you called home, before you moved to the big scary city of Gotham. All you needed now was the soft hum of the lawnmowers from the neighbours, or the soft patter of rain that was an open invitation for you to go out in your bare feet, letting the morning dew tickle your toes as you searched for frogs in nothing but your nightgown.

But sadly, home was far away now- and so was the country.

It was a burning dream of yours to go back, to build or find a little cottage where you could grow all the flowers you wanted, having a little garden, filled with sweet delights like berries you could make into jam for your homemade sourdough.

With whoever tended to your dreams with you.

It was what you were working for. And if you found someone along the way, you supposed it would make the cloudy days a bit more comforting.

For now, the closest you could get was your little job at the local florist shop.

It brought you joy, especially on sunny days like today, where business was booming and you could meet lovely people of all ages. Either trying to get some tulip bulbs they could plant in their yard in the fall, or if they needed a bouquet for their loved ones.

The thought of your regular, a sweet older woman named Barbra made you smile at the idea she’d come in, grumbling as usual about the traffic or whatever it may be, just to burst into a smile as soon as she saw you tie a new bouquet together with pink ribbon.

You always snuck her a little flower, typically a baby's breath for her under the counter, to add to her collection of random florals.

You stretched, letting the rarity of sunlight in Gotham trickle through your window and onto your face, savouring the warmth of the summer months. Although you noticed it was a lot more sunny than you were told it would be, since moving here.

An odd fluke, you supposed.

Taking your time, as you always woke up early enough to savour the light of the day as if you were Snow White herself, you made your bed, sheets smelling of the lavender spray from the florals you’d collected yourself.

Next was the tea of course, herbals often woke you up. Letting the soft lace of your nightgown brush your thighs, you headed towards the kitchen towards the kettle, the fresh batch of scones you made the other night your next destination.

As you waited for the water to boil, you couldn't help but lean back against the counter, a soft smile on your face as you observed your indoor plants.

It wasn't the end goal, but it was a beautiful pit-stop along the way. And that, you could be happy with.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

Barbra’s presence could be felt before it could be heard.

You peered up at her little frame, slightly hunched over, but in working condition, nonetheless. You called her a well oiled machine. She called herself a grouchy piece of shit.

But today, something was different.

Was that… a smile on her face? Before she had come inside to greet you?

Odd.

You peered out the window, trying not to seem too obvious as you glanced outside, and saw her talking to… a man?

A beautiful man, at that. Tall, at least a foot or so taller than you, his muscles practically bulging out of his little Black Canary Tour shirt.

You could tie a pretty pink ribbon around them just for it to snap the second he did so much as move his bicep.

But what really captivated you was the baby blues that gleamed at Barbra. The way his smile seemed to twinkle in the sun, real and genuine as he laughed. He was so animated, hands moving as he talked, before his fingers pointed to you.

You froze.

Quickly scurrying away, out of sight to make yourself busy, and to tend to your racing heart.

Soon, a little jingle of the shop bell rang out, and you poked your head out from the daisies, preparing for the worst.

“You’re smiling? Who are you, and what did you do with Barbra?” you teased, making her laugh.

“You got yourself a suitor out there eh? A handsome one at that.” Barbra smiled, wacking your arm gently with her newspaper. Your eyes widened.

“Suitor?”

“Yeah dolly he’s right into ya. I was about to go harass him, as he was staring at you a little too much for my liking, like some black cat on a windowsill. Spooked the damn boy, was about to give him hell until I saw the look in his eye.”

You raised your eyebrow, crossing your arms over your chest.

“What look in his eye?”

“Love.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “Love. Right.”

“You know better than to question me girl. I know best. I’ve lived a lot more lives than you, and I know what love looks like. That man is head over heels.”

Something like warmth bloomed in your chest at her words, and you couldn't help but hope it was true. He was so handsome, and if he could manage to make Barbra laugh, there must have been something about him that was special.

“I’m sure. In love with a nobody flower shop girl who clips flower stems in her free time.”

“The most beautiful girl in the city, who happens to clip flower stems in her free time. Now, shut up and give me some sunflowers dear. I’m on my way to bridge practice and I need to get these to my sister.”

You nodded, collecting her flowers and ignoring her payment.

“Well, get on then you grouch.”

She laughed, slipping you a twenty despite your protests, and was out the door before you could process the sneaky bill slip she performed and give it back to her.

For an older woman, she was fast.

The bell rang again, and you expected her to toss another comment about getting your head out of your ass, but you were royally surprised when the handsome stranger was there instead.

Sun shown from the back of his head, illuminating him like he was an angel, halo burning brightly. You urged yourself to not let his beauty consume you.

“Do you always just watch girls from outside their work, or is this special treatment?” you asked, leaning against the counter.

He smiled. “Only you. Isn't that so cheesy?”

“Or creepy, depending on how you look at it. But Barbra likes you. So I suppose I can find it in my heart to forgive you for your vigilante activities.”

His hand went to his heart, bowing his head almost in solitude.

“She really knows how to scare a man.”

“I heard one time she twisted a man's balls so hard he had to go to the hospital, because he thought they were going to fall off.”

You laughed at his shocked reaction, turning into an easy grin as he walked towards you, towering over you from behind the counter.

“Now, are you here to buy anything? Or just flirt with me?” you asked boldly.

“Both. Is that okay?”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks and you looked away quickly, shrugging.

“Suppose.”

“Y/N…” he read your delicate nametag, the writing in your own penmanship, swirly, girly font with a little blooming tulip next to it.

“Forgive me if this question sounds odd but… what's a pretty thing like you doing in Gotham? You’re the human form of the sun. You shine so brightly here it's almost blinding.”

You froze at his words, trying to not let them know how much they impact you.

You’re the human form of the sun.

No one, no man- had ever said anything so kind to you. So near and dear to your heart. It nearly caught you off guard. All you could do was smile at him softly, batting your lashes at him as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, letting your bracelets jangle.

“I’m here to shine.” was all you said as you shrugged, turning your back to him to gather flowers that matched his energy.

You didn't even know what he was in here for. You were too flustered to ask.

Instead, you felt his eyes following your figure as you selected the blossoms, reaching up on your tiptoes to select some that were out of reach.

Soft blues and whites- blue stars, baby's breath, and columbines. You sprinkled in some soft yellows, buttercups and primroses. Tying it all together with a soft, pale baby blue ribbon, humming to yourself softly.

“For…?” you asked, pen hovering just above the little card.

“Dick. Dick Grayson.” You nodded, writing his name, and feeling even so bold as to even scratch your number just under it. Maybe your countryside future could be closer than you thought.

And by the look on his face as he saw your number on that very same tea stained card, he must have thought the same.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

You had fallen.

Hard.

And god, could anyone blame you?

God himself couldn't blame you, for all the time Richard Grayson had swirled through your mind, clouding your thoughts until they were sprinkles of pollen.

He was sweet, like the lemonade you made for him when he first came over to visit your place.

