#please bear in mind i started writing this fic three (!?!?!) years ago

[clumsyclifford]

x

[joelsgoldrush]

swore i heard you whisper that you preferred us like that

joel miller x f!reader / 5,8k words

summary: you ask joel –the quiet, distant joel– to teach you how to ride a horse. they say the eyes are the window to the soul, and it must be true, because when he really sees you, it´s like he finally understands what you feel for him.

warnings: smut 18+ let’s pretend joel never left jackson, porn with plot, no use of y/n, age gap (reader is in her late 20s, joel is 56), grinding, oral (f receiving), fingering, masturbation, pet names, unprotected p in v (don't try this at home ok), dirty talk, soft!dom joel (sort of???), a bit of angst/feelings, joel gets all babygirl around reader, ellie appears for like a minute, mediocre attempt at recreating joel's southern accent (sorry in advance)

a/n: hello??? well this is my first fic ever so bear with me, i'm still new to all this. also english isn't my first language so i'm afraid there may be mistakes (mostly when it comes to collocations bc i hate them and they confuse me), buuuut i'm learning obviously and if you find anything that should be corrected PLEASE TELL ME thank you :) i'd appreciate if you told whether you liked this story (idk what to call it tbh) but if you don't it's more than fine! anyways thank you so much for reading if you come across this fic, i hope you like it! i've spent a week writing it bc finals season is killing me <///3

here's my masterlist in case you want to read my other works :)

"Oh, my drunken southern star / How you tried to hide in darkness / Slipped from orbit / Now you’re dangerously close / Come out, come out from all your hiding out / We’ll dig in our heels, salute the battlefields / Where our broken hearts were born."

What is it that he has?

You used to ask yourself that question every night as you went to bed. On some occasions, you couldn't manage to come up with an exact answer. There were too many reasons that disclosed why a man like him lingered on your mind, even in those moments that were supposed to be for you and only you. Sleeping more than three hours a day was definitely something you needed tremendously, but still, the not-so-rational voice inside your head kept on bringing his name up without fail, disturbing your rest.

Joel Miller. Was it possible to feel like this? Like you knew somebody without having exchanged more than five words with them? Sure, there wasn't a single person in Jackson who wasn't aware of his existence. From whispered rumors in the streets to stories that intended to give his reserved personality an explanation, Joel became a real talking-point among those in the commune. Years ago, when the world was still just a floating ball in space, he would’ve frightened you, being the kind of person your parents used to warn you about as you started to grow older.

He walked a certain way, as if he were holding the suffering of many lives in his hands. Always on guard, prepared to fight those who defied him. Hidden knives in his pockets, a gun between his fingers, the trigger too tempting to be pulled at any time given. His hair was a mixture of brown and gray, and you swore that the latter was only becoming more prominent as days went by. 

Suddenly, your pillow felt too uncomfortable, your hands fisting the fabric of your t-shirt while you kicked the blanket resting on top of your bare feet. A sigh escaped your lips, the taste of something you couldn't even distinguish on your tongue, your unsteady breath being the only sound to be heard in that noiseless night. 

You were having a hard time figuring out how you felt about Joel (if there was anything to feel in the first place, since he barely remembered your face and there you were, fantasizing about him instead of sleeping.) Maybe you liked how he presented himself, how bossy and persistent he looked the times you caught him patrolling around the zone. Or perhaps it was his character what charmed you in the first place, and the fact that, deep down, a different side from him remained completely unseen.

He was handsome, too. Tall, broad shoulders, aquiline nose. His arms looked majestic in every single piece of clothing he wore, his tanned skin shiny enough to reflect the very same sun. And his legs… you were sure they were muscular like the rest of his body, because of all the physical effort he did. You had  heard that he worked as a contractor before the pandemic, which made a lot of sense. Once or twice you had paid attention to his hands and–

Then, a familiar feeling sinked in. Warm began spreading through your belly, your thighs involuntary clenching together. “Fuck,” you muttered in a low tone, keeping your hands glued to your sides. Another motive not to think about Joel: he made you feel… things. Certain things that you hadn't felt for anyone in a very long time. You preferred to think that it was probably due to the fact that you were touch-starved, and not because you found yourself deeply attracted to him. Never had you ever been a sexually active person, so why now? Why did the mere image of Joel in your mind turn you on? 

He’s strong. I’m alone. I feel the need to find someone who’s willing to protect me. That’s it. No other reason.

Your internal monologue was lacking in arguments, but it was definitely something you could work with. As if on cue, you found it hard to keep your eyes open, your limbs not feeling as if they were yours anymore. Next thing you knew, you were asleep.

That night, you dreamt with Joel.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★

In a small cabin, you taught children how to paint and draw. Maria believed it to be helpful for their psychological development or something like that, and you had agreed to do it. A good way to spend your free time– that’s what it was. Plus, you liked children; some would even choose to include you in their drawings, and that small gesture just warmed your heart.

There, you met Ellie, a teenager whose basic vocabulary consisted mostly of profanities. 

And boy, you loved Ellie.

It was hard not to, actually. She was like a breath of fresh air, with her jokes and instant charm. You two became attached in a short time, and she reminded you of a younger version of you, just a lot braver. Although in this world it brought her benefits, you sometimes wished she wouldn’t have gone through all that shit. Those eyes, which squinted as she laughed if you tickled her sides, were the cemetery of many buried memories. You wondered how she managed to put a smile on her face despite her past and the horrible things she had seen, hoping it was genuine and not a mask.

“Look!” her voice brought you back to reality. Blinking in her direction, you realized the amount of paint you had dropped onto the floor, a red stain already forming on the carpet. “Are you okay? You seem off.”

“I’m fine! Just a bit sleepy today, that's all,” you got closer to where she was lying down, her fingers moving the brush you had gifted her in different directions. Squatting a bit, you placed a strand of hair that didn’t make it into her ponytail behind her ear. “So, what are you painting?”

She smiled warmly, and her teeth catched her lower lip momentarily. “It’s not finished, okay? Don’t freak out. I know you’re a perfectionist.”

“I’m not…” you tried to explain yourself, but ended up choosing to be defeated. “Maybe you’re right. Anyway, may I see it?”

The canvas was in your hands a few moments later. Ellie spoke beside you, her words mixing together in a sign of embarrassment. “It’s for Joel. Figured I could do something nice for him, you know? I don’t– I think I need to start over. His eyes look kind of strange, don’t they? They’re so close he looks like a cyclops.”

“Don’t say that, kiddo. This is… it’s beautiful,” your index finger traced the lines framing his jaw, the shades of his skin perfectly achieved. You held the painting even tighter, afraid of breaking it for a second. He wasn’t frowning like he normally did; Ellie had painted him smiling, and the crinkles by his eyes matched his age. Surely you must have spent more time than necessary staring at it, ‘cause then Ellie continued talking.

“Well, you know what they say: The student has become the teacher.” 

You handed the canvas to her, a smirk taking place on your face. “Yeah, I guess I’ll stop teaching you if that’s the case.”

An hour or so later, someone knocked on the door. As both of your hands were occupied (a more formal way to say that they were dirty with paint), you screamed “Come in!”, and Ellie covered her painting with an old, muddy curtain you used to clean the tables in which the children worked. You were about to ask her why she had reacted in that way, until you turned around and saw him.

Joel was there, as every other Wednesday. In your cabin, standing right in front of you. And you didn’t even look presentable. His hair looked messy, a couple of locks stuck to his forehead with sweat. “Hi,” he said shortly, meeting your gaze and attempting to shake your hand, but you avoided contact.

Showing him your hands, you held your palms in the air as an indication of the still fresh paint on your skin. “Sorry. If I were to accept the gesture, I’d leave you a stain.”

He retrieved a bit, adjusting his glove. “It’s okay. Safety first.”

That was supposed to be a joke, you noticed tardily. The silence in the room persisted until Ellie appeared from behind your back, already putting her coat on.

“You were supposed to pick me up in half an hour, asshole.”

His mouth snapped shut for an instant. “I missed you too. How was the class?” 

Ellie lifted her shoulder in a half shrug, looking in your direction and proceeding to jerk her thumb toward Joel. She didn’t want him to see the painting. “Fine as usual.”

“Can I see what you’re–”

“No fucking way!” she accentuated the word fucking, drawing him closer to the door. 

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not done.”

“But–”

“No more questions, Joel. Let’s go! Say bye!” Ellie handled him like a baby, which made you giggle.

Though you saw Joel raising his eyebrows, so you stopped laughing. 

Soon, they left and the cabin returned to its familiar quietness. A sigh erupted from your chest, and you allowed yourself to fall on top of a chair.

At least you could say you had actually talked to Joel for once.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★

It didn’t surprise you that you wanted to see him again.

Not in the “you-turn-me-on” way, but in the “you-seem-interesting-and-i-need-to-find-out-why” one.

He had something. Something so magnetic and indecipherable that kept pulling you towards him. Something that made you look for his presence in every crew, and not sensing what it was only made your wishes to dissect him grow bigger. There was a tiny probability that he was an idiot with a pretty face. Who knew? You definitely didn’t, and that needed to change. You deserved to know if pining over that man was worth it or not.

That chain of thoughts led you to look for him the next day, almost trembling with eagerness as you asked him the most stupid and unexpected question you could have imagined.

“Would you teach me how to ride a horse?”

He looked at you as if you were out of your mind, opening his mouth a few times and then closing it before he actually replied to you. “You’re tellin' me you don’t know how to ride a horse?”

“Tried it a few times, but failed and now I really want to learn to do it properly,” you swore his eyes were trying to decipher if you were saying the truth or not. “Ellie told me that you could probably make some time to teach me?”

“So Ellie's in charge of my schedule, I suppose?” you froze on the spot, and he must have noticed it because then his expression dulled. “Sorry, sweetheart. It was a joke. I've been told I'm not the best humorist.”

Sweetheart. You could’ve died a happy girl.

“Look, why don’t we meet up tomorrow after lunch? I'm sure it won’t take us much time. Not a difficult task, y’know?” he stroked his beard, apparently thinking you understood what he was talking about. 

“Sure. Thank you, Joel. My name’s–“

He didn’t let you finish. “I do know your name,” and before leaving, he repeated: “I’ll be here tomorrow. You know where to find me.”

To say that you slept without interruptions that night was an understatement. Each hour seemed to become longer the more you glimpsed your watch. Your heart drummed inside your chest violently, and you feared that someone else would be able to hear it if they got close enough to you. 

After having lunch in the same spot as every other mundane day, your legs took you to the stable. You took a shaky breath, expecting him to appear out of thin air, but fifteen minutes went by, and there was still no sign of Joel. Pressing your forehead against the wooden door, you wrapped your arms around yourself. “What was I even thinking?” 

“Hey.”

You looked to your side and– there he was, already getting inside the stable and inviting you to follow him. Joel petted one of the horses, clicking his tongue. His fingers caressed the animal’s back, and when he shot a glance at you, he didn’t ignore your disturbed expression.

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of horses.”

“I’m not afraid of them,” you laughed awkwardly, eyeing the horse, which stared at you with those big and strange eyes. You raised your hand to mimic Joel, but that just made the animal move further away from you. “I guess it’s mutual. We don’t like each other.”

Joel smirked, guiding you outside. “It’s a damn horse. I don’t think you can tell whether he likes you or not. You gotta change that attitude of yours,” he murmured as he got on top of the horse, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Treat him well and he’ll be nice.”

At first, Joel taught you the basics: how to position yourself for balance, get your legs in the right position, hold the reins properly. A little bit of help coming from him was needed for you to mount the horse. He got down on one knee, patting it as if it were a mounting block. “Come on. Step on it.”

No need to ask me twice, you thought as you did what you were told, and once you were grabbing on those reins for dear life, you observed him with curious eyes. “Now what?”

“Now…” he pressed his hand into one of the horse’s sides, and afterwards, the horse began to fucking trot and you cried out, a high-pitched shriek slipping from your mouth. Joel laughed maliciously, almost hypnotized by the scene. “Now is when you learn how to ride a horse!”

“This isn't funny!” you screamed, the horse still very much entertained with the way you were jerking on top of him. “Stop!”

You couldn't believe how he kept… cracking up. Joel touched his stomach, shaking with laughter. “You’re a natural, can’t you see it? I’m havin' the time of my life here.”

“What I can see is that you’re an idiot! Cut the cackle and help me!”

But he didn’t move a single muscle. Instead, he remained still, that smug look never abandoning his features.

The bastard. “You’re gonna make me beg? In this situation?”

Crossing his arms while teasingly grinning at you, he added: “Wouldn’t hurt to try.”

“Joel Miller, will you help me? Pretty please?” your hair was getting in the way, and you could taste it as you insisted. “Is that enough for you?”

It was, actually. He helped you get down from the horse, his thick fingers digging into the mushy skin of your waist. It shouldn’t have felt that good, but it did. You were supposed to be angry at him for setting you up and still, by touching you for a microsecond, he had transformed you into something malleable.

Sadly, that feeling didn’t last much longer. “Didn’t know you were a man of manners. Should’ve told me beforehand.”

“Didn't know you could scream like that. I hope you didn’t freak anyone out.”

The two of you continued to practice until nightfall. A thing you also learned, apart from horse riding, was that Joel was a determined man. Everytime you tried to quit, he stopped you, making it impossible for you to rest. You stared at him, rubbing the back of your sore neck with a grimace. “I’m tired. Can we go back?”

“One more time.”

“Joel–”

“Trot a couple of meters just one more time, and that’s it for today. Can you do that for me?”

You tried not to pay too much attention to his choice of words, although it was basically non-viable. He looked sinful, and you longed to shut him up with a bruising kiss. Again, a hopeless option. Your hands itched to touch him, to feel his stubble, rough and coarse under your thumbs. How could you stay focused when the man you had been daydreaming with for the last couple of months was bossing you around? 

Despite your inability to clear your head of any of those thoughts, you managed to accomplish what he had asked you to do. “Well done,” he offered you his hand to dismount the horse and you accepted it, sighing as you stretched out your arms. “We should take him back to the stable,” Joel suggested, giving you the impression of being pleased as you told him you were coming with him.

Inside the stable, he relocated the horse into one of the many stalls. Unbelievably, the place didn’t smell like absolute shit, which was what you were expecting from a barn. “Thank you for the lesson,” you told Joel once he was done with the horse.

“Anytime,” he scratched his jaw, the dim light making his dark eyes look, if possible, even darker. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

“No. You were right,” your heart thrummed with every word that he blurted. His presence was addictive. You were never the one to have any bad habits, but deep down, you recognized that he easily could develop one. “I thought you were less talkative.”

“So did I,” for an instant, he pressed his lips together, forming a tight line, as if he had said something he shouldn’t have in the first place. “I think I didn’t ask you this before: but why now? I mean, why did you wait so much time to learn how to ride a horse? Everyone in Jackson seems to know how.”

You cleared your throat, his piercing eyes peering at your movements. “I guess I thought it wasn't necessary back then, before all this. It's one of those things that you don't even consider until it becomes inevitable. I used to believe I had a lot of time left when I was younger,” you had never talked about this with anyone else. There was something so intimate about this conversation, how Joel stood seemingly tongue-tied in front of you, as if he were taking notes of what you were confessing to him. “I remember being a kid and not wanting to use my toys sometimes because I kept waiting for the right moment. But then…”

“You realize there’s no such thing as the right moment,” he finished the sentence for you, and you bowed your head. “Life can end at any moment, especially in a world like ours. That’s why you always gotta do what you wish to. We never know what’ll happen tomorrow.”

“Live for today, hope for tomorrow? That’s your creed?” you tried to mock him, the tension in the stable far from evident, but he didn’t move.

“It’s the way I try to live my own life. I don’t like being left with the desire to do somethin’ I could’ve done earlier. Too old for that.”

Maybe you were gradually losing it. Perhaps just a little. It couldn’t be a coincidence, right? Had he noticed how you acted around him? Were you that obvious?

“So, you would advise me to just…”

“Do whatever you feel right, sweetheart.”

That raspy sweetheart made you give in.

His eyes. His penetrating, gleaming eyes scrutinized your face at the same time you closed the distance between your bodies. From there, you were able to see every freckle, every small detail that you hadn’t previously acknowledged. He parted his lips, as if to speak, but no words other than your name came out. One of your hands made its way up to his cheek, cupping it, feeling the warmth his skin radiated. His head immediately leaned into your touch, like a moth into a flame. 

You kissed him, unable to keep waiting. It took him what felt like ages to kiss you back, his fingers tangling in your hair. He absorbed your whimpers, pressing your back against the nearest wall. Maddening– it was the perfect word to describe how being kissed by Joel felt like. When you thought he was going to draw away from you, he just held you tighter until your lungs implored for some air. Your knees had never felt this weak, and you found yourself grabbing onto his shoulders, already feeling the places where his stubble had left its trace in flames. 

“Joel…” you mumbled against his lips, detaching your mouth from his. Your erratic breaths seemed to sync together like a melody, and you tugged at the collar of his jacket. 

He knew, could see it on your features. “Wanna go to yours?”

Joel took you home. The moment you set foot in the cabin, he closed the door behind him, his hand lingering on the handle as he contemplated you from a distance. You took your coat off first, starting to unzip your pants. There was silence long enough to hear crickets in, the moon up in the sky being the only bystander of your meeting. His eyes roamed the newly exposed skin of your legs and you observed him gulp. 

“Did something happen?” you asked him, a flush crepting up your face. Taking a step forward, one of his hands came to rest on top of yours.

“No, it’s just that– Are you sure you want this?”

Crinkling your nose, you uttered: “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I’m just too old for you,” he warned you, running a knuckle down your cheek. “You should be with guys your age, y’know? Not with an old man like me.”

“I want you,” reassuring him, you got rid of your t-shirt, and the fact he was still dressed up from neck to toes lit some kind of fire inside you. His calloused fingers fiddled with the strap of your bra until it slipped off your shoulder. “This is what I want. Please, Joel.”

It turned out that Joel Miller certainly was a man of manners.

You couldn't help but moan as he grabbed you by the waist, dragging you to the couch by the window and straddling his lap, his hard-on finding its place beneath you, pulsing and in need of more. His tongue brushed yours ever so often, and your eyes rolled to the back of your head as his teeth latched onto the skin of your throat. Joel groaned, the sound, low and primal, having its desired effect on you, your hips involuntarily grinding against his in a delicious but tormenting rhythm that already had you on the verge of tears.

“Joel, please,” you managed to plead, not knowing precisely what you were asking for. His hands cupped your ass, imprinting his fingerprints on the soft flesh, forcing your hips to go harder and harder. The harsh fabric of his pants was definitely going to leave a mark on your cheeks, and thinking that helped you realize that you were the only one –almost– naked. You reached for the buttons of his denim shirt, your lips hovering over his. “Take your clothes off?”

He did the rest himself, throwing his jacket to the floor. When he got to his jeans, he cocked his head. “Why don’t we move this to the bedroom, if you’re so goddamn needy?” The few guys you had been with had never been very talkative during sex; there was even this one specific boy who had asked you to not make a sound while he fucked you. 

But Joel wasn’t like them. It was just starting and you had already realized that he had a dirty mouth, an expectant look on his face every time he waited for your reaction to his words. “Now you’re quiet, huh? Thought you wanted me to fuck you, darlin',” one of his fingers pressed down on your clit, stimulating it through your underwear. He sighed, stopping his movements and pressing the damp pad of it against your lower lip, urging you to taste yourself. “You’re wet, baby. So fuckin’ wet. Have you been like this all day? Bet you would’ve let me take you right there in the forest.”

“Oh my God,” you whined next to his ear, your whole body trembling with desire. “Take me to bed,” you begged him, and next thing you knew, he was grabbing you as if you weighed nothing and heading towards your room. 

Not knowing how, you kept your hands to yourself until he placed you on top of the bed. Joel shoved his jeans down and you didn’t think twice– you stroked his length, the fabric of his boxers only making the slow drag of your hand more satisfying. His long fingers circled your throat, and you moaned as you kept eliciting exquisite noises from him. “Let me take care of you,” his dilated pupils carved holes in your being, his grip doing nothing to cease the ache between your legs. “Please, baby. I need to make you feel good. Been thinkin’ about this for so long.”

“What?” you slowed down your pace, looking up at him through your eyelashes. “You wanted me?”

“Why do you think I began to pick Ellie up from your classes, huh? Because I’m a good, generous man?” Joel parted your knees, getting closer to where you required him the most. “I’m sorry to ruin this, but I’m far from good. Just wanted to see you and your pretty face. Didn’t know if we were on the same page until you came lookin' for me, askin' me to teach you how to ride a damn horse,” you hadn’t noticed your bra was missing till he cupped one of your breasts, flicking your nipple between his fingers. “I’m sure there were many other people you could’ve asked to teach you, but you chose me, didn’t you?”

“Don’t want anybody else,” your lips chased his, a drop of sweat already rolling down your temple. “I didn’t– didn’t know you noticed me.”

“How could I not? If you could only look at yourself like I’m doing right now… You’re a sight, sweetheart, all spread out for me,” removing your panties, he kissed the skin where your inner thighs met, his tongue darting out to draw imaginary figures on your flesh. His mouth was just inches away from your cunt, and you had to tell him.

“Joel?”

“What’s wrong?”

“I’ve never– nobody has ever done that for me.”

He seemed to understand what you were referring to. It made you tense a bit, despite the fact that you were completely naked in front of him, basically begging him to tear you apart. Still, the realization that you weren't as expert as him hit you out of nowhere. Yeah, it was all fun and games, kissing and touching probably the hottest man you had seen in your almost three decades of life. But said man was a lot older than you, and he had lived his best years in the real world, not this fucked up version you grew up in. You were sure he had been with many different women, which wasn’t a problem– you two were nothing.

“Nobody has ever tasted ya’? That’s what you’re tryin’ to tell me?” you nodded quickly, shoving a strand of his graying hair back away from his eyes. Joel chuckled languidly, squeezing your hips. “Do you want me to? It’s okay if you don’t. We can try somethin’ else.”

“Please,” you’d have time to embarrass yourself later, thinking about the amount of times you had repeated that word. But certain moments were to be lived only once, and though you hoped it wasn't the case, you had to take the chance. “I want you to.”

Four words. It took Joel four words to disappear between your legs, licking a hot stripe up your folds. You nibbled on your bottom lip, a loud moan filling the void of your dorm. He drew sweet patterns in your cunt, discovering a part of you that no one else ever had, and you couldn’t help but to grind against his face as he dipped the tip of his tongue into your entrance. Breathing wasn’t a necessity anymore. You felt as if all the air in the world was being punched out of your lungs, the knot in your belly growing tighter the more Joel spent his precious time keeping you entertained.

At some point, he focused his attention on your clit, circling it over and over again, making you shudder. Suddenly, the pad of his middle finger tested the waters, and he slowly slid it into your cunt, earning a strangled whine from you. Burying your hands in his hair, your glossy eyes looked for him for a second. You shouldn’t have done that, because as you took in the sight of Joel with his own eyes closed, browns knitted, your nostrils flared, and you wondered if it was even possible to want somebody that much.

“Joel, wait, I’m– fuck,” your jaw went slack and you scrunched up your face, two of his thick fingers nudging that spot that made you see stars. “I’m close.” 

“That’s a good thing, sweetheart. Don’t know why you say it in such a dry tone,” his mouth curved into a smile, his chin and stubble shining with your slick. 

Your chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. “I don’t want to come yet.”

“But you will.”

A thing you also learned, apart from horse riding, was that Joel was a determined man.

“Joel–“

“I’ll make you come with my mouth, and then with my cock,” dizziness was starting to blur your vision, your eyelashes fluttering with every hard thrust of his fingers. You glanced up to the ceiling, tears filling your eyes. “Think you can do that for me, be my good girl and come twice?”

You bobbed your head. It was official: he was going to make you come.

Drawing in a long breath, you could feel the unbearable pressure in your core. His name sounded like a prayer on your lips, chanting it in the same way some people expressed their devotion to a certain God. You had your own personal deity, whose tongue accomplished to push you to the limit, licking every drop of your release as if it were a special kind of forbidden elixir.  

Your shoulders sagged and you relaxed under him. Joel kissed you, an open mouthed and filthy kiss crowning that moment as you panted. Through the cotton fabric of his boxers, you felt his hard-on poking your thigh. Shoving his underwear down, you took him in your hand, hot and just big, stroking him for real this time. You twisted your wrist at the tip, and he slumped forward, almost crushing you with his entire body weight, his breath dampening your neck. “Wanna fuck you, baby,” he croaked, his hips chasing your touch.

Out of all the scenarios you had ever imagined, none of them included being split open by Joel. You had a very vivid imagination, but no amount of creativity would’ve prepared you for what his cock would feel like inside of you. He bottomed out, his arms shaking where they rested on each side of your head. Joel’s breath quickened as he pulled out, just letting the tip, and then thrusting into you again.

“Fuck,” you didn’t recognize your own voice. It was even hard to decipher if you were still alive or dead from how magnificent he felt.

“So good, sweetheart. You’re so good, such a good girl,” he groaned, fucking deeper into you. His cock pulsed inside you, your cunt squeezing him. “Can’t believe how– how tight you are. You’re gonna make me lose my f–fucking mind.”

It was just too much. You hadn’t even recovered from your last orgasm before Joel started pounding into you like his life depended on it, the obscene sound of skin slapping skin ringing out in the room. 

“You gonna come, huh? Gonna make a mess?” you could sense he was also close, his pace faltering as seconds went by, words slurring together. He pressed his forehead against yours, clenching his fists and taking in a sharp breath. “Fuck. I’m not gonna last much longer, baby.”

Come inside, you wished to tell him, to feel his seed dripping out of your greedy hole, painting your walls. But you weren't on the pill; it was also the first time you were sleeping with Joel, and you didn’t know how he would take the… suggestion. “Close,” you yelped instead, tears shimmering in your eyes as Joel’s body hovered over you like the most perfect eclipse. 

His thrusts became more frenzied, if possible. “That’s it, darlin’. Come for me,” your gaze fixated upon him, his eyes flickering with hunger. “Wanna see you when you soak my cock.”

Your body went limp, your orgasm hitting you like a truck. Soreness took place in your throat as you moaned his name through the aftershocks, fireworks exploding behind your eyelids. Going rigid, you let go of Joel’s shoulders. He pulled out, mumbling something you didn’t quite catch. You fisted his cock, trying to give him the release he so yearned for. Joel kissed you, messy teeth and saliva taking part of it. Heavy on your hand, his dick twitched as you squeezed the base, roped of his warm cum splattering your belly. The scene reminded you of a painting; he was the talented painter, and you his blank canvas, waiting to be signed with his name.

It was the turn of silence now. None of you said anything for a while, until Joel used his boxers to clean up his cum from your stomach, smiling apologetically at you. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” your fingers delicately traced the contours of his chest as he reclined, enveloping you in the embrace of his strong arms. “Will you stay?”

Please say yes.

“Only if you want me to.”

Moral of the story: learning how to ride a horse can actually be nice if your teacher happens to be Joel Miller.

[darethshirl]

time comes round again (it's etching at your bones)

In honour of me watching Dune 2 last night (which was AMAZING) I'm reposting my paul/chani fic I wrote in a breathless flurry three years(!) ago. Honestly I'm still super fond and proud of this, how did my past self write this?? 😂 can i have some of that inspiration back please lmao

anyway! here's a snippet:

The desert spreads under his gaze, as vast and impersonal as the deepest ocean. It’s sunset time, when the sky gets painted in a myriad soft hues of pink, purple and orange, when creation itself winds down for peaceful sleep. But not so on Arrakis: there are no clouds here to soften the sun’s rays, no relief to be had when the true day‘s work is just starting. The sky bleeds a bright, fierce crimson, the sun a wound that slowly seeps between the sandy hills. Paul stands alone, during this sunset-turned-sunrise, and watches. The wind hisses its susurrus as it dances over the dunes, threads rough caressing fingers through Paul’s hair. It’s an irritant so insignificant it doesn’t even bear noticing. He continues as is, a silent, enduring pillar, his mind going over and over the same infinite loops. Computing the branching paths of his inevitable future, the indelible grooves left by his past. My father is dead, he thinks, pensive, too distant by far. And I cannot mourn. The emptiness where his soul should be yawns wide, an arctic wind scouring his insides. He is remote, a mote of dust aware of the nonsensical, random dance of the sandstorm around him. What does one single existence matter? How can he bring himself to care? He thumbs the heavy ring on his finger with all the unconscious casualness of newly formed, everlasting habit. The black obsidian is an ice-cold weight against his skin. Suddenly, emotion overtakes him with all the abruptness of a thunder strike. But it’s the wrong kind of feeling, not grief but anger, potent and heady. It fills him up with proudful fury, the same impulse that makes him toss his head and snarl at each injustice witnessed. How dare you, he thinks, flings the thought at everyone and no one, an injunction against the entire uncaring universe. How dare you. In this moment, he hates them all. The Emperor, for his craven politics; the Harkonnens, for their brutality; the Bene Gesserit crone, for her smug eyes and her twice as cruel test. His mother, for giving birth to him, shaping him into who he is; his father, for loving him, for stepping into this trap open-eyed and not being strong enough to survive it.

keep reading on ao3

[hopetorun]

I am currently doing a home by now reread so BTS for that please! <3

oh gosh, picking a scene for this was hard! there's a lot of scenes in there. but here is one i'm really fond of: when matthew goes to see his mom in the final chapter

also this scene is like 2400 words and i scraped a few off the beginning but this is long. thank u all for bearing with me i love to talk about writing

He knocks on the front door this time, like a polite adult, and Mom is already laughing at him when she opens the door.

