#Generation Four: In Life and In Death | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bitterrfruit · 3 months ago

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iron tide [1]

fisherman price x reader cw: noncon undressing/bathing, dubcon touching. 11k words. 18+ mdni the crew aboard a deep-sea crabbing vessel rescue a woman adrift in the north sea. you wake up on a boat surrounded by men you don't know, with no memory of where you came from. or: john price rescues you from certain death and decides that you belong to him [masterlist]

Jonathan had long forsaken his godliness; but if he were to deify anything, it would be the Sea.

Great big blue, infinitely vast and infinitely deep. She was sweet when she was still, gentle, little ebbs like kisses against the barnacled hull — formidable when she was angry, titanic swells like mountains that crashed and shattered and sucked irreverent men down into the depths of her.

She took as much as she gave, demanded sacrifices for her gifts. Stole his father when he was a boy, swept off the deck of his ship by a rancorous wave and cast out into the expanse before she inevitably swallowed him. But what she purloined she returned in abundance — a cornucopia of life; fish, lobsters, molluscs — and enough crabs for John to make his living for the better part of his life once he retired from the Navy.

In more recent years, though, he had begun to lose faith in her, too.

The seas were violent and only getting rougher, warmer when they needed to be cold to let the crabs get meatier, colder when they needed to be warm so they could replenish their numbers.

A burgeoning resentment had rooted in his crew like a spreading cancer, minute at first but steadily swelling — every year they were paid a little less and damaged a little more, and who else was there to blame but their skipper?

Wrong spot, wrong depth, wrong time of year; he seemed to keep getting it wrong, despite decades and decades of seafare. As though the Sea was punishing him, as though he had taken too much — only a matter of time before it was his turn to give.

She made known her spite as he leaned over the paint-chipped railing of the deck-facing balcony, watching his crew haul in pot after pot from the raging ocean. Each cage more vacant than the last, the crabs smaller than he had come to expect from the once generous North Sea, soft brown shells where they should have been thick, ochre red, and thorny. Half of them too small to keep, so were begrudgingly tossed back into the deep.

The sun had set not ten minutes prior, hidden by black cloud and dense fog, the sea and sky smudged into a uniform shade of gloaming blue. The waves were tempestuous, whitecaps high and valleys low — the Iron Tide was a resilient girl, and she carved through the bulk of the swells, but even she could not avoid the plummets and climbs of an ocean this rough. He felt the mist of the cracking waves on his cheeks, the wind blistering cold and forcing him to squint.

As the Captain he had outgrown the need to get his hands dirty, he could stay in the comfort of the wheelhouse if he wished — but he still liked to venture down to the deck to pull ropes and haul pots when he could, if only to show his crew how it was properly done. He liked to ensure his callouses stayed thick and his mettle hadn’t turned soft.

“This’s a fucken’ suicide set, captain!” Roared Johnny from the deck, work-worn voice barely audible over the bellows of the waves on the hull. Lead deckhand with the attitude of a first mate.

The first mate himself, Simon, had begun ascending the rusty steel stairs with an uncharacteristic urgency, the hood of his fluorescent orange jacket around his shoulders, kept there by the wind.

“How many ‘ve we got?” John asked him, jaundiced, having to shout over the gale.

“Thirty-two,” Simon said rigidly, “from twenty pots.”

“Fuck’s sake,” John grunted, aggravated, smacking the rail with his palm. He cynically observed the next pot as it was hauled up, even emptier than the last one, and he made up his mind. “Alright, set ‘em back.”

“They’ve been soaking for twenty-four hours,” Simon disputed, but the pith of his irritation resided in the knowledge of how much labour had already been wasted. It was an inexorable fact, though — there was little point in retrieving them now, as empty as they were.

“It’s a waste of time to haul them all,” John barked. “What have we got, seventy to go? Set them back.”

Simon rubbed the bridge of his nose with a thumb, exasperated. “Alright.”

He echoed the Captain’s command in a roar down the stairs, deckhands looking up to listen before they obeyed — John watched, disenchanted, as they began launching the string of pots over the side of the deck one by one, throwing loops of yellow nylon rope and the bright red marker buoys out to follow them.

It was easy for John to fall into a sour mood, and after the abysmal stew Nikolai had thrown together for their supper, his fuse was cut even shorter. Seemed the Russian mechanic’s turn to cook always landed on the harshest nights, left everyone crotchety and indolent.

He needed nicotine.

He made his way back to the helm with a crease in his brow and his jaw in knots. The bolted windows spanning the length of the bridge were near impossible to see through, the battering of sea spray distorting the view of the dark ocean that extended unendingly past the bow. He glared out into the abyss for a beat, stoically watching the black waves, wondering what next the Sea would punish him with.

A blink of red pierced through the mist.

He almost ignored it, at first, rubbing his forehead as he twisted his spinning chair behind the helm — until it was there, again; a pin-prick of bright carmine, cutting through the blue sea fog and disappearing behind a wave.

Frowning as he leaned into the radar screen, his eyes scoured over the bright blue disk and immediately caught on a tiny yellow blip. Due north, twenty degrees west. It was faint, flickering every odd moment, and he stared at it vigilantly — a spot he would normally dismiss as sea clutter, if not for the blinking light he thought he saw on the horizon.

He reeled down the window by the seat and stuck his head out into the winds, squinting through the spray — at the top of a crest shone the little red light, blinking at half-second intervals, clear as day.

The realisation rinsed him colder than seawater.

A lifeboat.

He snatched the intercom radio from its hook by the wheel and held it to his lips.

“All hands—” He barked, “Secure the deck. Got a lifeboat up ahead. Prepare for rescue.”

Simon’s crackling voice quickly came back through the radio, from the call point on the deck. “D’you say a lifeboat?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Roger.”

John could hear the yelling on deck from the wheelhouse, all that fervour frothing up at the prospect of an emergency; a new challenge. He immediately spun the wheel to adjust the rudder, steering the boat in the direction of the blip on the radar. Gently pushed the throttle to catch up and felt the roaring engine quake through the boat, the sharp bow of his ship cut through the swells like a fist through a wall.

“See it,” Simon called through the intercom.

“What’ve we got?”

“Life raft.”

He tugged the throttle lever back to halt the boat on approach, aligning the vessel so that the lifeboat was portside, knuckles white on the wheel. He set the engine to hold station before marching out to the deck, bracing for the wind as he hurried across the steel balcony and down the ladder, knurled steel stairs clanging loudly with every thud of his boots.

“Any survivors onboard?” John shouted, joining his crew where they peered over the railing, as another wave cascaded over the gunwale, greenwater flooding the deck before gushing out of the scuppers.

There it was, neon orange and climbing up a steep swell. Hardly a lifeboat — an inflatable raft, little red light blinking atop a rounded corner. From the deck he could tell it was ancient, the bright skin of the raft peeling and blistering, exposing the ballooning black rubber within that kept it afloat. Modern regulations demanded modern lifeboats — fully enclosed boats with their own motors, search and rescue transponders equipped. He struggled to imagine the kind of vessel the raft had even come from; certainly not a cruise ship, or any legally operating fishing or passenger boat.

“Only one,” Alex answered, yelling over the roar of the ocean.

Nik let out a grunt, dismissing it all with a sweep of his hand. “That woman is dead.”

John squinted at the raft, and quickly determined that Nikolai wasn’t unreasonable for thinking so.

The woman aboard the raft lay face down in the orange bed, bare-footed, nothing on but a saturated ivory dress that clung to her skin like glue. Sodden hair webbed across her back, tresses floating in the inch of water that filled the basin of the boat.

Even if she were a corpse already, though, he wasn’t going to let the Sea digest her unchallenged.

“Alright,” he declared, chewing on his plan before he uttered it. “I’ll strap on the lifeline, jump in and grab her, then you lot can reel me back in.”

The disputes were quick to gush from his crew, all cursing and shaking heads.

“Get fucked,” Alex scoffed, appaled, “skipper jumping overboard? What world are you living in?”

“You gonna do it, then, Keller?” John retorted, lips in a line.

“I can,” Soap yelled, already shucking off his heavy jacket. Daredevil that he was.

John gritted his teeth. Wasn’t sold on the risk of losing his lead deckhand; but as he considered it, he would never be prepared to risk losing any of them.

“You sure?”

“Ah’m the best swimmer,” he boasted through a grin, now down to his thermals, shoulders raised in the cold and rubbing his hands together.

“Good man,” John nodded approvingly, and the crew quickly went to work strapping him in — hooked the harness over his shoulders and secured it in the front, fed the end of the long blue rope into the winch so he could be retrieved after the catch.

Came the thudding of boots on the deck, running towards the commotion; “Fuck’s going on? Why’s the engine idle?”

Kyle, the ship’s engineer, finally emerging from the engine room with a smudge of gear oil on his cheek. Must have had his earbuds in when the Captain issued the all hands directive.

John let out a huff, not prepared to give a long justification to the designated safety officer, conscientious as he was.

“Oh shit—” Gaz chirped, discovering on his own the gravity of the situation, as he glanced over the railing and spotted the raft. “Is she alive?”

“We’re about t’find out,” Soap said keenly, bouncing on the balls of his feet to warm himself up.

“You’re jumping in?” Gaz balked, “That’s — you’re fuckin’ mental.”

John let out a sharp huff. He didn’t disagree, but he thought it counterproductive to express any reluctance. “Got a better idea, lad?”

Gaz sighed anxiously as he clutched the guardrail, head hanging from his shoulders. He knew as well as John that this was the only option — it was that, or leave the woman adrift in the ocean to die, if she weren’t already.

John held fast to his pragmatism, but his morals were unyielding. Nobody gets left behind.

Men took turns giving Johnny good luck pats on the back as he climbed over the railing. He hung off the other side like a monkey with his fist around the bar, looking down into the furious ocean and taking an anticipatory breath.

The crew watched raptly and let loose a strident cheer as he launched off, diving into the waves with knife-pointed arms and sinking out of sight. Nik remained steadfast by the hydraulic winch, ready to set it off at any indication of either success or failure.

Soap reemerged from the water with a visible gasp ten-odd metres out, breaking through the white foam and powering ahead in a freestyle stroke. He reached the raft quickly, and climbed aboard like a wet dog, hauling himself up over the ballooning sides and almost pulling it under the water with him. He kneeled beside the woman once he was in, pulling her by the shoulder to assess her — he gave no indication to the crew as to her status before he hoisted her up and held her tight to his chest, arms hooked under hers so that she wore him like a backpack.

He pushed himself back into the water with an eager holler; “Got ‘er!”

Nik immediately pulled the lever on the winch and it zipped loudly as it began spinning, winding up the rope and hauling Johnny through the swelling sea. The crane arm of the davit extended far enough beyond the gunwale that he didn’t slam into the hull on his ascent, and he clung to the limp woman for dear life — John and his deckhands leaned as far over the railing as they could without toppling overboard, hooking the rope that suspended the swimmer and heaving he and his cargo onboard.

Soap coughed out a splatter of seawater as he gingerly lay the woman on her back, before rolling over and wiping down his face, dripping wet.

“Found yerself a mermaid, cap,” he sputtered, sniffing and shivering violently as he pushed himself to stand.

“Nicely fuckin’ done, Soap,” Alex lauded, smacking him on the back and earning a screech from the Scotsman.

“‘S too cold,” he bit, grabbing at his genitals through his sodden thermals. “Ma fucken’ balls are gone.”

“Go in and get dry,” the Captain barked, as he hurriedly crouched beside the woman, sweeping locks of drenched hair from where it stuck to her face.

“Jesus,” Gaz muttered concernedly.

Her skin was bitterly cold, but soft on her cheeks; some indication that resuscitation might have been possible, that her skin wasn’t as stiff and waxy as corpse skin would have been. Eyes were lightly shut, her thick lashes clumped together by seawater. He used a gentle thumb to lift up an eyelid, and her pupils were nice and black — blown out, but not clouded over. Laces of capillaries meshed through her white scleras. Blood still bright red.

“How’s she looking?” Alex asked, crouching beside John, pessimism in his throat.

“She’s frigid,” John said grimly.

“Could be hypothermic,” Gaz said from behind him, worry leaden in every word. “That water is barely higher than zero.”

“Mh,” John grunted in agreement, hastily pressing the palps of his fingers under her jaw into a spongy jugular, held there for a few seconds — no pulse. “We’ll worry about warmin’ her up once we get her breathing.”

He leaned back and interlaced his fingers, laying his hands knuckles down between her breasts. Pushed his weight into her sternum with a hard shove and her ribs sunk underneath him, bouncing back up when he released the pressure. Repeat. Over, and over, grunting with each desperate compression.

The heaving bodies of five men caging her kept the bulk of the angry waves from dousing her, the spray crashed over John’s back and dripped from him, beads landing on her body. Solemn silence hung heavy between them, as though fearful that expressing any hope would condemn her to certain death. Simon clutched John’s shoulder, grip encouraging.

He counted his compressions until he reached thirty, before he urgently keeled forward and pressed his mouth to her cold lips, pinching her nose and lifting her chin — pumped air from his lungs into hers with a forceful breath, then another, then another. Her chest rose as it filled up with his air, sunk again as he let it seep out from behind her teeth.

Returned to compressions. Push. Push. Push. He pressed so hard into her sternum that her ribs threatened to snap under the weight of him, but they were rubbery enough to withstand it.

Continued the next round until he reached twenty-one — when water began to rise up her throat, sloshing about in her open mouth and trickling out of its corners. He urgently halted his compressions to flip her onto her side and tip out the brine, hammering into the midline of her back with an open palm.

“C’mon, love,” John growled, teeth gritting. “Cough it up for me.”

As though she had heard him, a gurgle eked from her throat, torso retching as an eruption of water gushed out of her mouth and sprayed over the deck. A few weak coughs followed the first, and she shuddered — the men roared in shock and celebration as John returned her to her back.

Her eyes fluttered open for less than a second, shrinking pupils fixed on John for a heartbeat — wet, glittering under the beaming of the deck lights, carving straight through him and taking root in the marrow of his skull. Vacant and yet swollen, the glow of life anew, as though glaring right into the heavens — and with a little sigh, they feathered shut again.

He held a hand to her cheek, gave her head a soft shake; prepared to continue the chest compressions, but as he curled forward and held his ear to her lips, he felt her breathing, shaky and weak against the cartilage shell.

“She breathin’?” Simon asked bluntly, laden with apprehension.

“Yeah,” John huffed, relief potent as liquor flooded hot into his chest and made his temples throb.

“Good shit, cap’n,” Alex commended, releasing a puff of pent air, just as relieved as the lot of them.

John nodded dismissively, hands on his knees, before he pushed himself to stand. He stood over the girl and hoisted her up with his hands under her arms, before delicately draping her over his shoulder.

“Gaz, help me with her, will you?” He grunted, before marching toward the stairs up to the superstructure. “You three — fun’s over. Get back to setting the pots. I’ll send Soap back out once he’s in his dries.”

“Aye aye,” Alex said facetiously, shaking out his hands as he and the others returned to the stack they had just tied down.

“What’s the plan?” Kyle asked stiffly, in quick pursuit as John steamed up the stairs.

“Gotta get her warm,” John said.

“Yeah—” he agreed with a hesitant tone, “what d’you want me for?”

John’s eyes rolled into his skull. “You did a couple years of health science, didn’t you?”

“One year,” Kyle corrected.

John could have said that he wanted Gaz specifically because he was the ship’s assigned safety officer, or because he was the only man aboard with a university degree. But, in truth, he wanted him simply for the fact he was the least likely of all of his crewmen to make stripping the girl into something needlessly lascivious.

He carted her to the head in steady stride, passing Johnny through the narrow corridor as he dried himself off with a towel around his neck.

“She’s alive?” He asked hopefully.

“Uh-huh,” John rumbled.

Soap triple-smacked the veneer panel of the wall with a flat hand in excitement, all but bouncing off the ceiling with it. “Halle-fucken’-lujah! Need help warmin’ her up?”

“No. Get your skins on and head back out to deck, Johnny, y’got more pots to drop.”

Johnny groaned like a teenager, but he went off as he was told.

The head was small — enough room for a toilet, a shower, and a three-inch wide sink, not quite the floorspace to lay her down gracefully. John tore back the curtain and propped her up against the wall of the shower, nestling her into the corner so her head leaned against the perpendicular wall.

No sense in wasting time. He clinically peeled the sodden fabric of her white dress up her thighs, lifting her limp leg to tug the skirt out from under her.

“Christ—” Gaz grumbled, disquieted, he turned away.

“Will y’hold her arms up for me?” John monotonously requested, uninterested in the boy’s reservations.

Gaz sighed as he obeyed the order, taking her cold hands by the wrists and holding them above her head. John hiked up her dress without reservation, revealing the saturated bra and underwear she wore underneath, as he lifted it her arms up above her head.

“This’s fucked up,” Gaz mumbled.

“What is.”

“Taking her clothes off,” he said, reluctance poignant.

“You’d rather we let her freeze to death, eh?” John bit, not even dignifying the engineer’s aversion by turning to look at him.

He tugged her flaccid body towards him, and her head fell against his shoulder — he reached under her arm into the space between her back and the shower wall, unclasping her bra with a single hand.

“No,” Kyle acquiesced. “Do we really need to take off her underwear, though?”

“She’s not gonna get warm in wet knickers, is she,” John grumbled, frustration blossoming, releasing it in a sharp sigh. “Y’need to grow up, Garrick. Go and grab my jersey and a towel from the laundry, then.”

“Okay. Sure, yeah,” he agreed, marching out of the head like he might trip over in his haste.

John bit down on nothing as he pulled the straps of the girl’s bra down her arms, adding it to the pile atop her drenched dress. Didn’t help that she was a lovely thing — pudding-soft curves, pretty little face — might lend an explanation to the young engineer’s discomfort, couldn’t reconcile the attraction he felt to a near-dead woman while she was incognisant of her nudity.

John did not care, he had no qualms.

A pragmatist, through and through. He felt no shame for admiring her as he leaned her back against the laminate wall, nipples grey-purple and hard as pebbles by virtue of her palpable hypothermia. Soft lips were slack, not as blue as they had been when she was fished out of the ocean, now that her blood was pumping again.

He wasted no time ogling her, though, he was no reprobate. His only priority was getting her warm and awake. And that happened to involve hooking his fingers into the waistband of her knickers, saturated in seawater and cleaving fast to her skin.

He hooked an arm around her to lift her from the shower floor, used the other hand to tug her underwear over the swell of her bottom before he set her back down to reel them down her thighs.

Pretty cunt, too. Unshaven, how he liked them.

He reached up for the shower head, held it in a fist as he switched on the water. Already nice and warm, preheated by the engine-powered calorifiers. He held the stream of warm water over her chest, watching as it cascaded over her breasts and flooded between her thighs. Didn’t care if he got himself wet in so doing. Checked her pulse every odd moment with the pad of a finger on her wrist, ensured her chest continued to rise and fall.

Rubbed his free hand over her skin to scrub off all the salt; started modestly with her arms, shoulders, back — but was unhesitant in rinsing and scrubbing her armpits, down her belly, between her legs. Didn’t touch her pussy, though, even John felt that was a step too far. He simply rinsed it. Let the water run over her mons and channel down the cleft of her unaided.

He tilted her head back and ran the warm stream over her hairline, careful not to let too much water pour down her face. He combed thick fingers through the tresses, scrunching her hair into a ball to wring out the brine before rinsing it out again.

As he carded his fingers through her scalp, though, he felt a lump; just above her hairline, concealed by the locks. A squishy protrusion from the skull, with a frayed ridge through the centre of it. Only then did he see the diluted blood in the water that puddled at the bottom of the shower, originating from the ends of her saturated hair.

Add that to the list of ailments, he thought. Poor wee girl. They’d need to tend to that.

Kyle finally returned with a cautious knock on the door, a single knuckle.

“D’you fall overboard, Garrick?” John murmured — he had been gone far longer than it should have taken to find the items he requested.

“Sorry,” he said. “Couldn’t figure out which fleece was yours.”

John said nothing.

“She warming up yet?” Gaz asked tightly, likely not even looking in the direction of the shower, now that she was entirely nude.

The girl’s skin was now plush and pink under the heat of the water, and felt warm to the touch under the back of John’s hand; so with a satisfied nod he shut off the water and hooked the showerhead back into its fastening.

He reached backward with a gesturing hand, and Gaz handed him the crisp towel he had brought from the laundry without a word.

“Looks like she got hit in the head,” John commented, as he draped the towel over the girl's front, rubbing her down to get her dry. Arms, shoulders, armpits, thighs, feet. He was thorough.

“Shit,” Gaz said morosely, half-hearted. Soft young man, soft in a way John was almost envious of. Sometimes he wondered if he had grown too rough around the edges, too abrasive for his own good. “What the fuck happened to ‘er?”

“Not a clue,” John said. “Nothing good.”

“That life raft was — that was non-standard,” Gaz pondered aloud.

“Thought the same thing,” John replied, as he scrunched her hair in the towel, twisting it up to wring out the water. He was careful with the top of her head — dabbing her scalp gently, leaving dark red smears in the blue fibres.

“Ferry capsized, maybe?”

“We would’ve heard about a ship capsizing nearby,” John said. “‘Specially a passenger vessel. They’d have blasted the distress call out in every direction.”

“Mh,” Gaz agreed.

“She had no shoes on,” John remarked, tone sombre. “No gear, no jacket.”

“Running away from something?” asked Gaz, picking up what John might have been suggesting.

“Maybe,” John said, before hanging the towel around her back and hauling her up from the floor with an arm around her ribs.

He hung her floppy arms over his shoulder, kept her body tight to him, the towel just long enough to conceal her buttocks from Gaz, sensitive lad. He kept her up with a forearm under her rear, bounced her to adjust. She was impossibly easy to lift; John could have carried her one-handed, if he were less concerned about avoiding brandishing her nudity around the ship.

Gaz followed him out of the head, towards the galley.

“She had no belongings with her, eh?” Gaz asked, “no wallet, nothing?”

“No.”

Kyle let out a long sigh, worry oozing from his every pore. “Don’t wanna imagine how long she was drifting for.”

John nodded, as he sat her down on the bench seat of the dining table, the thin vinyl cushion squeaking underneath her. He dumped the towel, and grabbed his jersey from Gaz — one of his heavy Patagonia fleeces, fabric thick, plush like sheepskin, dark navy with a zip collar. He pulled it over her head, fed her arms through the long sleeves and adjusted it down her torso. It was long enough that it reached her mid-thighs, hands two-thirds of the way through the sleeves — big enough to conceal everything, and cozy enough to keep her warm. He pulled her hair out from inside the collar and lay it to one side over her shoulder.

“Grab me the first aid kit,” John ordered dryly, as he leaned her against the seat, holding her head upright with a hand at the back of her skull.

He fingered through her locks of damp hair, looking closely for the contusion that he felt ballooning out of her scalp — found it, eventually, dark purple and swollen, sticky burgundy blood coagulating around the open wound and gluing bits of hair together.

“Think she fell?” Gaz asked, as he returned with the red polyester pouch after rummaging through the galley cabinets, unzipping and unfurling it.

“S’there betadine in there?” John asked, before he had acknowledged the engineer’s question. “Hard to say, it looks rough.”

Kyle handed him the little brown dropper of iodine solution, popping off the cap for him. “You don’t think someone hit her.”

John’s jaw tightened. “If they did, they hit her bloody hard.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” Gaz grumbled, upset, watching with his arms crossed as John tipped over the little bottle. He squeezed out several rust-brown drops, they landed squarely in the wound in her scalp, emulsifying with the tissue. “This’s all — just wrong.”

“Least she’s alive,” John murmured, through a huff, as he put down the betadine. No use in attempting to bandage it, the laceration was small enough that it would heal on its own if left unbothered.

“Wonder where her home is,” Gaz mused, tone dismal.

“We’ll ‘ave to see what the bird says when she wakes up,” John said, laying the girl down on her side, tucking up her knees.

“What if she doesn’t?”

“She will,” John asserted as he stood, rapping an appreciative hand on Kyle’s shoulder. “Keep an eye on her, will you? I need to get back to the bridge.”

“Okay,” Gaz nodded tightly.

“And get her a blanket,” John ordered on his way to the ladder. “Call me if anything changes, yeah?”