He had a green thumb. He liked mint chocolate chip ice cream, which you would never give him the satisfaction of knowing, but you liked it too. He was polite, always holding the door for you, a soft palm on your back as he’d lead you inside, always closing his eyes whenever you changed in front of him, claiming it wasn't gentleman like to watch a woman change (though you caught his fingers peel from his eyes a few times).

He was an animal lover. He was nurturing, and wanting nothing more than to provide for you.

And he always listened. About anything, really- but especially when you talked about your future.

With him in it.

It made his heart swell up so large he feared it would break his ribcage, at the mention of your garden, and your chickens, dogs, ducks, cats- the homemade meals and soft cuddles by the stone fireplace.

All involving him.

Of course you included his interests- referring to the dogs as his dogs, mentioning his favourite dishes, and his brothers coming to visit whenever they wanted. Talks on your couch turned into sweet kisses, gentle touches and addicting tastes of mint, coffee and the musk of cinnamon.

It was all you had wanted, and if God, or anyone judged you for the temptations of Eve’s apple, it was something you’d collect seeds from and grow yourself.

An apple tree of temptation, the branches of Dicks embrace wrapping you tightly.

Barbra noticed it too, the effect he had on you. How somehow- someway, she had stated, you seemed even more bright.

Butterflies had practically found their way to you, fluttering on the flowers outside the store, resting on your fingers as you sent them off to the sun. Birds chirped even louder, the faint smell of honey and cinnamon a constant warm embrace around you as you left Dicks arms in the morning, spreading your wings to go off on your own, to tend to the store.

It was an unusual day today though, you noted.

It was cloudier than it had been lately, though that was Gotham. Light sprinkles of rain pattered off your umbrella as you walked to the floral shop, and despite the rain, you still found it in your heart to smile at anyone who passed by.

It was quiet today, and you had expected just as much. Tonight would be equally as quiet, as Dick had plans with his brother, Jason. You urged him to go off and do his own thing, as even sometimes you needed your own space.

Tonight would be filled with fluffy blankets, buttery popcorn, some mint chip ice cream, and superhero movies. A perfect night, in your opinion. Perhaps a beeswax candle could be lit- a reminder of Dicks sweet smell that stained the pillows.

Your thoughts of the Friday night ahead were whisked away as a customer stepped inside, shaking the rain from her bright red hair.

She smiled, waving slightly as she adjusted her very large purse, starting to browse around. You smiled back, turning your back to resume your task, letting her browse in peace. You never liked to hound anyone, knowing how annoying it could be as a customer yourself, when pesky store owners nagged at you, or pressured you to buy something you were having doubts on.

Plus, if she had questions, she’d ask.

You were approachable enough. Or at least you hoped you were.

By the time you turned around again, she was out of sight. Nothing left of her but the gentle chime of the door bell as her heels clicked against the pavement.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

As you were doing your rounds before closing, something had you stop in your tracks.

A plant.

Of course, a plant was not out of place in a florist shop, but this particular one, captured your attention. It was foreign to you, which was unusual, considering you had spent countless years pouring over plant textbooks, and gathering as much hands-on experience in the garden that you could muster.

But this… this was not something you had ordered in.

Then how the hell had it gotten here?

You picked up the pot, observing the unusual markings on the petals. It was beautiful, the flowers almost mimicking those of a lilly. But you knew deep down, it wasn't.

As you picked up the pot, you were blinded.

You gasped, inhaling pollen as it sprayed at you, almost like a mist of freckles that splattered on your cheeks, getting in your nose, your mouth, clouding your vision.

You coughed, setting the plant down where it had rested, waving the air as your vision blurred, tears starting to trickle down your cheeks. Making your way over to the counter, you started to sneeze and cough, feeling as if the vapors were choking you.

At least you could see now, scrambling off your apron and tossing it somewhere- unknown to you.

You’d deal with it tomorrow. For now, you needed fresh air, and a clear head. Whatever had sprayed you, it was having an effect- fast.

Your body felt tense. Like it had been strung up on a live wire. Heat curled in your gut, strong and fast- like a current that threatened to drag you under its vicious waves.

Sweat dotted at your forehead, your fingers curling into fists. It was so hot you fought the urge not to strip naked and lay on the cool wooden floor.

But no, god no- you needed to get home. To lay down, get some rest, and let this do its thing.

But your head was clouded. Foggy.

All you knew was that you felt hot, bothered and needy.

You wanted Dick. But Dick was with his brother and he needed time to himself, and to enjoy his family… and yet you dialed his number anyways.

He would know what to do. He could help you, could touch you, could take away this pain, this need- this want that consumed you whole- like Goya's Satan consuming your very flesh.

It took two quick rings before his gentle voice answered, quickly turning to concern as you moaned.

“Sweetheart? What's going on?”

“Some plant. I found some plant when I was closing, I don't know what the hell it is but it sprayed me and now I can’t- I can't think- God its so hot-” you panted, slouching against the counter, grounding yourself onto the floor as you let your head lull back.

“Fuck. Fuck sweetheart, where are you now? I’m coming right now.”

“N-no s’okay stay with Jason. I just didn't know if you knew-” you hiccuped, groaning again as you felt your clothes start to stick to your body.

“If you knew what it was. Maybe I can sleep it off.”

You heard a low voice in the background, catching some of the words the man, presumably Jason, mumbled. “Its Ivy. That sex pollen shit we saw a while ago, but fuck Bruce hasnt found a cure yet.”

“Sweetheart, did anyone new come into the shop today that looked unfamiliar?”

You nodded, even though you knew he couldn't see you. The drug was making you hazy.

“Some redhead came in with a large purse. But I didn't think anything of it. She was gone before I could offer her help.”

You heard cursing on the other line, before Dick begged for you to stay conscious. “I’m gonna be right there sweetheart, you just stay put okay? Shut the blinds, lock the door and if it's me, I’ll knock three times.”

You tossed your phone as he hung up, tugging at your top. You had turned the air on, yet it felt so stuffy and hot you felt like you might puke.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck I need-” you gasped, letting your hands cup your breasts, toying at your hardened nipples through the lacy floral bra fabric, feeling heavy and aching. You started to unbutton your pants, shimmying them off your body, sweat sticking to them.

Trapped in your own head, you let your fingers trace your body, but it wasn't enough.

Whatever had sprayed you, it wanted more. It wanted him.

And almost as if it was some divine intervention, the plant weaving its vines around Dick Grayson to tug him to the front door, you heard three quick wraps on a knuckle on the door.

“Sweetheart? It's me honey, can you let me in please? I’m gonna make you feel better okay?”

You groaned, starting to crawl to the front door, reaching up to unlock the door for your savour. And fuck, the sight before him made him hard.

It felt wrong, and dirty to feel so turned on at the sight of you- but he couldn't help it.

There you were, on your knees, looking up at him with so much need in your eyes, lips quivering as sweat trickled down your neck. The pollen stained your cheeks like golden freckles, like constellations in the sky that sang to him.

“Oh my poor, sweet girl.” he cooed, locking the door behind him as he crouched down, cupping your cheek with his palm, stroking little circles gently with his thumb.