“You have a key for a reason,” she says. “You interrupted my show.”

It turns out that the show in question is Jeopardy, which Matthew didn’t know Mom watched with any kind of seriousness. He does have fond memories of her putting it on for the kids years ago, because they’d get fixated on keeping score of who got the most answers right and, according to her, give her enough time to clean the kitchen after dinner. None of them ever did very well. [one of the things i had a lot of fun with in this story that shows up here is imagining bits of matthew's childhood and filling in details of how he would've interacted with his siblings. also the idea of all three of them parked in front of the tv obsessively keeping score of this is funny to me]

“What’s for dinner?” Matthew says, ignoring the host chatting with the contestants.

Mom shrugs. “I was going to have leftovers. Don’t they feed you at the arena?”

Matthew waits for her to turn to him so he can smirk. “Still hungry,” he says. She shakes her head.

“God, I forgot how much you can eat during the season.” [there is simply so much eating required to play professional sports]

They eat their leftovers on the couch, feet up on the coffee table. Matthew supplements his with an apple that he found in the fruit drawer, because Mom said she wasn’t going to eat it, and she glares at him when he crunches on it loudly while she’s trying to think of the final Jeopardy answer. Matthew smiles at her with his mouth full.

“I raised you better than that,” she grumbles.

He could answer with another joke, keep the banter going. But he’s feeling thoughtful after his talk with Quinn.

“You did,” he says. [there was that twitter thing the other day about how much of yourself and your experience you put into your stories and there are moments of matthew's relationship with his mom in this fic that are very much informed by my relationship with my mom, and this is one of them; the casual behavior, the quick switch from joking to sincere, the acknowledgement of the parent's role in shaping you]

Final Jeopardy ends—none of the contestants get it right, but Mom remembered the answer and she takes a few seconds to gloat about it—and Matthew turns to Mom, more serious than he usually is with her.

“What’s up, Matty?” she says. The nickname is soft, one she hasn’t used much since Matthew was a lot younger. He’s mostly been Matthew for so long now, but sometimes the old nicknames slip out.

He used to mind, back when he was 15 years old and desperately trying to seem more grown up than he was [important teenager experience] and then Brady would call and yell hi Matt into the phone as loud as he could, and all Matthew’s new friends he wanted to have call him Matthew would laugh and start calling him Matt. [important trying to seem grown up experience] But eventually Matthew stuck, mostly, and now when Mom softens her voice and calls him Matty he just feels like a kid again in a good way. It won’t last, but it’s nice to pretend for a few minutes that Mom can solve all his problems. [important twentysomething/thirtysomething experience]

Matthew takes another bite of his apple, crunching loudly in the quiet room, and then swallows before he says, “How do you know if someone is worth it?”

Mom frowns briefly. “Romantically?” she asks, and Matthew nods.

Thankfully, she doesn’t ask any more questions, just tilts her head, considering.

“It’s hard,” she says finally. “Or, I guess—it’s not hard, but you feel very aware of how high-stakes it is. You have to decide it’s worth trying before you can really know for sure.”

That’s kind of the answer Matthew expected, even if it doesn’t make things any easier for him. He could’ve decided in the summer of 2020 that it was worth taking the risk, putting himself out there, and he didn’t. [matthew is very ... measured isn't quite the word, deliberate maybe? about his public presentation, and obviously public presentation ≠ actual personality, but for the purposes of rpf it's very interesting to lean into that. the piece of relationships, especially romantic relationships, where you have to take a leap of faith and risk someone the opportunity to hurt you because it's the only way to know that they won't]

“I almost decided it wasn’t, you know,” Mom continues. “Once it got obvious the Jets were going to relocate. I always knew that dating a hockey player might mean moving away but it had always seemed like a theoretical thing, you know? And then suddenly it was a choice I had to make a lot more quickly than I thought I would, and that was scary.”

Matthew is quiet, mostly because he doesn’t know what to do with that.

“But you did it,” he says finally.

“I did,” Mom says, smiling. “And it was worth it. But I was very aware that leaving my whole life behind to follow a guy across the continent could have blown up in my face. I wasn’t sure at all when I did it.” She pauses. “Well, I was sure I loved your dad and that I wanted to take the risk, but I wasn’t sure that it would work out.” [this scene was going to play out more or less like this regardless of what my wikipedia perusals turned up but reality did me a solid with this detail, thematically. love to wildly riff on a tiny detail of reality because it works nicely with the themes and motifs]

Matthew’s glad she did it, obviously, because otherwise he probably wouldn’t exist, but it does sting to think about how cowardly he was in comparison to her. He didn’t even call Leon back; he thought it could have mattered, but convinced himself it was nothing and let it go.

There’s no way to know if he would’ve been happy with Leon if they’d pursued something. If it would even have worked. There’s no way to know if it could work now, if he hadn’t fucked it up so much. But suddenly, Matthew wishes he’d taken the risk to find out. He wouldn’t even have had to move across the continent for it. [oh i kinda forgot this specific realization is spelled out in this scene! the reason for the whole story, in a way]

Matthew doesn’t even know how he got so deep into the idea that it would be easy. Maybe it’s because hockey wasn’t easy but the work wasn’t scary. Not like the idea of picking his phone back up and calling Leon after the conversation where—well. After that conversation. That was scary. [at this point in the story matthew's really churning through a lot of the stuff that's been cooking in the previous uhhh many many words, so i did let my prose about his thought processes and emotions get more on the nose]

He knew the path through hockey. He knew the path through to success, where to put his feet to make it there, and he never looked around enough to see the possibility of failure. Sure, some people didn’t make it, but he wasn’t going to be one of those.

The path with Leon wasn’t so clear, a murky, muddy thing that slipped out of focus as easily as he could imagine the steps through it. There wasn’t a template. The closest thing to it was Quinn and Brady and that was too different to be much help.

Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe that was just all the years Matthew spent telling himself it was easy for them. [he's starting to realize that actually he's just been an idiot for 10-12 business years, we're all very proud]

Matthew should say something, fill the silence with something thoughtful or appreciative, but no words come to him. He’s been taller than Mom for a long time, but he slumps down on the couch until he can rest his head on her shoulder. She curls an arm around his shoulders the way she has so many times, and rubs the outside of his arm a few times. “It’s okay to be scared of something and still want it,” she says. “I was. That doesn’t mean it’s not worth it.”

Matthew hums, squirms deeper into the cushions instead of answering.

“You know your brother was scared, right?” [this is such a key detail for me. not just that it wasn't easy for brady (and quinn) but that brady was scared! but brady seemed to sure to matthew etc etc]

Mom probably shouldn’t be telling him this. If Brady told her or Dad that, it was probably in confidence. But she’s telling him anyway, and that gives him the same warm feeling he used to get when she told him he was in charge of Brady and Taryn. [chantal ... probably is violating brady's confidence with this one, but it's been almost ten years and she thinks matthew needs the reassurance more than brady needs an old secret]

He shakes his head against her shoulder.

“He talked to me and Dad about it before he went off to Boston,” Mom continues. “He was all serious about it too, and you know how gawky he was back then, [sorry too teen brady but it's true] and it was hard to take him seriously until I realized how scared he was that he’d have to choose between his career and Quinn.”

“Jesus,” Matthew whispers. He’d never even really thought about that part. He should have, and now that it’s been pulled into focus in his mind he doesn’t know how he didn’t. He’s almost 30, has an established career and a pretty comfortable sum in the bank to boot. Leon does too, unless he’s a lot stupider than Matthew’s been giving him credit for. Brady and Quinn weren’t even drafted, almost ten years ago now, and they were willing to—God. It must’ve been terrifying, even before they broke up. [i waffled about this a lot, about whether i wanted to make the earth 2 this story is set on a gentler version of ours and in many ways it is but ultimately i decided the story pulled together better this way]

“Yeah,” Mom says. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more worried for any of you.” She pauses, exhales slowly. Matthew feels her breath ruffle his hair. “I spent so long bracing myself for horrible injuries and horrible losses that I never even considered that one of you kids might have to choose between hockey and the person you love.”

Matthew doesn’t think he can actually speak, at least not in a voice that sounds remotely normal.

“He never told me,” he finally manages. Mom can definitely tell that he’s got a lump in his throat.

“Of course he didn’t,” Mom says. “You would’ve offered to do something like giving hockey up too if he did, and he didn’t want to put you in that position.” [am i wrong? i am not wrong]

Matthew can’t argue with the point, because he can’t reasonably swear he wouldn’t have offered to do something even stupider. He shakes his head, and under it he feels Mom’s shoulder move as she laughs.

“You’re thinking about what the stupidest thing you might’ve offered to do was, aren’t you?” she says, and Matthew laughs too.

“I probably would’ve come out to take the heat off him if I had to,” he mumbles, and Mom’s next laugh sounds wet. It’s not like he’s never thought it before, even if he’s never said it in so many words. They both know the probably part is a lie. [matthew doing things brady doesn't want him to because he thinks it'll be helpful: consistent across all universes]

“I’m glad you didn’t have to,” Mom says, squeezing his arm for a moment too long.

Matthew huffs out a laugh. “Me too,” he says. “That would’ve sucked.”

Mom doesn’t laugh. Matthew didn’t expect her to. He didn’t really think she’d think it was funny; she cares too much about his wellbeing. Not that he can complain about it, not when she’s letting him slump onto her shoulder and saying comforting things to him.

“I’m glad it all worked out for Brady and Quinn,” he mumbles. God, he’s tired.

“Quinn’s a good one,” Mom says. Her arm slides back onto the couch cushions behind him as she stretches. “I’m glad Brady has him.”

Matthew nods. He could fall asleep here, especially after how badly he slept last night. He probably shouldn’t, because he knows Mom won’t want to wake him up. If he’s going to sleep, he should at least drag himself upstairs to one of the empty bedrooms.

He’s in the process of pushing himself upright when Mom says, “So what are you worrying about?” It startles him.

Well, it’s not a surprise that she saw through him, but he is on the spot now. [moms!!!!]

“There’s a guy,” he says, and her arm drops back around his shoulders, squeezes once. [this is a big deal for him to be telling her and she knows it, which is why she's determinedly not making too much of it]

“Yeah?” she says.

“Yeah,” he says. He feels his mouth quirk into a smile. “Big shock, I know.”

He was aiming for sarcasm, but Mom sounds genuinely surprised when she answers. “Someone you like enough to tell me about?”

Matthew sighs, heavy and exhausted. “I think so. Not that it matters, since I fucked everything up.”

“I doubt that,” Mom says, which she kind of has to say because she’s his mom. [that thing of both only wanting the opinions of people you trust and not necessarily trusting the opinions of people who love you] But then Matthew’s thought he fucked things up beyond repair before, and she usually helps him feel good about whatever comes out of it. Like his team deciding he’s not worth having around and somehow turning that into—this.

“It’s pretty bad,” Matthew says, and then he yawns dramatically, and Mom shoves at him gently. “You’re falling asleep. Go crash upstairs and tell me about it in the morning. I’ll tell you how to fix it.” [this is patently obvious throughout the whole story but i think matthew's relationship with his mom is really interesting and i really enjoyed exploring it! the thing last summer where he asked her to witness his contract ("obviously"), etc etc. it felt really natural to hang a big chunk of the emotional crux of the story on a scene with her and have her ultimately be the person he trusts with his fears and failures]

In the morning, she makes him coffee, feeds him an omelet with a mountain of toppings, and listens as Matthew tells her a lightly edited version of the whole mess. It’s not the worst way to start the day. [sometimes your mom or other loving parental figure CAN fix everything, even when you're a grown up with grown up problems]

[blackbat05]

You’re the best to me

Dad Shangqi x Mom Reader

A/N: Well! This idea came out pretty quickly! I guess some of these experiences are what I experienced with my dad and I thought hey, why not spread some joy into these fics? It may be a bit different from what I originally planned but I really hope that you guys like it!🙇🏽‍♀️ <University Blues> is kinda like a prequel to this?

Genre: PG 13

Warnings: Rude parents, subtle racism in between the lines (please everyone, in this difficult time, we could treat one another nicely) and if you consider Shangqi absolutely adoring his little Princess a warning and just being a supportive Sports Dad in general than suree haha👍🏽

The arena was filled with noise as the Xu family stepped in. Little Xu Xiayi was clearly nervous as she gripped her father’s hand tightly. It was natural of course, because she would be competing in her first competition.

Shangqi bends down, adjusting his daughter’s taekwondo uniform. ‘How we feeling?’ Placing his hand against her heart he gasps dramatically for god measure, ‘Wow there’s a train in there!’ It did work for a few seconds as he manages to elicit a tiny smile.

‘You nervous?’

‘A little,’ Xiayi fiddles with her belt. How he wished he could take away the nerves for his baby girl. But if there was one thing he learnt from his own father, once you’re on the stage, you have to learn how to handle the nerves. Still he was aware that his girl was only 7 years old and was just starting out in competitive martial arts.

‘Baobei, look at me.’ He sees her brown eyes that she had inherited from him. ‘Whatever the result may be, as long as you gave it your all, me and your mama will be very proud of you.’

You bend down, huddling together with your two favorite people. ‘Baba is right, whatever the outcome, we know you tried your very best!’ In an effort to make Xiayi less nervous, you squeeze your baby in a big bear hug. Just then her number is called with another girl who was at least half a head taller.

‘Go Xiayi!’ You cheered, giving her a good luck kiss while Shangqi fist bumps her small hands. As she walks away, you notice Shangqi smiling to himself.

‘What’s in there mister?’ You teased. ‘Sad to see your little treasure finally being free?’

Your husband rolls his eyes as he slings his arm across your shoulder, trying to find seats among the other parents in the stands. ‘You wish. As long as I’m alive, Xiayi will never be free from me. I’m just happy to see Xiayi being such a strong girl. I was able to do something for her that I couldn’t do for my sister.’

You knew about the siblings’ rough childhood. ‘I’m sure Xialing would be proud of her niece. She told me she really wanted to come but something held her up back in Macau. She sends her best.’

The two of you manage to find pretty decent seats near where Xiayi was competing. And it looks like both the girl’s parents came too. Let’s just say you didn’t like the haughty looks on their faces. Still, you and Shangqi remained civil.

The match was more intense than you expected. And you felt yourself glowing with pride seeing how Xiayi matched up against the girl. As the two of you settled into your seats, more curious parents came by to see who was this unknown wonder kid. A mom with two other kids in tow tells you that Xiayi’s opponent is the number two seed in the draw.

But you knew Shangqi and you couldn’t agree with him more - matches were meant to have upsets. Seeding was just another thing of the past.

Throughout the match, both girls couldn’t break away. Until now. Xiayi manages to get a well-aimed kick at her head, helping her to break away from the tied score.

Time-out. The two went to the benches below the stands, taking much needed sips of water. Shangqi motions for me to stay put as the other girl’s parents rush to her. Xiayi needs to stay focused.

Just then, the girl’s father makes a comment to his daughter that causes your blood to rise in temperature. ‘Hurt her if you have to. Make sure that Chinese girl doesn’t stand a chance.’

Your head whips to Shangqi. He’s heard it too and boy, you have never seen him that pissed off before. But he won’t blow up now. For Xiayi, he must stay cool. He still tells her one thing before she gets back on the map.

‘Stay cool. Do what you’ve been doing.’

You could not bear the intensity that was unfolding in front of your eyes. For god sake this was just a children’s match! Shutting your eyes, you lean into your husband, praying for the best. You prayed that your little baby would show those arrogant assholes that they were wrong. That they should not have messed with the daughter of a martial arts master.

‘Babe, you don’t want to miss this.’ Shangqi nudges you, giving you the confidence you needed to see it through.

And Xiayi’s done it. She’s managed to do a roundhouse kick to the girl’s chest plate, taking home the win.

‘XU XIAYI!!!’ You grabbed Shangqi, jumping up and down in joy. Your girl had just caused a major upset in her very first tournament.

If you were ecstatic, Shangqi was over the freaking moon. He flew down the steps of the stands, letting Xiayi run into his arms before lifting her up and attacking her in kisses.

‘Hey! Hahaha! Baba stop! It tickles!’ You smile fondly at the wonderful sight in front of you. Suddenly, all these fears that Shangqi had of not being a good father, becoming like his dad who was filled with nothing but hatred just went out of the window at this very moment.

A loud crash is heard behind the father-daughter duo. Xiayi’s opponent throws her bag down in anger, storming ahead of her mother who is left to pick up her forgotten bag as the father walks beside to appease his own daughter. He sees the three of you celebrating and decides to continue to make the parade of uncalled comments. Shangqi tells you to take Xiayi away first.

‘She got lucky you know? No small sized Asian brat can beat our champ.’ Shangqi wonders, he wouldn’t exactly seek his father for advice but what would he do? He decides to walk forward, extending a hand. The other man is puzzled that Shangqi didn’t flip out completely but eventually takes his hand.

Shangqi sees the two of you from the corner of his eyes. No one insults his family and gets away with it. No one will undermine his daughter’s efforts because she’s different from others. With that in mind, he attacks every pressure point that he was taught, refusing to let the other hand go. Obviously the man couldn’t do anything as his daughter was watching this standoff, ‘Daddy what are you doing! Let’s go!’

‘Hold on a second hon-’ He leans forward, possibly to beg Shangqi to release his hand before it gets severed due to blood loss. But Shangqi beats him to it, ‘If I ever hear you say anything like that three feet within my daughter and wife you son of a bitch, your hands won’t be the one in pain.’

The man nods meekly, on the verge of crying out loud. Once Shangqi lets him go, the obnoxious family got out of the arena faster than you could say ‘Cheese’.

‘Baba! That was so cool! You’ve got to teach me that so that I can teach the boys in my school a lesson not to pick on me and Jenny!’ Xiayi runs into him, wrapping her small arms around his waist. He turns to you for answers only for you to mouth, she knew.

Although Xiayi was just a kid, but she was very perceptive. For now, Shangqi doesn’t want that incident interrupting his kid’s moment of glory. So he settles with a, ‘Sure baobei, baba will teach you one day.’ He bobs her crinkled nose.

You decide to interrupt. ‘Now I usually don’t allow this, but who wants boba?’

At this moment, you wondering if you were raising one or two children. ‘Last one out of here is a dumpling!’ Shangqi pretends to sprint ahead with Xiayi running after her father, leaving you behind.

How blessed were you, when this man popped into your life. All because you ran into him on a basketball court years ago?

With Xiayi now, there will definitely be ups and downs, but you felt that as long Shangqi was there with you, nothing felt too much.

A/N: Omg I have no idea how this turned out from the idea in my head HAHA😬 I hope it’s alright! Not an expert in taekwondo or martial arts in general so I tried to rack some basic information that is buried deep in my brain. As always, like and comment if you wish and thank you for reading!❤️

Special shout-out to @wint3r-h3art @crazycookiecrumbles @ntlmundy for encouraging me to write this piece that I had in my brain within such a short span of time! I thought that maybe you would like to read it the moment it comes out🙆🏽‍♀️

[leiawritesstories]

Speak To My Heart

Rowaelin Month, Day 15: A bad day

Word count: 3422

Warnings: language, bit of depression, fighting. In short, there is angst in this fic. Hope the ending makes up for the rest.

Linguistics and foreign languages are two of my personal passions, so please bear with the bits of language talk that I couldn’t resist including. Brief word of clarification: a lot of expressions we use in English either translate into something extremely rude or don’t make sense in other languages. Translation companies have been trying for quite some time to make sure they don’t accidentally send a client a translated instruction manual that reads “fuck your mother” instead of “for questions, contact your local energy department.” All right I’ll get off my soapbox. :)

The phrases in foreign languages, marked with *, are translated into English at the end. Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rowan’s day had been shit. The second he walked through the door, he’d been bombarded with an endless slew of crash reports, malfunctioning equipment, faulty passwords, and best of all, having to rewrite half the security firewalls because one of the rash young idiots in his department couldn’t be bothered to check his work for errors before sending it to management. And management thought it was the department boss’s job to fix all of his employees’ fuckups.

He hated IT.

Even more so since being promoted to department chair. 

All he wanted to do was the fun stuff--program design and development, fixing the flaws in his own designs, and of course making those who tried to break into his company’s systems regret their pitiful existence. But Cadre Tech’s bitch of a CEO refused to let the best software engineer on her staff actually do his job. 

Most days, he could cope with the pile of useless shit she directed to his desk. Most days. Today was not one of those days. Probably because on top of all the meaningless tasks he’d had to field, he was also forced to sit through one of Maeve’s bullshit “department head strategy sessions,” where every department chair had to pretend they gave a single shit about any word coming from their CEO’s garishly red, pinched mouth. 

As if she knew anything her staff actually did. 

Thanks to the compulsory meeting, Rowan was stuck in his office at nearly ten o’clock, painstakingly combing through the final draft of the update to CT’s translation program. This program had shot the company to fame and fortune, or at least insane stock value. “A Google Translate that actually translates,” their marketing department called it, and by the gods, that stupid slogan worked. And made sense. Rowan knew the program was just as good as it claimed to be.

He’d put in the hours, alongside a team of linguists, software engineers, designers, and people fluent in at least one other language. Frequent were the sessions where the project whiteboard turned into a jumble of words in twenty or more languages, Spanish alongside Arabic next to a column of simplified Japanese characters spilling over into a row of Cyrillic lettering. Rowan himself spoke German and some Spanish, but even he was lost amid the cacophony of eighteen different people switching from language to language, trying to figure out how idiomatic expressions translated from one language to another and what words should never, ever be placed together. 

It took the team well over a year of bickering, or as they called it, friendly linguistic disagreements, to make it from loosely mapped concept to functioning program. By the time it hit the market three years ago, the software had been so well promoted that companies all over the world snapped up their chance to finally communicate properly with the client they’d offended years ago with a bad translation. 

At launch, of course, Maeve stood in front of a sea of shouting reporters brandishing microphones, smiling her serpentine smile, and proceeded to thank the creative team for all their “contributions” before taking all the credit herself. 

Said creative team went to the bar that had become their usual gathering spot that night to get drunk and shit-talk their horrible boss, not necessarily in that order. 

His favorite memory of that night was hearing the chief linguist, an outside contract with multiple advanced degrees who spoke eight separate languages besides English fluently, refer to Maeve as “quella puttana rugosa che non riusciva a convincere un cazzo a venire a dieci metri da lei se si vestiva da figa.*” The Italian speakers on the team were crying with laughter, and so was everyone else, once she translated it.

And then she downed another shot of vodka and hissed something that sounded like “sukya bliyad, no puedo mich betrinken con esta ordures.**” When everyone blinked in confusion, she sighed and relayed the sentiment in English. 

Nobody had laughed as hard as Rowan. Aelin Galathynius just had that effect on him.

She brightened his darkest days.

But she couldn’t ease the strain of today.

And it was all his fault.

~

Aelin glanced up at the clock on her wall and cursed in three different languages when she saw that it was nearly eleven. Without meaning to, she’d spent all afternoon and evening writing lesson notes on idiomatic expressions. She really couldn’t help herself once she got into the topic; it was her pet project.

And the subject of one of her dissertations. Yes, she had multiple. 

She’d worked her ass off for years to get through college, then through graduate and doctoral work while teaching at universities to offset costs, then earned a full-time teaching position at one of the top-ranked universities in the world. She got to teach linguistics, her lifetime love, and give guest lectures at other universities and at conferences, teaching people all over the world about the complexities and interrelatedness of language. Hell, she spoke ten; she’d be qualified to speak on linguistic relationships by virtue of that alone.

Gods, she was the chief linguist behind the most successful translation software ever produced. Even if the bitch who owned the rights to said software had literally threatened to sue over ownership rights if any of the people who’d poured their figurative blood and sweat and literal tears into building the program tried to claim a small piece of the credit each of them so richly deserved. 

That software and her role in its creation--even though Maeve Ond had claimed the public credit, the creative team spoke at interviews and made news features for their work in Cadre Tech’s massive success--had solidified her credentials as a professor of linguistics, had boosted her into her lecturer spot.

Last year, her university granted her tenure. 

She should have been overjoyed, and she was, but not as much as earning tenure deserved. 

Because there was nobody to share her joy.

Three years ago, in the wake of CT’s overnight jump to worldwide fame, Aelin fled a love she did not and never would deserve. 

She told herself she would never look back. But she did. Almost every day, she looked back at the life she’d shared with Rowan and tried to convince herself that she did the right thing.

Try as she might, she could never silence the whisper that echoed always in her mind. 

“You broke both of your hearts” 

Someday, she told herself, someday she would be back in Doranelle. Someday, she would have a chance to apologize. Someday, maybe she could fix the Rowan-shaped chasm that gaped wide in her heart. 

Yet here she was, sitting in a very nicely appointed hotel room in the university district of Doranelle, typing furiously away as if burying herself in notes and prep for tomorrow’s lecture could make the urge to contact Rowan disappear.

~

Three years earlier. Doranelle.

“Knock, knock.”

Rowan’s head jerked up from where it had most definitely not been slumped on his desk. “Wha--Oh. Hi, Aelin.”

“You’re falling asleep, buzzard, let’s go home.” He heard laughter in her soft voice. 

“As if you won’t just get home and start cross-checking every single one of the phrases on your ‘potential problem’ list.”

She chuckled, walking over to him. “Fine. We’re both perfectionist work whores. Doesn’t mean we don’t need sleep.”

“I know you too well to believe you’re actually going to sleep.”

“All right, you win. Come home now, I’ll make some food, and you can put me to bed.” She winked saucily at him, leaving very little doubt what putting her to bed would entail, and he was up out of his chair in seconds. 

“Hand over your computer, Fireheart,” he grinned as they walked into the small house they shared on the outskirts of the city. 

“What?”

“Your computer, love. I’m leaving both of our work bags on the shelf by the front door so we can actually catch some rest tonight.” He pressed a finger to her mouth to silence her protests. “Uh-uh, Ae, we have interviews tomorrow and I won’t let the genius behind this program’s flawless word-to-word be anything but well-rested.”

She sighed, but he saw the love in her eyes. “Here, then, my dear brilliant software engineer. Leave your notebook, too, because I know if it���s anywhere near you, you’ll be up at three in the morning scribbling blocks of gibberish and picking apart your faultless code until you go insane.”

Both of their work satisfactorily put aside, Aelin made good on her promise to cook Rowan dinner. 

And then he made very good on his promise to put her to bed. 

The next morning, they were both awake with the sunrise, content to lay curled in each other’s arms as the morning light spread across their room.

Rowan drifted back into sleep, waking for good when he caught a whiff of coffee from the kitchen’s direction. 

“Morning, you sleepy buzzard,” Aelin grinned, sipping from her mug.

Rowan dropped a kiss on her head as he reached for his mug. He took a long drink, sighing as the milky, sweetened caffeine hit his mouth. 

“I will never understand how you drink your coffee black, Fireheart.”

“Not all of us need to sweeten the hell out of coffee to drink it, Ro. Maybe if you can’t handle the real thing, you should go back to your pretty little cups of crappy cafe tea.”

“Mention my pretty little teacups again, Ae…”

She giggled. “You be quiet and drink your coffee-flavored milk, my love.  We both know you’re impossibly grumpy until you have caffeine in your veins.”

He grumbled something unintelligible as he drank his coffee.

They were nearly late to work that morning, even having planned an extra half hour to arrive, thanks to Aelin wearing what Rowan dubbed her “sexy professor suit.” She fixed the pins in her French twist in the car, making herself once again a portrait of professionalism, and slipped Rowan’s hand from her leg.

“Two hands on the wheel, Whitethorn.”

He pouted. “But I’m a safe driver and I want to hold your hand.”

“My hands are over here, love, not down by my skirt.”

When he pulled into his spot, Aelin closed her eyes and took a deep, slow breath. 

“You good, Fireheart?”

Gods, she loved hearing him call her that. “Yeah. I just…needed a moment to settle myself. To tell myself the cameras aren’t here to tear apart what I say.”

Rowan wrapped his hands around hers. “Dr. Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, the bland reporters are here to stand in awe of your expertise. Not a single word you say will come across as anything but brilliant and beautifully said.”

She squeezed his hands, her usual confidence returning. “I love you, buzzard.”

“I love you too, Fireheart. Let’s go talk about our amazing achievement.”

The day sped by in a blur of reporters, interviewers, teleprompters, practiced speeches, lights, cameras, and crew. When the last bleached-blonde anchor of the last interview of the day cut her crew’s cameras, Aelin flopped against her second-in-linguistic-command, Dr. Nehemia Ytger, the expert on ethnic African languages. 

“If I never see a news crew again, it’ll be too soon,” she sighed. “I’m beat.”

Nehemia snickered. “But we’re done talking about how proud we are that Maeve and her marvelous company have done such a grand service to the world.”