“Will do, Captain.”

You tasted salt on your tongue.

It was dark, and your body was so heavy — your neurons fired off to raise an arm, and all they mustered was the twitch of a finger. Skin felt warm and viscid, lacquered in a tepid layer of tar as though fully submerged in gooey black pitch, too thick to move around in.

Your eyes perceived nothing but deep, liquid burgundy, and the sparking of white-and-red stars that encroached on the borders of your vision, writhing and swirling in the abyss of your blindness.

Still, salt on your tongue.

It was foul, overpowering, all consuming — that brackish grit in every corner of your mouth, between your teeth, crystallising in the back of your throat. It filled your nose, stung where it adhered to the delicate mucosa of your nostrils, every breath hurt to take in.

You could feel it in your lungs, too. Shards of salt embedded in your bronchioles, saline glutted alveoli, trachea plugged with viscous brine.

Your diaphragm spasmed beyond your control, body seizing as you erupted into a coughing fit — wet and phlegmy, salty fluid gurgling in your chest and hucking out of your mouth with every ragged splutter, you almost choked on it as you heaved in as much air as your lungs could imbibe.

Your eyes shot open, then, vision so blurry that you had to wrench them closed a few times before the membrane over your corneas began to dissipate.

A rubbery cushion under the side of your head, fuzzy fabric enveloping your arms and chest, something scratchy and heavy over your legs. Warm, sore — you ached everywhere, every joint stiff, every muscle burning, every organ twisting and floundering inside you.

Dizziness wracked through your head, brain swimming free within your skull, spinning around in circles and bouncing against the walls of its cavity as though you were being tipped forward and backward and forward again.

Nausea swelled up quickly, filled you up to the ears and made your stomach cramp and contort — bile rose up your throat and burned on its way up, you leaned over the surface you lay on and let it spill out from your teeth. Hardly any vomit, merely an oozing stream of chartreuse bile that dripped in strings from the corner of your mouth.

You heard a voice, a man’s voice, at first too disoriented to understand it.

“Shit — oh my god, you’re—”

A hoarse groan escaped your chest in response, not a noise you made on purpose, as you tried to roll onto your back.

“Are you okay?” He asked urgently, and suddenly you noticed a pair of knees under a table beside you, only as they shifted when the person stood. “Hey — you’re okay, you’re—”

You moaned again, squinting under the bright light above you, vision distorted by vertigo and brine. Tongue too fat to form any words yet.

“You’re okay, let me — let me get you some water.”

You heard the hurried thuds of boots away from you, and you rubbed your eyes with the heels of your palms, finally able to see properly once you opened your eyes again. Shakily pulled yourself upright with a hand on the table, muscles quivering so violently that they could barely hold you up — but fired adrenaline began to kick in, thumping out from your chest and buzzing in your fingertips as you glanced around the room, utterly alien to you.

“Where…” you croaked, soaking in your surroundings. Panelled walls of honey oak, an ugly veneered table in front of you, you sat on its bench seat. A small circular window sat above the table, bolted around its borders, and a single light bulb hung from the ceiling.

The room smelled like dish soap and body odour, fetid with the scent of an unwashed sponge and a hovering note of fish carcass. A small kitchen, as you turned your head around to check behind you — the man towered over a sink, you heard the hiss of running water.

“Where am I?” You finally asked, finding your words, but your voice was as frayed as if you had swallowed glass.

The man turned then, and you did not recognise him. Not at all. A complete stranger, with a furrow in his brow, and an awkward smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You bolted up from the seat then, tossing aside the blanket that rested on your knees, fight-or-flight reigniting your muscles and setting your heart into overdrive — your head spun with it, and your balance was completely off kilter, you had to continually readjust your feet to keep yourself upright.

“Hey — hey, easy,” he said edgily, voice soft.

“Who the fuck are you?” You barked, immediately defensive, you tried to keep your eyes pinned to him while you made note of your peripheral surroundings.

“I’m �� I’m sorry, I didn’t — I’m Gaz. Kyle. I’m Kyle.”

You scowled at him, panting, hackles raised high as you shuffled away from the table. “I don’t know anyone called Kyle,” you hissed. “Or anyone called Gaz.”

“We haven’t met before,” he said, body twisting to face you as you inched around him.

He put down the glass of water he held in his hand, and that only further enkindled your terror. Now his hands were free. He could tackle you, if he wanted to. Tall man that he was, muscular under his black jersey, his big doe-eyes did nothing to soften you to him.

“We found you in the water,” he tried to explain, “we thought you were dead. But we rescued you.”

“The fuck do you mean, found me?” You spat, now approaching the kitchen, your eyes scoured around for something to grab.

He could detect your scheming, inched closer to you on quiet feet, attempting to flank you.

So you dashed — bolted towards the small cooktop, where a magnetic strip mounted on the wall held an array of kitchen knives.

“Fuck—” He cursed, through teeth, failing to grab you in time before you snatched one by the handle, and held the blade in front of you with both hands.

You jabbed it at him as you backed out of his reach, arms so shaky you almost dropped it — but you kept it tight, holding onto it with vicious devotion, as though dropping it would be your death sentence.

He held up his hands, not in surrender, but as if he were attempting to settle a wild animal. “Okay, love, take it easy.”

“Stay away from me,” you shouted, trembling, backing away cautiously.

“Captain!” The man roared worriedly toward the ceiling, and you flinched. “Look, love, I’m not going to—”

“Fuck you,” you bit, before you spun on a heel and flew towards an archway.

“Shit.” He cursed as you escaped, but he had not yet pursued you.

You scurried down the narrow corridor, bare feet aching with every step, knife extended in front of you and prepared to slash at anything that got in your way. You were wobbling all over the place, as though the ground beneath you was rocking back and forth; you toppled into the wall on your right, yelping as you tried to get yourself upright again.

You reached a great big industrial door, painted blue and with a tiny circular porthole too high for you to see through. It had a wheel in the centre of it, connected to a series of bars that spanned it from top to bottom. Not a door you had ever seen before, but you inexplicably knew to twist the wheel — left, first go, and the bars shrunk away from the top and bottom, the steel door unsealing with a clank.

Now you heard the thuds of running boots, fast, growing louder, closer — you shouldered open the heavy door and leapt over the lip at the bottom, immediately blasted with an ice-cold wind that made you shrivel up and almost retreat back inside.

The sky was stark black, and you were blinded by floodlights. You stumbled towards the railing, hanging onto it for dear life as you almost slipped over on the frigid metal grating under your feet — it felt like barbed wire on your soles, and you whimpered with every step.

Your fierce desperation to escape trumped any pain, though, you burned hot as a boiler, thundering adrenaline keeping you aflame. You spun your head around to determine where you were; a pitch-dark abyss surrounded you on all sides — no sky, no ground, no lights on the horizon, nothing. You peered over the balustrade and realised then that you were on a ship, now seeing the building-tall waves that cascaded over the floor below, bedizened in ropes and grates and metal cages and buoys, populated with a few people in neon jackets.

“Hey—” Came a bark from behind you, and you shrieked — immediately scurrying towards a steep staircase, pole-narrow, almost toppling down it as you bounced to every second step.

The floor of the deck consisted of slippery water-logged wood, and the soles of your feet struggled to find any grip as you sprinted across it. You weren’t even sure where you were running, just away, from the man who had followed you — but it became quickly clear you had no escape, and the orange-jacketed men on the deck had turned their heads to spot you.

“Oh, fuck—” One barked.

Another erupted in bewildered laughter; “She breathes, alright!”

“Oi — girl—” Called one.

“C’mere, hen!” Shouted another, Scottish. “We don’t bite!”

You sobbed as you ran, ravaged by a fear so potent it made your heart shrivel up like a raisin — you were sprayed by a crashing wave, blinded by the salt, and your feet slipped out from under you. Collided into the hard ground with a slam, a bounce, you skidded across the wood and your knife tumbled out of your grip, sliding out of reach.

Only as you flopped around on the greasy floor did you realise your nudity under the sweater you were wearing, bare thighs slick with cold sea water, ass bitten by the arctic wind. You scrambled to get yourself back up, crawling on your hands and knees towards your only weapon — until a thick arm hooked under your belly, swiftly hoisting you up from the ground with yank, and you squealed.

“Easy, now, woman—” Gritted the man, the hoarse growl of an old dog, and he held you flat to his chest. “In such a hurry to go back overboard, eh?”

You wailed, attempted to buck yourself free from him while your feet dangled off the floor, but he only secured his grip with another mammoth arm. The other men on the deck approached hastily, concern and confusion etched in their cold-ruddy faces, looking between each other as though waiting for somebody to decide what to do with you.

“Let me go,” you sobbed, paltry voice broken by hiccups, you spluttered and cried and kicked when you could muster it. “Please, please—”

“Put her down, Nik, for fuck’s sake.” Came the roar of another man, approaching from further away, an authoritative fury that your captor swiftly obeyed.

You landed on your bare feet onto the wet floor with a squelch, and a sob, but he kept a firm grip of your shoulder to prevent you from fleeing. You wouldn’t have, though — now, it was clear to you — there was nowhere to run.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Yelled the evident commander, “All of you? Christ, look, you’ve scared the shit out of her.”

You saw him, then, as he stood in front of you — towering, heaving, you felt the vibrations of his heavy feet on the deck with each step. Broad shoulders cloaked in a rugged navy jacket, the hood pooled around his neck, a pair of roomy yellow overalls strapped over the waterproof layer. A black knitted beanie sat on the top of his head, folded just above his furrowed brows. His lips were in a snarl under his dense beard while he addressed the other men, but they softened into a neutral line when he looked at you.

There was something familiar about him, not that you could place it; a face you might have seen in a dream, or crossing the street once. A face you could imagine with a glowing light beaming from behind it, as though the moon eclipsing a sun. You had no memory to tie to it, and yet, it settled you slightly.

“Y’alright, love,” he said, voice honey-warm and thick with gravel, he held a hand in your direction and gestured to follow him. “Come back in, will you? Too cold for you out here, eh?”

You sipped a shaky breath, shivering in the bitter wind, glancing at the men surrounding you from under your brow. Returning to the man that gestured for you, you gave him a feeble nod, and waddled in his direction.

“Tha’s it, c’mon,” he said gently, hovering a hand at the small of your back. He turned over his shoulder to shout at the others; “You lot have more pots to set, don’t you? Get back to fuckin’ work.”

He guided you gingerly towards the stairs, close behind you to ensure you didn’t slip over on the way up. Opened the weathertight door to let you in, but walked in front of you down the same corridor you had escaped through. You held your arms tight around yourself, left soggy footprints along the vinyl floor.

“Got yourself all wet again,” he said, an edge of irritation in his tone.

“D’you get her?” Came a call from the kitchen you had awoken in, and the man — Kyle — appeared at the end of the hallway. You froze.

“Go finish your work, Gaz, y’still got an hour on the clock.” He ordered flatly, and Kyle looked at you past him.

“Yes, Captain,” he grunted disdainfully, shouldering past the man in front of you, and squeezing around you where you pressed yourself into the wall. “Hope you’re feeling okay,” he mumbled sheepishly, before disappearing down a flight of stairs.

The captain looked back at you, flicked his head in the direction of the kitchen. “C’mon, let's get you dry.”

The kitchen was much smaller than you remembered it being not a few minutes prior — cozy, much warmer than outside but still not quite warm.

“Siddown,” he said from the kitchen, not as forceful as a command but just as compulsory. You gingerly sat yourself on the same bench you had woken up on, watching him carefully, lips sealed.

He approached you with a tall cup of water, held by the rim with the tips of his fingers. “Drink it.”

You took the cup timidly, but once it was in your grip you did not hesitate; tipped it into your mouth and skulled it down desperately, a dribble escaping the corner of your mouth. You had no idea how thirsty you were until fresh water touched your lips — fresh, not salty — you panted like a dog when the cup was empty, half-quenched.

He took it from you, filled it back up at the sink before bringing it back, and you drank the second cupful just as quickly.

“Better?” He asked, and you nodded, wiped your mouth with your hand.

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

You watched as he grabbed a light blue towel from the tabletop, and for a moment you thought he might hand it to you — instead he crouched in front of you, and took your leg by the ankle.

You immediately chirped and attempted to tug your foot free on reflex, but his grip was firm; entire hand wrapped tight around your ankle, he gave you a tut.

“Settle down,” he snipped, resting the sole of your foot on his collarbone. “I’m only dryin’ you off.”

Said with such certainty that you began to doubt your instinct that it was inappropriate for him to put his hands on you — tempered by the feeling that he knew what he was doing, that he was only taking care of you.

He looked at you impatiently until your tensed muscles eased, before he nodded in satisfaction. He hooked your foot over his shoulder so that your ankle rested on his trapezius, before he bunched the towel up in a fist and ran it up the length of your leg.

You leaned on your arms behind you, heart in your throat, beating so fast that you could hear it buzzing in your ears.

He was focused, wiping the seawater and muck off your skin, up and down your thighs, down the underside of your leg.

“Took a tumble, did you?” He asked plainly, dabbing a fresh graze on your knee with the towel, making you flinch with the sting.

“Yeah,” you said meekly; you were sure it would bruise eventually, but it was largely painless for the time being.

He tutted you, but continued, wiped down your calf and dried off your foot last; he was fastidious about it, pushed the fibers of the towel between your toes, engulfed your foot in the cotton, scrubbed it along the sole of your foot and your toes curled with the tickle.

He set that leg down once he was done with it, and wordlessly demanded the other with a curl of his fingers.

Confounding yourself, you did as you were told, and offered him your other leg; he repeated the procedure, resting your foot on his shoulder and scrubbing your leg with the crunchy towel, unabashedly wiping up to the top of your thigh, between your legs, under your knees.

It didn’t escape your notice that you were naked underneath the jersey, and if he were to look a little higher his eyes would be square with your pussy. The thought made you tighten, and he gave you a disapproving glance when he felt it — but he finished with the other foot, and set your leg free again.

“Thank you,” you muttered, tight-lipped, dizzy with confusion.

“D’you want a new jersey?” He asked as he stood, swiping a hand over the sleeve shoulder, where seaspray had beaded on the outside of the fleece.

“I’m okay,” you said timidly, tucking your legs together.

He nodded, dropping the towel back on the table. “Alright, pet,” he said. “Let’s get you a cuppa, yeah?”

You were quiet, but he busied himself in the tiny kitchen anyway — followed the rumbling of a water boiler and the slosh of hot water, the opening and closing of cabinets and drawers, the tinking of a spoon in a teacup.

“Hope you take it with milk and sugar,” he said. “You’re getting it whether you like it or not.”

“That’s fine,” you croaked.

“Good girl,” he said, as he returned with a brown glass mug and set it down on the table in front of you. “Gotta get some sugar in you. You remember the last time you ate?”

You shook your head.

“Mh, well, let’s get you fed.”

“I’m not — I’m not hungry right now,” you said hesitantly, and when a divot pulled in his brows, you clarified; “don’t think I can keep much down yet.”

He nodded. “No problem, love,” he answered, with a pacifying grin. “How’s the head?”

“Where am I?” You asked pointedly, cutting to the chase, unwilling to take a sip of your tea out of lingering suspicion.

He sat down across from you, landing in the bench seat with a grunt, interlocking his fingers on the surface of the table. His glare was scrutinising, albeit gentle, as though checking rather than inspecting.

“You’re aboard the Iron Tide,” he said candidly. “We’re fishing for crabs in the North Sea.”

“Iron Tide?”

“That’s the name of the ship, love,” he answered, a little patronising. “I’m her skipper, I’m Jonathan. You met Gaz, he’s our engineer — he gave you a fright, I bet, but he’s a good lad.”

You nodded edgily, looking askance at him. “Okay… but, how did I get here?”

He smiled sombrely at that, crow’s feet pinching in the corners of his tired eyes. An oceanic blue, you noticed, little round seas reflecting the light that bounced off the table beneath him.

“Was hopin’ you could tell me that, pet,” he gibed, nodding at your mug. “Drink your tea.”

You took a sip, as you were told. Just cooled enough to sip with a slurp, blanketing your salty tongue, warm and saccharine, hot as it went down your throat. Earl grey. The taste made you feel tucked in, as though a blanket were over your legs, a pillow behind your head — but the murky memory was as fleeting as it was vague. You swallowed it with a sigh, and he looked pleased.

“So?”

“So what?” You asked, with a frown.

“How’d you end up on the high seas, hm?”

“I—” You cut yourself off, as you stared into the steaming surface of your tawny-coloured tea.

Words danced at the tip of your tongue, amorphous and flavourless, nothing you could place. Notions that, if you were to reach for them, would drift away, or turn to smoke.

You didn’t have an answer.

“I don’t know,” you said, voice shaky, glancing at him with worry knitting in your brows as though he might be able to remind you.

“You don’t remember?” He asked carefully.

A piteous heat swelled beneath your eyes, tears welling from their ducts and pooling in your eyes, your vision went blurry with it. You shook your head.

“S’alright, pet,” he said, fixing a hand to your wrist across the table. “It’ll come back to you. Do you remember anything at all? If you were on a boat, what country you’re from?”

Again you shook your head, sniffling, you wiped an errant tear with the soft sleeve of the oversized fleece you have no memory of putting on. “No.”

Concern cracked through his stoic expression, and it only made you more upset.

“Do you know your name, love?”

You vacuumed in a slow and trembling breath, eyes bouncing between your hands, as if they might hold the answer. You could think of names — Jessica, Lucy, Nina, Anna, Rebecca — but they were only that, random names floating about in the air around you, and you could not pin any of them as your own with any certainty.

“No,” you eked, followed swiftly by a sob, despite your effort to swallow it.

He exhaled, long and beleaguered, stroking the back of your hand with his colossal thumb. Hands as big as saucers, calloused and molten hot to the touch. Made your hand look like a pixie’s underneath it.

“Don’t fret, eh?” He said, failing to comfort you. “Y’got plenty of time to remember. Just finish your tea.”

“What do you mean?” You asked weakly, plenty of time comment making you uneasy. “Aren’t you going to take me to — back to land?”

He smiled, bemused, as he released your wrist with a pat and leaned back against the bench seat, hanging an arm insouciantly over the back.

“Not heading all the way back to port yet, love,” he said frankly. “We only left a couple days ago. Got a lot more crabs to catch.”

“I’m — I have to stay on this boat until you’re done fishing?” You asked, fighting back the tears that threatened another cascade.

He tilted his head. “This’s my job. If I don’t get crabs, I don’t get paid. Neither do the other lads, ‘n they won’t be letting that happen.”

You pouted, lip quivering and face scrunching, and he let out a huff.

“Look, sweetheart, what would I even do with you if I took you back now?” He asked, tone rigid. “Y’got no ID, no passport, no papers, nothing on you but that bloody frock. We don’t even know what country you belong to. You’d get snatched up by the authorities and tossed around immigration services until your head is on backwards.”

You sniffled, wiped your cheek with your sleeve. You had no argument, and even if you had the energy to muster one, you had no knowledge of how such a system worked, or where you would possibly go if they allowed you free movement. You’re sure you’d have a house somewhere, a family, someone out there must be looking for you…

The thought made you cry again, head falling from your shoulders and landing in your hands, you sobbed unremittingly into the dense fleece.

Jonathan sighed at that, evidently growing impatient, but he pushed himself to stand — he was suddenly next to you, planting himself on the bench with his thigh against yours, and he draped an arm around your shoulder.

“S’alright,” he crooned, voice as deep and rumbling as an engine, and you found yourself curling into him on instinct. Tucked up under his arm, head on his chest, a warm hand rested on the side of your head and smoothed down your hair. “We’ll sort it out.”

“I don’t even kn-know where my home is,” you blubbered into him, muffled by his jacket, still speckled with beads of sea mist. “Or if — if I’ve got a family, or a husband—”

“Y’look a little young for one o’ those,” he remarked, with a chortle.

“What if I don’t remember anything? Ever?” You cried, and he stroked the shell of your ear with his calloused thumb, fingers woven in your hair.

“None o’ that,” he grumbled, you couldn’t determine if he was rocking you or if it was simply the motions of the boat tipping over the waves. “No wallowing on my ship. Keep your chin up, and you’ll be fine.”

You whimpered, but nodded, and he petted your head like a cat.

“We got another nine or ten days at sea,” he said, comforting hand retreating from you, resting on his lap. Kept his heavy arm coiled around you, though, and you were daftly grateful for it. He patted you on the far shoulder with a stiff hand. “You’re a tough girl, yeah?”

“I dunno,” you sniffled, sitting yourself upright and reeling away from him. He released you, then, arms crossing over his chest instead.

“Well you survived God knows how long floating around in the North Sea, pet, I’d call that pretty tough.”

You attempted to compose yourself, sucking deep a breath and wiping down your face with your sleeves. Hoped that whoever’s fleece it was didn’t care about tears and snot being smeared over the cuffs.

“Is there somewhere for me to sleep?” You asked cautiously, in an attempt to come to terms with reality — nine or ten nights of sleeping on a fishing boat. It made you sick to think about.

He curled his lips as he thought for a moment. “You can sleep in my bed,” he said. “Skipper’s cabin is a lot nicer than the crew berths, I’ll tell you that.”

You blinked at him, uncertain — it was unsettlingly vague whether that meant he was offering you the bed to yourself.

“Or you can ask one of the lads to share a bunk with them, I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.”

You shook your head hastily, and he cracked a grin. “No, thank you, skipper’s cabin sounds good, please.”

“Alrighty,” he concurred, with a nod, the deal done. “Sleepy already, eh?”

You nodded sheepishly — for the most part, you just wanted to be alone, somewhere quiet and enclosed, out of sight. But you were utterly drained, left ravaged by receding adrenaline, body battered and bruised. Curling up in a bed sounded luxurious, and heaven only knows how long it had been since you slept in one.

“Y’only been awake for twenty minutes,” he joked. “And you’ve hardly touched your tea.”

He flicked his head towards the mug, and his imperious expression made clear that he wanted you to finish it.

So, if only appease him, you clutched the mug and tipped it into your mouth, sucking down the now luke-warm tea in five hefty gulps. Licked your lips when you were done, and dumped the mug back on the table.

“Happy?”

He smiled wide, let out a haughty chuckle. “Nicely done,” he said. “Alright, then, let’s get you tucked in.”

He pushed himself to stand with a grunt, finally freeing you from behind the table, and you followed him.

“Y’sure you don’t want a bite?”

You shook your head. “Maybe in the morning, if that’s okay.”

He laughed as he made his way toward an upward staircase. “Morning’s fine, but I’m not having you starve yourself.”

“I won’t.”

As you climbed to the top of the stairs you reached the bridge — a large control station with many screens, all showing different radars and panels and numbers. The wheel was there, too, a spinning chair with a sweater thrown over the back of it tucked in front of it. Sea spray made pattering rain-like noises on the thick windows, but very little light came in from them. The air was thick with cigar smoke and terpenic air freshener, the everpresent ghost of saltwater lingering in between.

“Just through here,” he instructed, and you followed him around to the other side, through a door, and down a shorter staircase.

There you were met with a bedroom; it was intimate, stuffed full of bags and boxes and papers. A fold-out desk jutted out from an warm-wood wall, covered in maps weighed down by protractors and a drawing compass. Coats hung over hooks, boots lined up by the door.

A cot bolted to the wall, perhaps a king single, unmade — a thick duvet with a red-and-navy plaid blanket tossed overtop, heavy wool that you could ascertain would be itchy without needing to touch it. A single pillow in a navy pillowcase, cream-coloured fitted sheet likely toned off-white due to age or overuse.

It was rich with musk in there, the single porthole window not able to be opened, and the heady scent made you dizzy. You imagined it was only a marginally diluted version of the same scent you’d get pressing your nose into his armpit. It was only tempered by traces of toothpaste and cigarettes, and the potent smell of Imperial Leather bar soap. Daft that you remembered that, and little else.

“Not a five-star hotel, eh?” He gibed, nudging you with his elbow. You didn’t have a response, at first, and he chided you; “Don’t be a sourpuss. No room for being fussy here, love.”

“No — this is perfect, thank you, I’ll sleep anywhere.”

He smiled and crossed his arms, rocking on the balls of his feet. “Alright, well, you get yourself comfortable then,” he said. “Loo’s just through there, if you need it. Use my toothbrush if you like, just give it a wash after, eh?”