“M’gonna make you feel better little dove, okay? You just tell me what you need from me. But we gotta, we gotta get this out of your system.”

You nodded, wincing slightly, not from pain- but from overstimulation as his hand trickled down to stroke your bare collarbones, eyes darting to your pretty pink floral set that sent his mind reeling.

“H-how do we fix this Dickie?” you whimpered, his heart nearly crackling into pieces at how sweet his nickname sounded from your cherry blossom lips.

“Well it's a sex pollen honey so I think- well we have to…”

“Have sex?” you asked and he nodded.

“That would make me feel better. All I can think of and feel is this fuzzy, burning need. It hurts.”

He cooed, letting his hand rest just above your throbbing core. “Right here honey? Is this where it hurts?”

You nodded frantically, guiding his hand down to your soaked panties, juices already coating his fingers from the simple brush of his fingers.

He groaned, the sound making you whimper in delight.

“And right here. M’so sorry Dickie-”

“No, no you don't get to apologise for this honey. You take what you need from me, okay? I’m gonna help you feel all better again, get that fuzziness out of your head.”

Your hands slipped up to tangle in his hair, tugging at the soft, dark raven locks hungrily as your lips found his. He melted into your touch, and you couldn't help but savour the feeling of dominance you had over him.

Even if it was an illusion.

You felt so hungry you couldn't help but straddle him, letting your hands roam over his body, touching anywhere you could reach. It was as if he had been sprayed as well, with the way he was touching you back.

Manhandling you up into his lap, gripping your ass as you began to grind on the fly of his jeans, letting the cool flicker of the zipper soothe your ache as you dampened the fabric.

Guiding you with his hands, urging you to do whatever you wanted to him. As if he was in this as much as you were.

Your equal.

“Need- need you now please.” you practically whined, tugging his shirt over his head, his warm chest now flush with yours, his fingers toying with the back of your bra strap. You gasped as it fell, sliding down your arms, his fingers wrapping around the nipple and tugging on it harshly.

The pain was delicious. You needed more.

“Take what you need sweetheart. My sweet flower.”

You wasted no time tugging his pants off, throwing them haphazardly on the floor with your undergarments, hands guiding him down to the floor.

“You’re so good to me.” you whispered, head bowing as he ran his cock through your soaked folds, before slowly guiding himself in.

Your eyes widened, as if sparks had gone off and illuminated throughout your body.

This. This was what you needed.

All of this, the feeling of him stretching you, guiding you in with such compassion and tender praises, cooing at your little expressions and sounds as he filled you to the brim.

It was as if the pain had stopped, just briefly. Dick Grayson was your cure.

“Big stretch I know baby. I’m sorry, I didn't have time to prep you m’just worried… oh-” he was cut off by your sudden movements, riding him like your life depended on it.

Which it did. You didn't have time to waste. And it was like this thing- this pollen had taken hold of your body, and you were a puppet on its strings.

Gripping his chest, your nails dug and scratched him as you tossed your head back, letting him admire you as much as he wanted. The way your lips hung open as your sweet little moans trailed from them, your forehead scrunched in concentration, letting the waves of the pleasure consume you.

Your eyes, closed, lashes fluttering your cheeks, crying out his name.

The sight alone almost had Dick Grayson come undone. But he had to hold off for you, had to help you first. That was always his rule.

“There you go sweetheart, doing so good for me. Feels so fuckin good oh my god- ridin me like that..” he cooed, hands firm on your hips as he thrusted up, meeting you half way.

Until he couldn't control himself, picking a rhythm that you mindlessly followed, body going limp as he pounded into you- taking control. Knowing that was what you needed.

You didn't even need to tell him where you were, he knew, could feel you squeezing him.

“Let go for me honey. Good girl..” he cooed softly, holding you close to his chest as you came down from your high, legs quivering as you clung to him like a teddy bear.

“Is it over?” You asked softly, your head on his steady heartbeat as he stroked your hair. He shook his head.

“I’m not sure honey. You might need a few more rounds, but I promise, you’ll be okay. Its almost out of your system.”

You nodded, feeling the surge of pleasure lap at your insides, letting it consume you wholly again.

“I’m so sorry Dickie.”

He stopped you, silencing you with a kiss. “Stop apologizing, my sweet girl. We’re gonna get through this. We’re in the home stretch, and I’ve got you. I’m here. Gonna make it all better.”

And deep down, you knew that was the truth.

It had taken a few more rounds for your fiery insides to burn down to little embers, loud moans turning to soft whimpers and hiccups. And he was there with you for all of it, on the floor, against the wall, up on the counter.

And each way he handled you, made you feel like a delicate little petal, despite your actions being anything but.

Holding you in his arms when the flush from your body subsided, and your skin had cooled to a normal temperature, when sleep consumed your body as you lay curled in his lap, his shirt acting as a blanket that you breathed in deeply.

His cum trickling down your thighs, that he had cleaned up before slipping you back into your clothes, and carrying you back to your apartment.

And you knew then, that he’d never leave you. Not now, and not ever.

423 notes · View notes

lowrisemiller · 2 months ago

Text

ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘɪᴄᴋᴜᴘ ᴛʀᴜᴄᴋ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴅᴜᴍʙ ʟᴜᴄᴋ ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ɪ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ɪᴅ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ʙᴇ

ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ᴍᴏᴛᴇʟ ʀᴏᴏᴍꜱ ɪ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴇᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅɪꜰꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴛʟʏ

one - shot inspired by ethel cain’s song “thoroughfare”

Joel Miller never planned to take her with him. she was just a hitch in the road, twenty years younger and all bright eyes and soft questions. but somewhere between truck stops, cheap motels, and stolen glances, she became something more. now, a motel bed and a moment of weakness threaten to unravel everything he's been trying not to feel. just two lonely people trying to outrun their pasts—and maybe, finally, running toward something that feels like forever.

based on this ask | masterlist | 7.3k words | mutual pinning & yearning (I can't stop writing art this old man yearning im sorry), age gap (22&45), pov switches, joel being a bit possessive, vaginal sex, light edging, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it in fiction only!)

The air was heavy enough to bite.

You’d already tied your hair back twice, but the heat didn’t budge. The pavement outside the diner shimmered like it was trying to disappear, and the cicadas had been singing since dawn. You were clocked out early, an apron slung over your shoulder, a duffel bag kicking at your heels. Not much in it—just a couple changes of clothes, your toothbrush, and your busted-up walkman with the Heaven or Las Vegas cassette still jammed inside. It barely played anymore, but you liked the way it sounded: warped and a little sad.

You’d told your boss you were leaving. She didn’t ask where. You figured she knew the look in your eye—like someone standing too close to the edge of something wide and unknown. The kind of look you get when you’ve finally run out of reasons to stay.

That’s when you heard it. The low, rough growl of an engine that didn’t belong to anyone local.