Aelin snorted softly. “Right. And now we servicepeople want to go home and take off our heels.”

“Amen to that.”

As the team filed out of the studio, Rowan made his way over to Aelin. “Holding up?”

“Not anymore,” she said, leaning casually into his side. “My heels are killing me, there’s a hairpin stabbing into my scalp, and I really, really need to pee.”

Rowan laughed, deep and husky. “Let’s get you home, then.”

“I’m stopping in the bathroom first.”

Just before she left the ladies’ room, Aelin heard voices in the break area. Familiar voices--Rowan’s, Maeve’s, and the snippy, borderline whiny tones of Remelle Frelau, who worked in the marketing department and had a hell of a boner for Rowan. 

“--looking at revenue over--” Maeve’s voice cut out, but from the gasps of the other two, the revenue was through the roof. 

“And it’s all thanks to this genius here,” drawled Remelle, who if Aelin had her guess was probably clinging onto Rowan like a platinum-blonde leech. 

“Ms. Frelau, this was the product of a team. No single person could possibly have made it happen alone.”

“Oh, call me Remelle, or even better Remy. And you’re the team leader, so you practically did create it by yourself.”

Aelin snickered to herself. Vapid bitch had no idea what she was saying. 

“That’s not how teams work, Ms. Frelau. We wouldn’t be here without Dr. Galathynius and Dr. Ytger’s language expertise, not to mention the creative genius of the engineers, graphic designers, linguists, and programmers.”

“Ms. Frelau, though her judgment is clearly biased, has a point, Mr. Whitethorn,” Mave said. “You demonstrated remarkable collaborative leadership qualities throughout this project, and I fully expect that you will continue to do so.” Maeve’s heels clicked away. Rowan’s voice followed her.

“Thank you, Ms. Ond, but I have to credit Dr. Galathynius--”

“Will you stop kissing that woman’s ass?” snorted Remelle. “Gods, she’s not worth your time or your praise; all she does is translate words into different languages and you idiots drool over that like it means anything.”

Aelin jerked like she’d been slapped. She knew Remelle was a self-centered, shallow, spiteful bitch, but she hadn’t known she would do this.

“--did more for this project than you and your useless whiteboard of catchphrases,” growled Rowan. 

“I don’t care what she ‘did for the project,’ Rowan, she’s never going to be good enough for you.”

“Thank you for caring about my welfare, Frelau, now please kindly fuck off.”

Aelin chose that moment to saunter out of the bathroom and head straight for Rowan, her face showing no hint of having heard that conversation. She did note with satisfaction Remelle’s vain attempt to march out of the room with some semblance of dignity. Too bad her heel caught on the seam of the hallway carpet and the break room’s tile flooring and she had to grab the doorframe to keep from collapsing. 

“You’re awfully quiet, Aelin.”

“Just thinking. Processing, really. It’s been a hell of a day.”

Rowan nodded. “I bet.”

“And hearing fucking Remelle rip into me for being useless…didn’t make it better.”

“Shit, you heard that?”

“Yeah. I heard that.” Her voice was hollow. 

Rowan pulled into their driveway and shut off the engine. Reaching across the console, he cupped Aelin’s face in his hands. “Aelin. You are brilliant. You are terrifyingly smart. You are a force of nature. Nothing, nothing you will ever do is useless. Don’t let that jealous bitch make you think you are less than the perfect woman.”

She smiled tentatively at him. “She…she told me before that last interview that I could never be enough for you. Because you--because of Lyria.”

Rowan raked a hand through his hair. “Ae, can we talk about this inside?”

That night, he told her about his former fiancé, Lyria. He told her about their whirlwind romance, their youthful dreams. He told her about the horrific crash that stole away Lyria’s life. A drunk trucker, a narrow pass in the mountains. He showed her the box in which he kept all the memories of that life. He cried. Aelin cried. He curled against her, let her comfort him.

“Sometimes, I wish she was still here. She’d understand everything. She always did.”

Aelin had no response. She let Rowan fall asleep, his weight shifting off her and into his bed, and looked through the box. Everything she saw served as another reminder that this was the first woman he loved, the woman who understood everything. 

She was worthy of him. 

But was Aelin?

The more she looked at Rowan and Lyria’s happiness, the more the answer solidified. 

No.

When Rowan woke up the next morning, Lyria’s box sat on Aelin’s side of the bed, a side that had not held Aelin.

He glanced out the window.

Her car was gone.

He got up and frantically paced through the house.

Everything she’d brought into his home was gone.

As was she.

~

Present day. 

Rowan opened his front door mechanically, pulled off his shoes, dropped his work backpack on its shelf, and was halfway to his bedroom before he realized he’d just opened his front door. His front door that was always locked. 

Someone was in his house.

Someone who either had a duplicate key or insanely good lockpicking skills.

Exactly one person owned a duplicate key to his house.

Aelin.

That’s impossible, she lives in Orynth, she can’t be here, he told the traitorous part of his brain that leapt with joy at seeing Aelin’s face again.

He turned around and made his way through the kitchen--nobody there--to the living room. He flicked on a lamp, casting a soft light around the room.

And nearly had a heart attack.

Aelin Galathynius sat on his couch. 

For a moment, he just gawked at her. She looked so…different. Older. Gone was the infectious smile that had captured his heart. Dark shadows smeared under her eyes, testament both to the long hours she devoted to her work and to recent sleepless nights. She was twisting a ring on her right hand, a familiar sign of her nerves. From his angle, Rowan could see a hint of dark script on her wrist. A tattoo. The Aelin he knew didn’t have tattoos.

“I’m not a ghost.” Her voice, weary and hollow, broke the tense silence.

Rowan crossed the room, propped an arm on the fireplace. “Why?”

“Why am I here? Why did I leave? Why did I cut you out of my life?”

“Everything.” He couldn’t keep the waver from his voice, but his eyes burned into hers.

She took a steadying breath. “I’m here to apologize, first of all. I’m here to face what I ruined and to try and start mending it. I’m here to come to terms with everything I broke when I left three years ago.”

Whatever he’d expected her to say, it certainly wasn’t that.

“I’m sorry, Rowan. I’m sorry I left like that. I was…I was scared.”

“You can’t just run away from your fears, Aelin!” He couldn’t keep the frustration from his tone. “You can’t just abandon someone when you have a bad day!”

“I’m sorry! I know I shouldn’t have left! I know I can’t run from my fears; I’ve spent the last three years trying and fucking failing to do that! But I don’t know what else to do.”

“Saying something about it would have been a good first step.” 

“I’m bad at emotions, Rowan. I tried. It wasn’t enough.”

“That’s not a good enough excuse.”

Aelin flicked a tear from her face. “I know.” Her shoulders slumped. “I’m so sorry, Rowan. I should never have left. I let some stupid comment root into my head and make me doubt myself. I made myself believe I would never be good enough for you. I left you. I loved you, and I still left you. I still love you, even though I’ve tried to suppress it. I can never make up for that. I…I just wanted to tell you how much I’ve regretted that horrible decision all these years. I want you to be happy, Rowan, I--”

“How am I supposed to be happy without a source?” He’d dropped onto the couch, close enough to touch her but still keeping his distance.

“What?”

“You didn’t just take yourself away, Aelin. You were my happiness. I’ve spent three fucking years trying to make myself believe I’m better without you in my life, and I can’t.”

She was unabashedly crying by that point. “What do you want me to do? How can I make up for abandoning you?”

“Stay.”

Her gaze locked onto his, both of their eyes pooling with tears.

“Stay with me, Fireheart.”

“But--”

“I never stopped loving you either.”

A choked sob ripped out of Aelin. Rowan couldn’t hold himself in check any longer; he reached out and tugged her gently into his arms. To his shock, she didn’t resist, burying her face into his chest as sobs shook her shoulders. When she calmed, he tilted her chin up.

“Will you stay, Aelin?”

“Yes. Even though I will never deserve your forgiveness, yes.”

~

Translations:

* = “that pinched old whore who couldn’t convince a dick to come within ten metres of her if she dressed up provocatively” (Italian)

** = loosely translated as “Fucking hell, I can’t get drunk off this garbage.” (in order, Russian (badly phonetically spelled out because Rowan POV), Spanish, German, Spanish again, French) (the Russian doesn’t directly translate, so it could mean several different variations of expletive)

~

Might there be a second part? Perhaps......

[speuradair]

Scream | Dabi

(I mentioned a Scream au BnHA fic and now here’s a teaser for it lmao I had fun writing this and it is spooky season after all, so please let me know if you’re interested in me continuing it!)

Word Count: 1.3k

Contains: death mention, mention of unwanted advances, implied gaslighting, general dark horror themes, Dabi identity spoiler, slight oblivious parent cliche lol

Requested: Nope

The glow from your computer, though soft and set to the lowest possible setting, only worsened the dull ache that had set in behind your eyes. Your eyelids were begging to close and your chest had become heavy with exhaustion, but you couldn’t give in. Though, despite what you’d told your dad when he asked a few nights ago, it wasn’t the literature essay in front of you that kept you from getting the sleep you needed. It hadn’t been the statistics homework that kept you up last week, or the Gov-Econ notes the week before that. The past three weeks had been riddled with anxiety, but not from school. At this point, the incessant classwork had actually become a welcome distraction from the mess you’d somehow gotten into. 

Four weeks ago, a girl from your class and her boyfriend were found dead outside her house. The police had tried to keep the details to a minimum to prevent any panic among the town, but with a crime scene as gruesome as that one, no one had any doubts that someone seriously deranged was behind their deaths. After a few days of trying to diffuse concerns, the town gave in and declared a curfew. 

Three weeks ago, your house had been broken into and your room had been trashed. Nothing was stolen, just clearly searched through and deliberately rearranged. The police ruled it a failed burglary and moved on to focus on more pressing issues. A week went by without any other incident, and with it went your concerns that it might somehow be related to the previous week’s murders. 

Two weeks ago, the principal was found dead in his office after school hours. Classes were cancelled for the rest of the week, but resumed the following Monday under the reasoning that ‘normalcy helps kids cope,’ or something equally as flippant.

Last week, the texts started. What had started out as seemingly innocent remarks about how pretty you were had quickly spiraled into twisted messages describing how gorgeous they thought you’d look in various sinister situations. This had to be some sick joke by one of the perverted assholes at school… right? You weren’t oblivious to how cliche that reasoning was, but to be completely honest, you couldn’t bear the thought of it being anything more than just a fucked up prank. You were on edge enough as it was, and accepting that you might be in genuine danger was far too much for you to handle. 

The one thing that was keeping you afloat was your boyfriend. Todoroki Touya was a beacon of light in the thick storm that the past month had been. He was the only one you confided in about the morbid messages you’d been receiving- not like you had any other option, though. No teenager wants to show their parent dirty texts so telling your dad was almost entirely out of the question. 

The protection and comfort Touya offered you felt like more than enough to keep you safe. He wasn’t the type people usually dared to mess with. As long as he was by your side, whoever was harassing you wouldn’t have had the guts to bother you in person. With that in mind, you had managed to sufficiently convince yourself that they weren’t really enough of a threat to be turned into the police.

A few days ago, your dad had left for a business trip, leaving the house to you for the week. Normally, the idea of being alone would’ve cheered you up, but with a murderer on the loose and sketchy texts coming in every other day or so, you were nonplussed. How were you supposed to tell him to bail on a required business trip, though? Money had been tight, especially since your mother passed away the previous year. You knew that he needed the money and that he needed to go, so you let him. That’s why you sat alone at your desk, fighting sleep, doing everything you could to keep your mind off of the fact that it was 10 pm and the house was empty and quiet, save for the CD player that sat on your dresser softly playing whatever you’d listened to last. 

You’d actually started to nod off for a moment when everything turned off. Your eyes snapped open, though it took a moment for your eyes to adjust to the darkness enough for you to actually see. The stereo stopped and the computer turned off, plunging the room into silence and darkness. Your neck burned, panic instinctively trying to take over, but you ignored it. You had to ignore it. You had to think calmly. Maybe the power had gone out? The power lines in Woodsboro were a bit unreliable and in the cold October wind, it wouldn’t have been a complete surprise for them to give out. 

Standing to your feet and taking deep breaths to suppress your anxiety, you carefully padded over to the window facing the front yard. Your anxiety spiked again, though, as you peered out to the neighboring houses. All of their lights were still on. Your house was the only one without power. As you stood in the window processing what was going on, you caught movement in the corner of your eye. 

In the dim light that spilled into the yard from the street lamp, someone moved across the grass towards the front door. It was hard to make out completely, but you were sure they were wearing the same white mask that had been splashed on every news article the last few weeks. 

Suddenly they stopped. In almost slow motion they looked directly into your window, into your eyes, as if they knew that’s exactly where you’d be. 

You screamed. You didn’t want to, it just happened. You froze, and you screamed. You knew that there still could’ve been a chance the masked figure hadn’t seen you in the dark window, but with a scream like that, that chance plummeted. 

The sound of the window behind you opening was what snapped you out of your frozen state. Turning on your heels you were ready to scream again in a desperate attempt to alert your neighbors, but you stopped as you recognized the man sliding through the open frame. 

“Touya!” Your voice was breathy, almost incoherent, but it didn’t matter right now. You moved towards him and in an instant, his strong arms were around you tightly. 

“I heard screaming. The door was locked. Are you okay?” 

“He’s here, he’s trying to kill me!” You weren’t even really thinking as you spoke, your words forced out more by panic than by actual intent. 

Touya’s gaze darted through the window behind you, quickly scanning to see who you were talking about. It was clear by his expression that he didn’t spot anyone. 

“Him, it’s him, the one who killed the others-” You stopped as he let go of you and moved towards the other window, looking more intently now.

“There’s no one out there.”

“What?”

He sighed softly and turned to you, his expression softening as his previous protective attitude shifted to one of pure concern. “There’s no one out there, the yard’s empty,” he paused, as if deciding whether or not he should say what he was thinking, “Babe, if someone really cut your power and came here in that creepy mask, maybe I should stay. You’re alone, and you shouldn’t be.” 

He’d moved closer again, his warm arms snaking around your waist again like they had a moment ago, lips brushing against your cheek. “Let me say,” he mumbled softly, only as loud as he had to be for you to hear him. Even if you hadn’t wanted him to stay, you wouldn’t have been able to tell him no. Not with his strong arms pulling you into his chest and his hot breath on your cheek. 

So you nodded gently, letting your small frame melt into his. 

That was exactly what he wanted to hear.

“It’s okay now, I’m here. You know I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

[wangxianficrecs]

Follower Recs

~*~

Hi! First of all, thank you so much for running this blog, It's become one of three reasons why I haven't yet committed arson (I jest but the Feeling is true). [Hee, hee, hee.] I have a rec for you! It's called "wholesome life usurp immediately" by comfect on ao3 and it's. So good. It's unfinished but the author updates it literally every other day if not faster! It's a lovely fic, I hope you enjoy it. 🌻

Wholesome Life Usurp Immediately

by Comfect (T, 55k, yunmeng sibs, qingli, wangxian, WIP)

Summary: Wen Qing examines Jiang Yanli at Cloud Recesses and has a cure for her poor cultivation.

Now there are Three Prides of Yunmeng.

Everything kind of fixes itself from there.

~*~

hello mojo!! I would really like to recommend standing still (but we keep going) by lwjromantics!! it's really good!!

standing still (but we keep going)

by lwjromantics (justfantaestic) (T, 5k, wangxian)

Summary: Lan Wangji supposed that if having to take care of little A-Yuan and Mo Xuanyu and having to look at the reminders of Wei Ying in their habits and mannerisms was punishment for his actions, he would willingly take it and flay his own back open.

— There are children in the Burial Mounds.

~*~

hii mojo! I just read this cute fic and I loved it so I wanted to rec it :) 

Word Up, Talk the Talk

by Larryissocute (G, 2k, wangxian)

Summary:  It wouldn’t have been a problem (it really wouldn’t) if they weren’t best friends. Wei Wuxian doesn’t know what good deeds he did in his past life to be blessed with Lan Wangji as a friend nor does he know what evil things he did to be cursed with being only a friend to Lan Wangji.

Or the one where Wei Wuxian kisses Lan Wangji and then runs away.

~*~

Hey! Love your account — and proud of you for taking the hiatus you needed.  [Lol - it was really nice!]  Idk if you take fic recommendations, but I'd love to rec Roots by ardenrabbit. Fantastic characterization, I really love it!

Roots

by ardenrabbit (E, 46k, wangxian, WIP)

Summary:  After Wei Wuxian's duel with Jiang Cheng, he finds that stab wounds aren't so trivial when he doesn't have a core to heal them. He wakes to find Lan Zhan in the Burial Mounds with him, already beloved by the Wens and making himself at home. When Lan Zhan tells him that he wants to stay and offers more help than Wei Wuxian knows how to accept, he fears that it's only too good to be true.

Lan Wangji knows that Wei Ying is doing the right thing, and he couldn't live with himself if he let him do it alone. For everything Wei Ying has sacrificed, Lan Wangji is determined to give something back to him.

Hanguang-Jun has turned his back on the clans to join the Yiling Wens and their demonic cultivator leader, and every clan has a different opinion on the matter.

~*~

Hello! I wanted to rec a fic on ao3 called "Restoration" by jelenedra. It's complete, an alternate universe of the sunshot campaign told nonlinearly. It has strong fairy tale and fae elements, with a touch of mystery. Bit of a fix it. Some delightful one liners, and the final ending imagery is just LOVELY. The fic deserves much more love. There's also some YilingWei, wwx not raised by Jiang, and sentient Burial Mounds elements. Enchanting read that keeps you enthralled and curious and intrigued.

Restoration

by jelenedra (M, 85k, wangxian)

Summary:  They say he was thrown into Luanzang Gang by the man who killed his parents; they say that he is an immortal cultivator who had been in a deep trance until the Wen sect disturbed his rest and incurred his wrath; they say that he is the fierce corpse of a cultivator who had somehow regained his mind and his spiritual powers.

When Lan Wangji sees him for the first time, he understands why people talk.

Meng Yao wants safety. Xue Yang wants vengeance. The Sunshot Campaign wants victory. Yiling Laozu provides, for a price.

~*~

I usually read all your recommendations. Thanks for gathering all good recs of wangxian. I am in love with every single story your recommend especially the favorites. [I’m so glad!]  I just wanted to suggest a fic i came across while searching for phoenix!wwx. Its a new story I think as author has published it today. The first chapter was very interesting that i thought ill recommend it you and know your opinion. The legendary phoenix and his dragon -Devipriya and Hidden Path to Love by ShadowTenshiV

Hidden Path to Love

by ShadowTenshiV (G, 78k, wangxian)

Summary:  Wei Ying is a servant working at the Gusu Lan castle. One day he enters through a secret passage way connected to the library where he meets a Lan for the first time. He may have left quite an impression, gaining the other´s attention and slowly becoming friends. They would like to become something more, but a servant can´t be with a prince, but maybe his secret can change that.

~*~

hello mojo! i was wondering if I could make a fic rec? it’s called “and the calm is deep where the quiet waters flow” by izanyas. it used to be on ao3 but the author has since moved it to eir own website and has started posting updates there. i was wondering if this could also act as a signal boost bc some old readers on ao3 might not have known that it is now on another website.   Author's been through a tough time so I think it deserves a lot more love.

For new readers, please mind the warnings in the prologue and the beginning of each chapter! it’s omegaverse and a very heavy read as it deals with (possible spoiler) off-screen rape that results in an unwanted pregnancy, as well as secondary gender oppression which runs deep, but for people who can bear it the writing, worldbuilding, and emotions are truly spectacular.

and the calm is deep where the quiet waters flow

by izanyas (E, 270k, wangxian, WIP, link is to WordPress rather than AO3)

Summary: Cangse Sanren was the first of her kind to become a cultivator. Talented, passionate, free-spirited, she bested everything that ever came her way until the very end.

Jiang Fengmian refuses to see her son deprived of that same freedom.

~*~

Hello Mojo! I dunno if this's been recced before, but here's another ficrec for you? It's complete, on ao3, "The Third Young Master of Qishan Wen" by KouriArashi. It's 'if wwx was raised by dafan wen, but gets recognized as 3rd heir due to his skill' scenario. Some really nice banter and characterization. Wwx and lz get together before the sunshot campaign. Story follows the live action but diverges into au, and does some cool callbacks to original canon. Love Meng Yao in this!  [Oh, I know KouriArashi from my last fandom, I love her works!]

❤️The Third Young Master of the Qishan Wen

by KouriArashi (T, 139k, wangxian, my post)

Summary:  The fic where Wei Wuxian is adopted by the Dafan Mountain Wens instead of the Yunmeng Jiang.

~*~

Hi Mojo! I can count the number of times I’ve spoken on Tumblr on one hand (I’m shy heh) but I found this fic that I think you and others would really like? I’m a sucker for emotional hurt/comfort and this was just too sweet for me not to share (did I go through 20 pages of bookmarks just to make sure you don’t already have it? Maybe …) [Aww, you can do a sidebar search in the bookmarks for the author’s name.  But I hope you found other good fics by carding through the whole catalog!]  It’s “Close Your Soft Eyes” by timetoboldlygo! I also wanna say thank you for all the hard work you put into this blog! It’s a treasure beyond compare. :D [Thank you so much!]

Close Your Soft Eyes

by timetoboldlygo (G, 12k, wangxian)

Summary:  When Lan Wangji woke, the first thing he noticed was the slip of paper, folded and tucked between his index and middle fingers, not Wei Wuxian’s absence. His fingers trembled as he unfurled the paper. A donkey with a little smile beamed down at him.

-

On the nights that Wei Wuxian was gone, Lan Wangji woke to gifts on his pillow.

~*~

Hey Mojo! I love your blog it is beyond awesome! [Thank you!]  I was wondering if you would consider reading JaenysBloodcourt series "A Bond to Takes us home"? The summary is weird but I like the fics and would love to hear your opinion on LWJ POV (it's part 2). Part one is Mingxian but part two (Wangxian) reads as a standalone for the most part. Anyways, thank you for all your hard work! <3 [I’ll put it on my list!]

A Bond to Take Us Home

by JaenysBloodcourt (T, 10k, mingxian - nmj/wwx, wangxian, series in progress)

Summary:  Wei Wuxian has two soulmarks. He has two soulmates that seem to be the opposite of him. During his first life he meets both of them, loves only one and longs for the other. In his second life, the one he loved first is dead, and the one he pined after is pining after him.

These are the many tales of his soulmates and the raucous they made across the cultivation world.

Some are dark, some are light. Beware.

~*~

I forgot to send this in for Mother's Day a few weeks ago, but have you read dragongirlG's "into the light of a dark black night"? It's a short canon divergence where Mama Lan escapes the Cloud Recesses after spending one last, heartbreaking night with her sons. It's so beautiful and bittersweet! [Oh, ouch.  I just read this author’s time travelling juniors au, but hadn’t seen this one.]

into the light of a dark black night

by dragongirlG (T, 3k, Madam Lan & sons)

Summary:  The night that Wu Yuhua, formerly known as Madam Lan, plans to escape from the Cloud Recesses, she runs into an unexpected complication.

That complication comes in the form of her younger son A-Zhan running up to her door and kneeling in front of it, hushed whimpers escaping from his throat.

Wu Yuhua knows it's not the full moon, knows that it's not the one day a month she's allowed to see her children—but like hell is she going to leave her six-year-old son out there trying to stifle sobs in the snow.

She opens the door. "A-Zhan," she says, bending down and reaching out a hand. "Come in, my sweet boy."

On a snowy night in the dead of winter, Wu Yuhua, formerly known as Madam Lan, unexpectedly spends one last night with her sons before escaping from the Cloud Recesses.

~*~

Hello queen I’d like to recommend for ur follower rec posts Avatar: The Untamed Waterbender by KouriArashi. Banger of an ATLA au, def the best one I’ve seen. It’s a WIP but the author updates pretty regularly and it’s all around an A+ fic [Oh, yes, I’ve been waiting for this one to finish before I jump in.]

Avatar: The Untamed Waterbender

by KouriArashi (T, 123k, wangxian, WIP)

Summary:  You know the drill. Long ago, the four nations lived in harmony. Then, everything changed when the Fire Nation attacked.

100 years later, Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli find Wei Wuxian sealed in an iceberg.

Featuring: avatar WWX, waterbending JC, firebending Wens, airbending Lans, earthbending Nies and Jins, Jiang Yanli in possession of the brain cell, et cetera.

~*~

[My ko-fi.]

[crystal-snowing]

oblivious | bang chan

synopsis: the four times that you almost confess to chan and the one time that he does it for you. or in which, you have the biggest crush on chan and the one time where he finally notices. 

genre: fluff, slight angst, best-friends-to-lovers! au, non-idol! au

pairing: bang chan x reader

word count: 2.9k

a/n: this is for the @districtninewriters’ winter fic exchange, and my person was minnie ( @lveletters​ ) ! surprise !!  minnie is such a fantastic writer, and i had an enjoyable time writing this and definitely writing for chan, i hope you enjoy !! <3 

a/n part two: this gif was made by @/prodskz and i just edited it ! 

one

At the age of eight, there were only two things that you relatively seemed to know about Bang Chan: one; he was your next-door neighbor, two, (because of fact number one, he, therefore) was your best friend. Your relationship with him seemed simple enough, and there was nothing more that you could expect from the boy other than occasionally sharing his food with you during snack time and holding your hand as you both crossed the street on the way home. Life was simple, and you were content, as much as an eight-year-old could be—happily sipping on a juice box and munching on some graham crackers. 

It was any other day at recess, both you and Chan taking up your resident spot on the swing set next to each other, pumping your legs as fast as you possibly could to swing higher than the other. Everything between the two of you was a competition; it was only natural. There was something about Bang Chan that seemed to awaken this drive within you even at such a young age. Your competitive side heightened by his presence—the need to invoke a response from him was too great to ignore. 

“You know, I went to my uncle’s wedding this weekend,” you started, slowing the swing down just a bit so he could hear you over the playful sounds emanating from the playground. “And my uncle told me that one day I’m going to get married too!” 

“Yeah, right! As if someone would ever marry you,” Chan scoffed, rolling his eyes lightly at your declaration. 

You gasped and pouted slightly at his words. Reaching down with your right leg, you allowed it to drag across the wood chips below, slowing yourself down to a stop on the swing so that you could honestly look at him as you spoke.  

“It’s true,” you huffed, puffing out your chest as you spoke, “plus, you’re my best friend, so we have to get married.” 

His nose scrunched up and his eyebrows became furrowed at your words, clearly dissatisfied by the response that you gave. Chan began to slow down his swing before coming to a stop next to your own, as he shot you a frown. 

“No way! I’m never getting married, especially not to you!”“What, why?” 

He stood up from his position on the swing, dusting off his pants slightly before shooting you a pointed look. 

“Because you have cooties,” he stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

You paused, glancing up at the brunette boy from your seated position on the swing with your mouth agape. There was an expression that seemed to flash across your face, and upon realizing, Chan broke off into a sprint before you followed after him. 

“Bang Chan, come back here! I swear we’re going to get married one day; you just wait and see!” 

two

The winter formal was perhaps one of the most important social gatherings at your middle school. It could possibly make or break your social reputation. Pairings between the student body had already begun three weeks ago, and the dance was about forty-eight hours away. However, your dilemma was that you were unsure if you even had a date. 

There was a simple enough fix to this whole situation, and all you had to do was ask. Still, it was times like this where you couldn’t help but overthink everything in your relationship with Bang Chan. You assumed the two of you were going together; it only made sense. But considering the proximity of the dance and since he hasn’t said anything about it to you—well, the seeds of doubt have begun to sprout slowly.  

An opportunity had continually presented itself every afternoon when both of you walked, side-by-side, home. You just needed to gather the courage and ask. Still, the walk seemed to end far too quickly for your liking. Before you knew it, you were bidding him goodbye with the repetitive excuse of having “too much homework.” 

There was no way for you to explain the difficulty of putting these feelings into words. You couldn’t even begin to describe the unnecessary panic that you felt at the mere thought of him going to the dance with someone else. The idea of this was too much for you to bear. You were practically intoxicated on the very thought of him, which caused you to lose almost all sense of control when you were around him. The panic you felt closing in on Wednesday afternoon continued to grow as you both arrived closer and closer towards your respective houses. The mounting pressure caused you to suddenly stop short and yell out the one thing plaguing your mind. 

“Chan, I like you! Please go to the dance with me!” 

You couldn’t bear to look at him, quickly averting your gaze and attention into memorizing the intricate pattern of the sidewalk below—mentally preparing for the backlash and consequences to follow. 

He blinked once, then twice, before finally taking a step closer to you and speaking. 

“I like you too, [N/N], you’re my best friend,” he chuckled, causing you to look back up at him with wide eyes, “of course I’ll go to the dance with you.” 

There was something about how he looked in the afternoon sunlight that seemed to make him glow, his eyes radiating warmth as he offered you a breathtaking smile. Your heart skipped a beat at his actions, and with your palms becoming sweaty and your knees weak, you were unsure what was coming over you. 

And just like that, it was over.

With a slight ruffle of your hair, Chan turned away from you and slung his backpack over his shoulder. 