You almost grimaced at the thought of sharing his toothbrush, but the lingering bile and salt in your mouth had you looking forward to the taste of toothpaste.

“Need anything else, pet?” He asked, still gruff. “Paracetamol? I can get you something else to sleep in—”

“I’m okay, thank you,” you insisted, perhaps too plainly eager to get him out of the room.

“Alright, love,” he said. “G’night, then. I’ll just be up there, still got some steering to do.”

“Okay.”

With a firm nod, he turned around and headed out of the cabin, shutting the door behind him.

You let out a pent breath once you were alone, potent exhaustion suddenly crashing into you like a train. You stumbled into the tiny ensuite — a small toilet and a sink, the shower head jutting out from the wall above the commode — rinsed his frayed toothbrush under the tap and globbed on some colgate.

Brushing your teeth made you feel marginally human again, and you spent a good five minutes scrubbing out every crevice of your mouth. You washed it afterwards, like he said, and stuck it to the wall with the suction cup on the back of it.

There was no mirror, and you found yourself glad of it. You couldn’t yet confront the fact that you did not remember what you looked like, an existential dread that simmered in your belly, but too tired to churn up.

Only then, as you glanced at his bar of soap (it was Imperial Leather, as you had guessed), did you realise how clean you felt — you wondered if he had washed you, and now you were certain that he had changed you. The thought made you shiver, and you tried not to think about it.

His bed was squeaky underneath you, and the mattress so soft that you sunk deep into it; the weight of him permanently embedded in the springs, you settled into the divot like a cat, curled up towards the wall. It was bitterly cold in the cabin, much like the rest of the ship, so you tugged the blankets up your cheek, rubbing your icy feet together to warm them up.

The sheets reeked of him, of man and musk, the pillow smelt of scalp and salt. It was unusually comforting. Such a human smell, and as you tucked yourself under his layers of blankets it swirled around in the front of your head and made you dozy.

Sleep called to you, dark and ebbing, and you slipped willingly beneath the surface.

You were roused, only slightly, at the sound of a door handle.

Not alert enough to open your eyes, you still floated deep in slumber, soft and warm. Your consciousness ascended close enough to the shallows to acknowledge the opening of a door, the footsteps across a hollow floor, but the sounds conveyed no meaning to you.

Sleep pulled you downward but you floated languidly back up at each noise; the fizz of running water, the scrubbing of brushing teeth, the spit of toothpaste.

A zip being undone, velcro being ripped open, boot laces being untied. The clunk of a shutting door, a cough, a grunt, and you finally broke the surface.

Now entirely awake, you remained completely still — not out of fear, you didn’t think — perhaps in the hope that he would leave you alone to keep sleeping, absolutely not ready to get up yet. He made no effort to be quiet, as he dumped his boots by the door, rummaged around in his belongings for a moment, coughed again.

You kept your nose close to the wall, eyes barely open. He flicked off a light switch and the room was abruptly drowned in darkness.

The blanket was lifted from you, then, and you flinched — with the cold air nipping at your skin, you realised your long jersey had been hiked up in your sleep, and your bare bottom half was starkly exposed.

You froze, curled up, tongue in your teeth; until a sudden weight plummeted into the mattress, bouncing you up before sinking deep behind you, causing you to slide into the dip.

With a grunt and a huff the blanket was pulled back up over you, scratchy wool brushing your cheeks. A titanic arm hooked over your stomach, and you squeaked — he paid no mind, yanking you backwards until your back was flush with his chest, ass nestled into his lower belly, his thighs tucked up behind yours.

You held your breath, skittish, not yet daring to move; he let out a deep sigh into the back of your head, warm breath seeping through your hair and into your skull.

His entire body was a furnace, burning hot, and you felt yourself melting into him whether you liked it or not. A mammoth hot water bottle, wrapped around and behind you, keeping you soothingly warm.

His hand ventured nowhere untoward, arm only hanging listlessly over the divot of your waist, forearm tucked into your chest. He felt clothed against you, sweatpants and a thermal on.

There was something wrong about it — something off, a survival instinct that buzzed around you, humming like a mosquito, a ringing in your ear, annoying and persistent.

But his pyretic warmth made you lightheaded, so comfortable tucked into him that it felt like you were already dreaming.

With a heavy blink, and a deflating breath, you sunk deep into him and let slumber swallow you whole once again.

#cunty little beanie is here #john price x reader #captain price x reader #captain john price x reader #call of duty fanfic #cod fanfic #cod smut #bella-writes

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onlymingyus · 1 year ago

Text

Somebody [SVTHUB world tour collab]

pairing; choi seungcheol x f!reader

genre; smut (minor dni), fluff, angst, romance, fake dating au

summary; When you need someone to help you out of a bind quickly, you pick the first person you see to be your “boyfriend”, you just didn’t expect it to be your single hot dad neighbor, Choi Seungcheol…

content warnings; single father!seungcheol, teacher!reader, seungcheol has a child (obviously), eating/drinking, jeonghan/joshua (implied relationship but not stated), betting metioned, alcohol, medical field - doctor!seungcheol, doctor!joshua, mentions cheating in past relationship, mentions death/accident of spouse - widow!seungcheol --- i am sure there are more, if there is anything important you want me to add let me know

smut warnings; unprotected sex (birth control mentioned), creampie, fingering, oral (f receiving), begging, crying (pleasure), multiple orgasm, lots of pet names, marriage kink, seungcheol carries the reader and is larger than the reader, manhandling, shower sex...again if I miss something let me know.

w/c; 25.2k and some change (623 extra words for patreon bonus)

svthub world tour masterlist

a/n; thank you to my @junkissed for proofreading for me once again, i love you so so much. i really hope you guys enjoy my little addition to the svthub world tour and those on tumblr will join me in Barcelona for the bonus 💕

before continuing remember reblogs are incredibly important and please read how to support me here

You were exhausted. You had been living in your new apartment complex for around three months, yet you still weren’t completely unpacked. Between work and just a general unwillingness to complete a single project that had to do with your personal life, it seemed easier to let the boxes sit where they lay until they became an inconvenience. Today, they were an inconvenience.

So now you find yourself having worked a full eight hour work day and you still managed to unpack four of the daunting boxes, and you were feeling pretty good about yourself. At least you were until you made your way down to the parking lot to put the boxes into the recycling bin and heard an unwelcome voice.

“Y/N… hey.”

Your ex-boyfriend’s voice made any strength you had in your arms leave as you attempted to push the boxes into the large blue bin. He didn’t live in your complex. In fact, you had moved out of your shared apartment with him, which was at least a 20 minute drive away. It should surprise you that he would show up uninvited and unannounced, but after a five year relationship with him, you knew he was persistent.

Wiping your hands off on your jeans, you clear your throat and turn to meet the man’s eyes before looking for how you were going to get out of the situation. You weren’t afraid of your ex; it was more that he didn’t know when to stop. You had told him time and time again, after a very messy breakup where you had caught him cheating, that you wouldn’t take him back. It didn’t make it any easier that you had the same profession as him and when things had been great, the two of you had applied at the same place.

“Alex… wild seeing you here. You don’t even live here.”

He knew you were being evasive. You did the same thing at work, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t still try. Persistence was key. There had been something there between the two of you that made a relationship last for as long as it did, and if he worked hard enough, he could get it back. At least that’s what he thought.

Sighing, Alex watches you turn away from him, heading back towards the building. Following behind you, he groans when you shoot him a dirty look.

“Babe, seriously? I’m looking at the apartments in the area. I thought I’d just stop by and say hi.”

Rolling your eyes, you use your body to shield the keypad so you can type in the code to unlock the complex’s door, hearing the code get denied, once and then twice. You were flustered and hitting the wrong buttons.

“Sure, whatever. You have a perfectly fine apartment, and don’t call me babe. I’m not your babe.”

When you can’t seem to get into the building, Alex sighs again, reaching out to try to comfort you, but he only manages to make you uncomfortable as he grabs your arm, telling you to calm down. You look to the door surprised to see it opening, a larger man furrowing his brows at the sight in front of him before you give him a relieved and pleading look.

"Oh, thank God, hi honey. Alex, have you met my boyfriend?”

Tilting his head in confusion, Seungcheol looks between you and the man holding your arm before he sees the desperation on your face. You were in some sort of distress. He knew you lived in the building; in fact, you were his neighbor, though he hadn’t had much of a chance to speak to you yet. Seungcheol knew he could say he didn’t know you, go on his way, staying out of your business, but something about you and what was happening told him he needed to play along. Extending his hand towards the one around your arm, Seungcheol gives the man a tight warning smile.

“Hey man, I’m Seungcheol.”

You feel Alex’s hand slide from your arm, his brows furrowing at the new information. Watching the two men, you feel your heart in your throat as they shake hands and the man named Seungcheol moves closer to you with a smile, looking at you expectantly.

“It was great to meet you Alex, but uh...” Clearing his throat, Seungcheol tries to think about how to get you out of this without making you uncomfortable. Shrugging, he sighs and just goes for it. “I was just coming to see why you had been gone for so long. Dinner is ready.”

Your cheeks burn as Alex stares at you, his eyes narrowing. You can tell he is almost looking for holes in your and Seungcheol’s story, but when you smile and Seungcheol puts his arm around your shoulders, Alex rolls his eyes. You weren’t sure if he actually bought the entire story on the spot, but it had been enough to get him to put his hands in his pockets and for him to back up, muttering.

“I’ll see you at work, Y/N.”

Offering your ex a strained smile, you lean into Seungcheol until Alex is out of sight. Taking a deep breath, you feel the pressure of being around him lift off of you before you glance up at Seungcheol and give him an apologetic look. Moving his arm, Seungcheol chuckles and shakes his head, turning back towards the door and using his keyfob to open it for you, letting you slip by him.

“Uh…thank you. Seriously. I’m so fucking sorry to drag you into that.”

Leaning against the metal doorframe, Seungcheol just smiles and shrugs. His eyes stay on yours as you walk backwards for a few steps towards the elevator.

“My pleasure, honey. Have a good evening.”

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your lips when the handsome man teases you. Backing into the elevator door, you laugh and shake your head, turning to press the button before glancing back to look at Seungcheol, still watching you for a moment before he waves and lets the door shut, leaving you alone.

Finally, in the elevator, you can take a breath as you lean against the wall. With each soft ding of the elevator as it climbs the floors, you chew at your lips and laugh under your breath at how the exchange between you and Seungcheol has ended. It was silly for you to feel so smitten by someone who had just helped you out of a hard situation, but god had he been attractive.

Walking towards your apartment, you sigh, taking your key out of your pocket as you glance to the door next to yours. Your brows furrow as you remember the first few days when you had moved into the apartment complex and you had met your neighbor in passing. He had been nice, asked you if you needed any help, but most of all, he had been attractive. Feeling your heart sink into your stomach, you picture the face of the man who had asked if you needed help moving boxes and it’s the same face that had pretended to be your boyfriend.

“Sara!”

Jutting your hip to the side, you barely manage to let one of your students run by you as he heads straight for a friend. Smiling at the interaction, you don’t notice the boy's father trailing behind him, a small backpack in his hands.

“Matthew… You need to apologize to your teacher. I know you are excited, but still watch where you are going.”

Shaking your head, you start to turn around towards the somewhat familiar voice when the small boy pouts up at you. He is so cute that you can’t stop yourself from squatting down to his level to smile at him and adjust his small tie on his uniform.

“‘M sorry, teacher. I haven’t seen Sara all summer. Daddy wouldn’t let me stay at her house because I’m a boy.”

You find yourself nodding along with his words, sympathizing with him until you can’t help the small laugh that slips from your lips.

“It’s okay, Matthew. There will be plenty of time to play with Sara at school. Cut your daddy some slack, okay?”

Ushering him along, you watch him for a moment longer, half turning towards the boy's father but still not quite looking at him. You have a habit of watching your students more than you do their parents, it would only take a second for a five year old to find trouble.

“Don’t worry about Matthew. No harm done.”

Seungcheol grins at you as you watch the kids so diligently. He had no idea that you were his son’s teacher; this was a happy surprise, or perhaps an awkward one. He hadn’t really made up his mind yet. It isn’t until you finally glance at him and your mouth falls open in confusion that Seungcheol presses his lips together and winces at your reaction.

“Didn’t know your boyfriend had a kid, huh? Is that a deal breaker?”

You can feel your cheeks burning at Seungcheol’s joke, but your eyes quickly move over him before you give yourself something else to do by reaching for Matthew’s bag. It was better if you kept yourself busy and just did your job. Laughing a bit awkwardly, you meet Seungcheol’s eyes and bite at your lip out of nerves as he lets you take the bag and you move to the small wooden cubbies to find Matthew’s name.

“Uh… I will be honest, I didn’t. I’m sorry again, by the way. Even more so now. I swear to you, I’m not a complete mess; I’m a good teacher.”

Shaking his head, Seungcheol finds himself frowning when you seem to find the need to explain yourself and defend your position. He hadn’t meant to cause that reaction.

“I—no… I’m sure you are. I’ve heard nothing but great things about you leading up to today. I apologize… that was rude of me. I was just trying to make a joke. Break the tension.”

Feeling a pang of guilt at your reaction as Seungcheol frowns, you take a deep breath and shake your head. You didn’t want him to feel bad. It just wasn’t the most ideal situation to find yourself in with a parent. Running your fingers over your hair, you press your lips together and scrunch up your nose, drawing Seungcheol’s attention to it. He smiles, finding the expression on your face cute. You were cute.

“No, no, I know. I’m sorry. I’ve only been here a couple years and this is my first year without working in someone else's classroom. I just don’t wanna mess up.”

Seungcheol nodded, understanding the feeling—perhaps not in the same profession, but he had been there in his own way. Gesturing towards the kids, Matthew in particular, as your eyes once again move over the kids, more of them making their way in, he shrugs as he speaks.

“With how you have been watching them... I don’t think we have a single thing to worry about.”

He finds himself wanting to stay, if not just to talk to you but also to Matthew. It was his first day of big boy school, and even if Matthew looked like he was doing just fine with the adjustment, Seungcheol couldn’t say the same for himself. One glance at his wrist, seeing how much time he had spent standing in the classroom, however, makes Seungcheol sigh and run his fingers through his brown hair.

“I gotta go. I should get out of the way anyway. Matthew…”

Hearing his name, the small boy perks up and looks towards his dad with a grin before making his way over. Ruffling his hair, Seungcheol practically pouts, making your heart feel heavy. This part was hard, even for you. You didn’t have children of your own, but the sentiment was still there when you watched loving parents leave their children for the day.

“I love you. Please be good. Learn somethin’?”

Giggling, Matthew leans into his dad’s touch and rocks on the balls of his feet as you take a step away to give them a moment to themselves.

“Love you too. I’m so smart, Daddy. Teacher will be suppised!”

Rolling his eyes at how cocky his son sounds, Seungcheol groans under his breath and looks at his watch again.

“Yeah, alright, it's 'surprised’ and stay away from Uncle Jeonghan. Learn some humility.”

“I don’t know what that means, Daddy.”

Your small laugh draws Seungcheol’s attention and makes him grin as he ushers Matthew towards you.

“I bet Miss Y/N knows and she will let me know if you’ve put it into practice when I pick you up after school.”

Winking at you, Seungcheol turns to head out the door, glancing over his shoulder to wave at you as he goes. Looking down at the small boy with an expectant look in his eye, you bite at your lip and try to think about how you are going to explain humility and modesty to a five year old on a Monday morning.

“That’s so good!”

You clap as you watch a few of your kids preen with pride after counting to ten. They had been working hard after recess and a snack. It had been a good first day and you were proud of each and every one of them, even if you couldn’t help how your eye kept going to Matthew. He was so cute—not that all the kids in your class weren’t; there was just something about his gummy smile that reminded you so much of his dad.

Looking up at the clock as the bell rings, you quickly look back at the kids, who mostly look confused until the door opens and parents start to file in.

“Hey! Everybody… I know you want to see your parents, but let’s remember to grab our bags. Cubbies first, please!”

You watch as most of the kids listen to you, moving in small lines to the wooden cubbies to grab their jackets and bags before finding their parents and heading out the door. Bending to pick up a few toys, you furrow your brows when you hear your name. It’s said by a small, familiar voice—Matthew, who pouts at you when you finally meet his eyes. He looks around, seeing most of the room clearing out, but his dad is nowhere to be found.

“Hey, what’s up? Maybe your daddy is running late. Maybe mommy is coming?”

Shaking his head, Matthew gives you a confused look as he tugs at the bag on his shoulder.

“I don’t have a mommy. Can you call my daddy?”

Feeling a pang of guilt at mentioning his mother, you squat down to Matthew’s level so he doesn’t have to tilt his head back to look up at you anymore. You knew you could call Seungcheol if you needed to, but school had just ended. Maybe you could give him a few more minutes. Reaching for Matthew’s bag, you sigh and offer the boy a smile, watching him match it with that cute gummy grin.

“How about we give him a few more minutes and if he doesn’t come, we can call him? You can pick any book you want and I’ll read it to you.”

The idea of choosing any book in the room is enough to make Matthew okay with your terms. Wiggling out of his bag, he goes to the shelf, looking over the book covers as you stand and put his bag on the table with your purse. Checking the clock, your brows furrow with a sigh. It wasn’t that late and you were sure this wouldn’t be the last child you would be waiting for.

Cursing under his breath, Seungcheol looks at his watch as he speed walks through the school halls towards your classroom. He was over 30 minutes late and he was sure you were upset with him. He should have called but he was more concerned with trying to get to the school in one piece.

Reaching the door, he starts to speak when he hears your soft voice and for some reason, it makes him stop in his tracks. He sees Matthew sitting in your lap as he rests back against your chest, a book in your hands. You smile as you read the book, trying to come up with a voice for each character, making his son laugh. Seungcheol almost feels bad for interrupting the moment, but then he feels bad again for leaving you here at work with Matthew for so long.

“Y/N…”

Lifting your head, hearing your name, you smile at Seungcheol, feeling Matthew slip off your lap and run towards the door. You were definitely second best, but that was completely fair. Seungcheol holds the back of Matthew’s head as the boy wraps his arms around his legs and pouts up at him, asking him where he’s been.

“I got caught up at work; I’m so so sorry. It won’t happen again.”

Moving towards the table, you pick up Matthew’s bag as you shake your head.

“It’s no problem. It happens. Maybe you could just text me to let me know if you are gonna be late?”

Nodding, Seungcheol lets out a breath, lifting his hand to rub at the back of his neck. You were right.

“No… yeah, absolutely. I’ll make it up—”

“Oh! Hey… Seungcheol, right?”

Your smile fades hearing Alex’s voice as you watch Seungcheol’s brows furrow in confusion. Moving quicker towards the door, to hand Seungcheol Matthew’s bag and get his attention, but his eyes move to your ex.

“I—yeah… I gotta get Matthew home.”

Looking towards you as if asking for an explanation, Seungcheol takes the bag from your hand while ushering his son out the door. You try to let him go, gesturing towards the hall, when Alex scoffs and gives him a once over muttering under his breath.

“Seriously, Y/N? A parent...”

Swallowing hard, you feel your chest tighten when Seungcheol stops in his tracks. You wouldn’t blame him if he told Alex it was all bullshit right there. It would be smart of you to do it, he wasn’t going to let it go either way. Starting to speak, you stop when Seungcheol is quicker, keeping his voice low as he smirks at Alex.

“Is there a policy against that, Alex?” Glancing at you, Seungcheol reaches out to grab your hand, squeezing it lightly, winking at you before dropping it. “See you later, Y/N.”

Your cheeks burn as you watch Seungcheol walk down the hall with Matthew. The young boy glancing back to smile at you curiously before looking up at his dad and saying something you can’t make out. Beside you, Alex’s jaw tightens as he watches you keep your eyes on the man leaving. What he wouldn’t give for you to look at him like that again.

“There should be a policy against it…”

Shooting him a look, you turn towards your classroom, your hand on the doorframe as you speak.

"Well, there isn’t, Alex, but there is one about harassment. Leave me alone.”

You watch his mouth open and close a couple of times as you close the door in his face, leaving you in peaceful silence to wrap your mind around what had just happened.

Wiping sweat from your brow, you glance around your living room at the boxes that had once been piled up in a corner. It had been difficult to tell if you were moving in or out, but as you broke down, one last box signified that you had officially settled in. It had only taken you months to do it, and for some reason this Saturday felt like the right moment; everything was feeling like home in this apartment for once.

Grabbing as many of the boxes as you can, you let out a groan at how many trips you are going to have to take as you make your way to your front door and push it open with your shoulder. Cursing under your breath to the sound of your keys hitting the floor at your feet, you try to lean down without putting down the boxes when a hand brushes over your fingers, taking your keys from you. Before you are able to say anything, your eyes meet Seungcheol's, and your lips pull up into a shy smile.

“Your hands seemed full.”

Nodding as you take the keys and slip them into your back pocket, you don’t notice Seungcheol glancing into your apartment, seeing the pile of boxes. It isn’t until he clears his throat, gesturing inside, that you tilt your head curiously.

“Want me to help with the rest? I think we can get them all down to the bin in one go.”

Your first instinct is to tell him no, that you don’t want to bother him, but there is a look in his eye that you don’t want to turn him away. So you step out into the hall and smile at Seungcheol instead.

“I mean, if you are really offering.”

Laughing, Seungcheol nods and slides past you, glancing around your apartment with a grin before he leans down to pick up the larger pile of boxes, heading back towards you.

“It’s not a big deal, Y/N. I was hoping to talk to you today anyway.”

Moving through the hall with Seungcheol at your side, you use your elbow to press the elevator button, your head once again tilting to the side, almost like a puppy hearing a new word as you listen to him speak. He wanted to talk to you. You try to think of the reason, but only one comes to mind.

“Is it about Matthew?”

Pursing his lips briefly, Seungcheol quickly smiles at your assumption and nods to cover up any doubt. You weren’t wrong in thinking he would want to talk about his son. You were his teacher, it was only fair that he would be the topic of normal conversation.

“Mmm, he loves school. I think you are the main reason.”

Shaking your head, you step off the elevator and head for the main doors out of the apartment building with Seungcheol in tow. When you stop to lean your boxes against the wall, opening the door for him, Seungcheol smiles at you as he moves through the door, only to stop and hold it open for you with his foot.

“Thanks, but no... I think it’s his friends. He loves hanging out with Sara.”

Seungcheol lets the door close behind you before trailing along at your side as he shakes his head. He knew how much his son liked his friends, but there was something different about Matthew since he had started school.

“It’s more than that. He’s eager to get there. He can see Sara anytime, and that doesn't have to be at school. He wants to get to Miss Y/N’s class.”

Feeling your cheeks heat up, your lips pull up into a smile that you are unable to hide even as you look down. It was one thing to be told you were good at your job; it was another to hear that a student wanted to go to school because of your class. It was everything a teacher wanted to hear.

Watching Seungcheol push his boxes into the bin, you run your fingers along the underside of one of the boxes still in your hands. You weren’t sure if he even understood the gift he had given you while helping you with a mundane task that you had been dreading. Glancing down, you take a deep breath, hoping the butterflies in your stomach will calm down when Seungcheol’s voice brings you back to reality.

“Here, let me put these in there too.”

Meeting his eyes, you swallow hard, feeling his fingers glide over yours as Seungcheol takes the boxes from your hands. When you glance away with a small smile on your lips, he takes notice. Pushing the rest of the boxes into the bin, Seungcheol bites at his lip, trying to choose his words carefully, before he turns back to you and scratches at his brow.

“Anything else to throw away? Is what’s his name lingering around? I can toss him in too.”

Feeling your cheeks burn, you scoff into a laugh as Seungcheol moves back to your side. Walking in tandem towards the building, you glance up at him, shaking your head as he laughs, along with you leaning to knock your arm with his to let you know he is joking.

“Alex… and thankfully he isn’t. God, I am so sorry about all of that. I shouldn’t have gotten you involved to begin with.”

Shaking his head, Seungcheol purses his lips, watching you take your keys out to tap your fob against the reader, letting him open the door for you.

“It’s not a big deal. You seemed really uncomfortable. I was happy to help… I mean, I still am. He strikes me as the type to not give up easily.”