You looked up just in time to see a pickup roll into the lot, dust curling around the tires. It was all dented metal and sun-bleached paint, and behind the wheel sat Joel Miller—grayer than you remembered, beard thick and eyes squinting behind scratched-up sunglasses. You’d seen him once or twice before. He used to come through town hauling lumber or equipment, maybe something less legal. He always stayed quiet, nodded politely when spoken to, never lingered longer than he had to.

He climbed out, boots hitting the gravel with a thunk, and made a beeline for the diner door.

“You Joel?” you called, before he could reach the porch.

He turned, slow and skeptical.

“Who’s askin’?”

You hooked your thumb toward the truck. “Heard you’re headed west. Texas?”

Joel didn’t answer right away. Just eyed you the way a man might eye a stray dog—curious, cautious.

“Maybe.”

You stepped forward, your bag swinging. “I need outta here. I got cash. I don’t take up much space, and I won’t ask questions.”

Joel raised a brow. “That so?”

You nodded. “That’s so.”

The wind shifted. A long second passed, like he was waiting for something—maybe for you to flinch, or backpedal, or crack a joke. You didn’t. You just stood there, sweat sticking to your neck, heart hammering behind your ribs like it wanted to get in his truck before your body did.

He sighed through his nose, like he already regretted opening his mouth.

“You got anyone who’s gonna be lookin’ for you?”

“No.”

“You in trouble?”

“No more than usual.”

That one made the corner of his mouth twitch. Not a smile. Not yet.

“Alright,” he said, finally. “You ride quietly, you don’t touch the radio, and you pay half for gas.”

You smirked, tossing your bag into the truck bed.

“You got it, cowboy.”

He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like Jesus Christ, but he didn’t stop you.

By the time you hit the state line, the sun had dipped low, casting a bruised orange light across the fields. Joel’s hand stayed steady on the wheel, his forearm tanned and strong and marked with little nicks and scars. You didn’t stare, but you didn’t not stare, either.

He didn’t talk much. Not unless he had to.

But when you pointed at the horizon and said, “Never seen it look like that before,” he glanced your way and said, quiet as gravel—

“Stick with me. You’ll see a lotta things you ain’t seen before.”

You didn’t know if it was a promise or a warning.

Either way, you leaned your head against the window and smiled to yourself.

You were finally going.

And Joel Miller—rough, unreadable, too old for you Joel—was the one taking you.

You figured the silence would kill you.

Not the heat. Not the truck’s sticky vinyl seats or the stench of sunbaked roadside motels you’d been passing for hours—but the silence. Joel wasn’t much for small talk. He drove like he was on borrowed time and kept his thoughts zipped up tighter than his duffel. You tried, at first. Pointed out funny signs, asked if he’d ever been to New Mexico, made a comment about the shape of a cloud looking like a middle finger.

Nothing.

Well—maybe not nothing. A grunt here. A look there. You were learning to read them like road signs.

But that didn’t mean it wasn’t driving you half mad.

“So,” you said finally, your foot up on the dash despite knowing it annoyed him, “are we ever gonna talk about the fact that we don’t actually know each other’s last names, or are we just gonna die on the highway someday and let the cops guess?”

Joel didn’t look over. Just adjusted the AC vent and muttered, “You talk a lot.”

You smiled, picking at the frayed hem of your shorts. “That wasn’t a no.”

He sighed, like he was tired of pretending to be annoyed. “Miller.”

You blinked. “Like... Joel Miller?”

He cast a sideways glance at you. “You knew that already.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” You shrugged. “Nice to hear it from the source.”

He didn’t ask for yours. Just waited.

So you gave it, simple and soft. Your first name, your last. It felt weird, saying it out loud. Like handing someone a piece of yourself that had been boxed up for too long.

“Well,” he said after a beat, “now if we crash, at least they’ll spell your name right in the paper.”

“Aw,” you cooed, “you do care.”

“Didn’t say that.”

“Didn’t not say it either.”

That earned you a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. Barely there. But you caught it, and your heart did something stupid. Quick and fluttery, like a moth hitting a porch light.

The afternoon bled into golden hour, and the sky softened to a watercolor haze. You rolled the window down and let the air whip your hair around your face.

Joel reached across the bench seat, plucked your sunglasses off the dash, and tossed them into your lap.

“You’re gonna blind yourself.”

You held them up, squinting. “These are scratched to hell.”

“Better than nothin’.”

You slid them on anyway. They pinched your nose and made everything look sepia. You turned to him, letting the lazy drawl slip back into your voice like syrup.

“So what’s your story, Miller? You some kinda loner outlaw type? Haunted past, broken heart, scars that mean something?”

He didn’t laugh. Just kept his eyes on the road.

After a long pause, he said, “Somethin’ like that.”

You nodded slowly. “That’s cool. Real mysterious cowboy of you.”

“You got a story?”

You shrugged. “Nothin’ worth printing. Just needed to leave.”

Joel didn’t press. You liked that. Most people, they wanted the whole truth—or worse, they wanted to fix you. Joel didn’t offer comfort or advice or any of that fluffy shit. Just gave you the silence to breathe in.

You stopped for gas in a nothing town off the state highway. A one-pump station with flickering lights and a vending machine that still sold RC Cola.

Inside, Joel handed the cashier a twenty without a word, then glanced over his shoulder at you, already grabbing snacks off the dusty rack.

You held up a bag of sunflower seeds. “These say they expired last June. Think I’ll die?”

“Only if you’re lucky,” he muttered, pulling a bottle of water off the shelf.

You caught him looking at your reflection in the glass cooler door when he thought you weren’t watching. It was quick—blink and gone—but your stomach flipped anyway.

He looked at you like a man who didn’t mean to want something. Like want was a disease he thought he’d outrun years ago.

And maybe he had. Until you.

Back in the truck, you tore open a bag of gas station trail mix and tossed a raisin at him.

It hit his shoulder. He didn’t flinch.

“Seriously?” you grinned. “Not even a blink?”

Joel glanced over, deadpan. “You throw like a girl.”

“I am a girl.”

He gave a small, sarcastic tilt of his head. “Huh. That explains the talkin’.”

You gasped, dramatic. “Joel Miller, you dog. You better watch yourself. I might just hitchhike to Phoenix with someone who respects my conversational skills.”

“You try that, you’ll end up chopped to bits behind a Cracker Barrel.”

You snorted. “Okay, fair. Guess I’m stuck with you, then.”

He didn’t respond, but you could see the smirk behind his beard.

You drove until it was nearly midnight, and Joel’s shoulders finally slackened. The road signs started mentioning Tucson. The stars came out, washed faint and soft above the highway glare.

There was a motel just off the exit—Starlite Inn, with flickering neon and a Vacancy sign swinging in the breeze.

Joel pulled in, turned off the ignition.

“You takin’ the floor or the bed tonight?” he asked, grabbing his duffel from the back.

You arched a brow. “Oh, are those the only options?”

“Unless you wanna sleep in the truck.”

You gave a mock sigh. “So chivalrous.”

He handed you your bag. “One bed. I’ll stay on my side. You stay on yours.”