He gave you a small wave and the promise of walking to school together tomorrow as he walked into his house. This left you standing dumbfounded on the sidewalk with slightly messy hair and an overwhelming feeling of bittersweetness sitting on your tongue. 

three

The brisk night air served as a bitter reminder of the impending doom that you felt. Your high school was bustling for this time of night, the remnants of the party fizzling out and became merely a low buzzing in the background. Both of you were situated away from the rest. Sitting with barely an inch between you two on a picnic blanket behind the school, sipping cans of Coke as you watched people from a distance. 

As the moonlight reflected off of his tan skin, your breath couldn’t help but get caught in your throat. He was ethereal, his skin glowing. His suit jacket was discarded somewhere on the grass elsewhere, his red tie loosened around his neck with his white dress shirt unbuttoned slightly as he leaned back on his arms. His legs outstretched in front of him. You drank him in as if he was fine wine, savoring every last drop, your body feeling slightly warm in his presence. 

“You know, I’m always just one call away,” he spoke softly, his voice contrasting against the quiet murmur of the background. He looked at you, noticing the way your eyes seemed glossier than usual tonight, and he couldn’t help but grab your hand and rub small circles into it. 

“But that’s not the same as being with you.” 

The tears were pooling at the bottom of your eyes, gathering around your lower lashes and threatening to spill onto your clothes below. Your lips trembled at the thought, both you and Chan separating after so long together, going to different colleges and traveling on different paths in life. Some tears had spilled over, splashing silently down on the blanket below as they began to dribble down your cheeks and chin. It was only until you couldn’t contain yourself any longer then silent sobs began wracking your body. 

“No matter what, I promise we’ll always make our way back to each other,” he continued to speak, but you couldn’t comprehend the rest. Your head continues to swirl with that particular sentence, playing it back like a mantra. You looked up at him, his brown eyes staring into yours—and you could swear, at that moment, you were home. 

You practically lunged at him, tackling him in a hug and burying your tear-stained face into his chest. His body was stiff as he froze for a second before his arms came to wrap around your frame. Patting your back with a steady rhythm, he attempted to calm your cries as you soaked his dress shirt. Your grip around his frame was tight, and you held onto him as if your life depended on it as your sobs turned into soft sniffles and your eyes began to dry. 

“I love you,” you muttered, nuzzling yourself further into his chest. You were unsure what had come over you, but at that moment, everything just felt right, and the confession that you have been harboring suddenly slipped out. The hand patting your back paused for a split second before resuming so swiftly that you chalked it up as a figment of your imagination. He didn’t say anything in response to your confession; instead, he opted to bring you closer in his embrace, and you dismissed it on the grounds that he probably didn’t hear you. 

For now, you were content with the way things were, slightly thanking whatever god was out there for keeping your feelings hidden for another day.

four

By the time Chan arrived at the party, he was surprised that you were still standing on your own two feet. It wasn’t often that you would drink past your limit, but he knew you, and there were often times where you became a bit overzealous, biting off a lot more than you could chew. He knew that it was the competitive drive within you, and you couldn’t help yourself, but he would be damned if he ever let anything happen to you in this state. 

That’s how he found himself at this end of the semester party, which was in a neighborhood that he was not familiar with at a quarter past one in the morning. 

“Hey, did you know that I have a super hot best friend named Bang Chan?” your words were definitely slurred as they escaped your lips as you clung onto his back like a koala. You shifted yourself slightly on his back as you attempted to make yourself comfortable with your arms around his neck, and his jacket draped over your shoulders. 

“Oh, really?” Chan mused, holding your legs tightly against his hips as he made his way down the sidewalk and towards your childhood neighborhood. 

“Yeah, and I really really like him,” you paused before puffing out your cheeks and pouting, “but he doesn’t like me that way.” 

“But, you guys are best friends; I’m sure he likes you at least a little bit,” he tries to reason with you, readjusting his grip on your legs. Even though he has had nothing to drink tonight, he was hanging onto every word that you spoke—enthralled and curious by this hidden information.

 It was silent on your end for a bit before you leaned closer towards his ear to whisper your response. 

“I’m going to tell you a big secret,” you paused slightly for dramatic effect, “I like like him, actually, no wait, I love love him and not in the friend kind of way.” 

At your confession, he almost drops you but quickly catches himself and continues towards your house, his head clouded with thoughts. His eyebrows were furrowed deeply—scrunched together—creating deep indentations in his forehead as he attempted to make sense of everything that you just unloaded onto him. 

After dropping that bomb on him, you were mostly silent on the ride home. Chan assumed that you had fallen asleep, and by the time he arrived at your doorstep and successfully managed to fish the keys from your pocket, did he come to two realizations. The first being that you were, in fact, awake the whole time. 

“I also have another confession,” you mutter, your voice significantly quieter than it was a few minutes ago. He hummed a response, gingerly opening the door to your house and shutting it behind him. Removing both his shoes and your shoes before making his way to the couch positioned in the living room. “I don’t feel so good; I think I’m going to—” 

Chan didn’t let you finish your sentence before shoving you into the nearest bathroom, holding back your hair as you emptied your stomach into the toilet below. Sitting on the cold tiled floor of your bathroom with the sounds of you dry heaving, did he come into his second realization. 

My god, there was a possibility that you felt the same way. 

five

Bang Chan was having a crisis. The uncomfortable night’s rest that he had on your living room couch did not do him any favors either. Instead of sleeping, he spent most of his night, letting countless scenarios run rampant through his head. After getting fed up with staring at your white ceiling all night, he found himself taking up residency in your kitchen. Watching the coffee pot heat up while drumming his fingers pensively on the countertop. 

“Good morning,” you mumbled, yawning slightly as you padded into the kitchen. Chan jumped slightly at the sound of your voice, shoulders tensing up but then relaxing at your presence. For lack of a better term, you looked like a complete and utter mess. Your hair was sticking up wildly in all directions, your skin significantly paler than usual, and the bags underneath your eyes were more prominent than usual. 

Nevertheless, he still thought you looked breathtaking. 

“Thank you for taking care of me last night. I honestly can’t remember much from last night besides rambling about anything and everything," you laughed, rubbing your eyes as you grabbed a mug from the cabinet above. 

You reached in front of him to grab the coffee pot and poured yourself a cup, brushing your arm against his own as you turned away. His heart immediately skipped a beat, heat flooding to his cheeks as he recalled your confession last night. 

Sipping the hot and bitter liquid, you glanced at his flushed state, taking note of his slightly disheveled appearance as well as his bed head. It was evident that he slept here and took care of you; that was noted by the aspirin and glass of water left on your bedside table. You were more than grateful for everything that he has done for you. However, even in your slightly hungover state, you could notice the way he was avoiding eye contact with you, choosing to fiddle with the sleeves of his sweatshirt instead. 

"Oh god, don't tell me,” you groaned, “what did I say to you last night?” You placed your cup down on the counter, rubbing your temples slightly as you braced yourself for his response. 

Taking another sip of coffee, he paused before flitting his eyes up to meet your own—a small smile dancing across his lips. You were taken aback by his sudden burst of confidence, as you could feel your cheeks heat up in response. 

“Well, you told me that you have this super and extra-hot best friend named Bang Chan. Isn’t it weird that this guy and I have the same name?” Chan had this shit-eating grin on his face before continuing, “oh, and you also mentioned that you might have a big crush on me.” 

The coffee that you were currently drinking almost sprayed across the kitchen, your eyes wide as you quickly swallowed the liquid. If the world could swallow you up at this very moment, you would probably let it—anything to escape the utter embarrassment that you felt. It was now your turn to look everywhere except his eyes, hands fiddling gingerly with the handle of the coffee cup, desperately attempting to think of a way out without confessing the truth. 

Chan took a step closer to you, placing his cup on the counter before running his hand through his disheveled brown locks. He cleared his throat softly, causing you to glance into his eyes. They burned with a type of determination and passion that you have never witnessed first-hand, your lips slightly agape as he began to speak. 

“Because if that’s true, I feel the same way. I like you more than a friend, and I have for a while,” he stopped for a second, wiping the clamminess of his hands off on his jeans, shooting you a sheepish smile. Every single confession that you had given him throughout the years suddenly became apparent, from the warm glow of your cheeks to the bashful smile that adorned your lips—everything became clear. And just like that, his mind was made up. 

“I want to ruin our friendship; let’s date instead.”

[harryimaginedstories]

on your side

genre: au (while I don’t like the term ‘au-fic’ at all imagine the two characters are in college together and in their early twenties.) angst and some fluff as well.

about 5k words

it’s entirely different than anything I have ever published and I really love it. please let me know what you think and stay safe during these wild and often scary times. 

read more here: my stories

photo: taken from instagram, previously taken by somebody from the movie AWC, which also inspired me (kinda) to even write this.

They started arguing pretty much the second the car door fell shut behind them and even ten traffic lights, countless of turns and getting honked at twice, didn’t stop their heated exchange of words. Harry’s hands held on to the seat tightly, an attempt not to touch her thigh like he normally would, while hers curled around the steering wheel until the white of her knuckles showed. It wasn’t uncommon for them to fight. They had never been one of those couples who didn’t call each other out on their bullshit or who tried hide anger when there was reason to feel it. However, this was the first time that they weren’t on their way home, where their argument could be settled in private. Instead, Harry and Y/N, both infuriated with each other, were on their way to a party. With one generous rotation of the wheel, Y/N parked Harry’s black car in the last free niche on the street of the frat house. The vehicle gave an unpleasant sound and Harry closed his eyes, his nostrils flaring. Before he got the chance to complain, Y/N swung open the door, stepped out and threw it shut hard enough to know it would set him off. 

“Jesus fuck!” Harry shouted, opening the passenger door and stepping out, too. 

She waited long enough to press ‘lock’ on the keys once he was out, then she walked away. With quick strides he caught up with her, and had he not been as angry as could be he would have probably felt hurt at her for not waiting up like she would have any other day.  Walking next to her he turned to look at her profile, trying to catch her eyes, but she refused. 

“Would you mind not taking your crazy out on my fucking car?”

“Oh, so you do care about that then. Good to know,” she snapped back. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Y/N halted and so did he. They were standing on the pavement, one house away from where there could already be heard the dull sound of music blaring and a good meter of distance between them.  Any other night they would be standing there, too. Only not to deliver a few more blows before pretending to be alright while their friends were around. On any other night, Harry would have taken advantage of the warm weather, by letting his hands roam across Y/N’s bare arms. She would have given him a kiss or two and made him a laugh at least as much. He would have reminded her for the fifth time (at least) that she looked beautiful. There wouldn’t be any distance between them, let alone one entire meter.

“There is one thing I’ve been hearing clearly through all of the bullshit you’ve said today,” Y/N hissed, her lips barely moving and her hands curling into tight fists by her side, “which is that you don’t give a fuck about me.”

“Oh my god.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly, his head falling back before snapping forward quickly, “You’re being such a lunatic!”

Wind picked up some of her hair and pushed the loose strands into her eyes, breaking the angry stare she’d held with him and for a moment, Harry could have sworn she appeared to be younger. Then she brushed the hair off with shaky hands and back she was, angry and exhausted. 

“You’re a dick!” Y/N squealed, 

“Well, clearly we could go on,” he snapped and rolled his eyes, “but our fucking friends are waiting for us so do you think you can manage to avoid me for the next few hours so we can at least settle this at home?” 

Y/N crossed her arms over her chest, hiding her cleavage which he had tried not to stare ever since she’d put on the blue dress. That damn dress. Focusing on it now it only irked him further. She knew how much he loved it when she wore this particular piece of clothing. It had spent the night on the floor of his bedroom or over the back of a chair often enough. He was certain she’d put it on specifically to spite him. 

“Fine, let’s go. But since you’re unhappy with my parking,” Y/N stepped forward and reached up, pressing the hard metal of Harry’s car keys into his chest, “you get to be the designated driver tonight.” 

Her fist lingered on the fabric of his black T-shirt. Feeling her touch him momentarily paused his thoughts. All anger was forgotten, as if the wind had picked it up, too, and carried it far away. Harry whimpered and her lips parted, their eyes connecting without any trace of hurt in them. Then his hand found hers and she dropped the set of keys into his palm, snapping them both out of their brief moment of peace. 

“I don’t want to see you right now,” Y/N stuttered, blinking rapidly until her eyes turned darker again.

“Don’t come look for me later when you’re drunk and feeling sorry,” Harry replied, before he stepped around her and walked towards the frat building.

Y/N lost sight of him the second he stepped inside. Despite still feeling angry with him, she couldn’t stop herself from briefly wishing he wouldn’t have left her alone. She didn’t like being left alone at a party. Neither did he, for the matter, but she refused to feel guilty for sending him away. Y/N drew a shaky breath and stepped inside, instantly greeted by the smell of alcohol, smoke and pot. A big banner had been hung from one side of the hall to the other, wishing everybody a cheerful start to the new semester. Underneath mingled numerous students, all of which held drinks in their hands. Already Y/N recognized a few of them from some of her classes, she didn’t feel like talking to them however. To her luck she spotted a few friends of her in the first room she entered and was quickly greeted with hugs and kisses to her cheek. 

Dena, a girl Y/N had grown close with through sharing an equal distain for their econ teacher, pressed a drink into her hand and smiled. “You look like you need at least two of these.”

Y/N smiled sadly. “That obvious, huh?”

“Well, you didn’t cheer in delight upon seeing us like you should have so,” said Clara, another friend Y/N had made whilst talking badly about her teacher.

“Oh, yeah, I’m sorry.” 

Dena nudged her. “Also, your boyfriend stormed past us earlier so we expected something was up.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Clara asked.

Y/N shook her head and took a long sip from her drink. It tasted of a mixture of beer and vodka, which on any other day she would have refused to drink. “I really don’t.”

“Great. Then let’s just cheer to us.”

The two girls raised their own cups and waited expectantly for Y/N to do the same. Dena grinned at her and cleared her throat. 

“To us, the coming semester, which we will fucking ace. And-” she paused, looking at Y/N, “to knowing when to kick your boyfriend’s ass. Cheers!”

“Cheers.”

Harry stood by the unlit fire pit in the lounge area, where the chairs had been pushed aside to create a dance floor. A scowl was deeply etched onto his face and he had yet to smile genuinely. He blamed the alcohol he wasn’t allowed to consume for how poorly he was feeling, but he knew even if he had drowned his veins in liquor, it wouldn’t be until he’d feel her touch him that he would be in a better mood. He stood back watching with a few of his mates, who were all except one, very drunk, as some freshmen clumsily turned the dinner table into a bear pong station. Matt, the only sober one left, had tried to get him to talk about why his mood was so sour three times already, receiving no answer each time. Harry rolled his eyes upon feeling him nudge his shoulder again.

“Where’s your girl?”

Harry shrugged. “Don’t know.”

He’d been cursing her short height since turning around and looking for her in the crowded hallway thirty minutes ago. She’d slipped past him without him noticing, and while he was too proud to go look for her properly, it annoyed him that he wasn’t able to casually spot her whenever he scanned one of the many rooms that had been turned into a club. He especially didn’t like it since he knew that she was drinking. Blindly he felt for his phone in his pocket, ensuring for the tenth time that its volume was turned up. Should she call him, he wanted to be sure that he wouldn’t miss it.

“Didn’t she come with you?” Matt pressed on, either oblivious to Harry’s annoyance or simply indifferent to it.

“Doesn’t mean she can’t wander off on her own, does it?” Harry replied, his voice rough. 

He’d never really liked Matt. Actually, he’d liked him a lot once. They’d even considered becoming roommates in their second year. He’d liked him, up until he’d gotten together with Y/N and noticed the gleam in Matt’s eyes the first time he’d introduced her to him. Their friendship dissolved fast after.

“I’m sure she can. She’s always been good at enjoying parties, hasn’t she?”

Harry didn’t reply. Once more his eyes scanned the room frantically, detecting every single face in hopes of recognizing the eyes to the one he loved.

“Dude!” Eric, a tall and broad looking bloke who’d just become team captain to the football team, stumbled into Harry’s side, knocking him back. 

“Sorry! Shit,” Eric laughed, doubling over, revealing that he was clearly drunker than he should have been, “I’m sorry, mate. Wow, I need to lay off a little.”

“No kidding,” Harry replied, but smiled when Eric slung a heavy arm around his shoulders. The unmistakable smell of alcohol fanned over his face as Eric talked, and his nose scrunched up. 

“You’ve been wearing a look as depressing as Matt’s sex life-”

“Hey, fuck you, Eric!” Matt snapped, unamused.

“-and I intend to fix that. C’mon.”

Harry didn’t fight it as the taller guy dragged him away, out of the lounge and into another room further down the hall. He certainly didn’t mind getting away form Matt. Regardless of them having been friends once, Matt was the last person he wanted to be around when he was having a rough time with Y/N. The smoke was thicker in this room and the music a little quieter. There were less people dancing and more sitting around on the couches and chairs. A few stood by the wall in small groups and some, the ones Eric was walking towards, were standing opposite a dart board. They cheered upon seeing the two guys approach, making more noise than anybody else in the room.

“You’re on my team and you’re gonna help me win, yeah? M’taking advantage of you being sober as a stone. Your aim is probably better than any of theirs.”

Harry laughed and nodded, accepting to be involved. “I’ll try my best.”

The first dart arrow was thrust into his hand by a guy named Kyle who appeared to be on the same team. Half an hour later and Eric was grinning from ear to ear, writing their leading score numbers onto a makeshift writing board that was really just the coffee table. Something the guys living in this house would be happy to find in the morning.  Y/N watched him. Despite being intoxicated, or perhaps because of how intoxicated she was, she noticed every muscle of his back move each time he raised his arm. Her heart fluttered whenever he laughed and she felt a heat grow at the pit of her stomach whenever he leaned his head to the side, revealing the back of his neck to her. And above his neck was his ear, which hid a spot right under his hairline where he liked to be kissed. Y/N’s lips parted at the thought and her toes curled.  He hadn’t noticed her when entering the room. She didn’t blame him though, since she’d successfully hid herself behind Dena and Eric’s big body also worked wonderfully as a shield. Despite anything she’d said before the party, she was immensely relieved to see him. The vodka-beer mixture which she’d learned had been invented by Clara, was disgusting but also got her drunk faster than she had expected. Or intended. Another round of cheers erupted as Harry scored another point for his team. 

“Not fair. You won’t give them as much as a chance to win.” 

A chill rushed down Harry’s back at the sound of the honey sweet female voice behind him, and Y/N, too, froze in place. Slender fingers touched Harry’s arm, caressing the skin despite being less than welcome to. Upon turning around he was met with Silja, who’s face wore a smile equally sweet as her sly voice. Though standing by the opposite wall, Y/N swore she could hear Silja as if she were standing next to her. She would always be able to detect her voice, especially if the words she spoke were directed to Harry. 

Dena followed her friend’s gaze and raised her brows. “Haven’t seen her in a while. I thought she dropped out.”

“Would have been too nice,” Y/N growled. 

She’d never actually talked to Silja herself and she surely didn’t intend to. Before getting together with him, Y/N had been mostly oblivious to who was genuinely interested in him and who she imagining to be. Only with Silja there had never been any doubt. Even before Harry had become hers, she’d felt a bitter taste collect in the middle of her tongue whenever the pretty brunette girl tried to talk to him. Once her claim on him had become justified, she disliked Silja and her upfront behaviour all the more.

“Hey, you know you don’t have to worry about her, right?” Dena said quietly, reading Y/N’s expression, “Harry has rejected her what, three times already? Even before he was with you. He’s not interested in her.”

“I know. I’m not worried about that,” Y/N said quickly, stepping around Dena to get a better look at her boyfriend and the girl that had yet to remove her hand from his arm, “I trust him.”

“Doesn’t make her less of a bitch,” Clara grumbled, also staring at them intently. 

The three girls watched Harry turn to look at Silja. He gave her a tight lip smile before he stepped away to make room for the next player, conveniently shrugging off her hand in process. To their dismay, Silja followed him.

“I haven’t seen you this summer,” she complained in an uncomfortably high voice, that was laced with feigned displeasure, “Where were you hiding?” 

Harry sighed, wishing Y/N would find him already, and rested his back against the wall. The last thing he needed for this party to become worse were the advances of the woman standing before him. “I wasn’t.”

Their summer had been great. They spent it looking for a flat to move into together. One weekend they’d taken the train out to the ocean and spent two days in a pretty bed and breakfast, where nothing distracted them from each other and everything, even their sheets, held the faint smell of sea salt. He wasn’t about to tell any of that to Silja though. 

The girl pouted, smudging her lilac lipstick at the corners. “Didn’t you miss me at all? Not even a little bit?” 

“No.”

She smiled. Her neck moved to the side as her eyes mustering him. “You and your attitude. I really missed that.”

Harry let his head fall back and for a moment Y/N forgot to eye the girl hitting on her boyfriend and instead stared at his throat. She longed to kiss him there, too. The darkened expression taking over his relaxed face quickly brought her attention back. Thinking about kissing him had made her miss the words Silja had said to upset him. 

“You’re wasting your time missing me.”

At last, Silja’s smile dropped. “You’re still with her, then?”

“Yep,” he replied shortly. 

 “Fine,” Silja pushed the long brown locks off her shoulder and crossed her arms, “maybe if she fucked you right you wouldn’t be such an asshole all the time.” 

“Fuck off, Silja,” Harry snapped, pushing himself off the wall to instantly tower over her.

“Harry! Your turn again, mate.”

Without giving her as much as a second look, Harry turned away and followed Eric’s call. Dena’s hand rested on Y/N’s shoulder, squeezing her gently whilst smiling at her. Y/N exhaled loudly and relaxed. She didn’t doubt Harry’s capability of getting rid of Silja. She’d also truly meant it when she’d said that she trusted him. But after their argument she wasn’t so sure that he didn’t want to receive some affection tonight, be it from anybody. While she would have hated it, simply entertaining Silja’s flirting wouldn’t have been cheating. A warm feeling overtook any worry left in her body upon watching him turn Silja away. He didn’t bother look at her again but walked back to his friends to resume the game, treating her like she wasn’t even there. He didn’t even give Silja the satisfaction of remaining angered by her words. Giving up her attempts, Silja walked away and left the room quickly, her cheeks slightly rosy in embarrassment. 

“Remind me to kiss him later for that,” Y/N said, her voice holding more love for him than she would usually let on whilst angry. 

Clara laughed. “So you’re not mad at him anymore.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me that I was or I might still be.”

“What were you two fighting about anyway?” Dena asked. 

Y/N took another long sip from her drink, before remembering that she’d wanted to not drink any more for the night. Oh well. 

“He didn’t come home last night. Without notifying me. He fell asleep at stupid Rick’s place and neither of them bothered shooting me a text or ringing me about it. I spent all night worried sick.”

Y/N’s expression hardened at the thought of waiting up for him. She’d paced around the living room of their new flat before settling on the couch, vowing to stay awake until he returned. She’d had half a mind not to call his mother or sister, not quite worried enough to ask them. 

“I didn’t see him until an hour before coming here ‘cause I had to work today. So we didn’t have time to properly fight about it.”

“Didn’t he say he was sorry?”

“Sure he did, as well as stating that I was overreacting and not his mother.”

“Ugh, men,” Dena grumbled, then she changed the subject, “Let’s get refills in the kitchen!”

Harry got bored of the game after the fifth round, but stayed to play until the team he’d joined won by a margin. Then he politely excused himself from playing another round. Though she’d told him she didn’t want to see him, Harry really wanted to see Y/N and he figured over an hour of distance sufficed for her to calm down. Maybe she would even allow herself to be happy about him finding her. He strolled around the room, then went looking in the hall and finally searched the lounge. If only she were a little taller, he thought once more. All of sudden he heard a loud shout. It wasn’t one of the usual party hollers, it was one that held no joy at all. With swift strides Harry crossed the room, turned left in the hallway and entered the kitchen. This time he didn’t have to search to see her. Y/N was sitting on the counter, her legs dangling down and her hands curling around the stone surface. Across from her was the kitchen table on which all of the different liquor bottles had been placed. It was also where the single shout turned into several. A guy Harry hadn’t ever seen around campus before stood next to a broken bottle of vodka. His hand curled into a fist and his face was red. Opposite him stood Dena, a girl Harry barely knew beyond her being a friend of Y/N. Next to Dena was a guy named Dylan, his face painted with guilt and worry. 

“You fucking broke my shit!” the stranger shouted. 

Y/N flinched. It wasn’t Dena who’d pissed off the wrong guy, but Dylan who had tried to make a drink for them. She didn’t feel any less involved if the guy were to be shouting at her. The second the bottle had broken and the tall stranger exclaimed that it’d been his, Y/N had felt fear curse through her. She hated it. She hated how a man shouting was so scary that she froze in place.  Just like she always did when afraid, her eyes began to search for Harry. Heavy like a wave and equally overwhelming was the relief when she saw him lingering in the doorway.  Their eyes met. Y/N visibly relaxed. She could read the question in the look he was giving her and she eagerly nodded. There were so few people scattered around the small place, Harry had no trouble reaching the counter.  Once in arms reach she held out her right hand, whimpering when his fingers slotted through hers and holding on tight. Any anger towards each other was forgotten the moment their skin touched. Y/N gave a determined pull until he stood next to where she was sitting, her legs touching his waist. Harry didn’t say anything, but he allowed her to let go of his hand to instead hold on to his shoulder. His own settled heavily on her thigh, relishing the feeling of her bare skin. He didn’t complain when her fingers curled tightly around the fabric of his shirt, nor did she mind how intimate it felt to have his hand on her naked thigh. His eyes quickly scanned her face, waiting for her nod, confirming that she was alright. Y/N smiled gently, relief mirroring in her eyes. Harry returned her smile. His heart clenching when he noticed the faint veil of alcohol before her eyes. Ever so slightly, their heads leaned towards each other, then his nose softly touched her forehead.

“He didn’t do it on purpose,” Dena said defensively, “and these bottles are for everybody to use.”

Harry shifted closer to Y/N but removed his nose form her hairline. Unwillingly he turned his attention back to where the argument grew. The stranger’s head, figuratively doubling in size by the minute, was red and looming over Dena like a balloon hovering in the sky. He had to admit it was impressive that Dena, equally short as Y/N, refused to back off.

“I wasn’t asking you! You and your friend better figure out how to replace my drink and you better do it fast!”

“Mate, lay off a bit, will ya? They didn’t do anything on purpose,” Harry interrupted, his voice calm and steady, “Why don’t you just grab one of the ten other bottles and leave ‘em alone?” 

The stranger, slightly shorter than Harry, turned to look at them. Y/N tightened her hold on his shoulder. She was mentally preparing herself to jump off the counter and at the stranger’s throat instead, should he as much as try to pick a fight with Harry. Noticing her shift beside him, Harry’s hold on her intensified.

“Leave them alone?” the tall guy snapped, “that was twenty fucking quid he broke!” 

“Bit embarrassing that you’re whining about twenty quid,” Harry said, wearing a smug grin, “and picking a fight like some kind of neanderthals who found out somebody’s pissed into his cave.” 

Dena giggled and so did Y/N, along with some bystanders who’d gathered to watch. The bloke narrowed his eyes, first at Harry, then at the girl sitting beside him. 

He opened his mouth to speak, but Y/N interrupted him. “Quit looking at me and spare me any sexist bullshit you’re about to say.” 

The guy rolled his eyes, then smiled. “You’re pretty for a bitch.”

Y/N’s hand yanked Harry back by his shoulder equally fast as he’d pushed off the counter to lunge forward and at the guy. The movement caused him to knock against the counter uncomfortably. She didn’t let go and didn’t move, despite Harry’s enraged breathing getting louder.  

“Fuck you!” Harry shouted, eyes wide. 

Anger oozed out of his pores and heat settled in the small kitchen. Calm and collected only a moment ago, he was all the more scarier now that he was enraged. Scary enough to make the stranger take back a step. Y/N loosened her hold on Harry’s shoulder, sliding her hand down to press against his back instead. She rubbed his spine gently, hoping to ease him by letting him know she was okay. 

"You need to leave,” Y/N stated, her voice calm.

“Definitely,” Dena agreed, her eyes trained on her friend before finding Harry.

He didn’t return her gaze, his eyes remained on the tall blonde. They stayed put until the guy lowered his empty cup to the table, the movement slow and deliberate. He clearly didn’t want it to look like he was leaving because he was told to, so he took his time. But finally he turned away, before at last leaving the kitchen and hopefully the party all together. 

Harry shuddered upon feeling Y/N’s nose against the shell of his ear. “I’m fine, Harry.”

“What a wanker.”

“A fucking wanker,” Y/N replied, her smile practically audible in her voice. 

Harry turned around to face her, all of his attention returning to where it belonged: her. His eyes looked into hers intently, reading every answer to all of his unspoken questions.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes. Are you?”

He nodded. “Did he try anything before I came?”

“I noticed him about zero-point-five seconds before you arrived, Harry. I’m fine, I promise.”

Her hands gently took hold of his face. The fingers of her left hand traced along his jawline as tenderly as one would the rim of a glass in hopes of eliciting a sound. That’s how Harry sometimes felt when she touched him. Like she was being as tender as she could possibly fathom to be. 