Scoffing once again, you follow Seungcheol to the elevator, leaning against the wall as you meet his eyes. That was an understatement. If he was able to tell from just a couple of meetings with your ex, that should say plenty about Alex’s character. You find yourself allowing your eyes to move over Seungcheol’s face, his handsome eyes, and his plump lips before you sigh and look down at your hands as the elevator steadily climbs the floors.

“He’s not. He thinks that’s a redeeming quality.” Sighing into your words, you push off the wall as the doors open, stepping out into the hall as Seungcheol follows you. “But he’d be wrong. I couldn’t ask you to help me anymore. You’ve done so much.”

Offering Seungcheol a smile, you walk backwards for a moment as he tilts his head, his own smile lifting at one side as his eyes move over you. You were so cute; he knew it was dangerous this game he was playing. He wanted to get close to you and he knew there were better ways, this had just been the one that had been presented to him.

“You didn’t ask. I’m offering… Speaking of, you busy this evening?”

Shaking your head, you slide your keys from your pocket as you watch Seungcheol lean against his door. You can’t help but notice the way your eyes once again move over him. He was possibly the most handsome man you had ever seen and also the most unattainable. You needed to remember who he was and the boundary that was set, even if it was blurred.

“Mm, no. Why? Need some help with Matthew?”

Seungcheol sighs into a laugh. It wasn’t unfair that you’d assume he wanted to ask you something involving his kid, but he just smiles as you look at him curiously, as if realizing for the first time that Matthew isn’t around.

“Oh… no. He’s with my parents this weekend. I was gonna ask if you wanted to come over for dinner?”

Your brows furrow at Seungcheol’s question. That boundary was getting even more blurred as you considered his question and he seemed to see you struggle before he laughed and bit his lips before speaking up again.

“We can talk about how to pretend to be a good fake couple. You know, for appearances sake. Maybe get Alex to get a life.”

While Seungcheol’s explanation wasn’t entirely convincing, you smiled and nodded. In truth, you didn’t want to turn down the dinner invitation. You didn’t want to tell Seungcheol no and that you didn’t want to spend more time with him, even if Matthew wasn’t involved. It was a dangerous line you were walking.

“Great! Uh… around 6?”

At 5:55 you were considering texting Seungcheol to tell him that you had suddenly come down with the flu. Your anxiety was causing your heart to rise into your throat as you tugged at your shirt, trying to make sure you looked decent.

With your hand hovering over the door, you whine to yourself before knocking lightly at Seungcheol’s door and waiting. Maybe he would make it easier on you and just not answer the door, but then the idea of that makes you frown. You hate the idea of not being able to spend the evening with Seungcheol. Even the idea of something disrupting it causes disappointment to bubble in your stomach until the door opens and you are met with his handsome face and a gummy smile that matches your favorite one of Matthew’s.

“Hey, you look—uh… I mean, you look pretty. Come in.”

Seungcheol stumbles over his words, the flush of his cheeks evident as he shakes his head, trying to keep his head and not overstep with you. He knew where he stood and where he wanted this to go, but you had made yourself pretty clear the first day in your classroom. You were his son’s teacher and now this situation... It was odd. Seungcheol was just happy to at least have you in his life as a friend, if not more.

Swallowing hard, you look down to hide your smile as Seungcheol compliments you. You weren’t sure how to react, so instead you pressed your lips together and gestured outward to his apartment.

“Your place is so nice.”

Shrugging, Seungcheol leads you towards the open kitchen and living room area where, the dinner, he has been working on bubbles quietly on the stove. You watch him adjust the temperature and stir a sauce as he sighs, tilting his head.

“It’s a mess. I should have cleaned up more. I don’t usually have company besides a few friends, but they are used to Matthew’s shit laying around. Here, do you like this?”

Holding the wooden spoon out towards you over the bar, Seungcheol watches as you blink at him a couple times before leaning forward to take a bit of the sauce off the spoon. It is savory and delicious as it hits your tongue and the back of your throat. Closing your eyes, you nod and lift your fingers to brush them over your lips as he watches you with a smile on his face at your reaction.

“It’s delicious, Seungcheol.”

Turning down the heat even more, Seungcheol moves to the sink to strain another larger pot as you watch him closely. His voice is calm and soothing. Everything about him makes you feel almost instantly comfortable in a space where you thought you’d want to hide under the table without a reason to truly be there.

“I don’t know if it’s all that great. You are being nice, but this is my go to for dinner. Matthew likes pasta and I’m halfway decent at it. So I hope you actually like it.”

Licking your lips, you lift your hand to cover your smile as you watch Seungcheol putting the finishing touches on dinner. He moves with ease, his eyes catching yours every once in a while, making your skin erupt in chillbumps as you glance away shyly. You could feel yourself getting too comfortable around him if you were to let your guard down, and that was all your body was telling you to do.

“Mind to grab a couple of those wine glasses?”

Glancing to your right, you shake your head gently before collecting two of the fragile glasses as Seungcheol moves past you towards the table. You hear your stomach growl as the smell of the pasta and garlic bread greets your nose when you get close enough to set the glasses down. Smiling, Seungcheol sneaks a look in your direction, watching your brows furrow and your lips turn down in embarrassment as he hears the grumble coming from your stomach.

“I—sorry. I didn’t eat lunch.”

Shaking his head, he picks up the bottle of wine, twisting the opener into the cork as he takes a breath to cover a small laugh. Seungcheol swore he could feel the effects of the alcohol before even taking a sip, with you standing so close to him and with how sweet you were. He knew this was a dangerous arrangement. Not that either of you would be doing anything wrong, but as the moments ticked by, it was getting difficult not to give into lingering glances.

“You have nothing to apologize for. Except perhaps to yourself. You need to eat regularly, Y/N.”

Groaning playfully, you hold the glasses steady, allowing Seungcheol to easily pour wine into each before he moves your chair, letting you sit down first. You can feel your cheeks flush up into your ears. The sound of blood rushing to your head has your hand reaching for your wine, bringing the glass to your lips to take a sip of the liquid courage as Seungcheol lifts your plate, putting pasta on it with an appreciative hum.

“Thank you. I promise, I’m usually better about eating... and I always make sure the kids eat their lunch and snacks at school. So don’t think my own behavior somehow reflects—”

Moving his hand from the serving fork, Seungcheol slides it over yours, meeting your eyes as you start to ramble. You were spiraling and there was no reason for it.

“Hey… I know you are a good teacher. I don’t worry a single moment in the day about Matthew’s wellbeing when I know he’s with you. Don’t worry about that.”

Taking a deep breath, you flex your fingers under Seungcheol’s palm, feeling his hands wrap around yours as his brows furrow. You can see the look in his eye and how he’s searching to make sure you understand what he’s told you, so you nod. Even if you didn’t completely feel adequate, you needed Seungcheol to let go of your hand before you fainted into his floor or made a run for the door.

“Mmkay… I–mm…” Smiling, trying to compose yourself, you watch Seungcheol’s hand move from yours to his wine, making you feel like you can take a breath. “The wine is very good. Thank you for inviting me to eat.”

Letting the wine glide over his tongue, Seungcheol smiles against the glass. He had noticed that you were starting to panic, but so was he. It hadn’t been his intention, but the alternative was you feeling like you weren’t good enough and that just wouldn’t work for him. Gesturing towards your plate, Seungcheol clears his throat and tilts his head before picking up his own fork.

“Thank you for eating with me. I’m a sad, lonely sap when Matthew is gone on weekends. You saved me from boredom.”

You weren’t sure how truthful Seungcheol was being but his words made you feel warm and they made you settle into your chair. They gave you a purpose to be there and not rush. You didn’t want him to be lonely. You suddenly realized how quiet it was in the apartment. You were used to that in yours but you could also sometimes hear Seungcheol and Matthew through the walls and they always sounded happy together. Of course, a weekend alone might be lonely for him.

Two glasses of wine down and after refusing another helping of pasta, you felt even more relaxed around Seungcheol. He was funny and warm. You understood even more about Matthew after spending time with his dad. They were like a mirror image of one another and as much as you adored Matthew, you could see yourself feeling that way about Seungcheol as the night carried on.

Soon you found yourself on his couch, another glass of wine in your hand as you pulled your legs up under you. Seungcheol grinned at you as you told him about going through your first year of assistant teaching. He could tell that you had a passion for your career and it was just one of the many things he was starting to love about you. This was becoming one of the easiest and equally difficult evenings of his night. While he loved talking to you and being close to you, he couldn’t help as his eyes moved over your pretty face and along your neck as he pictured getting closer to you and seeing if you’d let him touch you. Instead, he kept his respectful distance and admired you.

Watching Seungcheol stand up to grab another bottle of wine, you tilt your head, letting your eyes move along his fit frame. You weren’t blind. You were a woman, you had needs, and god, if your body wasn’t screaming at you that you were an idiot for not trying to get closer to the man who had been smiling at you for the past few hours. You were simultaneously enraptured by him and terrified of him. You could see yourself falling for him and it would be hard and messy. It couldn’t end well, because the first person you saw in your mind was Matthew.

Looking back around the room to pull your mind back to the present, despite the euphoric cloud of alcohol, you smile seeing the pictures of the boy on the wall. There were so many, from the time he was an infant to now. You could see pictures of Seungcheol and Matthew with others as well. A woman who you assumed was Matthew’s mother and some men who looked to be around Seungcheol’s age, perhaps brothers. A wave of longing hits you and you rest your head on your arm, a frown on your face as you keep looking around, finally noticing the degrees on the furthest wall.

Narrowing your eyes, you struggle to make out the words, finally sitting up and leaning forward to read as Seungcheol moves back to the couch with a sigh. Reaching for your glass, the man says something you don’t pay attention to as he tries to hand you the glass.

“Y/N? Is white wine okay?”

Blinking a couple of times, you meet Seungcheol’s eyes and look at the glass in his hand with a clueless look on your face. A smile spreads over his face. He tilts his head and lets you take the glass from him as you gesture towards the wall with your other hand.

“You—wait… You’re a doctor?”

You weren’t sure what you had assumed Seungcheol did for a living, but a doctor hadn’t been on your bingo card. Looking around the room as you feel reality setting in, you can see that things make a bit more sense. The furniture was really nice. The wine was delicious and tasted expensive. Seungcheol, even in lounge wear, looked expensive.

Shrugging, Seungcheol purses his lips as he takes a sip of the wine from the glass in his hand as he looks at his medical degree on the wall. He hadn’t really considered that you didn’t know or that it would matter. Meeting your eyes once again, he sighs and leans back against the back of the couch, getting comfortable.

“Mmhm, family medicine. I have a small private practice in the city and a couple days a week I work out of the hospital in the emergency room. Are you that surprised? Do I not look smart enough to be a doctor or something?”

Sitting up, you shake your head so fast Seungcheol is afraid you might get whiplash. Reaching forward as he laughs, he runs his fingers over your arm as you lift your glass to your lips, finally taking another sip to calm your nerves before explaining your apparent shock.

“No…No—of course you are smart. You just don’t look like a doctor. I didn’t expect you to be... you know.”

When you don’t elaborate, Seungcheol laughs as he leans to put his glass on a coaster on the end table. You take another larger sip of your wine as your eyes fall to the fingers of his other hand as they rest against your forearm and the couch. It isn’t lost on you, no matter how tipsy you might be or how much you enjoy his fingers on your skin.

“I don’t know. Tell me. You can tell me anything.”

That was a very dangerous thing to say to you and Seungcheol seemed to know it as he watched you snort into a laugh. Giving you the smile that you had grown to love so much, he bites at his lip and leans forward slightly, listening to the laugh fade as your eyes focus on him.

“Seriously, tell me what you mean.”

There was a lump in your throat and wine wasn’t going to get it to go down. You weren’t sure anything could. No matter how much you swallowed or cleared your throat, it was only when you glanced down at your wine that you were able to feel the pressure subside enough that you could talk.

“I—you know what I mean, Seungcheol. The whole package, I guess.”

Shaking his head again, Seungcheol sighs out a laugh, wishing he could just get you to say what you mean instead of this game where you beat around the bush.

“Package? Like from Amazon? What are we talking about here, Y/N? Help me out.”

He was frustrating in the most adorably clueless and teasing way. You had a feeling he knew what you were hinting at, even if he was trying to play dumb; he was a doctor after all. You had already insulted his intelligence once. Glancing up long enough to meet Seungcheol’s eyes, you take a deep breath and let it out with a sigh that sounds more like a laugh as you speak.

“You’re incredibly attractive, a doctor, obviously successful, and a good dad. The whole package. I don’t think you can order that on Amazon.”

Seungcheol bites at his lip after hearing you explain your words. It was better than he had anticipated. He felt bad for making you say it, he knew it had to be somewhat embarrassing, but he had to hear it. He might never hear it again, because at the end of the day, this wasn’t a real relationship.

“Mm, well, that’s good for your boyfriend to know.”

Opening your mouth, you look confused but Seungcheol grins and picks up his wine, letting you off the hook as he takes a sip and continues.

“You know, fake boyfriend.”

A small, confused laugh slips from between your lips as you nod, trying to act like it is easy to understand and it all makes sense. You try to pretend like this is going to be easy and that him “helping” you keep up this ruse is a good idea, but who was it actually helping?

“Right, my fake boyfriend. My fake doctor boyfriend.”

Smirking, Seungcheol rolls his eyes and watches you finish off your glass of wine. He hated the word fake. Was it horrible of him to hope for a time when he could remove the word fake from his and your vocabulary? Yes, he knew it was. So he just takes a deep breath and points at your wine glass.

“More wine, fake girlfriend?”

Your laugh is so pretty, it almost breaks Seungcheol’s heart. He watches your head tilt back and his eyes move along your neck and back up to your face as you sigh. It’s when you glance at the clock on the wall and pout that he matches the pout, knowing what you are going to say.

“It’s so late. I should go home.”

Two in the morning. That was much later than you had intended on staying, but the look on Seungcheol’s face made you almost reluctant to get up. You were tired, the wine was doing a great job at aiding that fact, but it didn’t lessen that pout on his handsome face. You watch as he nods, a soft sigh escaping between his lips before he takes your empty glass and stands up.

“Thank you again for coming over. I really did enjoy it. Maybe we can do this again sometime.”

Your eyes follow Seungcheol into the kitchen as he puts the wine glasses into the sink. When he glances over his shoulder at you, giving you a hopeful look you can’t disappoint him even if your brain is screaming about how much this is going to hurt you.

“Absolutely.”

“That’s all you did?”

Groaning at Jeonghan’s tone in his question, Seungcheol pushes a plate of leftover pasta across the kitchen island towards him and Jihoon. Lifting his hands, he gives his best friend an incredulous look before stabbing at his own food with a pout on his face.

“What did you expect him to do, Jeonghan? Jump her the first chance he gets.”

Jihoon rolls his eyes as he shoves a fork full of pasta into his mouth, talking between bites. Out of the two men, in his own opinion, he had the most level head in this situation. He understood why Seungcheol had let you go home and why he hadn’t made a move. Jeonghan, on the other hand, stared at his friend as if he had two heads and was growing another.

“I expect him to grow some fucking balls. You deserve some happiness, Cheol. You have this hot little teacher next door that you won’t shut up about; she comes over, and that’s—that’s it!”

Jeonghan made it seem like he had committed a crime by respecting you and your position as his teacher. Not that the two of you had exclusively said you didn’t want to actually explore things, but it was an unspoken thing. Seungcheol wasn’t an idiot. He didn’t get through medical school on a wish and a prayer.

“I’m helping her with her stupid douche of an ex. It would be wrong of me to actually make a move. Plus, it would be weird for Matthew.”

Finally swallowing a bite of his food, Jeonghan scoffs around the pasta at Seungcheol’s half ass attempt at an excuse. In his mind, it didn’t make any sense and he was grasping at straws. He had seen his best friend fall for someone before and he didn’t want to see him lose that chance because he was scared.

“Bullshit, it would be weird for Matthew. He already talks about Miss Y/N all the damn time. He likes her more than he likes me at this point. It’s offensive…”

Chuckling, Jihoon gets a harsh side eye from Jeonghan that he matches with one of his own.

“I think it’s hilarious and I think that you need to stop riding Cheol’s ass. If he wants to ask her out, he’ll do it. If not—”

“He’ll die alone and pouting.”

Dropping his fork into his plate, Seungcheol lifts his hand to push at his temples as his friends continue to talk about him as if he isn’t even in the room. Both of them had good points and as much as he didn’t want to admit it, Jeonghan had some of the better ones. He knew he was being a wimp when it came to you, but he wasn’t ready to bet and lose.

Noticing that Seungcheol had gone quiet, Jeonghan turned his attention back to him, letting out a sigh as Jihoon did the same. Neither of them liked the look on his face. They had been friends with him for over a decade and been through a majority of the highs and the lows. They had been there for the best of his life so far and the day that he thought his own had ended because hers had.

Rubbing his thumb into his palm as he thinks about what to say next, Jihoon furrows his brows deeply. For a moment, he looks annoyed, but that’s because he is. He’s annoyed that he’s going to agree with Yoon Jeonghan for the first time in a long time. Sighing in a groan, the man leans forward and taps his fingers on the island as he tries to make his point.

“Listen, I’m not saying I completely agree with Jeonghan—”

“But clearly, he agrees—”

Shooting a look at the man, Jihoon watches a smirk pull up at Jeonghan’s lips as he stops talking, letting him continue.

“But... even I can admit that something is going on in your head, Cheol. I’m not going to push you as hard as him, but don’t let it slip through your fingers because of the unknown.”

That was what terrified him. The unknown. You could reject him completely. He could look like a fool. You could accept him and fall in love with him. Then he might lose you. There was so much unknown. The unknown had ruined his life before and only the people closest to him and his son had kept him from drowning.

“What if it doesn’t work out?”

Nodding, Jeonghan lifts his hands off the island and takes a deep breath, letting it out as he meets Seungcheol’s eyes to answer his question.

“And what if it does?”

Forcing a smile on your face after a long day, you stand up as the bell rings and parents start to move into the room to collect their children. Taking your time, you note each one, telling them to have a good evening and that you will see them in the morning.

It wasn’t that you hadn’t enjoyed your day, but you could feel a headache behind your eyes and fifteen screaming five year olds was a lot for anyone. So as the numbers started to dwindle, you could feel the anxiety starting to fade from you.

“Hey, buddy!”

Glancing up as Matthew squeals happily, you watch him run towards a slender but fit man that you vaguely recognize. Perhaps he had been on Seungcheol’s walls in one of the pictures, but you didn’t have a name to put—

“Uncle Jeonghan!”

Ah, so this was Uncle Jeonghan that Matthew talked about so much. Picking up your clipboard, you furrow your brows, moving over to him and the man as you quickly make sure the man’s name is listed as someone authorized to pick up.

“Have a good day? This must be Miss Y/N that your daddy talks about all the time.”

Lifting your head from the clipboard, you meet the man’s eyes as your cheeks start to burn. Opening your mouth, you close it quickly as he smirks at you and ruffles the boy's head as he clings close to him.

“I—Yoon Jeonghan? If you could just sign for Matthew, since you're not his legal guardian and only listed as an authorized person, it’s policy.”

Taking the clipboard from you, Jeonghan grins as you seem to shy away at his words. He could see the appeal. You were beautiful and seemed responsible. You were exactly Seungcheol’s type.

“No problem; Y/N. Cheol had to work in the ER today so here I am to save the day. I honestly don’t know why he didn’t just ask you to bring him home.”

Scoffing in surprise, you watch as Matthew gasps and looks up at you like a new toy.

“That’d be so cool! Miss Y/N, can you one day? I can show you my toys.”

Not wanting to disappoint the boy, you give him a strained smile and meet Jeonghan’s eyes, realizing he was an enabler. Seungcheol should have warned you about him, but maybe he didn’t even realize how your first meeting with him would go.

“Maybe… I’m your teacher, Matthew. We play at school—”

“Well and his neighbor and his daddy’s girl—”

Shaking your head, you watch as Jeonghan bites his lip to stifle a laugh before nodding and holding up his free hand as a way of surrendering. Apparently Seungcheol had shared some details of your “relationship” with his friend. You wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out, but you had a feeling this man was the type to pull you out and back into the spotlight.

“Maybe one day, Matthew... but let’s not get our hopes up.”

Pouting up at you, Matthew just nods and moves away from you both to go get his things. Letting out a breath, you take back your clipboard and put it down on a shelf behind you as you and Jeonghan glance towards the small boy as he pulls on his jacket.

“He’d let you take him home.”

Furrowing your brows, you glance over at Jeonghan and shift on your feet at his words and the implication behind them. Noticing how you seem to nervously shift from foot to foot, Jeonghan smirks and glances down at his phone in his hand, answering a text from Seungcheol as he speaks to you.

“One day he’ll man up and ask you out for real. This fake dating shit—”

“Don’t curse in my classroom, please.”

A laugh slips from between his lips as he glances up from his phone to offer you an apologetic smile before nodding and continuing.

“Sure, sorry. As I was saying, this fake dating nonsense you two have going on right now isn't going to work. I can already tell you like him.”

Insufferable. That's how you’d describe Yoon Jeonghan. You had known him for less than ten minutes and already you knew he was going to be an issue in your life. Crossing your arms, you start to sigh into your words, a dramatic big breath, when Alex’s voice once again ruins your moment.

“Matt, buddy, let me help.”

Jeonghan watches as your head moves like prey sensing a predator towards the other teacher, who was now helping Matthew with his bag. His eyes move to his godson’s face as he grimaces as the man tugs on the straps, keeping them tight on his arms.

“He’s fine, Mr. Alex. Thank you.”

You still sounded like yourself, with that sweet tone to your voice, but even Jeonghan could hear the hint of malice behind it. So this was Alex, and now Alex thought it was okay to mess with Seungcheol’s son. The “fake” dating made sense. This man did not understand boundaries and used everything in front of him as an open door.

Stepping in front of Alex, you smile at Matthew and the smile transfers to the boy’s face. Jeonghan feels relief wash over him at the sight as you kneel down, adjust the straps back to where they were and then tie his shoe properly.

“I was just helping out a student, Miss Y/N.”

Oof… There was so much tension in this room that even Jeonghan felt like he was going to drown in it. Stepping forward, he clears his throat and offers his hand towards Matthew, letting him take his fingers.

“And while I’m sure she appreciates that, and the parents do... I don’t know you, Mr. Alex, was it? From where I was standing, some strange man was touching my godson, which honestly made me nervous for a moment. I’d be more careful; this isn’t your classroom.”

Standing up, you feel your cheeks burn under Alex’s eyes as he looks to you to defend him, but you don’t. Jeonghan had a point. Not every parent or guardian knew who all the teachers were, not even the students knew the other teachers. Simple acts could be misunderstood and while he was doing something to “be nice” and it was innocent, you knew there was another reason he was inserting himself into your and Matthew’s lives.

“Well, I do apologize for the misunderstanding. My classroom is right down the hall. I was just coming to see Miss Y/N. We are very close.”

Jeonghan just smirks at the man and shoots you a glance before looking at his phone and seeing a reply from Seungcheol.

“I’m sure you are.” Dismissing the man, he looks at you and smiles brightly. “Y/N, dear… Cheol asked me if you wouldn’t mind helping me with Matthew once you get home? I’m an awful cook.”

Opening his mouth to say something, Alex stops when Matthew squeals with delight and grabs at your shirt, begging you to come over.

Another point to you and Seungcheol.

Staring at Seungcheol’s apartment door, you listen to the sound of Matthew’s laughter. While you knew why you had agreed to Jeonghan’s ridiculous plan, you weren’t sure why you were attempting to follow through with it. You could so easily just text Seungcheol and tell him that your evening got far too busy, and you wouldn’t be able to help Jeonghan out with Matthew, but suddenly it felt important to you.

Jeonghan had been doing a good job, for the most part, at keeping Matthew distracted from asking when you were going to come over, but every few minutes the question kept coming up. He knew there was a slight chance you might bail on them, but he had a good feeling you wouldn’t, so he simply told Matthew, “she’ll be here soon,” each time he asked. So when you knocked on the door, a little after 6:30, Matthew squealed in delight and beat Jeonghan to it by a mile.