You both knew how thin that line really was.

The front office of the Starlite Inn smelled like lemon cleaner and stale cigarettes. You leaned against the counter while Joel handled check-in, watching the old man behind the desk type with two fingers like he was unlocking national secrets.

“One queen left,” he muttered, squinting at the monitor like it might bite. “Don’t get much traffic this time of year. You folks just passin’ through?”

Joel gave a noncommittal grunt. The kind that said don’t ask more than you want to hear.

You watched the man slide over a single brass key. Old school. No digital locks here. The plastic tag said Room 12 in faded gold print.

Joel handed it to you without looking. “You get the door.”

You bit your tongue, mostly to stop yourself from smirking. Something about being given the key like that, like he was trusting you with it, made your chest tighten in a strange way. Too soft. Too warm.

Room 12 smelled like mildew and air freshener. The bedspread was some kind of polyester nightmare in faded shades of teal and peach. There was a tiny table, a single plastic ice bucket, and a TV from another decade.

You dropped your bag near the foot of the bed and turned in a slow circle, arms stretched.

“Classy.”

Joel didn’t respond. Just locked the door behind him and set his duffel down with a soft thud.

He went straight to the sink and splashed cold water on his face. You watched the way his shoulders moved under his shirt—broad and solid, carrying too much. Always carrying too much.

“I’ll take the floor,” he said, voice low.

You turned toward him. “You said we’d both take the bed.”

“Changed my mind.”

You folded your arms. “Why?”

Joel glanced at you in the mirror, water dripping down his jaw. “’Cause I don’t trust myself to keep to one side.”

The air thickened. Not hot, but heavy. Like a held breath between lightning and thunder.

You didn’t know what to say, so you sat on the edge of the bed and unlaced your boots.

“I trust you,” you said quietly.

He didn’t answer.

Twenty minutes later, the lights were off.

You lay on your back, staring at the popcorn ceiling. The hum of the AC unit filled the space between you like a third body. Joel was on the floor beside the bed, one arm folded under his head, a thin motel blanket thrown over his lower half.

You should’ve been asleep by now. But your brain was racing. Replaying the way he looked at you sometimes—like you were something he didn’t want to want. Like the whole road ahead was getting shorter and more dangerous with every mile you traveled together.

“Joel?”

“Yeah?”

You hesitated. “Why’d you say yes? To all this.”

He was quiet long enough that you thought he’d fallen asleep.

Then—“’Cause you asked me like nobody else ever had.”

You turned your head toward the dark, toward the shape of him on the floor. The moonlight through the blinds striped the carpet across his chest.

“I didn’t think you’d say yes,” you whispered.

He exhaled. A soft sound. “Didn’t think I would either.”

The silence settled again. But it wasn’t empty now. It was full. Dense. Electric.

“Come up here,” you said, not sure if you meant it or just needed him closer to survive the weight of this feeling.

Joel didn’t move for a long moment. Then the mattress dipped under his weight.

He lay down on top of the covers, stiff at first. Then—inch by inch—he let himself relax. Just enough.

His arm brushed yours. Warm. Intentional. You didn’t move away.

Outside, a neon light flickered. Inside, the two of you lay in the same bed, a breath apart.

Still not touching. Not really.

But you could feel it. The line. The one he’d drawn in sand and shadow and motel dust. And how close you were to crossing it.

And how badly he wanted you to.

She was asleep. Or pretending to be.

Joel kept his eyes on the water stain above the bed, an abstract little thing shaped like Texas. Fitting. Everything came back to Texas these days—heatwaves and hard feelings.

The mattress was too soft, too warm on his left side where her arm had brushed his earlier. She’d been quiet for a while now. Her breathing had evened out, slow and shallow, the kind of sleep that meant she was too tired to keep holding whatever it was in.

And him? He was wide awake. Had been since she said come up here.

He shouldn’t have.

Should’ve stayed on the floor like he said he would, like a man who meant to keep his distance.

But Joel had never been good at keeping lines uncrossed, not when it came to things he wanted. And this—whatever this was between them—it was getting dangerous. Not because she was twenty years younger or too soft for the world he came from, but because she looked at him like he could be something else. Something better.

That kind of faith? That kind of sweetness?

It scared the hell out of him.

She’d asked him earlier why he said yes to the trip. You asked me like nobody else ever had, he’d told her. True enough. But it was more than that.

She reminded him of the kind of life he used to want before the world got heavy. The kind of life that smelled like motel soap and roadside peaches and fresh tires on hot pavement. She was young, yeah, but not fragile. Not dumb. She saw things. Paid attention. Asked questions that meant something.

And now she was asleep next to him, hair all messy on the pillow, lips parted just slightly like she’d been dreaming something gentle.

He had no business being here.

No business watching the curve of her shoulder or wondering what it would feel like to touch the skin there. No business remembering the way she laughed earlier in the car, all sunbeam and southern drawl, feet on the dash like she owned the highway.

Hell, no business wanting it. Wanting her.

But there it was, right under his ribs. That low, pulsing ache. Old and familiar. Something between guilt and gravity.

If she moved even an inch closer, he wasn’t sure what he’d do. Stay put? Pull away?

Or finally reach for the thing he wasn’t supposed to want.

And God help him, he did want her.

Not just in the motel bed way. Not just in the long-legged, lip-biting, pretty-girl kind of way. He wanted her laughter. Her late-night questions. Her songs on the radio and her theories about the clouds and the way she always seemed to find the quiet parts of him, even the ones he didn’t know were still there.

That scared him worse than anything.

Because she wasn’t his.

And he wasn’t hers.

But tonight? With the blinds drawn and the moonlight on her skin?

He almost forgot that part.

Almost.

You wake up to sunlight slanting through thin yellow curtains and the smell of coffee. Cheap coffee, the kind that comes from powdered packets and hotel lobby machines. But you’re not complaining. Joel’s sitting in the corner chair, legs spread, one hand curled around a Styrofoam cup like he’s guarding it.

He glances up when you stir. “Mornin’.”

His voice is rougher than usual, low and slow like it dragged itself out of sleep behind you. He doesn’t ask how you slept. Doesn’t need to. The two of you had laid there last night, backs straight, arms careful, like your bodies weren’t begging to shift closer.

You sit up, rubbing your eyes. “What time is it?”

“Little after seven. Figured you might want somethin’ warm before we hit the road.”

You blink at him, hair a mess and mouth dry, and for a second—just a second—you let yourself look at him like he’s yours. Like this is normal. Like it’s always been this way: his coffee, his quiet, his steady presence in your morning.

It’s a lie, but it’s a nice one.

“Thanks,” you say, and he hands you a cup. His fingers brush yours for half a heartbeat. He pulls back too fast.

You both pretend not to notice.

The coffee’s awful, but it’s hot, and that’s something. You drink in silence while he packs up. No radio. No TV. Just the rustle of a map, the zip of a bag, the soft creak of old carpet under his boots.