“Does that mean you’re gonna go back to being mad at me?” As he spoke, Harry moved closer. His hands rested on each side of her hips, allowing his body to get closer to hers as he leaned forward.

Y/N laughed and shook her head, their faces so close they almost touched. She enjoyed the warmth of his breath fanning against her throat. 

“Are you? You were at least as pissed off as I was.”

He shrugged, then playfully nudged her nose with his. “No.”

“Then I think I’ll let it go, too,” she answered, faking to be coy, “For now, you still owe me an apology later.”

Harry laughed. “That’s fair. Promise to mean it this time, too.” 

Her eyes narrowed. She took hold of his chin, holding him still so she could kiss him without giving him the chance to deepen it. The feeling of his mouth slotting with hers, be it as briefly as it was, ignited her like nothing else could. Any remaining worry was pulled from the corners in her body where it had hidden, and was thrown out not to return. Harry took over. All of the space inside her that could belong to an emotion, now belonged to him.

“I knew you didn’t mean it earlier,” she breathed accusingly against his lips. 

“I meant it a little,” he said, curling his hand around her wrist to pull away the hold she’d taken and he kissed her a second time before she could complain. 

Despite their desperation their teeth didn’t clash together, nor did their noses unintentionally bump. They’d kissed too many times not to blindly meet each other without missing. His tongue glided along her bottom lip, hers pushed his aside so it could trespass into his mouth. Frantic hands held on to her hips and her thigh, eager fingers remembered to be gentle as they settled on the back of his neck. Harry moaned and Y/N pulled away.

“Thank you,” she whispered, just enough space between them so she could speak. 

Harry’s kisses trailed down from the corner of her mouth to her cheek and her jaw, his lips warm, wet and determined. He allowed one kiss to last a little longer, followed by a small lick to her earlobe.

As satisfied as could be as long as they weren’t alone, he raised his head to look at her again. “What for?”

“Being on my side even when we’re fighting.” 

The smile gracing her features was so genuine he could have melted, just like her words were spoken with more love behind them than he could detect. He smiled and willingly moved his head to the side, so she could kiss below his ear. The heat in his belly grew and he let her know by squeezing her hips.

“Ditto.”

[xbaepsae]

same old mistakes (m)

“But it wasn’t that you necessarily regretted sleeping with Hoseok. No, you very much enjoyed it—maybe too much—which is why it was wrong. So fucking wrong.”

[rich boy!hoseok x reader]

genre: country club!au, smut, slightly angsty, some fluff

word count: 12.8k

rating: mature

warnings: sex. lots and lots of unprotected sex lmao (please use protection), slight rough sex, some jealousy, rich prick asshole jung hoseok, mentions of alcohol, language, golf terminology (i’m sorry if it’s wrong idk anything about golf LMAO) oblivious mutual pining lol

a/n: omg this fic absolutely consumed me these last few weeks. i haven’t been able to think about anything else, which is why i haven’t been super active lol. so glad i finished this before the upcoming valentine’s holiday and hobi’s birthday <3 loved writing this so much! rich asshole hoseok has my heart. xoxo

You have never felt more flustered in your life.

It’s the summer after your first year of college, and you decided to come home—to spend a little time with your mother and her new husband. Well, more like she begged you to come home. You actually wanted to visit your roommate’s family on the coast, and spend your days at the beach, but your mother insisted that you come home instead.

Now that you are home, she doesn’t even have time to spend with you. She and her husband are too busy vacationing; that should’ve been you. You can’t even bear to look at your roommate’s Instagram account. And worse of all, your mother signed you up for a job you did not consent to.

“You did what?”

Your mother blinked back at you, feigning innocence. “I heard from Mrs. Lee—you know, our neighbor down the street that attends the local country club—and she said that they were hiring for the summer. You know how rich people love their golf and fancy dinners.”

“And you just decided to volunteer me?” You couldn’t believe her. “I don’t want to work at some prissy country club.”

“Weren’t you just complaining about being broke last week?” She really did not need to expose you like that. “This’ll be good for you, honey.”

Thus, you found yourself standing in front of the country club not even a week later. They hadn’t even asked you to do an interview; you just talked to a manager on the phone and she said for you to just come in. Honestly, too suspiciously easy but what could you do about it? Your mother had been right—you did need the money.

When you arrived, you were immediately whisked away into training. There, one of the girls, Soyoung, fitted you into the uniform—a plain white polo and khaki shorts—and told you what you’d be doing here.

“So, there are a lot of different areas here,” she began, “as you can see from how big this country club is. So, you might find yourself working in different areas occasionally…but for now, you’re going to be on the course with the drink cart.”

Soyoung explained that as the drink cart girl, you’d be driving a golf cart around while handing out beer and other drinks to the golfers on the course. It seemed easy enough, except you’d never driven a golf cart before…or tried to sell people something. However, Soyoung assured you it was easy.

But that was about an hour ago. Since then, a lot has happened. You managed to get the golf cart to work, but it is considerably different from an actual car. The forward/backwards switches were tripping you up. Because of that, you already knocked over a display…or two.

Which leads you to your most embarrassing moment.

For some reason, you forgot that being back in your hometown means the possibility of running into people you went to high school with. The thought just didn’t seem to come to mind. Being off at university has made you forget about all of those idiots you used to be around every day. Until now, when you bump into one of them. Literally.

You really hadn’t seen him behind you; then again, you weren’t looking, which was probably not the greatest idea. But you blindly backed up and hit him. Not that you were going fast or anything, but he did cause an outburst.

“Oh my—fuck! Watch where you’re going!”

Horrified, you press onto the breaks. Turning around, an apology begins to fall from your lips. “I am so sorry. It’s my first time—”

“Y/n?”

You freeze at the voice; it sounds awfully familiar. Blinking a few times, your eyes focus on the person in front of you. And your stomach sinks. Standing in front of you is none other than Jung Hoseok—the last person you ever expected to see again.

He must see the recognition fill your eyes because he instantly smirks. “Wow, it really is you. It’s been a while, huh? Haven’t seen you since graduation.”

An awkward laugh passes through your teeth. “Yeah…it really has.”

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” his smirk seems to widen, and his eyes travel down to your clothes. “You work here or something?”

“Yeah…just started today, actually.”

He nods appreciatively. “Nice. Well, I’m here almost every day, so, I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other.”

I hope not. “Sure.”

Just as Hoseok opens his mouth to say something else, someone calls his name. He looks away from you, and that’s when you finally allow yourself a moment to look at him. For the first time, you realize how long a year is and how much change can happen in that time frame. Even though it irks you a bit to think about, he looks really good—even in his damn polo and khakis.

You take in the curved slope of his nose, the way his brows are perfectly arched to match his equally perfect eyes. And you’re almost blinded by his pearly white smile. Perhaps, Hoseok has always been attractive—dark, windswept hair and all. You’ve just never wanted to admit it; even after that one—

“Catch you around, y/n,” he suddenly says, and that’s when you realize he’s caught you. He smirks and shoots you a wink as he walks away, leaving you to mentally kick yourself alone.

***

In high school, you and Jung Hoseok were in different crowds. He was preppy and popular—kind of snooty, to be honest—and you were just normal. Not popular, but not a complete wallflower either. Despite not being in the same circles, you both had a few classes together; which meant that you knew each other decently well. At least, you knew enough about Hoseok that you wanted nothing to do with him.

Except for that one, momentarily lapse of judgment, your conscious suddenly reminds you. But you’d rather not think about that right now.

Another thing about Hoseok that you knew of was his background; he came from money—a lot of it, actually. You don’t know exactly what his family does, but they’re those old money types; the kind of rich people that have been rich forever. Which helped to explain his popularity in high school, and how he had a country club membership now.

You wished you knew that before you got the job here.

As you drive around the golf course, feeling more comfortable driving the cart now, you may or may not be on the lookout for Hoseok. Now that you know he’s here, your eyes seem to search for him everywhere. And it’s not because you want to see him; you want to avoid him, if possible.

It’s not until you’re halfway through the course that you see him with a group of other guys, which—to your displeasure—are also people you went to high school with. It’s fitting though, you presume, considering they were all close then as well.

You don’t know anything about golf, but you watch as Hoseok lines up his club to the ball. He swings only once, and the ball flies. You follow where it goes and watch as it hits the grass and rolls right into the hole. His friends cheer for him as he turns around with a smug look on his face. “And that, everyone, is how you fucking do it.”

“Nice, man,” one person—who you recognize as Jeon Jeongguk—says, moving to pat him on the back.

“The motherfucking GOAT,” another—Kim Namjoon—laughs.

“Maybe you should just go pro or something, dude,” the last guy says, and you recognize him as Kim Seokjin. “Because you’ve hit an ace, birdie or eagle at every hole.”

Hoseok laughs at that. “Maybe I’m just lucky today.”

“Dude probably just had good ass last night,” Namjoon smirks. “So, who was it?”

“A gentleman does not kiss and tell, my friend,” Hoseok winks, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at the banter between all of these men. Disgusting. “But if you really want to know…”

“Not you trying to get Hoseok’s sloppy seconds,” Seokjin speaks directly to Namjoon. “Because we all know how that went the first time with—”

“It wasn’t my fault Katie caught feelings,” Hoseok interrupts, walking back towards the rest of his friends. “I told her it was a one-time thing.”

Jeongguk struggles not to laugh as he moves up to line his club and ball. “And then you introduced her to Namjoon.”

“And she used him to get closer to…” Seokjin starts to say, but then he notices you. You’ve never seen someone straighten up so quickly. “How long have you been sitting there?”

“Long enough,” you say as three pairs of eyes turn to look in your direction as well. “Um, drinks?”

“Took you long enough to get here, y/n. I was starting to wonder when you’d arrive,” Hoseok takes a step in your direction, and you watch as the rest of the guys do a double take.

Namjoon is the first to speak, “Ah…y/n. Yes, I remember you…we had chemistry together, right?”

“Oh my gosh, you were in my calculus class!” Jeongguk exclaims, golf club still mid-air.

“I don’t think we had any classes together,” Seokjin says with a pout. “Because if we did, I would’ve remembered you for sure.”

For some reason, you feel your cheeks get hotter. “Um, thanks?”

You can tell they want to say more to you, but Hoseok shoots his friends a look you can’t see, and they close their mouths immediately. Turning back to you, he takes another step close to your golf cart. “A beer for each of us.”

“Aren’t you all underage—”

“No one cares here, y/n,” he cuts you off with a smirk. “Besides, Seokjin’s father owns this country club—we can do whatever the fuck we want.”

Shock passes through you at this news, mouth dropping at the realization that Hoseok and his friends might be more privileged than you originally thought.

“And we don’t usually have to pay for anything, but”—he fishes for something in his pocket— “here.”

You look down at his extended hand, where a crumpled 100-dollar bill sits, and practically gawk at it. Who carries such large bills around so casually? “What—?”

“Keep the change,” he stares you right in the eyes, and you have no other choice but to accept the money.

“Thanks,” you manage to say before reaching around to grab four beers from the cooler.

As each bottle is plucked from your hands, Hoseok is the last person to grab his; and the way his fingers accidentally touch your own seems like no accident at all. Although it was only for a few seconds at most, his touch leaves your skin burning. Burning for what? You don’t know; but it lingers the rest of your shift in a way that is so distracting, you nearly hit someone else with the golf cart.

***

“So let me get this story straight, you saw a guy you fucked for the first time in a year and now you don’t know what to do with yourself. Worst of all, his presence at your new job is going to be the death of you.”

You cringe at your roommates’ words. “God, why do you have to say it like that.”

“I mean, that’s who he is right?” her voice echoes through the screen.

She’s not wrong, but it still doesn’t sit right with you. “When you say it like that, it’s just weird.”

“Y/n, you act like you haven’t fucked other guys before.”

“Yes, but what happened with Jung Hoseok was a mistake,” you breathe. “It was never supposed to happen.”

Her pixilated expression softens upon seeing your clear distress. “I understand, babe. We all do things we regret.”

But it wasn’t that you necessarily regretted sleeping with Hoseok. No, you very much enjoyed it—maybe too much—which is why it was wrong. So fucking wrong. It wasn’t like he coerced you into that bedroom; you willingly followed him inside. And you can’t even blame it on the alcohol because you had been as sober as the day you were born.

It was graduation weekend, and everyone had come out to celebrate. You really didn’t want to go, but some of your friends forced you. Just enjoy the time we still have together, y/n, they had said. Ironic, because you no longer spoke to any of them.

Around the fire, behind the massive patio of someone’s house, drinks were poured and passed around. Even though you held a red solo cup in your hand, the murky liquid didn’t draw you in; you hated the way alcohol tasted back then. Still kind of do. But you simply pretended like you were enjoying yourself.

Every single part of you wanted to leave early that night, but you didn’t. You ended up staying because of Hoseok. It was something about the way he carried himself at that bonfire that night. Before, you never saw him as anything more than a spoiled brat; however, the flames of the fire seemed to soften him before your eyes. Because before you knew it, Hoseok pulled you away from the stares of everyone else.

You don’t even remember what happened—what you two talked about or didn’t talk about. But something happened before he kissed you. Unfortunately, it’s all a blur now.

After swelling your lips with, what seemed like, a thousand kisses, he told you he wanted more; and you told him yes. The memory of him rushing with you through the house and into a vacant room still burns hotly in your mind. You had been giddy with nerves and excitement as he pushed you against the closed door, sucking the air from your lungs.

Hoseok ripped your clothes off with practiced hands, clearly experienced with this, and made you come undone more times than you can recall. Throughout this whole exchange, not much was said; but no words were needed when he could read your body so well.

The both of you ended up falling asleep like that—tangled in each other’s arms. And when you woke up a few hours later to the rising sun, horror filled your veins like a shock of ice.

You left without saying anything. Not that you think he would’ve cared either way. Jung Hoseok seemed like he would be used to stuff like that.

You just never thought you’d see him again one year later.

But here he is.

***

During your next few weeks at the country club, you try your best to avoid Hoseok.

This, however, proves difficult to do since you can hear his laughter echoing everywhere. From the hallways to the range, you can’t seem to escape him at all. And it doesn’t help that his friends all seem to be around too.

Every time you catch even the smallest glimpse of him, you turn in the opposite direction. You aren’t sure if he can tell that you’re avoiding him or not, but you don’t care—you just want to get this summer over with already.

“Y/n!”

Turing in the direction your name is being called, you see Soyoung walking towards you. You offer her a tight smile, hoping she isn’t here to tell you that you’re in trouble or something. “Soyoung. What’s up?”

“Do you mind helping me clean up a little by the pool? I know you just got done on the range, but a girl called out and I could really use the help.” She gives you this sad puppy look, which means you can’t refuse her offer. So, begrudgingly, you follow her back outside.

In the hot summer sun, the large crystal blue pool looks like temptation. Soyoung notices your face and laughs. At her laughter, you realize you’ve never seen the pool this close. You pass by the canopy lined pool lounge every day, but you’re not a maid here or on lifeguard duty so you’ve never had a reason to linger very long.

“Looks inviting, huh?”

All you can do is hum in agreement as you begin helping Soyoung pick up disserted pool towels and throwing them into the hamper. As you’re bending down to retrieve a particularly wet towel on the concrete, the hot sun beating down your back is suddenly gone. You look up and notice there’s a shadow blocking the sun—a suspiciously familiar shadow.

Immediately, your back straightens, and you turn around to face a shirtless Hoseok. His hair is wet from the pool, which means beads of water are cascading down his chest. You try not to stare, but he’s literally so close; there’s nowhere else to look. Your eyes follow the towel in his hand as he begins to dry himself up, going from his abdomen before they travel down to the dark trail of hair that leads to—

You freeze and force your eyes back up, but the smile on his face tells you that you got caught—again.

“Like what you see?” His smile seems to grow wider at your expression.

You scowl. “In your dreams, Jung Hoseok.”

He leans down, face inches from yours, whispering, “If I remember correctly, that dream already came true…one year ago.”

Before you can say anything, he stands back up to his full height and brushes past you—his naked skin burning holes through your clothes. Once he’s a few steps away from you, you realize his friends were also there the whole time. Embarrassment burns your cheeks at what they might’ve thought, but their expressions remain too ambiguous for you to read as they follow their friend.

“I didn’t know you knew Hoseok.”

Your head whips towards Soyoung. “I don’t…I mean, not really. We just went to high school together.”

But your coworker doesn’t seem to buy it. “Really? I’ve been working here for a few summers and those guys have always been around, especially because Seokjin’s dad is the owner. I’ve tried to make small talk with them a few times, but they’re pretty intimidating.”

“They’re pricks,” you tell her. “Typical entitled rich boys.”

“I suppose so,” she hums, throwing the last towel into the bin. “Anyway, can I ask for another favor?”

All you can do is nod. “What?”

“I have another thing I have to do,” Soyoung starts, making you realize she works pretty hard here, “so, can you put these towels in the laundry room? You don’t have to start a load or anything; just leave them and one of the maids will wash them later.”

She slips the laundry room key into your pocket, telling you to give it back to her later, as she rushes off to her next task. Which leaves you to find the laundry room by yourself. After nearly ten minutes of searching, you find it tucked in a small hallway.

Opening the door, you push the dirty towel hamper into the room. You look around and see multiple washers, dryers, and a lot of storage shelves filled with miscellaneous items. You’re so caught up in looking around the room that you almost don’t hear the door close. At the sound of the lock clicking into place, you turn around; immediately, your heart starts beating faster.

“What are you doing in here?”

Hoseok leans against the door, no longer shirtless like before, and smirks at you. “I was following you.”

Like that’s not weird at all. “Stalker much?”

“Just wanted to know why you’ve been avoiding me, that’s all,” he pushes off the door, taking a step closer. You unconsciously take a step back, hitting the hamper.

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” you lie.

He just blinks at you. “You’re a bad liar, you know that?”

You’re shocked that he can read you so well. “Okay, so what if I am avoiding you? It’s not like you should care. Just leave me alone.”

For a brief moment, something passes over his eyes; but the emotion’s gone before you can think about it. “I don’t think I can do that.”

“What?” Now, it was your turn to blink rapidly.

Hoseok takes another step towards you, severing whatever distance there had been before. His arms move to cage you between himself and the dirty hamper. Slowly, he leans down, making sure not to move his eyes away from yours. “I can’t just leave you alone—not when you’re the only thing on my mind.”

“What are you trying to say—” his hand wrapping around your jaw shuts you up.

“To put it simply, I can’t stop thinking about you—about that night after graduation,” he says, eyes swirling with a darkness you know all too well.

“But that was a year ago,” you manage to say through clenched teeth, and he loosens his grip on you.

His signature smirk lights his lips. “So?”

“I was drunk,” you lie again. “I don’t even remember what happened.”

“So, you’re telling me you don’t remember this?” One hand curves around your hip. “Or this?” Another wraps around your waist. “Or this?” He plants his lips onto your jaw.

You release a harsh breath as the memories of that night come flooding back. Heat begins to pool in your stomach from his touch. As he peppers kisses along your jaw and down your neck, your hands move to fist his shirt. Just as a moan threatens to leave your throat, he pulls away.

Your lips part in indignation at the loss of touch, and Hoseok just smirks even wider. “I thought you said you don’t remember?”

“I’m going to kill you, Jung Hoseok,” your frustration is through the roof.

“Tell me you remember.”

Right now, there are two sides of you fighting. There’s one part of you that wants to tell Hoseok you don’t remember a single thing—that you really had been drinking graduation night. But there’s an even larger part of you that wants him so bad—to feel the same high you felt a year ago.

So, you settle with, “But I’m working right now.”

Hoseok’s eyes turn obsidian as his smirk drops. “I’ll be quick.”

He pulls you away from the hamper and pushes you, stomach first, against one of the washers. Suddenly, you realize what’s about to happen and you try to force the dopey smile off your face by biting your lip. In one swift motion, he unbuttons and pulls both your shorts and panties down to your ankles. By the sudden coolness below, you already know you’re soaking.

And Hoseok must realize this too because you feel him swipe a long finger over your folds. You instinctively jerk back, letting out a moan at the slight pressure. “Hoseok—”

“Fuck, y/n, you’re so wet for me already,” he groans, using a second finger against your wetness. He slowly rubs your clit and you can’t help but tighten your grip against the cool machine. “Wonder if you’ve been wet since we saw each other earlier.”

You roll your eyes. Typical, cocky Jung Hoseok. “Of course not, you douchebag.”

“I beg to differ,” he hums, inserting a single digit inside of you. “So tight—just like I remembered. Tell me, y/n, has anyone else had the pleasure to fuck your pretty pussy after me?”

His words cause you tense for a moment, before replying, “Yes, asshole. I went to college. What do you think?”

“I’m thinking that I’m about to fuck you so good,” he starts and finishes with a whisper, “that you won’t remember any of them.”

If you weren’t already turned on before, you were now. Hoseok continues to fuck with his finger, slowly adding a second one, edging you until you’re a panting mess before him. “S-Stop teasing—I thought you said you were going to be quick?”

“I will be,” he promises, and you can hear him pushing the waistband of his swim trunks down. You’re dying to see his cock again, so you turn and nearly drool at the sight of his angry red tip. For some reason, he looks bigger than you remember and that worries you a little. “What? Think it won’t fit?”

You raise your eyes to look at his, and he has the sexiest expression on his face you’ve ever seen. “No. It fit before, right?”

He licks his lips as he brings his cock close to your entrance, brushing his head back and forth against your clit. You turn back around, arching your back more in hopes that he’ll finally just stick it inside already. But before you can get too lost in the moment, you gasp.

“What’s wrong?” He actually sounds concerned.

“Do you have a condom?” you ask, facing him again. And by the pained expression on his face, he doesn’t. You let out a frustrated groan at getting all worked up for nothing. You’re about to reach down for your panties when he pushes you back into place. “What?”

“Are you on the pill?”

“Yes,” you answer, “but the pill is only—”

“I’ll pull out,” he says. “And I’m clean, I swear.”

You look into his eyes and seeing the desperation in them makes you want to indulge him. “I’m clean too.”

Hoseok breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank fucking god.”

“You better pull out, or I swear Jung—”

You fail to get the rest of your words out because he slams his cock into you. And you’re right—he is bigger than you remember. He bottoms out at your cervix and you feel like a mess already. You both moan at the feeling of being connected like this again, after so long, and Hoseok keeps his promise and wastes no time.

He thrusts into you hard and fast, leaving you to do nothing but take everything he has to give. “Fuck, Hoseok—oh my god.”

Earlier, he talked about fucking your past sexual exploits out of you, but there was no need to mention anything at all; no one compares to him. They never had a chance.

“Shit, you feel so good wrapped around me,” he groans, digging his fingers into your hips.

And soon enough, you feel your orgasm approaching. It’s slow building, but it’s there and you want it. You figure you’ll just chase it yourself. Reaching a hand down, you find your clit and begin rubbing it. But just as soon as you feel yourself get closer to the high you desire, your hand is ripped away.

There is a sudden weight on your back as Hoseok whispers in your ear, “That’s my job, sweetheart.”

His fingers find your sensitive nub and you come immediately, screaming a string of curses into your arms in hopes that no one hears you. As you ride your high, you feel him pull out. With a groan, his cum spills all over your ass.

As you try to catch your breath and calm your erratic heart, you feel Hoseok pull his shorts back up and take a step back. All of the sudden, a strange feeling builds up in your chest. Is this what loss feels like? But you don’t have much time to dwell on your own thoughts because you feel a towel wiping your body.

You turn and see Hoseok cleaning the mess he made; but instead of looking down, he’s looking right at you.

“What?” you ask, sounding defensive.

“Nothing,” he says, and you hate that you can’t read people well. You wish you could know what he’s thinking right now.

After he cleans between your thighs, you pull your clothes back up your body. You still have a few hours left of your shift, so you hope you don’t look too much like a mess right now. Pulling your hair into a low ponytail, you feel awkwardness hit you like a truck. What are you supposed to say now?

“Uh…I have to go,” you can’t even look at him. “We have a meeting this afternoon…”

You don’t have a meeting, but you don’t know what else to say. But unlike you, Hoseok can take a hint and nods. “I’ll leave first…see you around…and thanks.”

He stares at you for a moment longer before leaving the room. You look out to make sure he’s a considerable distance away before you follow, ducking into the bathroom to check your appearance. Once you look into the mirror, you barely recognize the person you’re seeing.

The girl in front of you has flushed cheeks and sweaty hair.

You spend the rest of your shift daydreaming about what happened. In all honesty, your body aches in the best possible way. And even after your shift, once you get home and lay in your bed, you’re still thinking about everything.

Did you really willingly have sex with Jung Hoseok a second time? Once is a mistake, twice clearly means there was choice involved. What would your roomie say if she knew? You don’t plan on telling her—at least, not until you get back to school. If she knew you had succumbed to his charms this early in the summer, she’d chew you out for sure. Besides, you won’t let it happen again.

There will be no more slip ups this summer.

***

“Oh, fuck—yes. Right there…!”

You cling to the shelf as Hoseok fucks you from behind. Your legs feel impossibly weak from being in such an uncomfortable position, but you couldn’t care less right now—you just want to come.

“Don’t be so loud, sweetheart,” he groans through clenched teeth. “Don’t want to get caught now, do we?”

“N-No…but if you d-don’t make me c-come quicker, Hoseok…” you moan, and he proceeds to thrust faster. You don’t want to scream, but it just feels so fucking good for you not to. “I’m going to—”

Hoseok clamps a hand over your mouth as you come undone. Your eyes shut on their own accord as you scream into his hand, body shaking from the impact of your orgasm. He curses, probably from how tight you’re gripping his cock, but continues to thrust a few more times before pulling out and painting you in strings of milky white.

Once your body shops shaking, he pulls you up and presses a kiss onto your exposed shoulder. “You’re amazing.”

You can’t help but smile a little. “Thanks.”

The two of you quickly clean up and readjust your clothes. You’re supposed to be organizing after all—at the place you are working at for the summer—not fucking an old high school classmate. Hoseok leaves with a promise of finding you later, and you’re left alone with your thoughts again.

What just happened?

You really did mean it when you said that you didn’t want to have sex with Hoseok again, but here you are anyway. It’s already been a month since the first incident, and you’ve been sneaking quickies around the entire country club with Hoseok.

Every time you think you’re alone, he manages to find you and that infuriating smirk makes you helpless. You’ve lost track of how many times he’s already managed to make your panties drop. But even though he seeks you out for sex, every now and then he sticks around to have a conversation with you.

You feel your resolve crumbling away every time you get a glimpse of the human Hoseok.

“So, what are you studying in school?” he asked one day, settling beside you on the floor of the laundry room.

“Is it bad that I’m undecided?” You tried to laugh it off, but the sober expression on his face stopped you.

He shook his head. “No, you have time.”

And just like, all felt okay in the world.

“What about you?” you managed to ask.

The scrunch of his nose had been nearly undetectable, but you noticed it. “Business. My father wants me to take over the company one day.”

“And you don’t?” the question slipped past your lips without a second thought. You’d been horrified.

“I don’t mind business, but I don’t want my father’s. I’d rather start my own.”

This truth had been rather insightful, and you couldn’t help but change the way you looked at Hoseok—only a little though. You still thought he was an asshole.

After another moment pondering your idiocy, you go back to whatever you were doing before. Just as you place the last shampoo bottle on the rack, a knock sounds on the door. You jump, wondering if it’s Hoseok again; but when it opens, it’s just Soyoung. “Hey—you’ve been in here for a while. Almost done?”

If only she knew.

“Uh, yeah. Actually, just finished,” you try to smile. “Got a little distracted in here, I guess.” A little more than distracted.

Soyoung offers an understanding expression. “Feel that. These storage rooms can be a bit overwhelming.”

“Did you need something?” you ask, changing the conversation.

“I actually bring word from our manager. You don’t work tomorrow night, right?” Tomorrow is Saturday and one of the few days you actually have off this week. You’re dreading what Soyoung is about to tell you. “She asked if you could come in for a few hours—just to help with dinner. They’re expecting a big crowd tomorrow night since there’s a fundraiser happening during the day. It’ll be like three hours max.”

You think about it for a moment, rolling your lips between your teeth. Honestly, you don’t want to come in on your day off—who wants to work when they don’t have to—but three hours doesn’t sound so bad.

“Just three hours?”

Soyoung nods. “Just three hours. I’ll be helping with the dinner too, so we’ll get to work together. And afterwards, we can go to a party, if you want.”

That piques your interest, even though you aren’t one to go out often. “What party?”

“There’s a few houses on this property—they’re rented out to people who want to stay at the country club for an extended amount of time. And I heard from some of the other employees that a party is being hosted at one of the houses. Anyone and everyone is invited—even us.”

For some reason, you actually want to go to this party. Why? Maybe you just want to forget about Jung Hoseok’s charismatic smirk. A party should be a good distraction. So, you tell Soyoung that you’ll come work tomorrow and attend the party with her.

And the girl gives you hug, promising that it’ll be loads of fun.

You hope she’s right.