“Miss Y/N! I’m so excited. I have coloring pages and my trucks to show you. Can we paint?”

Shaking your head, you run your fingers over Matthew’s head with a sigh as you listen to Jeonghan chuckle under his breath a few feet away. It was clear to see that the little boy had you wrapped around his little finger. You weren’t supposed to have a favorite student, and maybe that wasn’t even what was happening here, but you adored Matthew. Him and his gummy smile.

“Maybe? I’m supposed to help with dinner. What did your Uncle Jeonghan have in mind?”

Giving you a once over in your more casual clothes, Jeonghan nods in approval before gesturing towards the kitchen as if you didn’t already know where it was.

“Luckily for me, Cheol is a great father. He left a note that says, 'stuff for pizza in the fridge’, so it looks like it’s pizza, Teach.”

Rolling your eyes, you let Matthew hold on to your waist as you make your way into the kitchen and glance at the note in question.

“And you can’t make pizza on your own?”

“Uncle Jeonghan burneded my chicken nuggets last week. Can you make me pizza, Miss Y/N?”

Letting out a breath, you meet Matthew’s eyes before looking back up at Jeonghan, who grimaces at the mention of the chicken nuggets. Maybe it was a good thing that you were here if this man couldn’t even be trusted with the most simple of foods.

It didn’t take long for the three of you to get into a comfortable rhythm. You quickly took over things in the kitchen, leaving Jeonghan to entertain Matthew, which in turn kept him from being under your feet. It wasn’t until you were putting the homemade pizza into the oven that the evening started to calm down and you were able to really look around you and feel your heart tightening. You wanted this. Not with Jeonghan, though he was starting to grow on you as a friend, but you wanted to be around Matthew more and to help with him.

Feeling your cell phone vibrate in your back pocket, you wipe your hands off on a dish towel and slip it from your pocket only for a smile to pull at the corner of your lips.

Seungcheol: I owe you big time

Glancing towards the living room, you press your lips together watching Matthew and Jeonghan sitting at the coffee table with crayons covering most of the surface. Now that feeling of wanting this more often was even stronger as you thought about Seungcheol, wishing he was here… even though that felt wrong on some level. You shouldn’t want something with a parent of one of your students… there had to be something wrong about that, or at least Alex was good at making you feel like there was.

Y/N: Don’t say that yet. Pizza isn’t out of the oven yet. I might burn it just as bad as Jeonghan.

Grinning as he leans against the wall of the break room, Seungcheol allows himself a moment to just enjoy the idea of you in his apartment. He knew he would be there in a few more hours, but picturing you with Matthew seemed so domestic. Jeonghan was right, as much as Seungcheol hated to admit it… he wanted more with you than some fake relationship.

“What are you smiling at like that? It’s creepy…”

Scoffing at Joshua Hong’s teasing words, Seungcheol quickly replies to you before clearing his throat and sliding his phone back into his coat pocket. He had never been good at “acting casual,” and most of his friends knew that, so this time was no different.

“Nothing, why are you? You know, being nosy? Don’t you have a patient in Five?”

Joshua smirks as he watches Seungcheol scratch his neck. He could see that his friend was nervous and that, paired with the stupid, love-sick smile he had been wearing, could only mean one thing.

“I just discharged that patient. Are you simping that hard over some girl? Choi Seungcheol, are you fucking someon–”

Lifting his hands, Seungcheol is quick to let out a panicked sound in order to stop Joshua from continuing. It was bad enough that he had to deal with Jeonghan on almost a daily basis. Dealing with both Jeonghan and Joshua, now that was a nightmare.

“Shut up. I—no. No, I’m not fuck—I’m not sleeping with anyone. You spend too much time with Jeonghan if you are talking like that.”

Joshua had never known Seungcheol to be so proper and flustered before, and honestly, it was pretty amusing to see him sweat over something as simple as a girl.

“Hannie and I enjoy our quality time; thank you very much. Get the stick out of your ass and tell me what’s going on, or I’ll just have to ask him. I’m sure he knows.”

The idea of Jeonghan being able to explain his love life, or the lack thereof, to anyone but especially to Joshua was a terrifying and humiliating thought. Shaking his head, Seungcheol groans and reaches for Joshua’s arm, stopping him from leaving the break room as he glances towards the clock to see how much time he has left on his break before he explains from the beginning.

Seungcheol: Well burnt or not, can’t wait to get home and have a slice. See you in about an hour?

You had stared at your phone and Seungcheol’s text for a bit longer than you had meant to. When Jeonghan pursed his lips and glanced over your shoulder to see what had your attention so enraptured, you gasped, pulling the phone to your chest.

“Sorry, I said your name a couple times, but you were staring at your phone like it was a bomb. I had to make sure you didn’t need help with it.”

Furrowing your brows, you clear your throat and put your phone face down on the counter, turning towards the oven and leaning to glance at the pizza through the window. You were avoiding the topic, but Jeonghan wasn’t the one to just give up.

“You set a timer, didn’t you? Should come out right in time for us to eat. You know, Matthew, me, you, and Cheol.”

Glancing over your shoulder, you narrow your eyes at Jeonghan and straighten to your full height so that you feel a bit less small in front of him.

“I wasn’t going to stay for dinner.”

Tilting his head, Jeonghan starts to speak when Matthew whines and the sound of his little feet hitting the wood floor draws your attention. You get ready to explain to him that you need to go, that you have so much you have to do before bedtime, but one look down at him and the pout on his face... all excuses die on your tongue.

“Please don’t go! Eat pizza with me. You said maybe to playing with trucks.”

You watch as tears start to gather in Matthew’s eyes and it almost breaks your heart. Even Jeonghan feels a pang of guilt knowing he had pushed a little too hard, and he finds himself hoping you’ll stay as he looks at Matthew, his small shoulders lifting to take a breath, trying to keep himself from crying.

Squatting in front of Matthew, you run your fingers over his cheeks and offer him a smile, happy to see his lips pull up even slightly in return. It was easier to say no at school. You knew you had authority and there was more to say no to. Children would get into trouble more often if you gave in, but here, what would you lose if you said yes? What harm could it really cause?

“I—I’ll stay for dinner. I made really good pizza. I would hate to miss out on it or your trucks.”

Wrapping his arms around your neck, Matthew grins as he giggles. He had known a lot of sadness in his short life, but his father and those around him had worked hard to show him even more joy. This was more joy. There was something special about you, and it wasn’t just that you were his teacher or that he liked you so much; it was more that you felt so warm and made him wonder what his mommy would have been like. Not that he would tell you that, at least not tonight.

Patting Matthew’s back, you glance up at Jeonghan as he purses his lips, the look on his face a mixture of apologetic and appreciative. It takes a moment before you are finally able to pull away from the boy and meet his eyes, seeing a bit of wetness on his cheeks, but that big smile on his face remains even as you wipe the tears away.

“The pizza has to cook for a bit longer. Wanna show me what you and Uncle Jeonghan were working on?”

Letting out a deep breath as he walks through the door, Seungcheol finds the stress of his day quickly replaced by fondness. He knew you had decided to stay for dinner, but seeing you in his living room with Matthew for himself was a different story. Now he couldn’t help the smile that played on his lips even as Jeonghan watched him carefully, studying him for what seemed like a full minute before Seungcheol finally moved further into the house.

“Thought you were going to stand in the hall all damn night.”

Scoffing at Jeonghan’s words, Seungcheol shakes his head before meeting your eyes trying not to lose himself in your soft smile. You are so beautiful and it was becoming impossible for him to pretend like he didn’t like you, and that he didn’t want to see what this could be without some silly stipulations to your relationship.

“How’s the evening been so far? Don’t I get a hug?”

While his words were meant for Matthew, you still pressed your lips together feeling a slight urge to stand up and move into Seungcheol’s arms too. He looked incredible, even as tired as he was. You were having a hard time not staring at him, and Jeonghan was taking notes.

“I think the uh—the pizza is cool enough to eat. So you have good timing.”

Nodding to your words, Seungcheol squats down to hug Matthew. You watch fondly as he rocks the small boy back and forth a few times, causing him to let out a delighted sound before Seungcheol stands and runs his fingers through his hair.

“Awesome, thank you again for helping, Y/N. I’ll… uh get changed and meet you guys at the table.”

Swallowing hard, you nod as your eyes follow Seungcheol through the room until he is out of your line of sight. A small chuckle to your right pulls your attention back to the present and to Jeonghan, who simply lifts his brows and pats Matthew’s back, ushering him towards the dining room.

“Pizza time, buddy. Too much ogling is going on in this room for my stomach to handle.”

Looking up at Jeonghan, Matthew tilts his head as he walks beside him, a look of confusion on his cute face.

“What’s ohgling?”

With a groan, you drop your head into your hands for a split second before moving to your feet and following along with the two just in time to hear Jeonghan explain how to say the word properly and that it means to look at someone for a long time because you like them. At least he had kept it PG.

“Can Miss Y/N tuck me in tonight?”

Matthew’s words make you stop what you are doing mid-bite. Jeonghan’s smirk only grows as Seungcheol tilts his head, looking at his son and over to you as you give both of them a deer stuck in headlights look. The evening had gotten exponentially more interesting since Seungcheol had gotten home. You two weren’t fooling anyone, at least as far as Jeonghan was concerned, and this was the cherry on top.

“I–well… That’s up to Miss Y/N.”

Meeting your eyes, Seungcheol looks a bit worried that you might say no. He wouldn’t fault you if you did, but he hated the idea of his son being disappointed. You could see the look and it was so very similar to the look in Matthew’s eye that your stomach was in your throat. Why were these two so impossible for you to refuse?

“I don’t mind.”

Clapping his hands together, Jeonghan gives you both a wide smile before pushing his chair back from the table and wiping at his lips.

“Great, now that’s settled, means I can get headed home. Thank you for the lovely dinner, Y/N. Please invite me again.”

Following Jeonghan, Seungcheol gives you an apologetic look as you start to speak but can’t seem to find the right words to defend yourself. While you had grown used to his teasing over the past few hours, it didn’t make it any easier to handle in front of Seungcheol and Matthew. You could feel heat rising in your neck and face as you turned your attention back towards Matthew as he grabbed your hand and tried to tug you out of your seat.

“Come on! I gotta show you my room and my trucks. Daddy says they are the most coolest.”

You were lucky to have such a sweet distraction, just two of your fingers in his small hand as Matthew led you down the hall and away from the embarrassment of Yoon Jeonghan’s words. After watching you and Matthew for a moment, Seungcheol then glances back at his best friend as he slips his shoes on and offers him a triumphant smile. In his mind, clearly, he had managed to play matchmaker well if you were staying longer than he was. He could almost hear the wedding bells in the back of his mind, but the look on Seungcheol’s face was one of doubt, which always leads to delays.

“You’re welcome. Get that stupid look off your face and seal the deal.”

Scoffing, Seungcheol double checks that you can’t hear either of them before he meets Jeonghan’s eyes once more.

“Would you shut the hell up? I–we don’t know what’s going to happen. She was doing me a favor because you trapped her in a moment—”

“No, she came over because she wanted to. She could have canceled and she could have left hours ago, Cheol. She wants to be here and she wants to be here with you. You weren’t here to see her schoolgirl crush smiling at her phone every time you sent a message.”

Pressing his lips together while learning about the couple of hours before he had gotten home, Seungcheol couldn't stop how the corners of his lips started to turn up. He wanted to see that smile. He loved your smile. He loved how you made Matthew smile. God, he was falling for you and it was that hard sort of falling that people warned you about.

“Really?”

Shaking his head, Jeonghan reaches over to pat Seungcheol’s bicep as he rolls his eyes at his friend’s reaction. You were the school girl and here was your school boy. It was a match made in heaven, and it was nauseating to be around.

“Really, Casanova. Don’t let her slip through your fingers because you’re a pussy.”

Seungcheol groans, his smile falling at Jeonghan’s wording. Why did he have to be so crass? No, he wasn’t some church going perfect angel himself, but at least he didn’t go around calling people a pussy.

“Get out, seriously. If Matthew starts saying shit like that, I’m personally making you pay for his therapy sessions.”

Getting one last cheeky grin from Jeonghan, Seungcheol closes the door and makes his way back towards your soft voice. It was getting late and being a school night, it was around the time he would normally get Matthew ready for bed. He almost hated the idea of that tonight. He knew that Matthew wanted you to tuck him in, but what would that mean afterwards? Would you have leave right way? Could he talk you into staying for a glass of wine? It was a school night for you too…

“No, that truck was my favorite too. Get your teeth in the back too.”

Surprised to hear you and Matthew in the bathroom, Seungcheol tilts his head and leans against the wall, watching you smile at his son. It was surreal to see something like this. He had always wanted this for Matthew—and, if he could be selfish, for himself.

This wasn’t something he had gotten much of from his wife before her accident. She didn’t get to help him put Matthew to bed once he was old enough to remember her. While Seungcheol would always regret that, he found himself allowing himself a bit of time to relish Matthew’s little piece of normality with you.

“Good! Big smile.”

You laugh, your heart full and warm, as Matthew shows you his clean teeth. This was dangerous. You were so in love with this family. You could see yourself doing this every single night and never getting tired of it. There was something about Matthew and Seungcheol that made your life feel complete and that was terrifying in ways that you couldn’t even explain to yourself.

“One of my favorite smiles. Time to change? Then I can come tuck you in.”

Turning to follow Matthew, you stop short, seeing Seungcheol watching you from the hall. You get hit with a sudden rush of anxiety, wondering if you have overstepped, but the smile and look on his face tell you that you haven’t. You watch his fingers glide through Matthew’s hair before he glances back at him, telling him not to bring trucks into his bed, before he looks at you and takes your breath away with a smile.

“You’re a natural.”

Shyly, you shake your head and move towards him and Matthew’s bedroom, stopping just outside to give the boy time to change.

“Just teacher things, I guess.”

Seungcheol shakes his head and fights his urge to reach out and pull you towards him. You were standing too far away from him and with how he was feeling, all he wanted to do was pull you into his arms and do exactly what Jeonghan had told him to do. Why was he dancing around this? You were everything he had been wanting and not even the fear of the unknown was enough to keep him from taking that leap.

Starting to speak, Seungcheol watches you take a deep breath when Matthew’s small voice makes him stop before he even gets started. You instead watch as he smiles and rubs the back of his neck, gesturing for you to go ahead. Biting at your lip, you nod and give him a small glance as you pass by, only for your breath to get caught in your throat when Seungcheol’s fingers trail over your fingers just before you cross over the threshold into the bedroom.

“Go ahead; I’ll say goodnight once he’s tucked in. Something tells me he might get upset if I try to interrupt.”

One last look towards Seungcheol, and you move into Matthew’s room and sit on the side of his bed as he grins up at you. Your stomach was doing flips as butterflies held a rave inside of you, but with a deep breath, you managed to keep your cool and tuck the covers around Matthew.

“How’s that? Too tight?”

Shaking his head, Matthew wiggles under the covers to show you that he can still move easily as you run your fingers over the top of his head, feeling his eyes move over your face.

“Okay, good. Sleep well and I’ll see you at school in the morning.”

“Mmkay, Miss Y/N.”

You smile at his tired words, starting to stand when Matthew whines and you stay right where you are, giving him a concerned look at the sudden change.

“Can I have a hug for bedtime?”

You knew you would say no. Sure, it would make Matthew sad and, in turn, make you sad, but maybe it wouldn’t hurt as much as what you chose to do. Instead of saying no, you nodded and leaned down to let him wrap his arms around your neck and hold you close to him as he whispered his thanks for the day and told you goodnight. You could feel the tears rising in your eyes even as you willed them to stay back.

“It’s my pleasure, Matthew. Tha–thank you for hanging out with me. Sleep tight…”

Seungcheol had to take a deep breath while watching his son cling to you like a safety net. It almost broke his heart to watch you sit up, but then you ran your fingers over Matthew’s face and whispered goodnight and Seungcheol could have sworn he saw tears in your eyes. Was that a good sign or a bad one?

Sliding past Seungcheol, you sniff softly but smile at him as you let him move into the room. You find yourself wanting to watch as he finishes up the bedtime routine, but your heart won’t let you. The tears on your cheeks tell you that you need to run out of this apartment as fast as you can, but you wait, feeling the need to say your goodbyes to Seungcheol.

The soft click of the door shutting draws your attention back towards Matthew’s room and Seungcheol as you wipe your cheeks quickly and put your smile back on your face. You didn’t hate what you were feeling; it just terrified you to no end. You had never pictured a family with Alex; no matter how many times he had brought up what a fantastic mother you were going to be to his children, it wasn’t something that you could see. Looking at Seungcheol, you could picture that future and you weren’t even in a real relationship with him. What did that say about you?

“Hey, thanks for doing that. He’s already out like a light. I never get him down that easy.”

You only manage to hum into a small smile at Seungcheol’s words as he moves closer to you, his presence making it harder for you to choose if you want to stay or run.

“It’s no biggie. He’s a great kid.”

Nodding, Seungcheol opens and closes his hand a few times before taking the leap and reaching out to wrap his fingers around yours, feeling your hand shake in his. Maybe you were just as nervous as he was? Maybe you could already see where this was going? Maybe, just maybe, you wanted it too.

“He is… But, um, could I say something? Not about Matthew and you hear me out?”

Those butterflies had taken something strong at their rave and you felt like you were going to be sick with nerves. Your head was woozy even as you nodded to answer Seungcheol, unable to find the right words. Swallowing hard, he sighs into a small laugh before reaching up to scratch at his brow with his free hand, keeping yours in his other.

“I–okay, I’m just gonna say it, alright? I love having you around. I really like this, you know? Us. So I was thinkin’ if you aren’t busy, maybe we could get dinner this weekend? Just the two of us?”

Letting out a breath, you pull your fingers back and smile at Seungcheol, trying to think straight, but nothing in your head makes sense. You were panicking. The look on Seungcheol’s face told you that he could see you were panicking as you took a step back from him and literally looked for your escape route.

“It is so late. I have work in the morning, but you know that. Thank you so much for dinner. I mean, you know what I mean.”

Following you, Seungcheol runs his fingers through his hair, feeling panic start to roll through him as you pretend that he hadn’t just confessed to you and asked you out. Was he that bad of a choice? Or was this about something else? Were you afraid too?

“Y/N? What? Wait, no, I know you have work. Shit… wait. I didn’t mean to—”

Turning to face him as you reach the door, you can’t stop the tears that run down your cheeks. The same tears seem to resonate with Seungcheol and stop him from giving you his reasoning. All he finds himself wanting to do is hold you and make it better, but that fear of pushing you away is stronger than ever as you wipe at your cheeks and apologize under your breath, pulling your shoes on.

“I will talk to you later, okay? Just… I can’t do this right now.”

Seungcheol knew he should say something else, do something to stop you from leaving until more was said and understood, but all he could do was watch as his door shut and leave him in silence. His heart beating hard in his chest, the pang of rejection and confusion rips through Seungcheol as he turns away from where you had been standing and moves to the couch to sit down and rest his head in his hands.

Inside your apartment, you let your tears fall freely. You didn’t want to disappoint Seungcheol, but the first thing you saw when he said those words to you was Matthew’s disappointed face. That’s the face you would have to see if the relationship didn’t work out. That's who you’d be hurting. It wouldn’t just be your heart or even Seungcheol’s heart on the line; it would be that child’s heart.

So now you sat on your kitchen floor, your heart feeling shattered as you forced yourself to stick to what you had decided instead of running back over to Seungcheol’s apartment and telling him that you felt the same way. Sometimes people don’t get what they want just because they want it. Sometimes they have to give up what they want for the benefit of others.

Seungcheol was nervous as he stood in the doorway to your classroom. He knew he was early and that Matthew wasn’t particularly happy with him because he would be the first student at school, but he needed to talk to you. The way things had ended the night before was eating at him.

Ushering Matthew into the room, Seungcheol watches as his son runs over to you. He feels his heart tighten as small arms wrap around your waist and he wants to do the same thing. The confusion and surprise on your face are enough to make the thoughts move from Seungcheol’s mind as he smiles at you and lifts Matthew’s bag, walking towards the cubbies.

“You—you’re early. The others won’t be here for probably half an hour.”

Wincing at your words as he hangs Matthew’s bag up, Seungcheol considers lying. He thinks about telling you that he just has to get to work early—that’s the only reason he’s bringing Matthew in so early—but the look in your eye tells him that he should just tell you the truth.

"I—yeah, I know. I just… Could I talk to you for a second?”

Glancing towards Matthew, you sigh as he moves away from you both towards the building block area to play. Crossing your arms, you gesture back towards the door and the cubbies to give even more space between yourself and Seungcheol from the boy so he can’t hear.

“I’m not sure there’s a lot to talk—”

“I know… I’m sorry. I don’t mean to interrupt you, Y/N. But please? Can I just say this? I didn’t really get to finish what I wanted to say.”

You furrow your brow, glancing down at your fingers on your forearm as you nod. This conversation was already too difficult. Seungcheol felt too close, but glancing off to the side towards Matthew as he stacks up blocks, counting them quietly under his breath, makes you take in a deep breath as you listen to what he has to say.

“Okay, can’t we just try it? This seems to work great. I mean, at least it does to me. All I asked for was dinner. I like you, Y/N. Like, really, really like you.”

Tilting his head as he stops walking in the hallway, Alex narrows his eyes, listening to the conversation in your classroom. He had wanted to see you before school started, before your students arrived, but clearly someone had beat him. As he listened closer to the voice of the man, he recognized it, Seungcheol, your boyfriend. Why would he need to tell you how much he liked you?

Shaking your head, you lift your fingers to quickly wipe at your cheeks, feeling moisture under your eyes as you take a deep breath. This isn't about what you wanted or what Seungcheol wanted. That had become obvious to you last night. You couldn’t and wouldn’t risk breaking Matthew’s heart and ruining something good in his life. You couldn’t be more than his teacher. Even being his friend was putting too much pressure on him. Everything could come crashing down and it wouldn’t be you or Seungcheol who would suffer the most; it would be Matthew.

“I shouldn’t have asked you to do this. I should have had more guts to just—” Stopping to let out an unamused laugh, you meet Seungcheol’s eyes as he gives you a confused, sad look. “I’m so sorry, Seungcheol. We need to stop this. No more pretending. It’s not good for us and it’s worse for Matthew.”

Pretending. The word causes Seungcheol’s heart to feel like it’s breaking and it causes Alex to scoff. You had been pretending to date Seungcheol. Shaking his head, Alex smirks as he turns back towards his own classroom, running his fingers through his hair, leaving you to finish your breakup with your fake boyfriend. He could always talk to you later.

“I—Y/N…please. Why do you think that this is going to hurt anyone? I don’t ever want to hurt you and I certainly wouldn’t hurt my son.”

Biting at your lips, you furrow your brows and take a step back from Seungcheol as his voice cracks. You could hear other people in the halls now; this conversation had to end.

“Have a good day, Dr. Choi.”

With his mouth falling open in confusion and hurt, Seungcheol closes his eyes at your words before nodding. He could hear the sound of the other children in the halls too. He knew he couldn’t force you to talk about this or to come out of your shell, even if he could obviously see you were holding back something.

You turn from him as Seungcheol moves back into the classroom to lean over Matthew, kissing him on top of the head and whispering his goodbye before glancing at you once more. Without another word, he leaves the room and you feel like you are standing in the ocean as a wave of pain washes over you.

The day is longer than any other that you can remember. You avoid Seungcheol’s eyes as he picks up Matthew, even as the little boy grabs at your hand, asking you to come back over for dinner. When Seungcheol tells him that tonight isn’t a good night, you hold back your tears as you listen to Matthew’s small, sad voice asking why.

That was why this wasn’t going to work. You were so good at disappointing people. That was what your degree hanging on the wall should be in. A PhD in Disappointment.

Walking through your now empty room, you let the silence wash over you as you picked up books and toys, not hearing the door open. You don’t hear footsteps approaching you until Alex’s voice pulls you out of your haze and brings you back to reality.

“You didn’t have to be so pathetic and pretend to have a boyfriend, babe. Seriously? I don’t need to be jealous to want you back in my life. I’ll take you back, Y/N. You don’t have to put on a brave face.”