When you finally get moving again, the motel behind you, there’s a stillness to the car that wasn’t there before. You roll the window down and let the wind tangle your hair, let the sun spill across your thighs like it has every right.

Joel doesn’t say much.

But when he hands you a gas station pastry a few miles later, you take it, and that’s how you know everything’s still okay.

Not simple. Not clear. But okay.

The pastry was lemon. Too sweet, too dry. You ate it anyway.

Joel didn’t even glance when you unwrapped it, just kept one hand on the wheel and the other drumming his fingers on his thigh like he was thinking hard. You didn’t ask what about. You kind of didn’t want to know.

There were two hours of Mississippi ahead of you before you hit the Louisiana state line, and not much to look at but cotton fields and stray billboards peeling in the heat. You’d rolled your window back down, one leg tucked beneath you in the seat, the other stretched out toward the dash, toes tapping to the faint hum of some old country song he’d let play low on the radio.

“You always this quiet in the mornings?” you asked eventually.

Joel glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “Only when I’m stuck in a car with someone who talks too much.”

You snorted. “Rude.”

“The truth.”

“Fine. But I’m not the one who practically sighed with relief when I handed you your half of the sandwich yesterday.”

He smiled. Just a little. Just enough.

You looked out the window to hide your own grin, pretending to watch a hawk circle over a line of trees. It was easier this way—teasing him, pushing a little and letting him push back. Every so often you caught the way his eyes softened when you said something funny, or the way his hand would tighten briefly on the steering wheel when your laugh lingered a beat too long.

There was a lot you didn’t say.

And that silence? It was starting to feel like its own kind of conversation.

By the time the gas light came on, the road had stretched flat and pale in the sun, and the air had that thick Louisiana cling to it. Joel pulled off into a gravel lot with one of those gas stations that hadn’t seen a health inspection since the late ‘90s.

“I’ll fill it,” he said, already reaching for his wallet. “You go stretch your legs.”

You didn’t argue.

The station had one of those coolers full of off-brand sodas and melted ice, plus a dusty rack of sunglasses and fake knives. You grabbed two waters and some fruit jerky just because it made you laugh. The place smelled like cigarettes and plastic. You kind of loved it.

When you came back out, Joel was leaning against the truck, cap pushed low, eyes on the highway.

You handed him the water. “I got you something.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me it’s that damn jerky.”

You held it up proudly. “The fruit kind. Mystery flavor.”

He gave you a look like he was genuinely questioning your sanity, but took it anyway. “You’re gonna regret that.”

“I regret a lot of things,” you said, climbing back into the truck. “But not this.”

He paused. Stared at you for a second too long, water bottle hanging from his hand, the plastic crinkling slightly in the heat.

Then he got in, started the engine, and didn’t say a word.

But his eyes kept drifting over to you as you unwrapped the jerky with mock ceremony and took a dramatic bite.

And even though the flavor was somewhere between cherry cough syrup and sadness, you smiled through it. Because Joel Miller was trying not to smile back, and failing.

By late afternoon, the sun had turned a deep, syrupy gold, washing everything in warm light. You passed through towns that looked like backdrops from a dream—shuttered shops, rusted swingsets, a church sign that read “GOD’S NOT DONE YET.”

Neither were you.

Joel hadn’t touched the fruit jerky, but he kept it on the dash like it meant something. You didn’t ask why. Just let the silence between you settle into something companionable. Something steady.

A few more hours and the light started fading. The road grew quieter. You noticed Joel’s hands flexing on the wheel more often, his jaw tight.

“You tired?” you asked.

He shook his head, but you could tell it was a lie.

“Don’t be a hero,” you said gently, turning in your seat. “You’ll get us both killed swerving into a ditch ‘cause you wouldn’t stop for the night.”

He glanced at you, tired but amused. “That how you talk to all your chauffeurs?”

You smiled. “Just the handsome, grumpy ones.”

He didn’t respond, but his ears turned a little red.

You found a motel just outside a tiny town called Marais. The kind of place where time moved slower and the stars actually showed up once the sun dipped below the trees. There was only one room left. One bed. The clerk didn’t even try to hide his raised eyebrows.

Joel paid without flinching.

Inside, the room was cleaner than you expected. Faded quilt. A working ceiling fan. That same familiar hum of an old A/C unit struggling to keep up with the Southern heat.

You kicked off your shoes and collapsed face-first onto the bed, groaning. “God. I forgot how nice it is to lie down.”

Joel chuckled low in his chest. “You’re dramatic.”

You peeked at him from the pillow. “You’re old.”

He turned the bathroom light on, but you saw the smirk anyway.

Later, you brushed your teeth while Joel stood outside smoking. You could see the flick of his lighter through the thin motel curtain. He didn’t smoke much—not around you—but you figured he needed it tonight. The way he’d been quiet again. The way his eyes lingered on the road too long, like he was thinking himself into a hole.

You came out in a T-shirt and sleep shorts. The kind of thing you used to wear around your old beat up apartment. The kind of thing Joel tried not to look at.

Tried.

He put the cigarette out and turned away fast, like he hadn’t noticed the way your bare legs caught the hallway light. You climbed into bed without a word, curling toward the wall.

He took the other side, careful to keep distance between your bodies. Maybe a foot. Maybe less. You felt the heat of him anyway. The quiet of him. The sheer presence of Joel Miller, like gravity itself had decided to rest in the middle of this bed.

Neither of you moved.

Sometime after midnight, you woke up to the sound of rain. Soft and steady against the window, like fingers tapping the glass. Joel was still on his side, breathing deep. But his hand was close now—only inches from yours where it rested on the mattress.

You didn’t think. Just moved a little.

Your pinky brushed his.

He didn’t pull away.

Didn’t shift.

Didn’t say a thing.

But his breathing changed. Just a little. And somehow, that was louder than anything he could’ve said.

You lay there like that for a long, long time. Neither of you are speaking. Both of you are awake.

And though you didn’t reach for him, didn’t say his name or press your lips to his throat or thread your fingers with his—

You could have.

And he would have let you.

You both knew it.

He didn’t sleep much.

Not that he expected to. Not with her that close.

It wasn’t her fault—she hadn’t done a damn thing. Just laid there breathing, all soft and warm and barefoot in his periphery, like it was normal. Like this whole thing wasn’t tugging something loose in him.

Joel stared at the ceiling until the rain stopped, then at the crack in the curtain where the early light leaked through. He kept thinking it would be easier if she’d been louder. If she talked too much or chewed with her mouth open or snored like hell. Anything to give him a reason to shake this off.

But she wasn’t like that.

She was kind. Sharp, but never mean. Curious in a way that made him feel seen, even when she wasn’t asking questions.

And God help him, she looked at him like she saw something worth keeping.

He didn’t know what to do with that.

Joel rolled onto his side carefully. She was still asleep, one arm curled under her cheek, the hem of her shirt rucked up just enough to show the slope of her lower back. His chest ached.

Twenty-two years old and it still hit him like a gut-punch—that quiet, simple vulnerability. The kind of thing he hadn’t let himself want in years.