***

The next night, you arrive to work in a different version of your uniform. Instead of the usual polo and shorts the country club has you normally donned in, you’re wearing a long sleeve button up and black slacks. In your bag, you brought a change of clothes for later. Thankfully, you remembered to grab it on your way out. Imagine having to wear your server uniform to a party.

That would’ve been a social suicide.

You meet up with Soyoung for a few minutes before the dinner staff collects you all together. They debrief about tonight’s expectations and everyone’s roles. Next, they list all the jobs and when they call your name, you find out you’re going to be taking orders.

“Do I also need to bring the food out?” you ask.

One of the leaders shakes their head. “No, we’ll have people specifically there for that.”

After all the roles are established, dinner officially begins and you try not to look dumbstruck when you walk into the formal dining hall. This is the first time you’ve been in this room and it’s absolutely magnificent. You continue staring around for a moment before walking towards your section of the room—a row of tables by the window overlooking the setting sun.

You proceed taking orders from the first table—a family of four—and then the next—a group of six—before walking to a table that only seats two people. Probably a date. You barely look at the couple as you push a strand of loose hair behind your ear and pull out the notepad.

“Can I take your orders?” you ask, click your pen.

“Yes,” says a nasally voice to your right. You follow it, meeting the profile of a gorgeous girl. Long, silky hair drapes down her back in waterfalls and she’s wearing a tight pink dress. You think that she’ll turn her attention to you, but she doesn’t; she keeps staring at her date. “I’ll have the ratatouille. What about you, Hobi?”

Hobi? “I told you not to call me that, Nina.”

She pouts. “But you let me call you that when we were kids.”

“Yeah, we were kids then.”

You spare a look at Nina’s date and nearly falter when you realize who this Hobi is. It’s none other than Jung Hoseok himself. He’s wearing a fitted charcoal suit, hair slicked back slightly. Even from this view, you can tell his suit is expensive; definitely imported and tailored fitted to his body. Still, you can feel yourself salivating. The man looks like absolute sin, and you feel a sudden flash of jealousy because he’s on a date with someone else—someone he seems to know pretty well.

But you realize you have no right to feel that emotion at all. He’s not yours to have. You both just happen to be sexually compatible. That is all. You two never talked about being exclusive. He is allowed to see other girls, even though the thought makes you feel a little sick.

Hoseok brings his eyes to yours, flashing you a smirk that has your knees weak. “Y/n.”

“You two know each other?” Nina asks, but your eyes don’t move from his.

“A little,” he says. That’s an understatement.

“We just went to high school together,” you add, playing along with his little game. “We weren’t friends though, just happened to be in a few classes together.”

Hoseok feigns hurt, bringing a hand up to his chest. “Can’t believe you think so little of me.”

“Oh, Hobi,” Nina interjects, her hand finding his on top of the table. You zone in on the touch, blood pressure rising when you realize he hasn’t pushed her away.

You try not to roll your eyes. “Yes, poor Hobi.”

When you turn back to him, he’s already looking at you. You stiffen for a second, wondering if his eyes have been on you this whole time. And by the scathing sensation you feel on the side of your head—Nina’s eyes, no doubt—you realize he probably has. “Um. Anyway, what did you want?”

He smirks again. “I’ll have the same, y/n.”

You quickly jot it down and excuse yourself before you start thinking too much.

The rest of your short shift, you make sure not to walk by Hoseok’s table again. Whenever you’re around him, you can’t think properly. He always seems to cloud your best judgment, which is why you’ve already been fucking him this summer. You allow work to consume you, which makes the time fly by. Before you know it, the three hours is already up and you’re headed to the bathroom with Soyoung.

“See? Wasn’t that bad, huh?” she asks from the cubicle beside you.

It was terrible. “Could’ve been worse, I guess.”

“I’m so excited about the party,” Soyoung changes the conversation. “It’s been so long since I’ve had a night out.”

You can’t help the next words that bubble out of you. “Why do you overwork yourself?”

Honestly, you didn’t mean to ask. After all, it isn’t your business to ask such questions anyway. Sure, you were curious about Soyoung but it’s not your place. You’ve been really testing boundaries recently.

“It just kind of happens,” she answers, which shocks you. Not the answer itself, but the fact that she even answered you at all. “I’ve been working here for so long, I guess I just can’t help it.”

“Well,” you sigh, “don’t overwork yourself. Live a little, you know.”

Soyoung laughs. “I’ll try.”

You step out of the stall first, moving to stand in front of the full-length mirror. Tonight, you opted for a flowy crop top and tight skirt. Not something you’d usually wear, but tonight’s different than most nights—you want to enjoy yourself. You pull your hair out of its tight pony, humming in pleasure at the sensation of your hair being free.

“Okay, I see you with the sexy hair.”

You didn’t even hear Soyoung’s stall unlocking or opening. Turning in her direction, you see she’s wearing something similar to you. Only, both her top and skirt are flowy. “More like messy hair.”

She laughs. “It looks good still.”

After running a hand through your hair a few times, and fixing your makeup, the two of you throw your bags into your respective vehicles and walk across the country club’s property. Not even five minutes later, you can hear music playing. Across the distance, you can see a massive house—no, villa—lit up with lights and people all over the place.

“Woah,” you breathe.

“Right?” Soyoung chuckles. “I told you this party was going to be it.”

“I thought you said it was going to be a house party.”

“It is?” She seems confused.

You shake your head. “Are all the houses on the country club property this big?”

Even in the dim lighting, you can see her nod. “I think so. Maybe not this big, but they’re all large enough to house multiple people.”

Damn. You wonder who’s renting this place for the summer. It’s huge, so there must be more than one person; maybe a family? Though, that seems odd since a party filled with young people is happening right now. However, you can’t even begin to fathom how much it costs to rent. How can anyone actually afford that?

But all thoughts of money fade when you actually reach the villa. You assume there’s mainly college-aged people here, though it’s difficult to tell age these days. Soyoung leads the way as you two maneuver past groups of people and into the villa itself. Once inside, you have to force yourself not to gawk at everything.

Grand doesn’t even begin to describe the interior. There’s so much to look at and before you can even begin to look at everything, Soyoung pulls you away. She finds the kitchen and hands you a drink from the cooler. You remove the lid and begin sipping, tasting the slight bitterness of alcohol on your tongue.

“So what do we do now?” You’re acting like such a noob.

Soyoung slants a look at you. “We mingle, maybe dance a little. Do you like dancing?”

You bite the inside of your lip. “Umm, kind of?”

Of course, you’ve been to your fair share of college parties—where dancing and drinking do not mix well. But you don’t mind it; you just don’t think you’re very good. You voice this thought out loud and Soyoung rolls her eyes.

“You don’t have to be good at dancing. You just have to do it. Usually, it comes naturally.”

You aren’t too sure about that statement. But as Soyoung pulls you in a new direction, away from the kitchen, you realize that you have no choice. In another large room adjacent to the kitchen, someone has started a makeshift dancefloor. The bass is booming against the wall and strobe lights illuminate the room.

Even though you’re struggling, Soyoung pulls you both into the middle of the room and spins you around to the music. “I can’t.”

“Sure you can,” she shouts over the music, proceeding to move her body dramatically. You can’t help but laugh. Shaking your head, you realize dancing really isn’t a big deal and you allow Soyoung to move you to the beat. And eventually, you can do it by yourself.

You close your eyes as you sway to the music, occasionally bumping into Soyoung on purpose. It even gets to the point where you feel comfortable enough to lift your arms into the air, which is something you’d never thought you’d do.

It’s not until a few songs later that you finally open your eyes. And when you do, you immediately meet his gaze.

A jolt of electricity goes up your spine at the look Jung Hoseok is giving you right now. He’s leaning against the fireplace in the room across from you, changed out of that expensive suit he was wearing earlier. Now, he’s only wearing the white button up—sleeves rolled to his elbows—and a pair of navy-blue shorts. In his hand he nurses a beer, and that’s when you realize he’s still with that girl from earlier.

You try to keep your expression neutral as you stare at them; but by the way Hoseok’s hard gaze morphs into something smugger, you know you’re doing a bad job at concealing your feelings.

Dammit.

You quickly whisper something to Soyoung about needing some air as you look for the nearest exit. Unfortunately, you don’t know your way around the house. You meander around for a moment before you find a door that leads to the backyard. Breathing a sigh of relief, you open the door and walk into the cool summer night.

There’s a pathway of rocks that leads to the dock of a body of water—a body of water that you didn’t even know existed. You aren’t sure what to call it; a large pond? Whatever it is, you take the pathway until you reach the end of the dock. There, you settle on the edge and stare at the murky depths.

Bodies of water like this were unpredictable. You had no idea how deep it actually was. It could seem shallow, but in actuality be sixty feet deep. For a second, you consider dipping your toes in; however, you decide against it. Who knows what’s in there?

You allow the echoes of cicadas and other small insects to fill your senses. Eventually, you even lay down on the dock and close your eyes, trying not to think too much about—

“What are you doing?”

Your eyes flash open. And as they adjust to the night, you make out Hoseok’s infuriating perfect face. He’s leaning over you, and it pisses you off that he looks good even from this obscene angle. “Go away.”

“Well, aren’t you grumpy,” he hums. “It seemed like you were having a great time shaking you’re a—”

“Hoseok,” you breathe. “Leave me alone. I don’t want to play your stupid games right now.”

He cracks a rare half-smile. “Who said anything about playing games?”

When you don’t answer him, Hoseok’s smile falls and he frowns. You don’t care what else he has to say; you really meant it when you said you’re not in the mood for him right now. However, the boy doesn’t seem to take the hint like he usually does. Because he settles right beside you on the dock, laying down so he’s now eye-level with you.

“You’re insufferable,” you roll your eyes, shifting away from him.

“That’s what you like about me.”

“Who said I liked you?”

“I think your actions speak louder than you think,” he says, sounding awfully calm right now, which is very unlike him. You have no other choice but to look at him. And when you do, your breath gets caught in your throat. Even in the darkness, his eyes seem to sparkle as he looks at you—so fucking intently like he’s seeing you for the first time.

You don’t like it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you force your eyes away, but his stare burns your skin anyway.

“You were jealous at dinner, weren’t you?”

The scoff that leaves your lips sounds beyond bitter. “No, of course not. Why would I be?”

“If you were jealous,” Hoseok begins, which makes your stomach churn, “don’t be.”

“Huh?” you ask, still not able to look at him.

“Don’t be,” he repeats. “Don’t be jealous of Nina.”

“I wasn’t jealous of—”

He cuts you off. “Don’t be jealous of her. She’s just a family friend.”

“But you two seem so close…”

Hoseok laughs. “I just entertain her because our parents have been friends forever. I’m pretty sure they want me to marry someone like her. I mean, she’s hot”—you suck in a breath— “but she’s not you.”

Your eyes finally give him and meet his, and he’s still staring at you. “What’s that supposed to mean.”

As you both look at each other, you expect him to say something. But he never does. Instead, he scoots a few inches closer to you—so close your noses are almost touching—and runs his fingers through your hair. Weaving his digits through your still messy hair, he pulls your head towards his and your lips meet.

And underneath the moonlight, you allow Hoseok to kiss you until your head is dizzy and you have no choice but to let him consume you again.

***

The next morning, you find yourself wrapped in pristine white sheets that feel like silk beneath your fingers. But that’s not the only thing you’re wrapped in. A heavy arm is slumped over your waist and the body heat emanating from him sets yourself ablaze.

Last night, after Hoseok bruised your mouth and skin with his lips at the dock, you asked him why he was at the party.

“This is my house,” he said so casually, like it wasn’t a big deal at all. Your eyes bulged out of their sockets. “Well, my house for the summer at least.”

“You’ve been here this whole time?”

He nodded. “Our actual house is in the city, and I hate driving back and forth so much—especially since I’m here with the guys nearly every day. So, my parents decided to rent this.”

You didn’t know what to say. But you realized there was nothing that needed to be said because since this is where he was staying, it meant his bedroom was here too. You let him walk you back to the villa and up the stairs into his room, to which you had to text Soyoung and let her know you were headed home early. A lie. You told her you felt sick. Another lie. But she didn’t seem to mind. She had found a few other employees of the country club there and would walk back with them.

After losing track of how many orgasms he gave you, youth both shared a bottle of vodka he had stashed underneath his bed. And tipsy you had no inhibitions.

Every question Hoseok asked, you answered honestly.

“Favorite color?”

“Red.”

“Do you like working at the country club?”

“It’s a job.”

“If you could do anything in the world, what would it be?”

“Spend my life away on some island.”

He laughed. “Really?”

“Island life s-seems fun. It’s relaxing. You don’t have to worry about anything,” you slightly slurred your words. “You?”

“I think island life seems to be the move now.”

You both talked so much. About anything and everything. It reminded you so much of the first time you really spoke to him. Moments like this made Hoseok feel normal, which you don’t know how to feel about yet.

But one thing you realized you did enjoy was his laugh—his real laugh. Not the one he smirked with, but the one he gave when he thought no one else was watching.

You must’ve said something stupid—you honestly can’t recall it now—but when he doubled over in laughter, it was infectious.

The good thing is that you don’t have work today, which means you don’t have to rush anywhere. But you have a feeling that you’ve overstayed your welcome. You didn’t even mean to stay the night, but you’d been so comfortable in Hoseok’s bed that you fell asleep after all the conversations. It was probably the best sleep you’ve ever had.

You’re going to give the credit to Hoseok’s expensive mattress, and definitely not him.

Though, you can’t deny how good it feels to have him spooning you. A part of you wants to stay in this bed forever, but that’s crazy talk—you shouldn’t have come into the bed with him at all. You keep telling yourself—over and over again—that you don’t want to fuck him again.

But you’ve been such a liar.

Now, you’ve accepted the fact that you can’t resist him. You know it’s just sex, but you didn’t want to get involved with him in the first place.

You take in a few breaths as you try to move his arm off of you. Hoseok shifts a little, and you risk a look over your shoulder. When your eyes take in his face, your heart stutters for a moment. With his mouth slightly parted and eyes still firmly closed, you realize that he looks so peaceful asleep. So vulnerable. You have to force yourself from touching him.

What the fuck, y/n?

Turning back around, you gently pry his arm off of you and pray that you don’t wake him. But all your careful maneuvering proves to be futile because his arm releases from your grip and moves back down to your waist. With a squeal, Hoseok pulls you back on his chest.

“Where do you think you’re going?” God, his morning voice is so hot.

“Um, leaving?” you sound like an idiot.

“Stay,” he breathes against the back of your head.

You want to. You really, really want to. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” he asks, snaking his arms underneath the covers to find you—skin still bare from last night’s activities. Your breath hitches as his fingers trail across your skin, each touch feeling like sparks.

“I-I have somewhere I have to be,” you stutter as his rough hand wraps around one of your breasts, squeezing tight. Your nipple hardens immediately.

Hoseok slips the covers off your body, exposing you to the cool air-conditioned room. And without warning, he moves on top of you and begins trailing his lips over your body. You notice that he makes sure to suck those bruises he left scattered across your skin extra hard, purpling them even more.

“Hoseok,” you try not to moan. “I really have t-to—”

His lips crashing onto yours shuts you up. You kiss him back forcefully, nipping his lips with your teeth and running your tongue across his. As you two battle it out, he settles in-between your thighs. Bringing a hand down your abdomen, it slides straight to your cunt—which is already drenched.

He hisses against your lips. “So fucking wet. Thought you had to go?”

“Shut up,” you moan as he runs a finger from your ass to your clit, swirling your juices everywhere. Involuntarily, your hips buck up when he slides a finger inside of you. He gently fucks you like that for a moment, leaving you writhing underneath him. “More, Hoseok—I need more.”

A wicked smile erupts on his face. “Are you going to beg for it?”

An incredulous expression lights your face. You’ve never begged in bed before, and you aren’t going to start now. However, the man on top of you is sure getting a kick out of this. Hoseok moves his finger slowly out of you, which agitates you to no end. If you weren’t so horny right now, you’d kill him.

“No,” you narrow your eyes, not willing to give in.

His finger stops moving. “A shame, really.”

You freeze. “What the fuck, Jung Hoseok?”

“I’m not doing anything until you say please,” he smirks, moving his upper body away from you.

Even though you’re pissed, you can’t help but drink in the Adonis in front of you. Like you, Hoseok is completely naked. Your eyes rake his defined muscles and his thick cock that’s already unbelievably hard. He’s hard for you. The fact that you turn him on makes you feel good—too good.

“Fine,” you shrug, and his smirk falls. “Just get blue balls then.”

As his body goes slack for a moment, you use the opportunity to slip from the bed. But you don’t manage to get very far at all. You probably only take three steps before his arm wraps around you and pulls you back to the bed.

You fall on your back, and Hoseok pins your arms on either side to keep you from moving. Still, you squirm—heart drumming in your chest at the look on his face. His eyes have turned black, and he looks like he wants to devour you. “I’m not begging.”

“We’ll see about that.”

With your arms still pinned, Hoseok lowers his body and your legs spread on their own accord. Fuck you, body. The movement makes him chuckle darkly and he begins peppering kisses along your thigh. Your breath hitches in your throat, which turns into a gasp when he suddenly bites down on your flesh. Not hard enough to draw blood, but it’s enough to be painful.

And as much as you hate to admit it, you like it very much.

Hoseok continues alternating between kissing and biting your thighs until you’re one-hundred-percent positive there is a pool of your wetness on the bed. You know what he’s trying to do and it’s working, but you don’t want to give in. And then he’s so close to your pussy, not even an inch away. You can feel his breath fanning you there. If you just move your hips a little…

“Don’t even think about it,” he moves his head away.

You release a groan of frustration. “Oh my god.”

“If you just say the magic word,” he taunts, lips now on your stomach. He moves low, but never low enough; never where you want him to go.

When he moves up your body, pressing chaste kisses on your nipples before latching his lips on your neck, you release a breathy moan. Hoseok lets out a groan from the back of his throat, hands tightening around your wrists. Fuck, why are the noises he makes even attractive? “Hoseok…”

“Y/n,” he’s still sucking on your neck.

This position, you realize, aligns him perfectly with your body. Again, if you were able to move just a little bit…but Hoseok’s weighing you down with his body, not allowing you to move at all.

“Hoseok,” you say his name again, but he doesn’t respond—he just moves his lips to your ear, nibbling on the sensitive flesh there. And that’s when you crumble. You can’t take it anymore. “Please…please just fuck me already.”

Simultaneously, he curses into your ear as he slides his cock into you. Too perfect—the way he fills you up is too perfect.

You expect Hoseok to fuck you hard, hips slamming into you, but he doesn’t. His thrusts are slow, but the way he hits your cervix has you nearly in tears. Fuck. He releases the hold on your wrists to grip onto either side of your face. With lips ghosting over yours, you tangle your hands into his dark hair.

Your breaths mesh together as he continues to fuck you with slow, measured thrusts. You’ve grown accustomed to the rough way Hoseok likes to fuck; but for some reason, you love this so much more. It’s intimate and makes your chest tighten in a strange way but feels so good you don’t want it to stop.

“Please,” you whisper against his lips again.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he groans, rolling his hips in a way that has you arching off the bed. Yes.

“Just like t-that,” you say, slanting your mouth to mold against his again.

Your orgasm comes without warning; you moan into Hoseok’s mouth, gripping him closer to you and you ride your high. Through the haze of your earth-shattering orgasm, you hear Hoseok ask if he can come inside you. He’s always pulled out—even last night when he fucked you for hours. But right now you don’t care, and your answer comes in the form of your legs wrapping around his hips.

He kisses you hard and comes inside you a moment later. You’ve never let anyone else come raw inside of you; never trusted anyone else that much. And in that moment, a terrifying thought flashes across your mind.

I’m in love you.

The thought comes so suddenly, burns your brain so hotly, your body stills. Hoseok finally lifts off of you, eyes crinkling in concern. “You okay?”

You quickly try to shake the feeling away. “Um, yeah.”

“You sure? Should I not have come inside you?” he slips out of you, and for some reason you want to cry at the sudden emptiness you feel. “You’re looking pale right now.”

“No, it was fine,” you blink too fast, feeling tears begin to well in your eyes. Get a fucking grip on yourself. “I’m sorry, I really have to go.”

Hoseok doesn’t try to stop you this time when you move away from the bed. You find your clothes on the floor and slip everything back on without looking at him, even though you can feel his gaze on you the entire time. Not bothering to check your appearance, you grab your stuff and move towards his door.

“Y/n,” he calls your name, voice sounding strange, but you don’t want to look at him. If you look at him, you’re going to start crying. And that’s too embarrassing to explain.

You slip out of his bedroom and take the stairs two at a time. As you rush down, you run into someone. “Sorry—”

Looking up, you realize it’s Seokjin; he must’ve stayed the night. Even in your distress, you feel feverish wondering if you were too loud. However, he takes one look at you and stares like he has you all figured out. Your heart threatens to beat out of your chest.

“Did something happen…?” he asks, looking at the door you just left wide open upstairs.

“Don’t worry about it,” you quickly say, adverting your eyes and sidestepping him.

This morning, it’s much easier to find the front door. Just as you’re about to slip out, you hear your name being called again, heavy steps thundering down the stairs. Shit, shit, shit. You break into a run and don’t stop until you have no more air to spare in your lungs. Thankfully, you’re far enough from the villa and close to the country club.

Only then do you allow yourself to fall into the grass as the tears finally cascade down your cheeks.

You’re a fool, you realize. A fool to have fallen in love with someone like Jung Hoseok. Someone who will never feel the same way. Someone who just uses you for a good time. someone who you barely even know. Someone you never wanted to get involved with.

***

You call out of work the next week, claiming to have the stomach bug. But you don’t have the stomach bug; in fact, you’re not even physically ill at all. You just can’t bear the thought of running into Hoseok at the country club.

On the first day, you listen to your sad girl hours playlist on repeat.

During your second day of moping in bed, you half consider quitting your job. Would it be too cowardly? Maybe. Unfortunately, there’s only a few weeks left of summer and you doubt that you’ll be able to find another job.

When the third day arrives, you finally get out of bed and take a proper shower. You didn’t realize how much you needed it.

Your mom knocks on your door on the fourth day. You only know it’s her by the way she taps on your door rhythmically; she’s always done that ever since you were a child. When you don’t respond, she dares to crack the door open. Shit, you forgot to lock it last night.

“Are you feeling better, love?”

You don’t move on the bed, hoping your mother thinks you’re asleep or something. But despite you not moving, she still shuffles into your room and settles herself on the edge of the bed.

“Is this because I haven’t been spending time with you this summer?”

No, mom. It’s me. I fucked up. Although, I would appreciate it if you did spend time with me—like you dragged me here this summer to do.

“I’m really sorry, love,” she whispers, getting up after a moment.

Once you’re sure she’s by the door, you finally open your mouth. “It’s not because of you. It’s…something else.”

You hear her grab onto the door, but she doesn’t say another word before leaving you all alone again.

On the fifth day, the bruises that littered your skin finally start fading. Glancing into the mirror of your bathroom, you run your fingers along the—now greenish-yellow—hickies he left on your neck. Goodness, there were so many. And annoyingly enough, you can still feel exactly where he had touched you—like his hands are still there right now.

Pulling your t-shirt down, you see more evidence of Hoseok’s assault on your chest. You have to stop yourself from looking at the rest of your body.

The sixth day you, finally, spend time pondering that terrifying thought you had about Hoseok. Are you actually in love with him? Do you even know what love feels like? What even is love? You’ve always been an overthinker, and these questions only make your head spin more. But after hours and hours of teetering the files of your brain, you do know one thing.

You like him.

You like Hoseok a lot.

It might not be love—perhaps that had been your sex-brain talking—but you were definitely starting to fall for him. You don’t know when or where the change happened, or maybe you’ve always liked him, but it feels good to finally admit the truth to yourself.

Now, the real challenge was if you would tell him.

Would it be worth it?

***

“Y/n, I seriously thought you’d quit!”

Soyoung is the first person you run into on your first day back. You just thank god it’s her and not someone else. You flash her a quick smile and greeting. “Hey.”

“What happened to you?” she asks, walking beside you down the hall.

“Stomach bug,” the lie passes surprisingly easily through your lips. Good thing you had enough time to practice saying those words out loud.

Soyoung makes a face. “That must’ve been awful, but I’m glad you’re well enough to be here.”

“Yeah, totally.”

She leaves you at the golf cart and you get into the seat with a sigh. Over the month and whatever weeks you’ve been here, driving the cart now feels like second nature. You no longer bump into displays or people.

As you drive around the green, you make a stop at every hole and offer the players drinks. At the beginning of summer, you’d been a little apprehensive about this job. However, it turns out, working as the drink cart girl isn’t half bad. The tips you make are worth being out in the scorching summer sun.

Towards the end of your round, you feel your nerves twist. You’re relieved that you haven’t seen Hoseok; then again, a part of you is worried. Why isn’t he here? He’s always here. Every single time you’ve driven on the range, he’s been here.

Where is he today?

Soon, you realize that you didn’t need to worry at all.

At the last hole, you see him—well, them. Hoseok, Seokjin, Namjoon, and Jeongguk are together, like they always seem to be. Inseparable. For a second, you think about skipping them, but then you overhear their conversation.

“Damn, Hoseok,” Jeongguk whistles, leaning against his club, “this is the worst game you’ve ever played.”

“He played worse than Namjoon,” Seokjin snickers.

Namjoon narrows his eyes. “I’m not that bad.”

“You lack coordination,” Seokjin explains to his friend, as if that was supposed to make the burn better. “And Hoseok usually always wins.”

“Now that I’m thinking about it, he hasn’t played well all week,” Jeongguk twists his lips.

“Dude probably hasn’t had ass in a week,” Namjoon comments.

“I’m right fucking here, assholes.”

You finally allow your eyes to settle on the man of the hour. Like his friends have suggested, he does seem off today. Normally, the Jung Hoseok you know is easy going, laid back. He’s usually cocky and charismatic. Every time you’ve seen him play golf, he’s amazing. He always swings with blind sureness—like he knows the ball will hit green. But the man you’re looking at right now is beyond tense and agitated.

“You’re no fun today,” Jeongguk pouts.

“He hasn’t been fun all week,” Seokjin rolls his eyes. “Not since the house party.”

Your hands stiffen on wheel. Hoseok’s been in a mood for a whole week? You try to find the answer to your own question in his eyes, but he hasn’t looked in your direction yet. In fact, none of them seem to realize you’re close. They all seem to be thrown off their usual balance. That obvious fact makes you realize you should probably just skip them. But as you lift your foot to press the gas pedal, Seokjin notices you.

Damn. Why is he always the first one to see you?

His eyes widen at your appearance. “Just the girl I was thinking about.”

That statement draws everyone else from their stupor and towards you. You watch as Jeongguk and Namjoon’s eyes also widen, but the only pairs of eyes you really care about right now can’t even meet yours. Hoseok shoots you a glance before twisting away, jaw hardened. Ouch. You feel a pang in your chest.

For some reason, his dismissal hurts more than anything else right now.

“Glad you finally arrived,” Seokjin continues talking, walking closer to you. “I was wondering when you’d come.”

It was weird to have Seokjin speak so much to you. The only person you ever really spoke to was Hoseok, but it seems like he’s the last person who wants to talk to you right now. Maybe coming into work was a bad idea.

“I think you should talk to him,” he says, and it was your turn to have wide eyes.

“I don’t know…” What could you even say to him? You don’t know where to begin because you don’t know what kind of relationship you have with Hoseok. Did you want a relationship with him? Did he even feel the same way?

“He’s been a fucking wreck all week because of you, you know?”

Your chest hurts. “Really?”

Seokjin nods. “I mean, the guy’s always a pain in the ass…” he rolls his eyes, “but it’s worse now.”

Maybe you hadn’t been the only one suffering this past week. As horrible as it sounds, the thought makes you feel…hopeful.

“We’ll take your cart back and cover for you, if you want.”

You stare at Seokjin and find yourself nodding. “Okay.”

He calls Jeongguk and Namjoon over, asking you to get out of the cart. “Don’t worry—we won’t steal your money.”

It’s a joke. You know it’s a joke. Still, you can’t help the next that slip past your lips unconsciously. “Like you all need it.”

The three of them laugh at you as they pile into the cart. Before you can say anything else, they drive off—leaving you alone with the one person you’re most nervous to speak to. He’s still turned away from you, staring off into the distance. You will your heart to stop racing as you wipe your sweaty hands on the back of your shorts.

Calm down.

You take a deep breath before you decide it’s now or never. Deciding it is time, you take the tentative steps towards Hoseok and run a million different scenarios in your head. What’s the worst thing that can happen? He tells you to fuck off and never speak to him again?

Nausea settles into your throat at the idea.

By the time you run another worst-case-scenario into your head, you’re just a few steps behind him. Closer to him now, you feel like you’re going to burst at the seams. You stare at his disheveled hair—like he’s been running a hand through it all day—and stiff body. Despite his rigid posture, he’s still the most handsome person you’ve ever seen.

You don’t know long you stand there and stare at Hoseok, but you don’t jolt out of your daze until you hear his voice.

“Are you just going to stare at me all day?”

“Oh, you’re—I mean, I—” you fumble with your words, nervously twitching your hands. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted to talk.”