Alex’s words bite at your self esteem and your confidence. Keeping your back to him for a moment longer, you fight back your tears, realizing he had to have heard your conversation with Seungcheol at the beginning of the day. You want to be angry and embarrassed, but instead you are relieved. There is no longer a secret hanging over your head, no need to pretend or worry about some big reveal as the panic slowly fades from your body.

All you are left with, once the anxiety is gone, is disgust. You try to quickly picture a time when you were in love with Alex. You try to imagine wanting a full and long life with him after hearing him say such hateful and degrading things to you, but you can’t. All you can feel is hate and pity. The pity isn’t even for yourself; instead, you feel an overwhelming pity for the man who once made you laugh before he made you cry.

Turning to face Alex, you meet his eyes as he smirks at you, the smug look on his face looking more like a mask than something real. He wants to play the villain so badly and you could play the victim and let him have it, but instead you just sigh and nod.

“Thank you, Alex.”

Starting to speak, Alex looks surprised and hopeful before you lift your hand and stop him as you continue to speak.

“Thank you for reminding me why I will never allow you in my life again. I never want to see you again. Someone who would say something like that to me... well, it should be obvious if you ever loved me why I couldn’t and wouldn’t want you near me. Please get the fuck out of my classroom and my life.”

Your voice is even, a bit of emotion laced in it, but you aren’t hysterical like Alex had imagined or perhaps wanted. You are instead mostly calm and collected and your words stab him in the gut like the final nail in the coffin of any chance at a relationship that he had imagined.

Taking a step backwards, Alex tries to speak—to come up with some excuse for his actions, but you were right. As he thinks back on the person that he had been and the person that he has become, guilt bites at him, making it harder to defend himself.

You watch as he shakes his head, muttering something so low that you can’t hear it before he moves out of the room and your door shuts, leaving you once again in that empty silence.

Closing your eyes, you are back in that ocean as waves crash over you. Tears stream down your face and you recognize the pain as heartbreak. Heartbreak from the final mourning period of a relationship and the impossibility of another. Another wave knocks you back and you let out a sob, your hand on your stomach. More loss, but mixed with relief.

You feel the loss of a possibility for your own family. You had seen yourself with Seungcheol and Matthew, but that was possible. The relief was from letting go, or attempting to. It was also a loss of the weight that had been on your shoulders from the very moment that you had lied to Alex.

You just wish that it had never been a lie.

Despite many pep talks from Jeonghan, Seungcheol couldn’t make himself knock on your door. He had seen you around the apartment complex during spring break, but you were avoiding him. Worst of all, you seem to be avoiding Matthew.

He didn’t really blame you. After what you had told him, it made sense. You were scared, but so was he. He had been terrified from the moment he realized his feelings for you, but he had taken the leap and ended up falling short.

Any other time, Seungcheol would have given up. He would have stopped looking for that person and tried to push them out of his life, so why couldn’t he do that with you? Why would he lay in bed every single night and picture you in yours, just an apartment over? Why would he look at his phone and pray that you would text him? Why couldn’t he just get some guts and text you himself?

He had decided that after spring break, the first day of school, he would try his best. At school, it wasn’t like you couldn’t talk to him. You had to talk to parents, and you had to talk to your students. Matthew was excited about seeing you again; this would be the perfect time. It would have been perfect if, when Seungcheol had come through the door, there wasn’t a completely different person standing at the front of the classroom.

“Daddy…”

The whine in Matthew’s voice almost broke Seungcheol’s heart. Running his hand over Matthew’s hair, Seungcheol offers the woman a smile and tilts his head as he walks towards her as she looks down at her clipboard.

“Hi. Uh, Matthew Choi… I’m Seungcheol, his father.”

Smiling at the boy and at Seungcheol, the woman finds Matthew’s name and places a check next to it before sighing.

“So prompt, I value responsibility. Hello, I’m Mrs. Lim.”

Shaking the woman’s hand, Seungcheol tries to keep his smile, but he knows it’s strained as he glances around the room, realizing how much of the room has changed. The posters were different. The books were in a different place. This wasn’t your classroom anymore.

“It’s really nice to meet you. I’m so sorry, but where is Miss Y/N?”

Swallowing hard, Mrs. Lim nods at the question before putting her clipboard to her chest and taking a deep breath, knowing she would be handling this question many times today.

“The school was supposed to send out a letter, but perhaps not everyone got them in time. Miss Y/N accepted a job in another district. I hope that I can fill her shoes here…”

Feeling like a truck had run him over, Seungcheol just nodded as Matthew looked up at him, confused. A small hand tugs at his jacket and Seungcheol nods once again before glancing down at his son, trying to smile at him even as Matthew frowns.

“Uh, Miss Y/N is teaching other kids, buddy.”

“No! Daddy!”

Hearing his son cry was one of the most painful things that Seungcheol could experience. He knew it wouldn’t be the last time, and it hadn’t been the first by a long shot, but there was so much heartbreak in his sobs. Moving to his knees in front of Matthew, Seungcheol controls his own emotions as he wipes tears away and shushes the little boy to calm him down.

“It’s okay. Mrs. Lim seems so nice and I’m sure you two will get along.”

Pulling back from Seungcheol, Matthew sniffs hard, talking between sobs as big tears roll down his cheeks, meeting his dad’s fingers.

“Did I make Miss Y/N mad at me?”

Shaking his head quickly, Seungcheol pulls Matthew into his arms and closes his eyes, having an even harder time keeping himself in check. He was upset with you for not telling him, but he was even more upset with the fact that you felt like you had to leave.

“Absolutely not. Miss Y/N adores you.”

It takes a few more minutes before Matthew is calm enough that Seungcheol feels comfortable leaving. After apologizing to Mrs. Lim for the small outburst on behalf of his son, Seungcheol moves out into the hall and leans against the wall to catch his breath.

Running his fingers through his hair, he shakes his head and sniffs back his own tears that had threatened to fall when he hears a familiar voice. Glancing to his left, all Seungcheol sees is red. His feet moving quicker than his brain, Seungcheol pushes his forearm against Alex’s chest as the man’s back hits the wall with a dull thud. Only the sound of a gasp from another teacher is heard over Alex’s grunt before he tells the woman it’s fine.

“It’s not fine... what the fuck did you do? What did you do that made her leave?”

Scoffing through a bit of pain, Alex meets Seungcheol’s eyes and there is pain and hurt in both. The hurt in Alex’s eyes only serves to piss off Seungcheol more as he pushes harder against the man’s body, feeling his hand grasp at his wrist.

“I—get off me. I don’t have to tell the fake boyfriend anything.”

Leaning back only to push against Alex harder so that his head hits the wall, Seungcheol watches the man’s mouth fall open in pain as he hears the sound of the security guard moving towards them. Taking a step back, he holds up his hands, showing them he’s done before he grabs him.

“You don’t know anything about Y/N and you don’t know a damn thing about me and her.” Pointing towards Alex as the guard puts his hand around his forearm, Seungcheol scoffs, keeping his ground. “Stay away from Y/N and if you ever touch Matthew again, I won’t need to file a report with the school. You got it?”

Rubbing the back of his head, Alex winces and narrows his eyes at Seungcheol. It had all been grounds for him to let them drag Seungcheol out of the school until his kid was mentioned. Now Alex needed to save face. No, nothing had happened, but he had crossed the line multiple times with you and by approaching a student that wasn’t his, he had already been warned by the administration.

“Let him go. Everything is fine. Just a misunderstanding. We are fine… We understand one another, I can promise you that.”

Feeling the hand on his arm relax, Seungcheol scoffs at how quick Alex’s mood shifts. He was pathetic and he could understand why you wanted nothing to do with him. Giving the man one more look of contempt, Seungcheol shakes his head and moves for the main doors, letting them slam behind him.

Rolling your head from side to side, you rub your neck as you let out a soft sigh. You were tired after a long day and a longer commute than you were used to at your new school. The students were great but they weren’t the same. The entire day, you found yourself missing your students, as you had to check name tags to remember who you were speaking to.

It would just take some getting used to. This was the best decision. It was easier for everyone to do it this way. It didn’t matter that you looked for Matthew in the circle of children on the reading rug only to be disappointed when you couldn’t find his sweet gummy smile and his kind eyes looking back up at you. Your heart would heal.

Taking your keys out of your purse as the elevator stops on your floor, you keep your eyes down until you are almost at your door. Seeing shoes on your welcome mat facing you makes you stop in your tracks and causes your eyes to slowly lift to meet Seungcheol’s as he rests against your door with a frown on his face.

You had done such a good job of avoiding him and Matthew. Sure, there had been a few times you had found yourself turning on your toes and heading in the other direction, but you had done that to make things easier for everyone. Looking at Seungcheol now, making eye contact with him, you knew there was no running away.

“Um… Hey.”

Seungcheol had hoped for more after not talking to you for so long, but he would take what he could get. He knew he was putting you on the spot; clearly, there was no other way to get you to talk to him.

“Hey. So, I, uh, I took Matthew to school this morning and needless to say, we were both a little shocked and—fuck, I won’t even lie, we were heartbroken when you weren’t there. You quit?”

Taking a deep breath, you look at your keys in your hand as Seungcheol speaks. Learning that he and Matthew were hurt by your absence makes your stomach feel queasy, but you try to stand your ground and keep yourself somewhat stoic as you nod.

“Sorry, I got an offer about an hour away and I felt that I should take it. Ya know, it’s better—”

“For who?”

Being interrupted by Seungcheol, you meet his eyes once again and let out a breath through your nose before looking off to the side. You didn’t want to look him in the eye and try to explain—or lie about this. It was hard enough trying to convince yourself every day in the mirror.

“For everyone, Seungcheol. I can’t work there anymore. I didn’t want to ruin things for Matthew or you. I couldn’t be around Alex anymore.”

Stepping away from the door, taking a step towards you, Seungcheol reaches out to take your wrist into his hand, trying to get you to actually look at him. When you don’t instantly pull away, he lowers his head and leans to the right to make you meet his eyes as he speaks. The wet glaze over his eyes makes you feel like your heart is breaking all over again as your bottom lip quivers until you bite at it to force it to stop, once again forcing back any emotions that threaten to bubble to the surface.

“Matthew isn’t happy without you, Y/N. Why in the hell would you think that he would be? He’s depressed without you at school and without you in his life. I don’t understand why you think he’d be better off without you around.”

Sighing loudly, Seungcheol’s eyes drop to your bitten lip as you try to keep your tears back. He can see them on the rims of your eyes and he knows that you understand, even if you won’t say it.

“My son loves you. Don’t you get that? I lov—fuck… I need you in my life, Y/N. When I found out about you quitting I saw Alex and I confronted him. I told him to stay the fuck away from you, away from us.”

Shaking your head, you pull your arm from Seungcheol’s, feeling his fingers chase after yours as he whines your name under his breath. You can hear and feel the desperation behind his voice and it makes you want to make it better, but you don’t think he even understands what he’s saying to you or what he’s done.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Seungcheol. There’s no point. It was wrong of me to put myself into your life and into Matthew’s life. This is what I do. Don’t you get that? I disappoint people. Please let me—let me go. You don’t get it.”

Frustration rises in Seungcheol as you speak and as he watches your tears run down your cheeks. You were the one who didn’t get it. You thought this was just pretty words and a dream but to him, it was so much more. You were so much more.

Sliding his hand along your cheek to push away your tears, Seungcheol whispers your name as you let out a soft sob. Wanting to make you see what he feels, he cups your face in his palm and brushes his lips against yours, feeling you stiffen in his grasp for only a second before you relax. His kiss not only stuns you but it also takes your breath away. Your tears flow even more freely as Seungcheol’s fingers brush at your skin and his lips move over yours until he finally pulls away and rests his forehead against yours.

“Do you understand now?”

Wrapping your fingers around Seungcheol’s wrist, you sniff back tears as you lean your head back from his and shake your head.

“It won’t work, Seungcheol.”

Walking you towards the wall, Seungcheol shakes his head in return before leaning to kiss your cheek and tasting your tears on his lips.

"Yes, it will. It has to. I want it to… so fucking bad, baby. You feel like my missing piece. Y/N, you’re my somebody. Let me prove it to you.”

Seungcheol cups your face with both of his hands as you push your front door closed, letting him once again walk you backwards until your back is flush against the wall. The only difference this time is that it’s your lips that meet his first. You feel his fingers slide along the side of your head as he deepens the kiss, his tongue gliding into your mouth to mesh with your tongue before he groans, feeling your fingers grasp at his sides over his t-shirt.

This was everything Seungcheol had pictured for days, if not weeks, after being around you. He had wanted to kiss you that night when the two of you had shared wine on his couch. He had wanted to ask you to stay the night after dinner so that he could make love to you, and now he had you in his hands.

Sliding one hand along your neck, Seungcheol breaks the kiss long enough to meet your eyes, checking for any hesitation as his other hand moves to your hips and tugs them flush with his own. The only look in your eyes is one of desperation and desire. He wasn’t the only one who had wanted this, he had just been better at admitting it to himself than you had. Now that it was real and in front of you, your brain was in a frenzy.

“You’re so beautiful—so fucking beautiful. Wanted this… God, I’ve wanted it since I laid eyes on you. Wanna make you mine.”

Seungcheol’s hand moves back to your face, resting on your jaw so that his thumb can brush over your bottom lip, tugging it down as you whimper. There truly was nothing better than this. No art in any museum could compare to you. No artist would ever capture that look in your eyes, the bitten look of your lips, or the desire that was burning in you for Seungcheol.

“Please? Please, Cheol…”

Nodding, Seungcheol groans under his breath as you beg him to do what he wants. Glancing away from you, he gestures towards the hall in hopes that his guess of the layout of your apartment wasn’t too far off.

“Yeah, second door.”

Smiling at your pretty voice, Seungcheol leans down to capture your lips once again as his hands move from your face and hips to wrap around your thighs right under your ass. Feeling your arms wrap around his neck in surprise, he grins on your lips and lifts you with little effort, even as you gasp.

“Seungcheol, oh my god, I can walk.”

Clinging to Seungcheol, you watch as he shakes his head, walking you towards your bedroom. His strong hands are under you, holding you close to his body with each step.

“What’s the fun in that, baby? Let me have this, okay?”

Stepping into your room, Seungcheol only glances around for a second before his lips are back on yours and he takes another step towards your bed, only to sit down, allowing you to rest on his lap. Your cheeks were hot with how flustered you felt, not only about being carried to your room but about how you could already feel Seungcheol’s cock between your legs. Letting out a shaky breath on his lips, you hold onto Seungcheol’s shoulders as you give into your desire and rest your knees on either side of his legs. Rolling your hips over the bulge in his jeans and earning you a deep groan from his throat, Seungcheol leans his head back and presses his fingers into the swell of your ass through your pants.

“Shit… that—that feels so good. It’s been a long time for me, Y/N.”

Nodding, you slide your fingers from Seungcheol’s shoulder along his neck and up to his face to tilt it back towards you so you can meet his eyes as you roll your hips over him once again. You feel your own arousal beginning to soak through your panties, causing them to stick to your folds, a soft whine slipping from between your lips as your brows furrow.

“That’s okay. It’s been a while for me too, Cheol.”

It might be selfish of him, but Seungcheol thinks at that moment that if he had his way, he might be your last. He would be all you’d ever need. You’d never want to look for anyone else. All he needed to do was prove that to you.

Smiling into a soft groan, he groans as his brows furrow, feeling your fingernails press into his shoulders over his shirt. Seungcheol leans his head back and your lips against his throat has his eyes closing and his fingers tightening on your hips, pulling you down over his lap. Sliding his hands upwards, Seungcheol whispers your name as your lips move along his jaw and his head almost becomes cloudy with thoughts of putting your back on the bed and having his way with you.

“Y/N… fuck. I need to see you. Can I? Can I see you?”

Nodding, you lean back from him, letting his fingers work up your sides, pushing your shirt up as he goes. Brown eyes take in every new inch of skin exposed to him as Seungcheol furrows his brows and whispers out soft praises for you. He tells you how beautiful you are, how perfect you are, and how much he cares about you, all before pulling your shirt up and over your head and tossing it behind you into the floor.

Your cheeks burn at his attention as Seungcheol smiles at you, his fingers once again on your body. You can’t help the way that you gasp and shift in his lap as his fingers walk along your flesh, leaving goosebumps behind his path.

Shifting your shoulders forward, you feel your bra straps fall down your arms when Seungcheol’s fingers work the clasps open at the middle of your back. The garment gives way and you feel warm breath fanning across your skin before soft plush kisses move from your shoulder to the center of your chest.

Letting your bra fall into your lap, you slide your fingers into Seungcheol’s hair as his name slips from between your lips like a prayer or a hymn. You didn’t have much doubt that he would have been good at this, but it was still surprising at how much attention he was giving you and how he was taking his time—even if you wanted more and more quickly.

Tugging at his hair, you whine almost in frustration as you feel his lips brush over your nipple, only for Seungcheol to pull away and place a kiss in the same place on your other breast. You were so aroused—so wet—that you felt like you could cum untouched on his lap, but every single teasing touch kept you right on the edge.

“Cheol… please? I need more… Give me more.”

He wanted to give you more. He wanted to see more, but tasting your skin was like tasting sugar for the first time. The salt in your skin was addictive. The smell of your body wash, the perfume that you used... even the laundry detergent that you chose was like the perfect mix to keep him dazed. It’s only your voice that brings him back to the present and reminds him what he’s supposed to do.

Standing with you secure in his arms, Seungcheol quickly turns to lay you on your bed so he can hover over you. The feeling is instantly different. You had known that he was a large man and that he worked hard in the gym, but having him on top of you like this made it even more obvious how small you were compared to him.

Letting his eyes move over your face for a moment as your eyes widen, Seungcheol smirks slightly, trailing his fingers along your stomach to the clasp of your jeans. Working them open, he watches you bite your bottom lip and all he can think is how he wants to do that for you, how he’d do anything for you if you asked him to. It could be in this bed or the most simple domestic task and he would make it happen.

When Seungcheol’s palm presses to your abdomen and his fingers work their way into your jeans past your panties, you can’t help the small, surprised gasp that escapes from behind your lips. Your hips lift and Seungcheol’s middle finger barely presses between your folds, brushing over your clit, and it’s almost enough to make you want to scream his name.

You didn’t remember being this easy to please, but perhaps it wasn’t even that… no, perhaps it was Seungcheol touching you. Maybe it was his fingers sliding against your wet folds and parting them so that he can circle your entrance with that same middle finger. It was because this time you were with the man you had spent hours trying to avoid picturing spending your life with and now he was groaning your name, feeling your slick arousal coating his fingers for the first time.

“Baby, oh my god, Y/N.” Seungcheol feels his mouth water as he feels his fingers slipping through your soft, wet folds. He just shakes his head as he tries to angle his hand in your tight jeans to press his finger into you, only to whine in frustration when he can’t. “Gotta get these off. Wanna taste you… gotta open you up, baby girl.”

Smiling as you run your fingers through Seungcheol’s hair, hearing him whine, you lower your eyes to his hands as he tugs at your jeans, working them down your legs. There was this amazing juxtaposition when it came to him. You had just felt so small under him and now you were listening to him whine and talk with a pout on his lips as he tried to pull your pants off while still talking to you with such a dirty mouth.

Grinning to himself as he drops your jeans on the floor next to the bed, Seungcheol glances up at you before he wraps his arms under your thighs and scoots you up in the bed suddenly. Gasping his name, you grab at his shirt out of surprise, feeling it pull up his body as he meets your eyes again with a raised brow.

“Can’t have you falling off the bed. Do you want my shirt? You can have it, sweetheart.”

Your eyes follow Seungcheol’s hand as he reaches over his shoulder to tug at his shirt, pulling it up over his head with one swift movement. There were many ways to remove a shirt but that had to be the sexiest way you had ever seen. Trying to push your thighs together, you find you can’t as Seungcheol’s knee rests between them, drawing his eyes down to your legs as he hands you his shirt.

“Fuck… look at you.”

Hissing out a moan, you clench your fingers around Seungcheol’s shirt and lift your hips when he pushes his thumb against the center of your panties, where the cloth was sticking to your skin. This wasn’t what you meant by giving you more, but any complaints can’t make it out of your mouth as Seungcheol smirks at you, one hand resting on the bed next to your hip and the other staying between your legs.

Brushing his knuckles over your wet panties, he lets out a breath before pulling them to the side and letting out a deep groan at the sight. He knew you were wet. He had felt it on his fingers and it was easy to see even through your panties, but seeing your glistening skin was another thing entirely.

“So pretty… you’re so wet, baby girl. Is it uncomfortable?”

Nodding, you close your eyes tightly, feeling tears threatening to spill over the rims of your eyes from just anticipation.

“Yes, Cheol…”

A soft, sweet, faux cooing sound slips from his lips before Seungcheol lowers himself down between your legs to run his tongue over your soft folds. Grunting to the taste, he furrows his brows and wraps his fingers around your panties tighter, keeping them to the side as he wraps his free arm around your hip, tugging you closer to his mouth. One simple taste wasn’t nearly enough, it was only enough to make him feel feral with desire for you and for him to want to bury his face between your legs for the rest of his life.

Bringing Seungcheol’s shirt up to your mouth, you bite down on the cotton to muffle your moans. Your eyes close tightly, tears running from your eyes and towards your hairline as Seungcheol’s lips wrap around your clit, and he sucks hard and groans, sending a vibration through your body. You feel yourself clench around nothing until he runs his tongue along your folds, massaging them, pulling them into his mouth and finally pressing his tongue into your needy hole.

“Seungcheol!”

The shirt falls from your lips as you scream his name, feeling the pressure that has been building in your abdomen and threatening to overflow. Seungcheol’s lips pull up ever so slightly, even as he nudges his nose against your clit and fucks you with his tongue, feeling you clench around the muscle.

He wanted you to cum for him. He needed it more than he needed water to survive the desert. You were all that made sense right now, and getting you to bliss was the answer to everything.

Sliding his hand from around your hip, Seungcheol grunts under his breath as he leans back, face wet with your slick. Spitting on your entrance, he works two of his fingers into your velvet walls, watching you arch your back off the bed.

“There you go, baby.”

He could feel you clamping down around his fingers as you became impossible wetter, your cum seeping around his fingers with each deep thrust.

“Oh my god, Cheol...”

Smiling against your inner thigh, Seungcheol glances up at you to meet your eyes as he carefully slides his fingers out of you, feeling your walls pulse around them. He wanted more, but even if you decided that you couldn’t handle more or that you didn’t want more, seeing you like that would be enough.

Reaching out for him, you wrap your legs around his waist, feeling instantly frustrated at the feeling of his jeans against your skin. The only thing that makes it better is his soft, plush lips on yours. You try to think quickly of anything better than Choi Seungcheol’s kiss—the way he would smile against your mouth before licking into it with a groan—and nothing comes to mind. Muttering into the kiss, you drag your fingers along his sides, feeling him shiver under your hands before he leans back to look down at you with want in his eyes.

“Off, take them off. Want—I want you. Please?”

At first, when you say off, Seungcheol’s heart almost drops into his stomach. He thinks that you really have had enough of him for the night, but then your nails tug at the top of his jeans and a smile pulls at his pretty lips.

“Anything you want... fuck, Y/N. I’d give you the world.”

Sucking on your bottom lip, you feel heat rising in your cheeks and along your chest and neck at Seungcheol’s words. You had fallen deep and hard for this man and he was a romantic. You weren’t going to get out of this without a few scars or in one piece, but now you weren’t sure if you wanted to.

Watching him closely, your eyes follow Seungcheol as he slides off the bed to push his jeans down along with his boxers, leaving him naked in front of you. Bringing your fingers up to your already bitten lips, you turn on your side and press your cheek against your arm, trying to hide your reaction, but the look on Seungcheol’s face tells you that you haven’t gotten off that easily.

Moving back to you, he runs his hand up the length of your leg, stopping at your hip as he tilts his head to meet your eyes, his other hand pulling your fingers from your lips. Seungcheol watches as your lips fall open on a soft, breathy gasp of his name when he guides your hand to his cock. With your hand in his, he guides your palm over the head of his length before wrapping your fingers around his shaft and dragging your hand from tip to base.

“This okay?”