She moved a little, brow twitching, and he closed his eyes fast, pretending to sleep.

Because if she caught him staring, he wasn’t sure he could explain himself.

Or worse—he might try.

He got up before she did, let the door click shut behind him as gently as he could. The air outside was thick with the aftermath of rain, still cool but warming fast. He sat on the curb by the truck with a paper cup of motel coffee and his second cigarette of the morning, neither of which did a damn thing to calm him down.

He didn’t want to be that man. The one who let himself get soft over a girl half his age just because she was sweet and pretty and kind to him in ways he didn’t think he deserved anymore.

But he was that man.

He could feel it. In the way he hesitated before getting back in the truck yesterday. The way he wanted to hear her say his name even when she was annoyed with him. The way he’d nearly taken her hand last night, just to feel something steady before sleep took him.

It scared him.

Because Joel didn’t want to break her. Didn’t want to hurt her or ruin the quiet good thing they had going, even if it was nothing but shared meals and motel stops and that long stretch of road between them.

But she made him feel younger.

No, not younger. Alive.

And that? That was even more dangerous.

He heard the door creak behind him.

Barefoot steps on the pavement. A yawn.

“Is that coffee?” she asked, voice still low and rough from sleep.

Joel didn’t look at her. Just held the cup out. “If you can call it that.”

She took it and sat beside him without asking.

And for a moment, with her shoulder brushing his and the rising sun spilling gold across the parking lot, Joel forgot all the reasons why he shouldn’t want this.

Forgot about age. About guilt. About how this couldn’t possibly last.

Because she smiled at him with sleep-warm eyes and a soft “thanks,” and all he could think was: Goddamn, I’m in trouble.

They got back on the road after checking out, her hair still damp from the motel shower. She tied it up on the ride out of town, twisting it messily with a hair tie pulled from her wrist. Joel caught himself watching her in the rearview, the reflection just enough to see the slope of her neck, the soft crease at the corner of her eye as she squinted against the sun.

She didn’t talk much at first. Just tapped her fingers against the window ledge, humming under her breath to a song on the radio that he didn’t know. Something soft and female and longing.

He didn’t ask what it was.

He liked it better not knowing.

They stopped for gas at a quiet station just off the interstate. While she went inside for snacks, Joel stayed at the pump, eyes on the curve of her retreating back, the way she moved like she was half-wrapped in sunlight.

Jesus Christ.

He leaned on the truck door, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

It wasn’t just that she was beautiful—though she was, in a way that made his throat tight. It was that she looked at him like she trusted him. Like she saw something he didn’t think he had left in him.

He wasn’t used to that.

But this girl?

She talked to him like he mattered in a different way.

And Joel wasn’t sure what the hell to do with that.

Back in the truck, she tossed him a pack of trail mix and slid a cold can of Coke into the cup holder.

“I guessed,” she said. “You don’t seem like a fruit punch guy.”

He raised a brow. “And what kind of guy do I seem like?”

She didn’t look at him. Just smirked faintly and buckled her seatbelt. “The kind who only likes the original stuff. No cherry flavor. No peach twist. No bullshit.”

Joel huffed a laugh. “Sounds about right.”

They drove in comfortable quiet for a while.

Later, she fell asleep again. Slumped against the window, arms crossed loosely over her chest, her lips parted just slightly.

Joel’s grip on the wheel tightened.

There was a part of him—some selfish, buried part—that liked the way she trusted him enough to fall asleep like that. Like she knew he’d get her where she needed to go. That he’d keep her safe.

And God, he would.

Whether she asked him to or not.

That realization scared him more than anything. Because Joel had spent years avoiding attachments. Keeping things clean. Transactional.

But this? This wasn’t clean.

It was quiet and messy and dangerous.

She wasn’t just some girl hitching a ride anymore.

She was herself.

Warm. Smart. Brave in a way that snuck up on you. The kind of person who picked wildflowers out of a motel parking lot and braided them into a napkin ring for no reason at all. The kind who hummed to Fleetwood Mac and offered you the last piece of candy without even thinking twice.

And the worst part?

Joel wanted to keep her around.

Wanted her beside him in the passenger seat, one knee pulled up, telling him stories he didn’t ask for but always listened to. Wanted her curled up in bed with him again, not touching, not speaking—just there.

He hadn’t wanted something like that in a long, long time.

And now that he did?

He wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop.

It was late.

They pulled into a random motel.

The sun was long gone, and the air was thick with humidity and the hum of cicadas, wrapping around the night like a second skin. The neon vacancy sign buzzed weakly overhead, casting red light across her face as she leaned against the check-in counter.

Joel signed the paperwork with a cheap pen and let the desk clerk assume they were just another couple passing through. Let her think what she wants.

Hell, he didn’t even know what this was anymore.

He was too tired to lie to himself about it.

The room was small. One queen bed. Old AC rattling in the window. A lamp with a cracked base and floral shades that hadn’t been washed since the nineties.

She dropped her bag by the chair, kicked her shoes off with a sigh, and sat on the edge of the bed like she owned it.

Like she’d always belonged there.

“You okay?” she asked softly.

Joel nodded. “Just tired.”

She tilted her head, studying him. “You’ve been quiet since the gas station.”

“I’m always quiet.”

“Not like that.”

He swallowed hard. Turned away, pretending to fiddle with something in his duffel just to avoid her eyes.

She saw through it. Of course she did.

He didn’t know why he was still pretending. The air between them was too hot, too thick, too full of everything they hadn’t said. Every brush of her knee against his in the truck. Every glance. Every goddamn moment where he almost let something slip.

Almost told her he wanted her.

Almost admitted he hadn’t thought about anything but her for days now.

She stood behind him suddenly, close enough that he could feel her breath on the back of his neck.

“I know you’re fighting it,” she whispered.

Joel’s whole body tensed.

“I can feel it. You think you’re protecting me,” she said, voice gentle. “But you’re hurting yourself.”

He turned, slowly, and met her eyes.

There was no teasing in them. No manipulation. Just warmth. Certainty.

Like she already knew.

He stepped back out of reflex—but she followed. Hands brushing his chest. Fingertips tracing the edge of his t-shirt like she was memorizing the shape of him.

“You don’t have to be scared of wanting something,” she murmured. “Not with me.”

Joel let out a shaky breath.

She was the one who closed the distance.

He didn’t remember how they ended up this close, only that her hands were on him and his heart was breaking open in his chest. He’d spent every mile of this drive trying to hold the line, keep her safe behind the walls he’d built for women like her—young, sweet, not for him.

And now she was standing there, telling him he didn’t have to pretend.

Telling him she already knew.

When she leaned in, he didn’t stop her. Couldn’t.

Her mouth brushed his like a question, one he answered with both hands gripping her waist, holding her still while he kissed her deep and slow—like he’d been waiting his whole life for the chance. He tasted mint on her tongue and something softer, something hers. Something he’d been dying to have again since the last time she smiled across the truck cab.