“It’s kind of hard to talk to someone who doesn’t even like me,” he says, finally turning to face you.

What? “Hoseok—”

“I know you hate me, so I won’t bother you again, if that’s what you wanted to talk about,” his voice is detached, and you realize you’ve never seen this side of him before. No wonder his friends were fed up with him. You would’ve been too. “Sorry if I annoyed you this summer.”

Without another word, he begins to walk away from you. What the hell is going on? You shake your head as you march up to him and grab onto his shirt. “Stop.”

“Y/n…”

“Hoseok, shut up!” You bring your eyes up to glare at him. “Just—just let me talk first, okay?”

His eyes are still cold, but you can see a bit of softness pool in them. “Fine.”

“You’re an idiot,” you breathe, dropping your fist and feeling something prick your vision. “I-I don’t hate you…I don’t hate you at all. And I don’t want you to stop bothering me. Yes, you’re annoying”—you feel him take a step away— “but I like it. I like you. I like you a lot, Hoseok. So much…I don’t even know—”

He stops your rambling with his lips. The kiss makes your heart soar and ache all at once because it feels so damn good—Hoseok feels so damn good. But it ends all too soon when he pulls away.

“I like you too.”

“Then why are you being so mean to me?” You feel an onslaught of tears flow down your cheeks.

Hoseok wipes a tear away with his thumb. “Because I thought you hated me.”

“Well, I don’t,” you sniffle.

“Then, why’d you leave?”

You know he’s talking about that morning. Do you tell him the truth? “Because I thought I was in love with you.”

“Love?” he chokes, and you feel a blush heat your face. “What made you think that?”

“Uh…it was just a sudden thought,” you awkwardly scratch the side of your face. “But I thought about it, and it’s not love…at least, not yet.”

You say that last part so quietly, you don’t think Hoseok even heard. However, the way his eyes gloss over for a moment lets you know that he did. You’re even more embarrassed now. You try to cover your face, but he grabs both of your hands before you can.

“Let’s take this one step at a time, yeah?” Look at him being the rational one here.

You nod, agreeing with him. “So, we like each other.”

“We do,” he says, suddenly pulling you closer to him. Your body hums being so close to him. Being close like this, you’re able to wrap your arms around him and does the same—hand moving to the back of your neck to tilt your head back. At this angle, you’re exposed to him.

“So, what are we?” you dared to ask the question.

Hoseok ghosts his lips over you. “I don’t like sharing.”

Butterflies erupt in your stomach. “I haven’t been with anyone else this summer.”

It’s the truth. You haven’t even looked twice at anyone else. You haven’t desired anyone else. You don’t think you ever can again. Jung Hoseok has ruined you.

“Me either.”

“You and Nina—”

“We’re just family friends, remember?” he cuts you off.

“She clearly likes you.”

“Well, she’s not you. I’ve told you that before.”

He did. And, for some reason, you believed him.

“So, what are we?” you ask again, looking up at Hoseok to gauge what he’s going to say. He stares down at you for a moment before that smirk you know all too well graces his lips. As irritating as it is, you’ve missed it.

“We’re dating,” his eyes sparkle, before dimming a little. “If you’ll have me.”

Warmth pools in your stomach as you nod. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

[imaginesupply]

Homecoming - Chapter One

Chapter Two can be found here

(Gif’s not my own.)

Summary: The day has arrived, Captain Syverson is going home. For good, this time. He is going home to a civilian life he can hardly remember and a wife he barely knows, with memories of the war still fresh on his mind. Love might not be able to heal everything on its own, but it’s a good start.

Genres: Romance, drama.

Story warnings: Smut (always fully consensual), mentions of PTSD and nightmares and mental health, angst, hurt and comfort, fluff, mentions of war (minor), mentions of cheating (minor), mentions of pregnancy (very minor), police appearance (very minor), violence (very minor).

Notes:

It’s my first time writing for one of Henry’s characters and I’m unsure I did Sy’s character any justice.

This is a Capt. Syverson x OFC (Ada) story, written in 3rd person POV but OFC’s physical description is very limited so it could also be read as Capt. Syverson x Reader, I think.

English is not my first language, so there might be some mistakes. Proofread, but not beta’ed. We die like men and all that.

Timeline is a little wacky: The movie takes place in 2003 and the U.S. forces were withdrawn from Iraq in 2011, but I never set a precise date because I don’t think it’s essential for this story. However, some elements might not be realistic because if we set this story in 2003: Phone cameras  quality was not as good as it’s now, but for the purpose of the chapters, I will need you to imagine you could film great videos with your flip phone haha. Plus, it says Sy is coming back after being deployed for more than three years which makes no sense unless we set this in 2006 or later. I am asking you disregard any time inconsistencies 

Also: I am not American. I only lived in the US for six months and it was in the Midwest, not Texas so please bear with me if I write something stupid.

Finally: This is pretty much a Christmas fic and I intend to post the last chapter (there will be seven in total) on or before Christmas. However, religion is never mentioned in this story and the Christmas-sy elements of this story are limited to family gathering, gift giving and tree decorating.

Chapter One starts after the cut. Let me know if you wish to be tagged in the new chapters.

Chapter One

Chapter warnings: Badly written smut (consensual), marriage awkwardness, alcohol consumption. Maybe OOC Sy, I don’t know. We never saw him being casual.

Sy checked his phone again as he waited for his bag by the baggage carousel. The airport was even busier than usual, it was taking ages and he was impatient to get out of there... and maybe even never set foot in an airport again for the rest of his life.

He read her text again, short and sweet. He sometimes called her that, short and sweet, just to tease her. Ada was considerably shorter than him and full of sugar, when she wanted to be, that was.

'I'm waiting by the gate for you, with a warm cinnabon :) So excited to see you again <3.'

Just then a notification popped up from Harper. It was a photo of the soldier at the airport, finally reunited with his wife and his two rugrats. It made Sy all the more excited to see Ada again, and then as if on cue, his camo bag appeared in the carousel and he groaned with relief.

He stood restless amidst the line, it seemed people in front of him were dragging their feet, but when they noticed his green beret uniform, most parted and let him through. Sy tipped his head gratefully.  

His wife was there, just outside the gate. Sy spotted her instantly in the crowd of people. She was wearing a red dress under her open coat and her hair looked fresh out of the hairdresser. He caught himself grinning at the sight of her. Then, once she spotted him making his way over to her, she started waving her hand excitedly as if there was any way his eyes hadn't already landed on her. He wished he still had his phone in hand to capture this moment for all of eternity, but his memory would have to do, he decided before casting his arms open for his wife. Fuck, did he love her!

°°°

Ada had been biting her nails nervously for the past two hours. She had arrived at the airport way too early. The parking fee would hurt but she couldn't find it in herself to care at this point.

Three weeks ago, she had received a call informing her that her husband and part of his unit had been ambushed. There had been an explosion in some building they were scouting only God knows where.

Only a full week after that did she receive a call from Sy himself. He was coming home. For good, this time. They were sending him home early, a full eight months earlier than what he had originally negotiated with his superiors. She hadn't been prepared for the news. She had spent the days following the call asking herself whether she had heard him right, making sure her mind wasn't playing tricks on her.

Now he was here, stopping right in front of her, his thick arms inviting her right in for a hug. Ada wouldn't have been able to resist the invitation even if she had wanted to. Within a second, she was enveloped in his embrace, her cheek pressed against his chest. She was overjoyed to feel his heartbeat again. Sy kisses the crown of her head before putting her down, his hands never leaving her lower back, his fingers big enough to reach the swell of her bum from there.

They pulled away a few inches to take each other in. His beard has grown a little long, but it was not enough to hide his apparent dimples as he smiled. He looked a little older too, she hadn't seen in seven months, except through a shitty quality facetime call once or twice. Her careful gaze spotted the new scar by his temple, it was the only visible physical evidence of the explosion he had been caught in. She dreaded what she might under his uniform.

Sy caught her eyes and she found herself blushing under his stare. It was always like that the first few hours when he was back, until she got used to his overwhelming presence again and to the fact that this handsome bear of a man was indeed her husband.

"You're looking good, darlin'," Sy grinned, making her spin for him. "I missed you."

Ada couldn’t resist his smile. "I missed you too, Sy." She confessed, handing him the still warm cinnamon roll in its paper bag.

He accepted the pastry with a smile and started eating it immediately but not before throwing his arm around her shoulders as they began making their way to the parking lot. Sy was eager to get her out of the crowd and have her just to him himself.

"So, what's the plan, darlin'?" Sy inquired with mischief to his voice, balling up the paper bag with his free hand and throwing it inside the trash can. "Did you book that hotel with the jacuzzi in the bedroom again?"

It had become a tradition of some sort between them. They would always spend his first night back at that hotel: they'd order some room service and eat in the jacuzzi. Though, usually, they would first end up on together on the bed.

Ada stopped suddenly in her tracks, making him still behind her. She smiled sheepishly. "Don't be mad," she started, his smile falling at once, "but your family is waiting for us in the parking lot. Your mom insisted that we celebrate your homecoming at the restaurant. Something about you missing Thanksgiving just by a couple days."

Sy groaned, thinking about the evening that now expected him. He'd been flying for God knows how many hours, all he wanted was a warm bath and Ada whichever way she'd let him have her, not a damn dinner party.

"I'm sorry, Sy."

He shook his head and leaned down to kiss her forehead again. "Don't worry, darlin'. I know it ain’t your fault."

As soon as they reached the open-air parking lot, Sy's nephew and niece start running up to him, having escaped their parents' grasp. His family was waiting for him with cheers and a 'welcome home, soldier' banner. Sy hated that kind of attention and she found it cringy as well, but she had been unable to stop his mother. Ada watched him hug the kids and lift them up into the air, making them laugh as she walked up to the machine to pay the fee.

Her hand trembled as she inserted the ticket into the slot, missing the opening a few times. She was happy - no, scratch that - she was ecstatic to have her husband back. It's just that, could you really say 'back' when there was never truly a 'before', a 'there'?

They had met when he was already deployed, but on a short leave back in Austin. They spent three weeks together, got married and he returned to Iraq. Since then, the longest stretch of time they had been together had been twenty days. Neither of them had ever gotten settled into married life and now he was 'back'. For good. Which was wonderful and foreign and overwhelming all at once.

Ada paid the fee and returned to join them, finding Sy hugging his mother. She smiled at the sight. She walked over to greet her sister-in-law and her husband, confirming that they'd meet up at the restaurant. With that, she went to the car, deciding to give Sy some more time with his family, and herself an occasion to take a few breaths and calm her buzzing heart.

"You didn't tell me my mom had gotten herself a boyfriend." Sy grumbled immediately as he sat down next to her in the car, putting on his seatbelt.

Ada turned on the engine and backed out of the spot. "I knew you wouldn't like it," she defended before casting a side glance at him. "Besides, I figured it wasn't my place to tell you."

Sy hummed noncommittally, removing his cap to rake his hand through his cropped hair.

"Though, as much as I don't exactly like your mother," Ada added quietly, "she's been on her own ever since your dad passed a couple years ago. With your father gone and you away, she must have felt lonely.”

°°°

Sy spent the rest of the drive mulling over her words in his head. The fuck was that supposed to mean? As soon as a woman feels lonely, she takes up a boyfriend?! Was Ada lonely too while he was away and… He wanted to ask if she was implying anything but then one look at her and he decided against it. Breathing out deeply, he forces himself to relax. He was just stressed out and on edge.

It was inevitable that things would have changed while he had been away. That was something he thought about frequently late at night when he got to be alone. Still, he hoped things hadn’t changed all too much. Ada still looked just as she had on their road trip to Vegas, focused on the road but leaning back on her seat, just one hand on the wheel with a grin on her lips. His wife loved driving.

"You got your nails done." Sy commented, already hoping the whole dinner thing would be over quickly so that he could go home with her.

Ada turned to him with a chuckle for a second, wriggling her graceful fingers and red painted nails, her wedding band reflecting the light. "I wanted to look pretty for you."

Sy huffed. "You always look pretty to me, Ada," he said and then watched her scoff.

"Or maybe, I just wanted to make sure I'd be able to scratch you up nicely," she wife winked.

Yeah, this dinner thing couldn't be over fast enough.

°°°

Ada saw him eat so much over dinner, she couldn’t help but wonder if he was going to be sick later. And, of course, the double serving of smoked ribs had to be accompanied with generous amounts of beer and whisky. She didn0t blame him, though. Out of curiosity, she once researched what they ate while on deployment and it looked anything but tasty. If she had been in his shoes, she'd have been eating her own weight in pizza and brownies right now.  

It also didn’t help that his brother-in-law and his mom's new boyfriend, Phil from the hardware store, kept asking him about Baqubah and even touching on the subject of the explosion. It was obvious how uncomfortable the subject made him, his grip tightening around his knife and his jaw tensing up so tightly, she could imagine his teeth grinding.

So, Sy kept asking for refills, raising his glass, and giving them vague answers, but it seemed they didn't get the hint. At least, the subject changed when his sister interrupted the conversation to announce she was expecting again. A little girl.

Ada used the moments of cheer that followed to excuse herself from the table and go to the restroom. She was still somewhat nervous and her face was damp. She would have given anything for a glass of scotch at that moment but she was driving tonight.

Helen, Sy's mom appeared right behind her just as she was washing her hands. She hoped the woman would just disappear inside a stall but she wasn’t that lucky.

"Jack is back." Helen stated, arms crossed. A shiver ran through Ada's spine, damn she hated that woman. "For good."

Ada dried her hands with a paper towel, looking back at her mother-in-law through the mirror. "He is."

"Now's the time to prove yourself to this family and show us that Sy was right in marrying you.”

Before Ada could ask what the hell that was supposed to mean, Helen finally disappeared inside a stall. Rolling her eyes, Ada went to leave the restrooms when Helen decides to add some more venom. "Maybe a good start would be calling him by his first name, as a wife would."

°°°

"When do you start at Camp Mabry?" Ada asked, looking away from the steering wheel to glance at him for a second. Sy looked exhausted, not that she could she blame him after three different flights and a seemingly endless dinner. They had finally called it a night once the kids had started getting fussy.

"January 15th." He replied. "But they want me to stop by before then to have a look around the base and sign the contract."

"You're going to boss the hell out of the new recruits," Ada laughed, getting him to lighten up and even chuckle.

"You'd be surprised to know I'm actually a fair and considerate captain," Sy defended himself.

Next to him, Ada huffed as she tried stiffing the bubble of laughter, trying not miss the right exit off the main road.

"I just value discipline and compliance a lot," he added, his tone growing teasing.

This time, she was unable to stop her laugh. "Believe me, I know you do."

The drive was a short one to their house in the suburbs and she was soon parking her in their driveaway.

Ada fumbled with the key as she tried opening the front door, nervousness setting back in as she felt Sy standing behind her, holding his duffel bag. He followed in quickly after her, once she had finally managed to open the door.

"Welcome home, captain!" Ada cheered in her silliest tone as he discarded his bag on the floor.

Then, before she could even react, Sy was on her. His arms lifted her up, his body caging hers against the wall before capturing her lips in the most ferocious kiss she could imagine.

Out of instinct, her legs locked around his waist and her hands dug into his shoulders, unwilling to let go of him now that he was finally there. Sy grinned against her lips, amused by her fervour, not that he felt any different.

He broke off the kiss as he pulled them away from the wall, freeing a hand to shrug her coat off her shoulders. "You ain't gonna need that, darlin'," he promised, throwing the coat in the direction of the kitchen, not caring where it landed.

Then his mouth latched on to her throat, forcing a delicious moan out of his wife as he carefully manoeuvred them upstairs, still steady on his feet despite the alcohol. Sy was almost surprised when he pushed open the door to their bedroom with his foot and it didn't squeak, but that thought was fleeting as Ada started rolling her hips against his. Suddenly, nothing else mattered. Not the war, not the explosion or his guilt, only the woman in his arms.

Unceremoniously, he let her fall on the bed, the urgency now flowing through his blood keeping him from doing things the gentleman way. Ada didn't mind, giggling as she unzipped her dress and slid the red thing over her head, along with her bra. Apparently, she had decided to forego panties. Sy stood there, almost mesmerised as he watched her, suddenly not certain if he dared tainting her with his touch but Ada quickly made that decision for him as she got up on her knees.

"A little less staring and a little more undressing, captain," she purred with a smirk, her fingers determined as they made quick work of the buttons on his shirt.

"That's it, darlin'. You're in for it now," Sy roared, pulling her in for another furious kiss before pushing her back against the mattress, making her land on her back as he got undressed in record time. Fuck, was he hard.

"Open up for your captain." Sy ordered and Ada complied instantly, her legs falling open for him as she peered up at him, holding herself up on her elbows and worrying her lower lip between her teeth. "That's a good girl," he praised.

Without losing another second, Sy settled in between her legs, wrapping his strong arms around her thighs and parting them to their limits. He wanted to worship her body the way she deserved, show her exactly just how appreciative he was of her, how much he craved her, but it had been months and Sy was a starving man who had just been presented with the perfect meal.

"Fuck Sy!" Ada screamed out, her back arching off the bed the instant he licked her just where she craved him most. He chuckled against her, marvelling at how wet she already was for him.

She tried closing her legs around his head, rejoicing at the feeling of his beard rubbing against her sensitive skin and never wanting him to leave again, but his arms were too strong for her clenching thighs. She was left defenceless against his assault, with no choice but to obscenely moan her pleasure and let herself cum against his tongue as his thumb expertly massaged her clit.

The coil inside her snapped and her body tensed up before letting go just as suddenly, her now damp back falling back on the mattress. "Fuck, Sy." Ada breathed out, her chest heaving as she tried to reopen her eyes only to find her husband playfully gazing up at her, smirking with her arousal glistening on his beard. The sight alone almost made her cum again. "I'll never let you leave again!"

He smiled in response, placing a kiss on her lower stomach before crawling up her body. "I've no intention to, baby," he promised.

Ada caught a glimpse of his hard, flushed erection as his body slid over hers, realizing in her post-orgasmic haze that she was in for an even bigger treat now. She could taste herself in his mouth as they kissed, his hand slithering behind her back to seize her shoulder and hold her closer. Teasingly, he started rolling his hips, his hard clock rubbing against her slick cunt, coating himself with arousal before finally, he found his way inside her, burying his head next to hers in the pillow.

Ada whimpered as he did so, her eyes tearing up as his clock slid inside her. She had evidently grown unaccustomed to his girth and length in his absence. Sy paused immediately, his muscles tense as he looked at her with concern. “You okay?” She nodded in silence, wanting him to start moving but Sy looked unconvinced, using all his strength to keep still despite his desire to fuck her right into the mattress. Without a warning, Ada tightly wrapped her legs around his hips, making him go deeper. Sy let out a reverberating groan. “God, darlin’. I missed you.”

He started thrusting into her with such vigour, such determination it felt as if he was trying to bury himself so deep inside her, no one would ever be able to pry him away from her again. It did hurt, her cervix was getting battered with each of his hard movements but she found herself enjoying the pain because it was him; it was Sy and he was right there with her, back in her arms, and she could feel his heart beat beneath her fingertips as her hand gripped at his chest.

"Fuck, I'm... I’m," Ada gasped incoherently, her nails now scratching the skin of his back. Sy was sure there would be marks there in the morning which made him enjoy the sensation even more.

"I got you," he rasped. If possible, he pulled her even tighter to him, his pubic bone now rubbing against hers in that delicious way only he was able to do. Her slick walls were now contracting around him, her second orgasm impending. "Fuck," he groaned, his breath coming out in a stutter. "Are you...Can I...?"

Sy didn't have to word it, she knew what he meant. "Cum in me, Sy. Please," she almost begged.

Her words did it. His hips stuttered as he pushed in deep just when his orgasm washed over him, exploding inside her. His face contorted with pleasure and that sight alone had her fast tracking her fall over the figurative edge. He had his face buried on the crook of her neck, muffling his groans and moans against her skin as the dam gave way within her.

°°°

Sy grunted against his pillow, slowly waking up the following morning. He was convinced he was just rousing after a very nice dream and he was ready to toss his alarm clock across the room, furious at the object for interrupting his dream, that for once, had been a good one. With a startle, Sy realized that no blasting alarm had woken him up but the sunlight on his face. Opening his eyes, he felt almost as if on foreign ground. He was home.

As quietly as he could manage, Sy turned around in bed, seeking his wife only to find her side empty. Just at that moment, he heard cursing coming up from the kitchen and scoffed. He’d bet his life Ada was cracking eggs, something she hated.

Feeling rested and in a much more relaxed mood than the previous day, Sy got out of bed and started searching for a pair of boxer briefs so he could go join her downstairs when he caught a sniff of himself. Fuck, did he stink. How Ada hadn’t thrown him out of bed, he didn’t know.

Out of habit, Sy hurried to the en-suite bathroom, wanting to shower as fast as possible before realizing that this time around, it was different. He wasn’t going back, he didn’t have to rush, their time together wasn’t counted. With that in mind, Sy forced himself to take his time, enjoying the act of brushing his teeth in a bathroom that smelled nice and showering with warm water. Ada had purchased his usual brands of shower gel and toothpaste, he noticed, even putting a red bow around his brand-new toothbrush by the sink. Even though he initially wanted to take his time to enjoy it, Sy still ended up rushing as he dried himself with a blue fluffy towel he didn’t recognize from his previous stay. He didn’t bother putting on anything more than his boxer briefs before heading downstairs. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t keep them on for long either.

Sy walked into one of the best sights he had even seen, when he entered the kitchen. Ada was standing in front of the stove, rhythmically tapping the black spatula against her naked thigh as she focused on the eggs and bacon she was preparing. The thin negligee - or whatever she called it, he always forgot - barely covered her ass and that outfit alone was one of the reasons he never minded that she always cracked up the heat so high, he felt like he was back under the hot desert sun.

Silent and stealthy like a predator despite his stature, Sy sneaked up on her from behind and wrapped his arms around her waist, feeling her startle before relaxing once she noticed it was him. She smelled heavenly, Sy thought, resting his chin on the top of her head. "Watcha got cooking, darlin'?"

"Obviously breakfast," she sassed, making him softly pinch her ass in response. Ada squealed and jumped up. "Good morning to you too, Sy," she said but not before slapping the handle of the spatula against his thigh. He decided to let it slide... for now.

"Morning darlin'," he answered, kissing the crown of her head before darting his fingers into the pan and picking up a piece of bacon. It was sizzling hot, but the taste was worth it. He had missed being home! Speaking of being home... "What do you say we take the food and coffee upstairs and have ourselves breakfast in bed?" His tone failed to hide his true intentions.

Ada scoffed, the back of her head rubbing on his hairy chest and she shook her head. "Nice try but I actually intend to feed you. Your mother will have my head if I let you go hungry."

It was Sy's turn to laugh, his hands now roaming her body as she leaned forward to turn off the stove, pressing her ass against his crotch and eliciting a husky groan from him. "I'm hungry enough to eat both breakfast and you, don't worry."

Ada turned around, a huge grin on her angelic face. "Alright, you win. What do you say, we have breakfast, we do the kinky and then go grocery shopping?"

Sy tried hiding his smile but it was a lost cause. He loved it when she talked like that. He loved her, point. "Yes, ma'am."

[justfrozenthings]

6, Kristanna, canon verse, please 🌻

Hi! I am so sorry this took me forever to write, life got a little crazy since I started it. But I hope this little fic makes up for the time! It was also nice to take a break from modern AUs and write something canonverse.

6. "I love to hear your voice, even if you're so far away." Send me a prompt!

The rain trickled down the panned windows of the queen’s royal office. The only light in the room came from a candle sitting on the large mahogany desk, illuminating the lone figure sulking behind it.

Anna sighed as she leaned her head back against the red cushiony fabric of her ornate chair, her watery eyes looking over the letter she held in her hands, wrinkled from being unfolded and refolded numerous times. The words had become smudged from all the tears she had shed over it. Her chest heaved with labored breaths as she clutched it close to her heart, praying by some miracle that it would bring home the author who wrote it. The one person she had been longing for most.

Kristoff had only left three weeks ago, but it all had felt like an eternity to Anna

He would be gone for two months. That’s eight weeks without his smile. Sixty days without his sweet kisses. One thousand, four hundred sixty hours without his big bear hugs. Eighty-seven thousand, six hundred minutes without the sound of his voice. Five million, two hundred fifty-six thousand, five seconds with no Kristoff.

Anna’s heart ached as she read over the letter for what must have been the millionth time.

To my Ginger-Sweet Love,

Not a day goes by where I don’t think about you. You’re an addiction my darling, and I cannot stop myself from loving you.

My heavenly Anna, how I can’t wait to get home to you and make love under the stars of the winter moon.

The other ice harvesters tease me and say that ever since I’ve met you I act like a love-sick puppy and all I ever do is rave about how amazing you are. They say it’s annoying, but between you and me, I think they’re just jealous that I get to call the most beautiful woman on the face of the earth my fiancée.

And though the time may seem so far away, please know that I will always return to you.

Take care, my love.

Thinking of you always,

Kristoff

P.S. Sven says he misses you too.

Somehow he always knew how to make her heart melt with the simplest actions. Even though he denies it, Kristoff Bjorgman was the most wonderful, romantic, and thoughtful human being in the entire history…of well…history! The total opposite of the person she had met on the mountain six years ago.

Yes, there were those who would be never willing to accept their courtship. Anna remembers all the meetings Elsa had to have with the council in order for them to finally accept Kristoff as a worthy suitor. They believed that, due to the fact of Kristoff being a commoner, he was trying to take advantage of Anna’s status as the crowned princess of Arendelle. Of course, this didn’t sit well with Elsa, and especially Anna, so she gave it all she had to defend Kristoff and prove that there are no men as honorable, hardworking, loyal, and kind as he.

Anna admired her ring as it glimmered in the candlelight, the amber crystal casting warm-toned hues across her desk. Memories of their adventure in the Enchanted Forest flashed through her mind. Even though she abandoned him he forgave her when she returned to the safety of his arms without even a moment's hesitation. And she reminisced on his proposal. The thrill her heart felt as he got down on one knee and said the most enchanting and sweetest things to her, an expression of how much he deeply cared for her. God, she didn’t deserve to call such a magnificent person hers. Tears once again began to swell her eyes; not from sadness like earlier, but from pure utter joy. She pressed a kiss to her ring, “Come back to me. Please, come back safe,” she whispered.

A knock from one of the two grand doors of her office stirred her from her reverie.

“Come in,” she startled.

An all too giddy Olaf came waddling into the room giggling about something he probably just read no doubt. Ever since the magical little snowman learned to read, he found enjoyment in telling people about all the new things he learned. He was maturing, which also meant he was starting to get the ropes on things like how it is always polite to knock on a door and wait for someone to reply. Before, he would enter rooms without any sort of signal that he was coming in, leading him one time to walk in on a…umm…” private moment” her and Kristoff had shared with one another. To be fair, they should have locked the door, but they made sure to give Olaf a long lecture on the politeness of knocking before entering. The embarrassing memory caused Anna to blush.

She shook her head to clear it of all thoughts before turning her attention to Olaf.

“Hey Anna! You’ll never believe what I just found out-“ he paused when he noticed Anna’s tear-stained cheeks and red puffy eyes. “What’s the matter?”

“Oh nothing Olaf,” she sniffled, wiping away the tears with the sleeve of her dress. “Just missing Kristoff that’s all.”

“Maybe a warm hug will cheer you up? I know that when I’m sad a good hug always makes me feel better,” Olaf said, trying to sound as upbeat as possible in hopes of bringing a smile to the young queen’s face.

“You know what? I think it will.”

With a little hop, Olaf came running the rest of the way towards Anna, who was now on her knees, holding her arms out to him.

They embraced and already Anna was starting to feel an immediate sense of calm wash over her. Somehow the little snowman always knew how to make her feel better. Growing up, Anna was always alone, so in her times of sorrow, there was no one there to help her cope, no one she could confide and seek comfort in. Elsa pushed her away every time she came knocking at her door. Her parents were more often than not busy dealing with duties of their own. And whenever she tried getting the attention of the castle staff, her mother would berate her, saying that she was distracting them from their work.

Anna cringed at what her life used to be, happy that things had changed for the better. The castle was warm and full of love, instead of cold and dark. And most importantly, she was no longer alone. Losing their parents was hard, but in a span of three years, Anna and Elsa had rebuilt their small broken family.

“What's this?” Olaf said, holding the letter from Kristoff that Anna left on her desk. She didn’t even notice him leaving her side.

“ A letter.” She paused as she stood up and made her way over to him.

“Ohhh! A letter?! From who?!” His eyes looked to her full of curiosity and excitement.

“Kristoff,” she smiled as she said his name.

“Oh! So, it’s like a love letter? How romantic!”

“Yes,” Anna giggled and rolled her eyes. “It’s a love letter. Now may I see it, please? Remember what we said about snooping through people’s things,” she sternly shook her finger at him.

“Aw, I know Anna. It’s just that- well you looked so sad, and I wanted to find something that could cheer you up.”

Anna smiled. No matter what the situation, Olaf was always there to lend a helping hand- well twig, to those who were going through a rough patch.

“Hey, Anna. I think I know something else that might cheer you up.”