Nodding quickly, you whine, feeling Seungcheol thrust his hips gently towards your hand as he lets go of yours in place of running his fingers over your head, a groan slipping from his lips. He didn’t want to get off like this, and he wouldn’t, but with how you had been looking at him—a mixture of lust and surprise—Seungcheol wanted to make sure you knew what was going inside of you.

Your eyes stay on his face for a moment longer before they drop to your hand and Seungcheol’s cock in your hand. It wasn’t as if you couldn’t tell he was big, but feeling and seeing were different stories. It wasn’t length but girth. He was thick enough that you could already imagine the stretch and found yourself thanking him in your mind for making you cum first.

“Sh—shit baby… I gotta stop you.”

Putting his hand back over yours, Seungcheol licks his lips and moves your hand from his leaking cock as it twitches, almost begging you for more. He already felt so close. Just looking at you, fucking you with his tongue, and feeling you on his fingers had been enough to make him feel like he was going to cum, but now your hand on him? He was lucky he didn’t cum the second he put your fingers around his cock.

“Fuck me, Cheol.”

Your voice is timid and almost a whisper but Seungcheol can hear it. Furrowing his brows, he licks his lips once more before shaking his head and this time your heart sinks before he speaks and slides his hand between your legs, parting them so he can once again run his fingers through your already swollen, wet folds.

“No… I’m not going to fuck you, baby girl.” Grinning as you start to pout and whine in protest, Seungcheol leans to kiss your lips as he pushes two fingers into you, feeling you arch off the bed. “I’m gonna make love to you. There’s a difference.”

Gasping on his lips, you hold on to his shoulders, digging your nails into his skin as Seungcheol rocks his fingers back against your spot, feeling you clench down over them once again. When you throw your head back, cum once again coating his fingers, Seungcheol groans, leaning to press his lips to the column of your throat, feeling your swallow hard under his kiss.

“That’s it, such a good girl. You feel good?”

Out of breath, you nod weakly as Seungcheol looks down at you, sliding his fingers out of you.

“That’s all I want, baby…”

Glancing around the room, Seungcheol leans his head on his arm before taking a breath and wincing a bit before asking you what he had been mildly dreading from the moment this had begun. He knew it could make or break the moment, but it was important.

“I didn’t bring anything with me with the assumption that something like this was happening.

Fuck, I mean, I don’t even think I have condoms at my place. Do you have anything?”

Smiling as you bite your lips, you run your fingers over Seungcheol’s cheek before tracing his lips, feeling him press a kiss to your fingers.

“I’m on birth control, Cheol. It’s fine.”

Taking a deep breath against your fingers, Seungcheol nods, feeling the pressure melt away as you run your knee along his outer thigh up to his hip. He hated the idea of disappointing you after making a big promise like he had, but now the pressure was taken over by desire. It was an honor to be in your bed in the first place, but like this? His head was spinning.

Sliding his fingers along your bent leg, Seungcheol leans into your hand as you cup his cheek before he turns to kiss your palm and nods, letting you know without words what he was doing. Gasping softly at the feeling of the tip of his cock running through your folds, you close your eyes and drop your hand to his shoulder as you push your head back into the pillow. Not even imagining the stretch could actually prepare you for the real thing as Seungcheol slowly eased inside of you bit by bit.

“Oh my god.” The words fall from your lips like a prayer, tears finding your eyes again as the painful stretch is quickly replaced with pleasure. “Seungcheol… fuck. You’re…”

The words get caught in your throat and Seungcheol looks up at you in concern, seeing tears running from your eyes. Running his fingers over your face, he stops moving and presses his lips to yours, only to feel you shake your head and lift your hips, trying to get more of him inside of you.

“Ah—fuck, Y/N… I just—I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Nodding, you capture Seungcheol’s lips, kissing him between words.

“I’m okay. Feels so good, baby. Please give me more.”

Hearing you call him baby left Seungcheol stunned and love struck. He pauses before feeling you once again lift your hips before you wrap your legs around his waist and whine his name on his lips.

“Okay…okay. It’s just... call me that again? Please?”

You hadn’t even realized what you had said until he asked for you to call him the pet name again. Opening your eyes as you press your head back into the pillow, you feel Seungcheol bottom out in you, the stretch so intense that you clench around him, earning yourself a well deserved groan from his chest.

“Baby?”

You watch as Seungcheol nods, another groan dripping from his lips like candy for you to collect. Smiling, you can’t hold back a soft moan as Seungcheol makes a shallow thrust and you feel full and complete. You find yourself wanting to always feel like this. Warm, full, and safe.

“I—lo—” You struggle with your words as Seungcheol thrusts deep and harder, sending your head towards the headboard. Reaching back over your head, you hold on to the side of it and hum out another moan before nodding. “Just like that, baby. I’m so close. You’re right, there’s a difference.”

Seungcheol smiles at your words as he leans down to press a kiss on your shoulder. He was hoping you hadn’t been upset with him for telling you he was going to make love to you. There would be plenty of time for him to fuck you later—at least he hoped so. If he got his way, this would be forever. He could already picture himself buying a ring and getting down on one knee.

Shaking his head to push that thought from his head, not wanting to scare you away, Seungcheol nips at your neck and groans, feeling himself about to burst. He had already made you cum twice, but it was important to him that you were satisfied. He would do everything he could not to cum before you.

Tugging one of your legs loose from his waist, Seungcheol meets your eyes as he slides his hand between your bodies and finds your folds. He watches as your mouth falls open as his fingertips rub in tight circles over your clit, all while his cock is buried deep inside of you until that cord that was winding in your abdomen snaps once again.

“Yes…yes—oh fuck!”

Your voice was like music and had to be what angels sound like. That was all Seungcheol could think of as you came on his cock. You were so tight before, but now, as you orgasmed for the third time with him inside of you, he had seen heaven, and he wasn’t sure how he survived you.

“Please… now you. Cheol, baby… please?”

You begging him to cum only solidified that he had to have died and gone to heaven because there was no way for him to resist you. There was no way for him to hold back. Groaning loudly against the crook of your neck, Seungcheol cums as he feels your thighs start to shake around him.

Running your fingers through his sweaty, damp hair, you close your eyes and focus on catching your breath as Seungcheol rests over your body. He was afraid he was too heavy, but the moment he tried to move away from you, a small whine of protest had him staying right where he was. Placing small kisses on the top of your breasts, Seungcheol then glances up at you, seeing the bliss on your face and he can’t help but smile.

“You are so beautiful.”

Laughing softly, you open your eyes and look down at Seungcheol before lifting your hand to hide your face. There was no way you looked remotely beautiful at the moment. You knew you were sweaty and in desperate need of a shower and yet here was the most attractive man you had ever seen in your life, telling you that you were beautiful.

Wrapping his hand gently around your wrist, Seungcheol pulls your hand from your face and kisses the back of it before bringing your palm to his chest. You feel his heart beating hard as he too works to catch his breath.

“I’m serious, Y/N. I am so—shit I don’t want to scare you away, but I’m afraid if I don’t, I’ll lose you again. I’m in love with you.”

Taking a sharp breath at Seungcheol’s confession, you glance up at the ceiling to avoid having to look at his eyes. A small frown replaces his smile as he hears your heart beat quicken in panic. He hadn’t wanted you to panic, but he knew it was a risk. Carefully sliding out of you and to your side, Seungcheol lifts your hand from his chest to his lips and kisses the back of your knuckles as you bite at your lips.

“Y/N, baby, please look at me? I wanna talk about this. I know you feel something for me or else we wouldn’t be in this bed.”

Pushing your thighs together, feeling even more sticky and sweaty, you feel yourself becoming even more self conscious until you meet Seungcheol’s eyes and see the concerned look on his face. You didn’t want to hurt him again. You had spent so much of your life running and once you had a good thing, it bit you in the ass. So now that you had walls that he had taken a sledgehammer to, it was terrifying.

“I—you’re right. I do feel something for you. I feel a lot of things. I’m just so fucking scared, Seungcheol. What if we mess this up? I don’t—”

Closing your eyes, your words end on a sob as your emotions get the better of you. Moving to pull you into his arms, Seungcheol shakes his head and shushes you before kissing the side of your head, letting you continue.

“I can’t hurt Matthew. I love him so much. I know I shouldn’t. It’s not proper for a teacher to have a favorite like that.”

Smiling against your head, Seungcheol takes a deep breath and places another kiss before shaking his head.

“I don’t think it has anything to do with being his teacher or a teacher in general. I think—and you can tell me to shove it up my ass if I’m out of line, but I think it has to do with just love in general. You are maternal, Y/N.”

Swallowing hard, you hold onto Seungcheol’s forearm as you think through what he has said.

There was a part of you that did want to tell him to shove it, but a larger part that knew he wasn’t wrong. You had pictured far too often a life with them that wasn’t just being Matthew’s teacher.

“I feel like I should apologize for that or something.”

Leaning back to look down at you, Seungcheol moves his hand to tilt your chin up so you will look at him. Furrowing his brow, he shakes his head and the look in his eyes is the most serious you have seen in the entire night.

“Never apologize for loving my son. He loves you too.”

The words go straight to your heart and tears stream down your face. You picture Matthew’s sweet smile as you close your eyes and you know you have to ask about him.

“I—okay. Can I—can I ask how he’s doing?”

Pulling you back to his chest, Seungcheol leans against your headboard and leans his head back against it with a soft sigh.

“He’s sad, baby. He misses you. He doesn’t like school as much, even if Mrs. Lim is a decent teacher. He asked if you didn’t like him anymore and that was why you had to teach other little kids.”

Seungcheol knew the truth of what Matthew had been dealing with would hurt you, but it was something that you needed to know. He could have sugar coated it, but when it came to his son and how he was feeling, that was something Seungcheol would never do. He isn’t surprised when he feels your body shake against his. It breaks his heart to feel your tears against his chest as you turn in his arms to be held tighter.

“I can’t go back to that—to that school, Cheol. I didn't… I’m the fucking worst.”

Shushing you, Seungcheol kisses the top of your head as tears sit on the rims of his eyes, feeling your heartbreak and his own for his son.

“I know it wasn’t just about us. That wasn’t why you left. What’s done is done. You aren’t the worst; don’t talk about yourself like that. All we need to do is talk to Matthew about it. He will understand.”

"Alright, listen, if your dad asks about the weekend, what are you gonna say?”

Jeonghan lifts a brow as he looks down at Matthew on his right. The little boy’s hand in his as he smiles up at him. It had taken a lot to get that smile on his face and he was proud to see it. Between him and Joshua, a weekend of trash tv, and all the worst foods you could feed a child, he was finally seeing the Matthew he knew.

“That Uncle Jeonghan and Uncle Shua let me watch edgeucational things only on TV.”

Clicking his tongue as he winks at his godson, Jeonghan fishes his key for Seungcheol’s apartment out of his pocket and pushes the door open. Shifting the overnight bag on his shoulder, he doesn’t glance up until he hears Matthew gasp in surprise. The sound scares him, his eyes widening as the boy takes off, running towards the living room and drawing his eyes in that direction.

“What! What’s wrong?”

It’s when he sees you sitting on the couch with Seungcheol that it makes sense. He watches as Matthew wraps his arms around your neck, the sad expression on your face and tears in your eyes as you wrap your arms around the child, pulling him into your lap.

Meeting Seungcheol’s eyes, Jeonghan lifts his brows and gets a grin back as an answer. Shaking his head, Jeonghan drops the bag from his shoulder onto the couch and lets out a low, deep sigh. It had taken long enough, but clearly things had worked out the way they were supposed to. He just wished it had happened sooner and not at the expense of Matthew’s happiness. At least he could relish in the happy look on his face now, that was making up for almost all of it.

“Well then, I was going to see if you needed me to stay for a bit today, but clearly...”

Rolling his eyes, Seungcheol stands up to hug Jeonghan, whispering that he will explain everything later. Glancing back to you and Matthew, he presses his lips together as you nod along with Matthew’s story about his weekend with Uncle Jeonghan and Joshua, letting him have a moment to walk Jeonghan to the door.

“Yeah, I wanna know all the juicy details. Jihoon owes me 100 bucks.”

Grinning as Seungcheol makes a face of disgust, Jeonghan waves at you and Matthew before walking out the door, leaving the three of you to yourself. Leaning against the wall, Seungcheol watches for a moment longer, his lip caught between his teeth as you run your fingers through Matthew’s hair lovingly while you explain the new job.

“But, I’ll still see you all the time. I promise, okay? I just have to help other kids for the rest of the year.”

Pouting a bit, Matthew wraps his hand around yours, pulling it into his lap before nodding.

“Mmkay… as long as you come over all the time.”

Smiling a bit sheepishly as he looks from you to his dad and back, Matthew kicks his legs and giggles, making you tilt your head as Seungcheol moves to the couch to sit next to you.

“Daddy, does this mean that Miss Y/N can be my mommy now?”

Blanching slightly, Seungcheol’s mouth falls open as he looks at you, watching your lips press together. Meeting his son’s eyes, he tries to speak before laughing and rubbing the back of his neck.

“Uh, that’s adult business, son. I don’t know. Maybe one day. You know if Y/N will have your daddy as a husband.”

Looking away to hide your embarrassed smile, you clear your throat as Matthew giggles once again and slides from your arms to his dad’s.

“I think that’s a yes. All the boys on the TV show Uncle Shua liked got down on their knees and just asked. Most of the girls said yes, even though they were behind a wall!”

His eyes widening, Seungcheol looks at you as you laugh and brings your fingers to your lips before speaking.

“I thought you said you guys watched educational videos?”

Looking down at his hands, realizing he had said too much, Matthew grins and shrugs.

“I didn’t say nothing.”

Eyes narrowing, Seungcheol presses his fingers into his son’s side, tickling him as he shakes his head.

“I need to have a talk with your uncles about teaching you how to lie and letting you watch garbage.”

Smiling, you watch the two people you love the most as they laugh and end up hugging when Seungcheol kisses Matthew’s cheek. You could get used to seeing this every day.

You had thought that after you had helped Seugcheol get Matthew to bed, you might sneak back to your apartment, but then he wrapped his fingers around your wrist and pouted. That was how you ended up on his bed, his lips on your neck as you whined softly, doing your best to keep your voice down, feeling him smile against your skin.

“Seung–Seungcheol, please. I’m trying to be quiet. I’m not sure I can do this. What if we wake up, Matthew? How do we even explain—”

Leaning back, Seungcheol meets your eyes and purses his lips before sliding off the bed and offering you his hand. Taking a breath to calm down, you put your fingers on his and let him guide you off the bed and towards the connected ensuite.

“We don’t have to explain anything, baby. He’s a heavy sleeper, but if you are worried.”

Leaning against the counter of the double sink, you watch as Seungcheol leans into the glass shower to turn it on. The sound of water fills your ears and you smile as the man you had grown to adore beyond words looks back at you for praise as if he had just moved the earth for you.

“Smart…”

Nodding along with your words, Seungcheol moves back over to you, sliding the skirt of your sundress up your legs to your hips.

“I mean, I am a doctor. It’s a requirement.”

Smacking his chest, you listen to Seungcheol’s laugh and it makes you feel warm and safe. Lifting your arms, you let him quickly undress you, dropping your dress on the counter before he takes a knee and hooks his fingers into your panties, shimmying them down your legs.

“You don’t look half bad on your knee, Dr. Choi.”

Seungcheol lifts his brow, a smirk pulling at one side, before he leans to press a kiss to your leg, discarding your panties to the side. You run your fingers through his hair, enjoying the feeling of his soft lips on your skin, chill bumps spreading under his kisses.

“You like me on my knee? Wanna see me like this again?”

Your cheeks burning, you bite at your lips and hide your smile as you look away from his eyes as Seungcheol looks up at you before rising to his feet once again. Turning your head back towards him, Seungcheol brushes his lips over yours as steam starts to fill the room. He could feel the warmth on your cheeks under his fingers as he ran his thumb along your cheekbone towards your hairline.

“Hm? I asked you something, baby girl.”

Whining his name, you take a breath as Seungcheol takes a step back to tug off his shirt and quickly get rid of his pants and boxers before offering you his hand once again.

“You can’t ask me things like that. It’s too soon.”

Shaking his head, Seungcheol leads you towards the shower, opening the door for you and following you inside. His eyes move along your body as the water hits your skin and you lean your head back into the stream of water with a smile on your face. Lifting his free hand, Seungcheol runs it between your breasts and down your stomach as the smile on his lips grows.

“Too soon for what? For me to already be thinking about wanting to marry you? Shit, I was thinking about that the night we drank wine until 2 in the morning on my couch.”

Licking water from your lips, you lift your head to look at Seungcheol as he speaks to you. His words make you feel hot and almost speechless. He had wanted you for that long? He had wanted you that way for that long.

Meeting your eyes for a second, Seungcheol lets out a soft hum of appreciation at the dazed look on your face before his middle finger drags between your folds and your knees buckle. Quickly wrapping his arm around your waist, he groans as he turns your back towards the shower wall and lets you rest against it.

“I’m in it for the long haul, baby. I think you know that. Is that something you’d want? Hm? What was Matthew asking earlier? To be his mommy?”

Your lips fall open in a moan of Seungcheol’s name as you feel two of his fingers hook into you and his palm rests against your clit. Lifting your leg, you wrap one around his waist, letting him keep you upright as you try to think straight, only managing to babble incoherently. You weren’t sure how he wanted you to think clearly and come up with logical words when his fingers were so deep in you.

“Tell me… I really wanna know. Doesn’t mean it’s gonna happen tonight, but... I won’t lie, thinking about you like that—as my wife…” You feel Seungcheol shiver as a grin pulls at his lips against your jaw. “It turns me on.”

You knew Seungcheol was romantic and now you knew he had particular kinks. God you were in trouble. You were in trouble of being in constant pleasure if you did end up being this man's wife. Holding onto Seungcheol’s biceps, you whisper his name as his lips brush against yours before nodding and feeling him nod in return.

“You do? Yeah? Can you say it for me? I wanna hear it. Indulge me, sweetheart.”

Whining, you lean your head back against the shower wall as you feel yourself starting to fall over the edge. Tears threaten to spill from your eyes from pleasure as you whimper and your mouth falls open, cum slipping down Seungcheol’s fingers as you moan out the words he wants to hear.

“I would; I would wanna be your wife, Cheol. I love you.”

Bracing himself against the wall, palm flat against it, Seungcheol groans, feeling himself unable to hold back. It’s not everything he has to give you, but you are surprised to feel warm cum on your stomach, drawing your eyes downward.

“Oh, my god...”

Sighing, Seungcheol laughs, a bit embarrassed, before pushing off the wall and sliding his fingers out of you. Wiping his mouth clean of water, he uses his other hand to hold your leg to his hip as before, stroking his still hard cock a couple times and lining himself up with your eager pussy.

“I told you I liked the idea of it. I love you, too. Fuck…”

The last word out of Seungcheol’s mouth is drawn out as he slips himself inside of you with some effort. In this position, you were even tighter than he was used to. He had taken you to bed a few times over the weekend, but never like this and you had never sucked his cock in like you were trying to milk him dry.

Holding your hip tightly, Seungcheol meets your eyes as you let out a soft gasp, feeling his hips meet yours. At this angle, you felt like he was going to tear you apart, but you weren’t complaining. There was bad pain, and then there was this. This was that sweet, satisfying pain that led to so much pleasure that you saw stars, and you were starting to see them.

Lips meeting yours, Seungcheol groans into the kiss as he grinds his hips against yours, finding it harder to move after a few deep thrusts when you clamp down over him and cum once again. Scratching at his wet skin, you bite down into his bottom lip before leaning back from his kiss to pant out his name when Seungcheol groans so deep it sounds like a growl.

He had made love to you before; there had truly been a difference between that and now. The way his fingers were bruising your hips and the way his hips were slapping against yours—now he was fucking you. You knew you wouldn’t be able to tell him which way you preferred, even as you watched his mouth fall open as he cums once again, this time filling you and pushing it out with each deep thrust.

“Holy shit, baby.”

Furrowing your brows, you let out a soft gasp as Seungcheol slips from you and lowers your leg safely back to the floor. Keeping your back to the wall, you take a few deep breaths, feeling his fingers running along your sides as his lips press to your throat, up your jaw, and finally to your lips before you smile.

“That was…”

Nodding to agree with you, Seungcheol laughs against your lips before taking a step back to step under the showerhead, feeling the warm water run over his body. Opening your eyes, you can’t help the way you shyly look at him before laughing and looking away, making him grin as he reaches for his shampoo with a tilt of his head.

“What? Are you shy now? Is this about being in the shower with me or, uh, wife talk?”

Wrinkling your nose, you knock your head back against the shower wall before pushing off of it and towards Seungcheol. Watching him follow you with curious eyes, you sigh and lift your arms to run your fingers through his hair, spreading around the shampoo as you speak, feeling his hands running over your hips.

“The last part. It is a little fast. but I—is it bad that I like it too? Maybe I want that? Not now!” You are quick to add on the last to your sentence, making Seungcheol laugh before he leans his head back into the water, washing out the shampoo from his hair. “Just in the future, with you?”

Taking a breath, Seungcheol runs his fingers through his hair and then holds on to your waist, switching positions under the shower head to let you stand there as he grabs body wash to start spreading it over your body slowly.

“Not at all. I want it... in the future.”

Smiling brightly, Seungcheol meets your eyes as you whine, feeling overwhelmed. Leaning to kiss your nose, he sighs and spreads the soapy water along your body as he nods.

“Did I ever tell you that if I got married again, I’d love to have my honeymoon in Barcelona?”

He was great at breaking the tension. You couldn’t help the smile that pulled up at your lips or the laugh that spilled from between them as you shook your head, turning in his arms to let him wash your back.

“No? Well, that’s my dream destination. I’ve never been, and what better place to go with my bride?”

READ THE BONUS ON PATREON

#seungcheol smut #seventeen smut #svthub #svthub.collab #scoups smut #seungcheol fluff #seventeen fluff #scoups fluff #seungcheol angst #seventeen angst #scoups angst #svt smut #svt fluff #svt angst #seungcheol x reader #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #seventeen

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greenlaut · 10 months ago

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the four hunters 🗡🌿

extras + rambles below cut

yipeee i finally finished this illustration 🎉🎉

this is my personal take on the hunters gang (we will ignore that boromir died). honestly, i had a lot of fun thinking of the designs.

had to bring back my aragorn with his silly braid and blue hair ribbon. he's a ranger for most of his life, so he'd definitely go for practicality and what he's already familiar with—so no armour nor gambeson. he probably had a small fight with elrond before they left for the quest; where elrond tried to make him swap his gear for better, newer ones and aragorn just adamantly refusing because he's a lot more familiar (and more comfortable) with his own. which is why he's wearing tattered and worn rags. his red tunic is the only new thing he allowed elrond to swap to a new one. boromir definitely got exhasperated and somewhere down the line, he loaned aragorn his pair of arm bracers.

boromir (and faramir's (not featured here)) design changed a lot since the past years. it's a mash-up of both movie!boromir and lore accurate book!boromir. his hair is a lot darker and he has more of a storm blue-grey eyes as a nod towards his elendil ancestry. his clothing is heavily based off the movie. as for his cloak; since he's The son of gondor and denethor's favourite, i think he'd definitely get the fortune of wearing a fur cloak. the clasp has the white tree engraved on it.

gimli is by far my favourite. i always wanted to draw my take of gimli in his regalia. as a dwarven royalty, i think he'd groom his hair and beard really well, and he would've put on a lot of accessories to show his status. but since he's on a quest, he's not fully decked out in jewelries—wearing very practical clothing: gambeson with chainmail underneath. also, i like the dwarven fighting style they did in the hobbit movie where they go around and knock people off with melee. so gimli got hefty arm bracers and knuckle weights to really punch the shit out of some orcs.

for legolas; i think despite being an elf, he has the factors of being (1) mirkwood elf and (2) lowkey autistic coded. so he doesn't dress "like an elf"—not that the company would've known, with how limited their interactions with elves in general already. this meant that he dressed too casually despite going on a life-or-death quest. very light leather armour to support his speed and agility. he's not even wearing boots; just a pair of tree-climbing canvas shoes that he wrapped tightly. god knows how he survived this far. he's mostly a right handed archer—but since he lived for quite a long while, he taught himself to shoot with left hand too for emergencies. since his left hand isn't as stable as his right hand, he has a left-shoulder-pad.