She sighed into it, arms sliding around his neck, body arching into his like she already knew the shape of him. He backed her up, step by step, until the backs of her knees hit the bed and she sank down with a soft gasp.

Joel stood over her, just looking.

The low motel light painted her skin in soft gold, her thighs pressed together, breath shaky as she looked up at him.

“You sure?” he asked, voice hoarse.

“I’ve been sure,” she said, fingers curling in the hem of his shirt. “Since Amarillo.”

He let out a breath that sounded more like a groan and leaned down, kissing her again—deeper now, rougher, fingers gripping her jaw as she pulled him down with her.

They undressed each other in pieces.

Her shirt was the first to go, then his. She traced his chest like she couldn’t get enough of the sight, trailing her fingers over old scars and muscle and warmth.

“You’re so goddamn handsome,” she murmured, and it hit him like a brick.

Joel ducked his head, almost embarrassed. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not flirting. I’m telling the truth.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he kissed her instead—kissed her slow and deep, until her body melted beneath him.

Her bra came off next. He didn’t rush, didn’t fumble—just pulled the strap down her shoulder and watched it fall like it was sacred. Then he leaned in, took her breast into his mouth, and sucked gently—felt her shiver beneath him, her thighs spreading just slightly in response.

“Joel—” she whispered, breath hitching.

“Tell me what you need, sweetheart,” he rasped, one hand trailing down to the button of her shorts. “You want me slow? Easy?”

“I want you, however you’ll give yourself to me.”

His jaw clenched. Christ. She knew how to break him open, piece by piece.

He took his time undressing her.

Her shorts slipped down over her hips, panties damp. He could smell her arousal, thick and sweet, and when he dropped to his knees between her thighs, she gasped.

“Wait—”

“I wanna taste you,” he said, voice low. “Been thinkin’ about it every night since Mississippi.”

She didn’t stop him after that.

He slid her legs open with both hands and leaned in, groaning against her when he finally pressed his mouth to her. She was warm and slick and already so ready for him, thighs trembling as he licked slow, patient circles around her clit. She reached for him, fingers tangling in his hair, back arching up as she bit down on her wrist to keep quiet.

“Joel—oh, fuck—please—”

He flattened his tongue, licked long and slow, then flicked gently until her thighs shook around his ears. Her orgasm built like a wave and broke with her legs wrapped around his shoulders, her hips rocking into his face as she whimpered his name over and over like a prayer.

He didn’t stop.

Not until she pulled him up and kissed him, tasting herself on his tongue.

Joel undid his jeans with shaking fingers, but she touched his wrist.

“Let me,” she whispered.

She pulled his belt open, tugged his jeans down just enough, and wrapped her hand around his cock.

Joel groaned deep in his chest—her touch soft, reverent. He was hard and aching and nearly lost it when she pressed a kiss to his chest.

“Condom?” she asked.

He nodded toward the bag.

She retrieved it, ripped the foil open with trembling fingers, and rolled it onto him slowly, like she wanted to savor every second.

Then she laid back.

Spread her thighs.

Waited.

“Come here,” she said.

Joel settled between her legs, lined himself up, and paused.

Because this wasn’t just a hookup.

This wasn’t just sex.

This was everything he’d been scared to feel.

He slid in slow, inch by inch, feeling her stretch around him, and bit back a groan when she gasped and clung to him, nails digging into his back.

“Goddamn, you feel—fuck, baby,” he muttered, burying his face in her neck. “You feel perfect.”

She wrapped her legs around him, pulled him closer.

He moved slow—deep, steady thrusts, letting her feel every part of him, letting himself feel everything. The warmth of her body. The way she whispered his name. The soft, pleading sounds she made when he hit that spot deep inside her just right.

“Joel, I—fuck—I think I—”

“I know,” he whispered, kissing her. “Come for me.”

And she did.

He felt her clench around him, felt her body fall apart, and finally—finally—let himself go.

He came with a groan, buried deep inside her, every muscle tensing before he collapsed on top of her, breath hot and ragged in her ear.

They laid there in silence.

Her hands traced lazy patterns across his chest. He kissed her shoulder once, twice.

Then, in the dark, she said:

“You okay?”

He didn’t answer at first. Just held her tighter.

Then—

“Not sure I’ve ever been.”

She smiled against his skin.

“Me neither.”

You wake up to birdsong and silence.

No trucks passing on the highway. No boots on gravel. No Joel rummaging through the duffel for coffee or keys or his worn-out map. Just stillness, and the warm weight of his arm slung across your waist.

For a moment, you don’t move. You just lie there, curled into his chest, listening to the soft sound of his breathing. It’s steady. Heavier than usual, like even he’s allowed himself a rare kind of rest.

The motel room is still dim. One of the curtains is half drawn, letting in a sliver of morning sun that catches on the dust in the air. Everything smells like last night—like motel soap and sweat and him. Like something real.

Your thigh brushes his when you shift slightly, and that’s when you feel it again—that ache between your legs, the good kind. The kind that reminds you it wasn’t a dream.

You press your face to his chest, hide the stupid smile that spreads across your mouth.

You’d never seen Joel like that before.

You’d seen him tired. Sharp. Guarded. Patient. Stern.

But not undone.

Not the way he was last night—hands trembling, voice breaking, whispering your name like he’d been holding it in for years.

And God, the way he looked at you afterward—like he’d seen the edge of something and chosen to fall anyway.

When he stirs beside you, it’s slow. A grunt under his breath, his arms tightening just slightly around your middle. His nose brushes the top of your head. He breathes in like he knows exactly where he is—and who he’s with.

“Morning,” you whisper.

His voice comes out rough. “Mornin’, darlin’.”

He doesn’t move away. Doesn’t roll over or grab his jeans like he’s got somewhere to be.

Instead, his fingers trail lightly along your spine. Absentminded. Gentle.

You tilt your head up. “You okay?”

Joel looks down at you, eyes soft in a way that makes your stomach flip.

“Think so,” he says after a beat. “You?”

You nod. “Yeah. I’m good.”

More than good. But saying that out loud would make your chest crack open.

He studies you like he wants to say something else. His brows furrow like he’s weighing it. Maybe wondering if last night changed everything—or if you’ll pretend it didn’t.

So you speak first.

“I don’t want this to be a one-time thing.”

His expression doesn’t change.

But something settles in him. Like a rope pulled tight just slackened.

“It ain’t,” he says. Simple. Final.

“Good,” you whisper.

Joel leans in, presses a soft kiss to your forehead. His hand slips under the blanket, warm and possessive against your back.

“I got no plans of leavin’ you behind,” he says quietly. “Not now.”

And something in your chest flutters—something dangerous. Something hopeful.

You rest your cheek against his heart and close your eyes.

Out there, the road’s still long. There’ll be towns and weather and tension. There’ll be bad days and good ones and probably some kind of reckoning when you get to wherever the hell he’s taking you.

But right now?

He’s staying.

And so are you.

divider by @strangergraphics

🏷️ @xodilfluvr @zevrra @joelmillersonlyprincess @alyhull @bluekat707 @catch1ngmoths

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