“Oh,” she raised a curious brow. “And what’s that?”

“Maybe you could write a letter to Kristoff too! Tell him just how much you miss him and that you can’t wait for him to get back. Sometimes it’s good to express what you’re feeling instead of keeping them bottled up inside. Besides, if you think about it, it’s kind of like you’re talking with them…only instead of being right in front of you they are in another destination.”

The redhead tapped her lip as she pondered the idea. To put it frankly, her depressive mood was not a healthy mindset to be in, especially with her role as queen. The last thing she wanted was to instill any kind of worry in the citizens of Arendelle because one day they noticed her aura was somber, during one of her weekly carriage rides through the kingdom. So, the suggestion of writing Kristoff back was actually quite brilliant, and she chastised herself for not thinking of it on her own.

“You know what Olaf,” she replied heartily. “I think that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

Not wasting another minute, she plopped back down in her chair, the old springs squeaked and moaned from the quick movement.

Picking up her quill she began scribbling ribbons of words filled with sickeningly sweet sentiments onto the piece of parchment paper embellished with a golden leaf print of the royal Arendelian crocus and ornate castleton green swirls.

My dearest Kristoff,

Thank you so much for your sweet letter. I cherished every word. I love to hear your voice, even if you’re so far away.

The castle has been very lonesome without you and I can not wait until I am back in your arms again.

I hope this letter finds you well. Please stay safe my darling. I could not bear it if anything happened to you. I need you to be whole.

How has the ice been? Autumn has slowly graced into Winter, so though it may be early I hope your harvest is bountiful. In fact, it better be if it must keep you away from me this long. Plus, I know how piqued you can get if the harvest is unsuccessful. I love you to pieces, but having a grouchy Kristoff return home is something I would like to avoid.

Oh before I go, what kind of cake would you like to have at the wedding? While the wedding planning will commence when you get back, I am afraid that this is a question that cannot wait. In fact, I might as well go ahead and ask what flavor of ice cream you would like as well because we can’t have cake without ice cream of course! My vote is to just take the long run and do all chocolate.

Love you for eternity,

Anna

———

Two months later

Anna hiked up the skirt of her gown as she raced down the stairs; taking the steps two at a time.

Today was the day she had been long awaiting, ever since a certain ice harvester left the castle. And as soon as she practically burst through the two main grand doors of the castle, there he stood.

Kristoff was there, standing with a bouquet of sunflowers, her favorite, as he always did when he returned home from a harvest; looking like a blonde angel amongst the towers of ice sitting in his sleigh. Waiting for her with outstretched arms, ready to take in everything that was purely and entirely Anna.

Tears streamed down her freckled cheeks when he spun her in the air, the same way he did when she gifted him his first sled; that, unfortunately, fell off the mountain yet again the Christmas Olaf tried to find the royal sisters a family tradition. He peppered little kisses all over her face and she giggled at the familiar feeling of his warm lips.

Grasping his face in her palms, she leaned her head against his. “Thank you for coming home safely to me.”

Her legs were wrapped around his waist. He hugged her tighter than he already was so he could breathe in her scent because to him she smelt like home. To him, Anna was home. It did not matter where they were; wherever Anna was, that’s where he belonged.

“I’ll always come back to you.” His lips melded with hers then, in the passionate form of love.

A grunting noise came from behind, interrupting the sweet reunion of the queen and her ice harvester. Sven nudged Kristoff and gave him a look.

“Okay, okay buddy, I hear yah. It’s your turn to say hi,” Kristoff chaffed.

The tender reindeer nuzzled against Anna’s side, his own way of saying “hello” when greeting someone.

“I missed you too Sven,” Anna acknowledged, small fingers combing through dove gray fur.

Kristoff took Anna’s hand in his. She smiled and wrapped her arms around his torso, happy to finally be back in his arms where she belonged.

Bending down to pick up the flowers he had dropped when he lifted Anna in the air, his mind was brought back to a certain piece of paper he had in his pocket.

“By the way,” he said as he handed her the bouquet of silky smooth golden petaled flowers. “Thank you for the charming letter by the way. It helped me get through the time I have been away.” He paused to press a kiss to the crown of her head. “I read it whenever I missed you.”

The romantic gesture made Anna smile. “Same here,” she hummed. “Not my letter of course, I’m referring to the one you sent me. Um-,” she took a deep breath to collect herself before she could continue to ramble on any further. She tucked a red tendril behind her ear, “It was the first thing I did every morning.”

The early frosty winter air sent shivers down their spines, telling them that it was time to go inside and warm up beside a cozy fire with steaming cups of hot cocoa, with extra chocolate drizzle for Anna of course.

With a loving gaze of confirmation from Kristoff Anna took his hand. Together they walked hand in hand as Anna tried to convince him to have the entire catering be chocolate.

[harryspet]

Could you right a scene for sweet sister💎 where the oc grew up a bit and has a bf and realizes how wrong the things he did to her was? Like her confronting him and stuff like that. Btw love all your fics❤

sweet sister [2] peter parker

[Warnings] dark peter parker x innocent reader, angst, stepcest, aged-up peter, dubcon, rough sex, male/female masturbation, manipulation, little editing 

A/N: I actually really enjoyed writing this! I hope everyone enjoys the part two!

In which you finally confront Peter for taking advantage of you.

part one 

word count: 1.6k

As your boyfriend parked in front of your family’s brownstone, you couldn’t help but feel a wave of anxiousness. You’d moved out two years into college and, although you visited a lot, this time was different.

You loved Peter. You were in love with him and, through your blind innocence, he had convinced you that he felt the same. 

When he said you two couldn’t be together, you didn’t understand. You’d spent the entire summer going on little dates and Peter taught you so much about sex and pleasure. When the summer was over and you wanted more, he up and left you. 

It took you a long time to heal from it. At least, you thought you had healed. 

“Do you want to wait in the car?” Ethan asked. 

You felt your eyes welling with tears but you quickly pretended like you were fine. You turned to your boyfriend, smiling, “No, of course not. Let’s go.”

You never told him the extent of what happened between you and Peter. Until you met your boyfriend, you hadn’t realized how corrupted you had been. Peter had violated your trust and innocence. He did things to you that a brother should never even think to do. 

Your visit home began smoothly. Happy was interrogating Ethan like usual, you were helping May out in the kitchen, and Peter called to say that he wasn’t going to make it. 

It was getting late, you were about to doze off as you rested your head on your boyfriend’s chest. Happy had chosen some old movie and the four of you piled into the living room to enjoy some more family time. 

Your boyfriend traced his fingers over the skin of your arm, making little shapes, and, although you were sure he didn’t notice, it always comforted you. You were about to close your eyes when suddenly the front door opened. May stood, going to greet Peter at the door, and your heart began to pound in your chest. 

“Peter, you made it!” As the two stepped into the living room, you sat up, taking in his appearance. He didn’t look much different, just a bit more tired in his eyes. By his duffle bags and casual clothing, you could tell he had just gotten off a flight. 

Both May and Happy were talking but their voice was muffled as you and Peter stared into each other. 

As Peter’s eyes found the hands wrapped around your waist, something deep within him snapped. Peter’s jaw clenched as he heard his Aunt May say, “Y/N? No hugs?”

You faked a smile, Peter knew better than to believe it. You grabbed your boyfriend’s hand, urging him to stand up with him, “Sorry, I’m just so tired,” As you approached Peter, you made sure to only give him a side hug, “Peter, this is my boyfriend.”

Your boyfriend was a little nervous to be meeting The Spider-man but he tried not to fanboy as he shook Peter’s hand, “It’s so nice to meet you, man.”

For the first time, you actually saw that Peter was bothered by something. He was usually so confident, especially around his family. 

“Yeah, same,” Peter spoke through clenched teeth, trying to fake a smile of his own, “You guys are watching a movie? Which one?”

“Yeah, Happy actually-”

You interrupted May, “I think we’re actually going to turn in. You missed a lot of the movie anyway, they already killed the evil aliens.”

Peter looked you over, gripping the strap of his bag tightly, and you could feel the anger radiating off of him, “Okay, well, I’ll make Ethan’s bed on the couch.”

“Wait, he’s going to stay with me in my room,” You said and both May and Happy paused awkwardly. 

“Y/N, you remember the rules. No boys in your room until you’re married,” Happy spoke, acting as fatherly as he could. 

If only they knew what kind of things had happened in your room. Your shoulders slumped and you looked at Ethan who was more than willing to not anger Happy, “Fine, I just want to sleep.”

+

Your old room was just like you had left it. You walked around it, now dressed in the matching pink set that was your pajamas, examining all the items of your past. You saw the pile of stuffed animals in the corner, the dollhouse you were way too old to play with, and your shelf of romance novels. 

As your eyes examined your canopy-covered bed, you saw yourself. You were shirtless, only wearing a pair of white panties, and you were sat on your knees. One of your favorite stuffed animals, Boris the Bear, was sitting between your legs. Its empty eyes stared up at you, innocent and not at all deserving of what Peter wanted you to do it. 

He was touching himself as he watched you, “Just-” A groan, “Just rub yourself against his nose.”

You did as he said, feeling that new sense of pleasure as you moved your hips back and forth. By how hard he was, how fast he was pumping his hand, you knew he liked it. You always liked when Peter was happy. Why wouldn’t you want your brother to be happy?

“Good girl. You’re my good girl, aren’t you?”

“Yes, yes, Peter-”

You looked up, startled, as Peter appeared in front of you, “Are you daydreaming? You didn’t even hear me come in.”

His chest was bare, and you didn’t think it was possible for him to become more muscular. Years of being Spider-man can do that to someone, you assumed, “Get out-”

“Thinking of me?” You shook your head as Peter moved closer, cornering you.

“Of course not,” You lied. You had imagined this moment a million times, finally airing out your grievances and telling him how bad he hurt you. Now, you felt you were paralyzed as you took in his scent and felt the heat radiating off of him, “Peter. Get. Out.”

Peter scoffed, “You’re mad at me? Is it because of that boring piece of white bread sleeping on the couch downstairs?”

Anger rose in your chest, “Don’t talk about him that way. You have no right,” Seeing you all flustered only made him want you more. You were backed up against the wall, his hands on either side of your head as he stared into your eyes.

“I have no right?” Peter’s brow furrowed, “You’re my baby sister, of course I do.”

“You’re a predator, Peter,” You stated firmly which made his eyes darken, “You don’t care about me. You want one thing and now you’ve got it.”

“Your innocence? That’s true, I do have that,” Peter spoke more confidently than you expected, “But that’s not all I want.”

You pushed at his chest, trying to get him away from you but he swiftly grabbed your wrist and pinned them above your head. You struggled against his superhuman strength as he leaned in to kiss your neck, “Peter, no more! You lost your freaking mind a long time ago and all of this ends today. We’re done.”

You were stronger than you used to be. You had to be. 

He shushed you, “You’ll like it,” He dipped his hands between the fabric of your pajama bottoms and panties, feeling the slickness between your neck, “Is this from earlier when you were daydreaming about me?”

You shook your head, “We’re done, Peter. I-I have a boyfriend-”

“Then why are you getting wet for me?” Peter rubbed his fingers in circles as he continued to kiss your neck. He leaned into your ear, your heart pounding in your chest, “I’m gonna fuck you against this wall, Y/N, and I'm going to make you happy as any good brother would do too.”

This was wrong, you repeated it over and over in your mind. Everything he had done was devious and predatory. He took advantage of you yet, when your lips met, you felt your lips melt against his. 

Why was it such a heavenly feeling to have his lips on yours when it should feel like sin?

It was so passionate but clumsy as he pulled down your pajama bottoms and panties. It was like he might explode if he wasn’t inside of you in the next ten seconds. Your arms wrapped around his neck as he slid down his own boxers, letting his cock spring free. He grabbed one of your legs, lifting it as he positioned himself at your entrance. 

His tongue licked at your own as he slammed himself inside of you. It was so rough that one of your framed pictures fell off the wall. It was never like this that summer you spent together, Peter was always gentle with you but now he was a complete animal. 

He moved in and out of you quickly and, you thought it might hurt, but it was just as euphoric as the kiss. He swallowed your moans with his mouth as he pounded into you. Your nails scratched at his broad back, his cock hitting your sweet spot with every thrust. 

You both came hard, shaking as you gripped each other for support. Peter pressed against you, leaning into the wall, as he caught his breath. 

As soon as it over, reality hit you like a brick. What had you done? You’d manage to hurt Ethan and yourself so quickly. You pushed Peter away, brushing past him as you struggled to pull up your panties. A strangled cry left your lips as the emotions hit you all at once. 

Peter reached out to grab your hand, pulling you back, “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” You fell to your knees and Peter joined you quickly. He hugged you and you leaned your head against his shoulder, sobbing, “You did good. You’re always such a good girl for me, Y/N.”

“I hate you,” The words choked you as they struggled to leave your mouth.

You hated that deep down you craved his approval. Craved his pleasure. 

“But you’re mine, Y/N. I should’ve made that lesson number one,” He ran his soothing fingers through your hair, brushing away the shame, “Don’t worry, we’ll start our lessons again.”

+

Like, reblog and let me know what you think! (also, im sorry, but PLEASE don’t ask for a part three)

my requests are open

[nostalgicatsea]

Five favorite works from the past year

Tagged by @firebrands a year and a half ago. :’) Sorry, I just saw it now because Tumblr neglected to notify me that you tagged me! 

The rules of this circulating challenge are as follows: it’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you’ve brought into the world. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

Okay, this is going to function as my end-of-year review. I was about to say that this year was a bad writing year for me because I only published three finished works, but that’s actually an improvement from last year where I posted one 136-word fic and putting aside my Spider Georg 2018 and 2019 years, on par with my average output. It just felt like I didn’t write much because the state of the world fried my creativity and productivity cells. I’m cutting myself some slack because of that and I’m happy about the fics I did manage to write and post!

The Burning of Flowers (1,257 words)

If flowers bloomed, there was only one truth. If none did, there were two: both of you were in love or both of you weren’t.

This is my favorite fic I’ve written this year and one of my all-time favorites for a few reasons:

this is the first time since the pandemic started—perhaps even before then, since I struggled so much with writing after Endgame came out—that I was struck with inspiration to write and excited to write. Writing was easy and fun! Everything came together quickly (for me)! This is what it’s like to love writing! Muse, please return to me.

I’m going to be annoying about myself because after some time passes, I so often dislike things I’ve written or find a lot of things I want to fix. I really love the prose here. I love the tempo; writing this reminded me of how I used to write with rhythm in my early AO3 days, something I miss and feel like I lost (it felt more like writing poetry than prose in that way). I love the mood, the growing rage which went hand in hand with the growing “loudness” and pace as the fic progressed, like Steve couldn’t hold back his feelings anymore. 

it’s my first 616 fic since the first fic I ever posted on AO3 in 2014 

I wanted to write a Hanahaki AU for a while

I love finding a fresh angle on tropes, and I haven’t seen a Hanahaki fic before where the protagonist wants the person they love to get Hanahaki

It was a fic that I didn’t have to write, but I was able to finish anyway

Taking Your Love With Me Wherever I Go (3,468 words)

Being with Sam felt like the sun breaking through. Rhodey knew it was only a temporary reprieve, that it wouldn't fix everything because that wasn’t how grief worked. But for now, all he wanted was for the moment to stretch to infinity, to be at the diner they had always gone to back in the old days, talking over breakfast like they always did.

I’m proud of myself for writing this because I never wrote Rhodey/Sam before and I was able to mourn Steve and Tony’s endings in Endgame. FINALLY. I’ve struggled with the latter for two years, and my document folder is littered with my aborted attempts to write EG fics after I watched it. I couldn’t bear to get inside the mind of any of the characters who loved Steve and Tony—especially Tony—at all. I still struggle to do so. But I did it! I put a lot of myself into this one, and I wanted to give some love to Rhodey and Sam who share so much in common but are often not given the space to show that. You get the sense that they’re aware of that and their closeness in CW and IW (thank you, IW, for giving me that one tender line with Rhodey calling Sam “Sammy” that made me end up shipping them), but I was itching to cover more than what we got. I wanted to give them comforting, quiet, and strong love in the wake of grief because they’re often the carer in their relationships. I wanted the carers to be taken care of; I wanted to have them take care of each other. I also like the dialogue in this one! I think I captured their voices well.

Deep Breath In, Deep Breath Out (2,981 words)

Family dinners were for other people, other times, Sharon thought. Not for people like Natasha and her and not when half the universe was gone. But it felt right being here, strange as it was being in Tony's home.

My first Marvel gen fic! My first time writing Sharon and Nat! My first time writing from Sharon’s POV! Thank you, Jen, for letting me write these two women we both love—three if we include Morgan who was a surprise inclusion. Also another first! I’ve never written Morgan before or any kids, really. This one was hard to write, but I’m also proud of this one. I wandered out of my comfort zone a lot this year with my three fics. I’m not sure how many fics there are that are set in the long five years after the Blip, and I thought this was a good chance to slip into the shoes of someone who, if she hadn’t disappeared, would probably have continued working (I’m basing this on 616 and MCU Sharon. Work comes first for her!). I really like the loneliness and eerie, melancholic silence that we got to see a bit of visually and in Steve and Nat’s conversation about seeing whales in the Hudson in EG. Most of my works cover the theme of hope, and this one is no different. Here, though, I wanted to go into what it’s like to keep marching forward with no end in sight and investigate why it’s important to do so despite insurmountable circumstances. 

I also wrote a few snippets for @lightsonparkave, so to round this up to five works, here are my two favorite pieces:

1. scene from a post-Endgame soulmate WIP

“What do you think would have happened to us after the battle if we hadn’t bonded?”

You’d be dead, Steve thought. But Tony didn’t know that. Wasn’t talking about that.

I wrote something new to add to this WIP that’s been haunting me for years which is both relieving and exciting for me. I got to show Steve’s conflicting feelings, and I like the ending I came up with for this scene which is an echo of Tony’s line in CW. 

2. scene from a WIP about Steve going undercover as a bodyguard for Tony Stark, one of the most influential men in the city, to investigate suspicious murders in 1920s gang-ruled New York

Tony Stark kneeled in front of him, and it crossed Steve’s mind that it would take nothing for him to lean forward and have one of the most powerful men in New York at his mercy. As it were, it was he who was at Tony’s.  

This is my favorite of my 2021 LoPA submissions. I don’t write sensual stuff much, but this flowed so easily. I love how dark and heady it is, the UST in the air, the dance between Steve and Tony, and the bits of religion, power, and strength I peppered in, which I think are fitting for the setting and time period. Plus the prose came out exactly the way I wanted it to. :) This is tied with “The Burning of Flowers” when it comes to my satisfaction with that.

Tagging @sineala, @magicasen, @ishipallthings, @no-gorms, @welcomingdisaster, @sabrecmc​, @kiyaar​, @hundredthousands-art, @unstable-river, @pineapplebread, @muffinshark, @tifftac, @latelierderiot, @cathalinaheart, @mrsgingles, and anyone else who wants to do this! Please feel free to join even if you don’t have five complete works (I didn’t!) or you want to talk about WIPs that aren’t posted yet. Those count and I want you all to be proud of what you’ve managed to make in these very stressful times. Good job, everyone!

[captainenjolras]

Prompt:

Chabouillet getting really protective of Javert when he and Valjean started dating. Like maybe interrogating Valjean and such

Also love your fics they're so darn cute

Aww, thank you! I’ve been waiting to write something involving Javert and Chabouillet’s relationship!

Valjean meeting Chabouillet would either go down great or like the dinner scene from Shrek 2

⚠️TW: mentions of abuse, drunkness and suic*de⚠️

Fight Fire With Fire

It’s not that he wasn’t happy for him, he was just…less than thrilled.

Chabouillet had known Javert for years; since the boy was fifteen. He had found him running in the streets. Since that day, he’d taken him under his wing; he was the one who had given him shelter from a less than terrible home life, the one who had suggested making him a guard at the age of 17, the one who always looked out for him no matter where he was stationed.

He was also the one who had to listen to the boy’s rants about Madeline.

Never had he seen Javert so…distracted. So ditzy. Usually, he was a stern and hard working man; but upon being in Madeline’s presence, he was an absolute dork. He was the one who watched as the young Inspector fumbled over files hours after the interactions; and after the truth was revealed about the Mayor, he was the one who allowed a very drunk, upset and tearful Javert sleep in his spare room.

Maybe that’s why he was so tense about this situation; the whole Madeline incident had felt like a punch to the gut for Javert. Sure, Chabouillet was disappointed as well, but what made him more conflicted was the younger’s emotional distress over the whole thing.

But the past was in the past, and all that mattered was the present. Right?

“Le patron!”

“Javert, mon garçon!”

The Inspector came bounding at Chabouillet, wrapping him in a tight hug. Well! This was new! Once they broke apart, the Chief laid his eyes upon the other man. Valjean.

The man had a shy smile on his face as the oldest of the three surveyed him. He was quite tall, very muscular, had a head of curly hair and neat facial hair, was dressed quite well…

“Hello, Monsieur Chabouillet,” greeted Valjean, hand extended as if to shake the oldest’s own. Chabouillet simply nodded instead.

“Monsieur Valjean.”

The eye contact they held was less than comfortable for both parties, although Javert didn’t seem to notice. He stood in between them both, teeth bared in a wide smile. The height and size difference of the couple was as if a cat had just dragged home a bear.

After what felt like an eternity of awkward silence for the older two, Chabouillet eventually spoke up.

“Well, come inside!”

Valjean followed gingerly behind Javert, who entered the house as if it was his own. Jean remembered that in a way, it was. The man had practically adopted the Inspector. Did that mean this was their equivalent to “meeting the parents?”

That was exactly what this was going to be, wasn’t it?

“Make yourselves at home,” spoke Chabouillet, acknowledging the coat rack by the door.

——————————————————————————

The entire night, Chabouillet studied Javert and Valjean’s interactions. The two acted like lovesick teenagers, although he did notice Valjean eyeing him mistrustfully. He returned the favor. At one point, Jean had wrapped his arm around Javert’s waist. That was Chabouillet’s breaking point.

“Javert,” he interrupted, “I’m very sorry to ask you this right now, but there’s a case file upstairs that I forgot to give to you yesterday! Would you mind just going over it?”

For once, Javert seemed annoyed at having to work. What on earth? However, he agreed and went up to the study room. Once he was a good distance away, Chabouillet turned to Valjean. He looked him up and down, lips pressed in a thin line.

“Nice to finally me-“

“Talk to me, Jean.”

Chabouillet beckoned Valjean to follow him to the dining room. Once they were seated, he spoke again.

“What are your intentions?”

“I’m sorry?”

“What are your…intentions…with Javert?”

Oh, he could tell so much jokes right now.

He chose not to.

“If I have the correct understanding, then my intentions are to make him happy.”

Once again, Chabouillet stared deep into his soul. Well, this was terrifying.

“What do you do for a living, Jean?”

“W-well my good friend owns a shop that I co-own.”

“…How often do you see Javert?”

“We live together, Monsieur.”

“Well what do you two do on your spare time?”

“All sorts of things; we go on walks, read together, garden, watch TV- stuff we did before we were together! We just…do it together now.”

“And what about dates?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Where do you take him on dates?”

“I mean, usually we prefer to stay home; but otherwise we go out for dinner or stargazing- we actually went to this planetarium last week with a huge star dome-“

“Do you listen to him?”

“…I’m not sure I quite understand that-“

“Do you listen to him; does he talk to you? About work? Problems? Feelings?”

“Oh! Yes, actually!”

“Yes to what?”

“Er, all of the above?”

Valjean laughed nervously, face redder than the table cloth he tapped at anxiously.

“…Back to my original question,” grumbled Chabouillet, sitting up straighter than he already was, “what are your intentions with Javert?”

“I-I thought I answered that-“

“Not in the way I wanted you to. What are your plans for the future involving your…relationship; is this some sort of fling? Just casual dating? Serious? What, what is it?”

“I mean, I’d say it’s pretty serious.”

“You’d say it’s pretty serious…do you plan on marrying him?”

At that, Valjean began to choke on nothing. His eyes went wide and jaw dropped.

“I-I’m sorry?”

“Do you plan on marrying him, boy.”

“…I don’t know how you want me to answer that-“

“The way you would if anyone else asked!”

“Yes!”

The moment he said those words, Jean slammed his hand over his mouth. Both men peaked out of the room, hoping that Javert wasn’t anywhere near. Thankfully, he wasn’t.

“Yes,” whispered Jean, eyes refusing to meet the Chiefs, “I…I do plan on marrying him…if he wants to, that is.”

“What is that supposed to mean? You’ve never spoken about marriage?!”

“No, no we have- it’s just- we’ll I haven’t quite asked him yet. You know…asked him.”

Oh? Oh. Oooh, ok. He understood now.

Well now he had more of a right to threaten him over screwing this up.

“…I don’t know you, Jean. How am I supposed to know that you’re the right match for Javert?”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean- I just met the real you, not Madeline. Do you have any clue how much that whole stunt upset Javert? He loved you. Not just- not admiration love, he loved you; and then you go and pull that- god, I was so mad! If I could’ve gone out and found you myself I would have- and don’t think I won’t do the same now if you ever hurt him!”

“I don’t know how much clearer I could have made it,” started the younger, eyebrows furrowed in frustration, “but I don’t plan on hurting him or letting anyone hurt else hurt him. I…understand you’re skeptic of me, but please…he means the world to me.”

“And how do I know you’re not lying to me? Was it you that saved him from his abusive household? Was it you who took him in, put a roof over his head and clothes on his back? Was it me or you who made him hysterical sob after lying about who they really were?”

“Was it you or me who risked their freedom to make sure he was safe,” growled Valjean, standing now. “Is it your shoulder or my shoulder that he cries into every time he’s had enough? Was it you that sobbed for days because maybe, just maybe, you loved him back to; but you could never tell him! Was it you or me that pulled him out of the damn Seine in the middle of the fucking night-“

“Enough!”

Chabouillet slammed his palm to the table. Valjean, who had just been fuming, was now sitting down again, fear in his eyes.

“Enough, please…I can’t- don’t bring that up.”

The older of the two quietly sunk back down to his seat, mind racing. Perhaps they both went to far.

“…How does he like his coffee?”

Oh…that’s not what Valjean was expecting.

“…With so much sugar it’s a little scary.”

At that, both of them couldn’t help but laugh a bit. Once it died down, Chabouillet looked over at him.

“When he found out you were in the city, he wasn’t very happy. I’ll admit, I thought he was overreacting a bit. Then…after the protests…I don’t know, something seemed to change. When I heard it was you that saved him, I nearly didn’t believe it.”

A tear had fallen down his cheek, but the Chief didn’t seem to care.

“…Thank you,” he started again, “for saving him. He’s…like a son to me.”

“…I can tell from the way you care about him…Please, Monsieur, I apologize if my behavior was a bit rash; my only intentions with Javert are to make him happy. I hope you’d let me.”

Chabouillet went to open his mouth, but just as he did, Javert strutted into the room.

“One of your leads has been dead for years, Le patron. Are you sure she was the person in suspect?”

He really had no clue of the entire conversation that just went down.

——————————————————————————

The rest of the night went smoothly; the three of them swapped stories and debates over dinner. Around 9:00, Javert suggested they should head home.

As they were leaving, Chabouillet pulled Valjean aside.

“Monsieur,” started the younger, “I’d like to thank you-“

“It’s- it’s quite alright…You have my permission. And…my blessing.”

It took a moment for Jean to register what he was saying, but once it did, he wrapped the man in a tight embrace.

“Oh, thank you! Thank you- I shouldn’t be hugging you, should I?”

He pulled away, the same anxious smile on his face that was there moments ago.

“It’s…alright. Maybe not- I’d prefer to see how things play out in the future.”

“Understandable.”

“Valjean?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for making him happy…truly happy.”

“…Thank you for making him the man he is today.”

For once, they both shared a less than awkward smile.

“Treat him well.”

“I will.”

Valjean turned to leave, only for Chabouillet to turn him around once again.

“Just know, that if you ever, and I mean EVER, hurt him, I won’t hesitate to find you and make your life a living nightmare.”

“…There’s the Chabouillet I know. Don’t worry, that won’t be necessary.”

“It’s a warning.”

“That won’t need to be enforced.”

“Valjean-“

“I know, I know; you’re just making sure I understand. I do, believe me. I have absolutely no plan on hurting him, or letting anything hurt him for that matter.”

“…Good man. Go, he’s probably wondering where you are.”

“Probably- thank you for dinner, Monsieur.”

“Anytime. Farewell, Valjean.”

“Farewell, Monsieur.”

Chabouillet watched as Jean made his way to the car, kissing Javert on the cheek once he was inside. He made sure they drove off safely before closing the door and turning in for the night.

——————————————————————————

It was good to know that the Chief didn’t think him unfit for Javert, although that was the last thought he had at the moment. Looking down, Valjean couldn’t help but smile at the sleeping man he held in his arms. Javert wore one of Jean’s own t-shirts, and had his cheek smudged against the older’s chest. God, he was beautiful.

Jean glanced over at the ring he held in the hand that wasn’t cradling Javert’s back. Soon, he hoped.

Soon.