THEY ALL HAVE SCARS because who doesn't get scars when you're literal warriors be fr. legolas' are more faded out though, because he's old as fuck.

close-ups:

fin.

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simsbyjo · 1 month ago

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I guess these two need some time off work before baby arrives.

#tjol challenge #the sims 4 #ts4 legacy #sims 4 gameplay #ts4 challenge #ts4 screenshots #legacy challenge #djsimblr #tjolc #the joy of life challenge #tjolc gen 4 #Generation Four: In Life and In Death

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s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s · 3 months ago

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"Sufjan Stevens Announces Carrie & Lowell - 10th Anniversary Edition – Out May 30

This May, Asthmatic Kitty Records celebrates the ten-year anniversary of Carrie & Lowell with an expanded double-LP album that includes seven previously unreleased bonus tracks, a 40-page art book, and a new essay by Sufjan Stevens. The deluxe edition also offers an alternative cover: a full-framed version of the original Polaroid zoomed out to reveal the photo’s caption written in a child’s handwriting—“Carrie & Lowell”—disclosing the source of the album title (it was written by Sufjan's sister Djamilah). The new edition was designed by Sufjan himself: the 40-page booklet contains various collages of vintage family photos spanning four generations interfused with artwork and drawings (on themes of death, dying, grief and the state of Oregon) as well as landscape photos Sufjan took while traveling across the western U.S. over a decade ago.

The original album is preserved on disc one, while disc two contains 40 minutes of extras, including demo versions of "Death With Dignity," "Should Have Known Better," "The Only Thing," and "Eugene". Expansive outtakes of "Fourth of July" and "Wallowa Lake Monster" are also included, both featuring a more cinematic mood. The final gem is the original demo of "Mystery of Love”, which was recorded around the same time as Carrie & Lowell. This song was scrapped for the album but later re-worked and re-recorded for Luca Guadagnino’s Call Me By Your Name.

Carrie & Lowell was the result of an immensely difficult process in which Sufjan’s songwriting – usually a salve – failed him in the wake of his mother’s death. He was eventually led out of a cycle of creative doubt with a rare handover of production duties to Thomas Bartlett. In wrestling with darkness and devastation, life and death, Sufjan was eventually able to begin making sense of the beauty and ugliness of love.

Sufjan toured the album and personally connected his findings with his listeners, a beautiful hand-over of sorts happened - making these songs those of the listeners and their lives and losses and complexities.Since the album’s release the live tour was turned into a live album, so surprisingly celebratory and cathartic as to become something else entirely. Outtakes, remixes, and iPhone notes have been shared via Sufjan’s The Greatest Gift mixtape as well as a collection of “Fourth of July” versions that took one moment from the album and explored its every crevice.

Ten years on, this anniversary edition does things differently to those other treasures. Rather than deconstructing the album or building on it and continuing its legacy, this edition takes the listener back to the moments leading up to and including its release. Carrie & Lowell is presented in its full form once again, alongside a glimpse of the different roads it could have taken. There are new corners to explore, photographic realising of moments previously only lyrically painted, direct reflection from the album’s creator, subtly different weight on certain syllables that speak to Sufjan’s mind right before he shared it with the world.

Carrie & Lowell -10th Anniversary Edition Tracklist

Disc 1:

1. Death with Dignity 2. Should Have Known Better 3. All of Me Wants All of You 4. Drawn To the Blood 5. Eugene 6. Fourth of July 7. The Only Thing 8. Carrie & Lowell 9. John My Beloved 10. No Shade in the Shadow of the Cross 11. Blue Bucket of Gold

Disc 2:

Death with Dignity (Demo)

Should Have Known Better (Demo)

Eugene (Demo)

The Only Thing (Demo)

Mystery Of Love (Demo)

Wallowa Lake Monster (Version 2)

Fourth of July (Version 4)

Carrie & Lowell - 10th Anniversary Edition is now available to pre-order / pre-save here. All pre-orders will include a lyric postcard featuring artwork designed by Sufjan.

“Mystery of Love” may be widely known from the film Call Me By Your Name, but it began as an early demo during the Carrie & Lowell era. Now released as the first single from Carrie & Lowell – 10th Anniversary Edition, this version presents the song in its original, intimate form.

Video directed and produced by Rena Johnson. Original artwork and select photos by Sufjan Stevens. Archival photos and 8mm film provided by Sufjan Stevens and additional assets provided by Rena Johnson.

Ten years of 'Carrie & Lowell'. Explore the full story in our new comprehensive archive, featuring 'Carrie & Lowell 'and its six companion releases. Photos, video, essays and other materials, gathered in one place for the first time.

WWW.CL.SUFJAN.COM" - Originally posted by Asthmatic Kitty Records

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friskyfreddie2024 · 8 months ago

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America: You Fucked Up

You could have chosen Hope. You chose Hate.

You could have chosen Empathy. You chose Enmity.

You could have chosen a New Beginning. You chose the Nazi.

We could have finally been rid of this cancer on American democracy. He could have been banished to obscurity, remembered only as the worst president in American history, and finally held responsible for his numerous crimes.

The ignorant, racist, misogynistic, white supremacist, pathologicial liar is now going back to the White House. He is a convicted felon, an admitted sexual predator, a total fraud, and a demented old man. He belongs in prison.

What did you do?

You ignored that the U.S. economy is the strongest in the world, that inflation is at its lowest level in four years, that unemployment is at its lowest level in three years. You believed the lies about how terrible the economy is. I knew better.

You forgot about his 30,000+ lies while he was in office. I remember.

You forgot about his complete mismanagement and ignorance over COVID, resulting in the deaths of over one million Americans. I remember.

You forgot about the saber rattling over military exercises in the pacific, when Kim Jong Un threatened us with nuclear missiles, causing us to fear whether we'd see another day. I remember.

You forgot about waking up every morning dreading to hear the latest abomination he tweeted. I remember.

You forgot about "very fine people on both sides." I remember.

You forgot about "only the best people" like Betsy DeVos, Rick Perry, Tom Price, Scott Pruitt, Steve Mnuchin, and many others who were given cabinet positions despite having zero qualifications for the job. I remember.

You forgot that 40 of his former cabinet members and dozens of former generals and officials refused to support him, saying he was "unfit to serve." I remember.

You forgot about January 6, "fight like hell". I remember.

You forgot that when he was told that his vice president was secured because the rioters wanted to kill him, he said, "So what?" I remember

You forgot about The Big Lie, "Release the Kraken" and 60+ failed attempts to overturn the election in the courts. I remember.

You forgot about "I just need you to find 11,780 votes." I remember.

You forgot about "They're eating the cats! They're eating the dogs!" I remember.

What now?

When a woman suffering an ectopic pregnancy dies because she doesn't have access to medical care, that's on you.

When they take away your neighbor, your co-worker, your friend, and deport them, that's on you.

When a woman is forced to suffer the agony of carrying her rapist's baby to term, that's on you.

When a transgender kid harms themselves because they can't get the medical care they need, that's on you.

When your middle-class taxes GO UP, while billionaires get even more tax breaks, that's on you.

When schoolchildren are killed by an assault rifle in a mass shooting, that's on you.

When children grow up ignorant because you banned books and dictated how history is taught, that's on you.

When Grandma can no longer afford a comfortable life because the Social Security she paid into all her working life, and provided income on which she now depends, has been cut, that's on you.

When violence against Jews, Asians, Hispanics rises again, that's on you.

When prices on the goods you buy skyrocket due to tariffs, that's on you.

When Ukraine, deprived of our support, is overrun by Russia, that's on you.

When the U.S. is the laughing stock of the world (as we were 2016-2020), that's on you.

What should you have done?

You should have exercised critical thinking skills, recognized the thousands of lies you were being told, recalled that his administration had four years to live up to his promises and failed at all of them. You should have realized that he is a profoundly stupid individual who doesn't give a shit about you or your family or anything except himself.

You had the last nine years to see that, and you still fell for his bullshit.

#Trump #Fuck Trump #Drumpf

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aeluteria · 3 months ago

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Pillows and glass walls

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆ summary: you develop a habit surrounding yourself with pillows when you sleep — as if trying to replicate certain someone's presence. ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆ pairing: MC!reader x Caleb ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆ word count: 1,666 ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆ general info: hurt/comfort, fluff, not established relationship, longing Caleb if you look really close act surprised here ────── ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆ notes: proofread four times and all but it's possible there's still some mistakes since English isn't my first language. Enjoy!

After Caleb’s death, you’re haunted by nightmares, and you get used to sleeping surrounded by pillows. There’s something comforting about the way they press against your body from all sides, almost wrapping you in their softness. The pretty spacious bed narrows down to about half a meter all thanks to at least four pillows around you. One under your head, one in front of you, one under your arm, and one behind your back. The desperate longing for the phantom sensation of something's — someone's — presence is almost unbearable.

When you and Caleb used to stay up late watching yet another late-night show, he would often fall asleep next to you, allowing you to throw your arms and legs over him, even if it meant he’d have to spend the rest of the night in the same and probably — definetely — not so comfortable position. He knew he would wake you up the moment he tried to move away. Back then, you shared the narrow seat of the sofa in the gran's living room, squeezed together with your limbs intertwined.

Now, you try to recreate that feeling by placing a pillow behind your back, nearly trapping yourself between it and the one you so habitually throw your arm and leg over. The pillows are too soft; they don’t compare to Caleb’s strong, toned body, which you remember so clearly in your embrace. But… it’s something, at least.

It becomes your ritual — a small tradition you follow almost religiously, day after day.

One pillow goes under your head — as it should, just like most people sleep.

The second one is tucked behind your back — a barrier, a false sense of protection, because you don’t like to sleep with your back exposed.

The third one you hug, throwing a leg over it, pressing it as close as possible in an attempt to recreate that warm, familiar embrace.

The fourth, the smallest, goes under your free elbow, covering your side and chest.

You pull the blanket over yourself, hiding beneath its soft folds. And finally, you allow the warmth and weight to lull you to sleep.

The same ritual every night.

A quirk that has become a necessity.

Sometimes you wonder if it should be the first and only thing on your list of bad habits.

──────

After Caleb’s return, you continue sleeping surrounded by pillows. Caleb notices. Of course he does — how could he not? — and silently buys you a few more pillows, leaving them in your room in his Skyhaven apartment. He doesn’t ask where you got this habit from, but you feel like he’s already figured it out. Staying over at his place, you don’t change your ritual, turning the huge bed into a plush-pillow sanctuary.

Caleb is back, but it feels like he’s further away from you than ever. The bed sheets and blanket smell of his cologne — fresh, familiar — and in those fragile evening moments, you desperately want to believe that you and Caleb are truly home again.

That the muffled muttering from the living room isn’t reports and endless briefings that follow Caleb even outside of work — but the forgotten TV, its volume turned down to a minimum.

That the lights of the city breaking through the curtains are in fact soft moonlight, cradling the summer night in its embrace.

That you’re not in this big, almost lifeless apartment desperately clutching a pillow — but on a couch in the not-so-big gran's living room holding a drowsy Caleb, wrapped in the warmth of summer that you’ll spend together.

Caleb has returned to your life. But now, it feels like there’s a glass wall between you — right where the warmth, the tenderness, the infinite trust used to be.

It’s starting to crack. And behind the cracks you can sense all these familiar feelings and emotions trying to break through. But it’s not enough.

You’re afraid that this glass wall will never shatter.

Even after Caleb’s return you’re still haunted by nightmares. Waking from them in the quiet of your own home became familiar long ago. But in the silence of the room at Skyhaven screaming in desperation and fear feels almost like a crime. You cover your mouth with your palm, your fingers tremble. The bed is a mess, pillows scattered across the floor except the one under your head. The nightmare’s grim reality still flickers in your mind, and you blink rapidly, trying to push it away. You don’t hear hurried footsteps down the hallway, only noticing them when they stop with the sound of a door opening. Caleb is standing in the doorway — disheveled from sleep, but alert and tense, like a spring ready to snap at any moment. He quickly scans the room, and finding no danger, softly approaches the bed, sitting on the edge. The mattress dips under his weight, and you hurriedly wipe your eyes with the back of your hand, brushing away the tears. But Caleb still notices.

“Are you okay?”

His voice is slightly hoarse from sleep, and a wave of shame and guilt rises in your chest and washes over you. You nod quickly — too quickly for it to seem truly sincere.

“Yeah, I just… just had a nightmare. Sorry for waking you.”

Caleb reaches out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. It takes a lot not to lean into his touch, seeking comfort. Caleb notices — he himself touches your cheek with his palm, and you press into it, closing your eyes for a moment to catch your breath. Caleb caresses your cheek with his thumb, wiping away the damp trails of your tears.

For a moment, it feels like the world narrows down to the two of you sitting across from each other.

Almost like before, almost like in the past.

Except that now everything feels completely different.

“Don’t apologize, pipsqueak. Want me to make you some warm herbal tea? It’ll help you calm down.”

You know there are only a few hours left before his alarm goes off, but despite that he’s still willing to spend those precious minutes with you. You swallow the lump in your throat and shake your head with a faint smile.

“I’m fine, really.” “You’re still crying.”

Caleb traces a finger up your cheek to the corner of your eye, wiping the tear with his thumb. In his gaze you see familiar concern, warmth, and endless tenderness — and for a moment it feels like nothing has changed.

Like you’re back on the narrow couch in the gran's living room, lazily debating who will fall asleep first.

Like you're back in those carefree days when the biggest problem was deciding which flavor of ice cream to choose.

Like you’re back together for the whole summer, and even the coming separation when his vacation ends won’t overshadow this precious time.

You reach out to him, wrapping your arms around his chest in the familiar gesture, nuzzling your face in the spot where his neck meets his shoulder, inhaling the fresh scent of his shower gel and closing your eyes. You feel him hold you back almost immediately. Like he was waiting for this. His breath catches for just a moment, and you swear you can feel his heartbeat quickening by a dozen beats per minute. Your heart seems to echo his.

“I dreamed that you…” “Shh, don’t think about it.”

Caleb strokes your back, and you feel the warmth of his hands even through your clothes.

“I’m here with you, and I’m not going anywhere.”

He briefly kisses your forehead, touch almost ghostly on your skin.

“Caleb?..”

He pulls back slightly, looking at you with those impossibly beautiful sunset-colored eyes, and your heart tightens with unbearable tenderness. You gently touch his cheek, almost as if trying to make sure he’s real, that he’s really here, that he’s truly not going anywhere. Caleb turns his head and softly kisses the center of your palm.

“Stay with me tonight. Please.”

His eyelashes flutter as he blinks in surprise. In the dim light of the room you see his lips curl into a smile, the features of his face soften, and the worry fades from his eyes. Caleb lies down beside you, like he’s done so many times before, pulling you closer and holding you tight. His chest rises and falls, and you rest your hand on it. The cool metal of his pendant brushes against your skin, and you gently trace its contours with your finger. Caleb slowly runs his fingers through your hair, and you feel his breath on your forehead.

“I’ll stay with you forever. Just ask me.”

He slowly strokes your back.

His touch barely there, almost hesitant — as if he's afraid to disturb the fragility of the moment.

“...stay with me forever.”

You echo, closing your eyes as sleep takes over. Caleb pulls the blanket over both of you, and the warmth surrounds you completely. You finally let go, surrendering to sleep.

You don't realize that for the first time in many nights you didn’t even think about the pillows scattered on the floor.

You won’t need them tonight.

And something in you wants to believe that from this very moment you’ll never need them at all.

The glass wall between you and Caleb seems to crack once more — and this crack is deeper than all of those before.

And through it, that familiar and long-awaited warmth breaks through, almost searing in its wake.

“No one will dare to separate us. Never again. I promise.”

He kisses your forehead briefly and his lips linger on your skin just a little longer than necessary. Then they slide down, brushing your cheek, teasingly touching the tip of your nose. Finally, they come to rest near the corner of your mouth.

You’re absolutely sure this warm touch of his lips so dangerously close to your own was just a dream.

And just as absolutely, you’re not sure you’ll ever admit to yourself that you don’t mind these kinds of dreams at all.

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds caleb #lads caleb #love and deepspace caleb #caleb #lads x reader #caleb x reader #caleb x you #caleb x y/n #caleb x mc

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humanjarvis · 2 months ago

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serenade

synopsis: when top music critic sylus qin gives your new album a scathing review, you plan a performance to make him pay.

tags: celebrity au, porn with plot, enemies to lovers (reader hates him, sylus is generally a bastard but just doing his job), mirror sex, p in v, light choking, moderate biting, size difference, dramatic reader, reader does some light internet stalking, brief angst only bc sylus’s review was mean, he does something nice at the end to make up for it, inspired by dandelion by ariana grande pairing: music critic!sylus x pop star!fem reader word count: 7.2k

a/n: writing this was a traumatic experience i literally decided i was going to finish and upload today 12 hours ago because i cannot have this in my drafts any longer

I. THE RATING

“A fucking 4.7?!” you screech, hurling your phone across the bed in horror.

It must be a mistake. A typo, or maybe your eyesight has gotten worse since your last checkup. Paparazzi cameras can do that, your optometrist had told you once. Yes. You’re sure that’s the case.

Taking a moment to breathe—hyperventilate, more like—you snatch the device back up and double-check with wild eyes.

And sure enough, in big bold letters: Four. Point. Seven.

There was no way. No fucking way that that hard-ass snobby bastard Sylus Qin had given your new album—the record you’d poured your heart and soul into—a 4.7/10 rating.

You refresh and refresh, but the numbers stay the same. 4.7, followed by heartless jabs that carve into your chest like daggers. Failed. Uninspired. Noise.

You must have died last night, somehow. You must be dead right now. And for some reason unbeknownst to you—you’ll have to talk it out with God if you ever get the chance—you had woken up in Hell.

Life as you knew it was over. The little ghouls who hounded you online were going to throw you to the wolves. Your agent would be lucky to book you at a high school bake sale. The reporters—if you even counted as a celebrity anymore—would never let this go. And there was only one man to blame.

Sylus Qin.

The name alone struck fear into the hearts of the entire pop industry. Not even the living legends with decades-long careers were safe.

The man himself was an enigma, with little known of him other than his unnaturally deep voice and moderately vampiric appearance. But the reputation that preceded him was that of the most renowned music critic alive.

No one knew how he got his start—maybe he’d just spawned onto Earth one day, slashing dreams and breaking hearts. Or maybe his mother had played him the classics while she carried him, murmuring to her belly about what true music was, and he’d been ranting about artistic integrity and sonic evolution since before he could walk.

No matter what his story was, the facts were that your peers lived in terror of a bad Sylus Qin review—or any Sylus Qin review, really. He’d ruined so many careers, it was like he had a yearly quota.

And the prick had just given what you’d thought was your magnum opus the industry equivalent of a public hanging.

As frustrated tears well in your eyes, you take a look around the house you’d only just managed to buy—the cozy Gothic fireplace, the customized in-home studio, and the quaint little garden. It was all still so new to you. And just like that, you’d have to give it up soon.

You were wholly, utterly, and hopelessly fucked.

***

Death. You’d imagined it’d be…more peaceful. Less emotional devastation, more belated introspection.

But as you shift under the weighted blanket you’d rolled yourself up in, the sudden movement disturbing the heap of tear-stained tissues on top of you, you realize how much you hate being wrong.

Your life had officially been over for almost 22 hours. And in those hours, you’d stared at the wall, ignored 36 text messages, opened and immediately closed your socials countless times, and sobbed into your satin pillowcase.

As you roll away from the sliver of sunlight slipping through your curtains with a pained hiss, you hear the heavy footsteps climbing up your marble staircase.

Oh well, you shrug inwardly. Not like it can get any worse. If it’s an intruder, they can have at it. Put me out of my misery.

But as a familiar pattern of knocks precedes the door swinging open, allowing more light than you’d seen in the last day to flood the room, you realize that this may be a fate worse than brutal murder.

“You can’t answer your phone anymore or something?” the tenor voice of Devon, your beloved, overbearing manager cuts through the room.

“Go away,” you mumble, the sound muffled by the heavy blanket covering your mouth.

You hear an incredulous snort. “Go awa—Girl, get up,” he snaps, walking up to tug the blanket off of you. As he heaves it to the foot of the bed, the army of tissues scatters across the room like huge snowflakes of failure, and your jostled body ends up sprawled in an almost-perfect diagonal from the impact.

“I’ve been calling you all morning! And not only do you not pick up, but you block my number? You had me rushing over here to do a wellness check like you died or something.”

“Oh. Well,” you begin nonchalantly. “In case you haven’t heard, I did. Yesterday. And I’m finding it to be quite pleasant, actually,” you lie through your teeth and purse your lips, “so I’d like to continue being dead, please. Alone.”

“Yeah. Right,” he responds, mouth wedged open in a clearly annoyed grimace. “Okay, we do not have time for this, girl. You got a fan engagement livestream scheduled for this evening. You’ve never canceled a stream, not even when you lost your voice from that virus that one time. You really gonna let that man break your streak?”

At the mere reference to his existence, your face shrivels and you curl into a defensive ball. “Oh, what’s the point?” you wail, shoving your face into the mattress. “There will probably only be 4.7 viewers. And then the tabloids will be filled with news about how I’m talentless and unpopular.”

Devon closes his eyes, pinches the mahogany skin of his prominent nose, and releases a slow, controlled exhale.

“Okay,” he starts, visibly switching tactics. “If your own fans—you know, the people who made you famous—can’t get you out of bed, maybe this will.” He takes a deep breath, as if bracing for impact, before continuing. “I have it on good authority that Sylus Qin is doing a TV interview. Tonight.”

And in the middle of an agonized writhe, you freeze in place.

“He never does interviews,” you say lowly, voice suddenly hard enough to cut diamond. “He’s never done an interview, D. Stop bullshitting.”

“Dead serious,” he replies, shoving his too-bright phone in your still sideways face. And sure enough, mysterious critic act be damned, Sylus Qin’s name is in bright bold letters on the hottest talk show in the country’s latest social post.

Failing to suppress the anxious pang in your chest, you swallow thickly. “It’s…real. You weren’t….he’s actually going to…right after…he…” The world starts spinning as you trail off, and when the dry heaves start up on their own, you wonder if it’s possible to die twice.

“Chill! Girl, chill,” Devon yells, firmly sitting you up on the bed. “My contact in production said he’s not talking about his work. He’ll be there to announce something, so he shouldn’t mention you unless they ask.”

“Unless they ask,” you cry, slapping your palms to your face.

“Which they won’t,” he adds in unsuccessful reassurance. “I just figured it might wake you up a bit. You’ve never seen him before, right? Maybe some exposure therapy will help.”

Chewing your bottom lip hard enough to leave marks, you consider your options. You could either kick your manager out and wallow in bed until you get a foreclosure notice, or get up, grit your teeth through the livestream, and rush back to your bedroom afterwards to hate-watch Sylus on national television and pray he doesn’t speak your name.

Your conscience and the voice in your head confer, and it seems like your anxiety has beaten your depression this time. Second option it is.

II. THE INTERVIEW

After an excruciating hour of smiling blankly, avoiding talking about your album, and pretending not to see cruel comments, the stream is over.

It was time to stare Death in the face.

With 8 minutes to spare, you run up the stairs from the streaming setup in your studio and catapult into your walk-in closet, ripping your intricate work clothes off and diving into the comfiest loungewear you can find. If you were going to do this, you were going to do it comfortably.

3 minutes. You dim the lights and flip the TV on, having already set it to the right channel in a bout of paranoia hours ago. Your house is empty except for you, but you trot over to shut the door just in case. A potential humiliation ritual was a private affair.

And with 30 seconds to go, you unmute the TV and slowly climb onto your bed, sitting cross-legged and letting out the kind of breath you’d spent hundreds on mastering in pilates.

The cheery, inauthentic talk show theme fills your ears, and you lift your eyelids open in resolve.

A corny host intro. A brief band performance. And then, a tall white-haired man is strolling across your screen.

Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the illustrious Sylus Qin!

Your heart stops.

“Thank you, it’s my pleasure to be here,” a baritone purr rings out. Unnaturally deep voice, huh. They’d been right about one thing.

And then he sits on the smooth leather couch, turning his body to face the camera.

Sylus Qin is…young. Not some wrinkled up curmudgeon out to terrorize the youth in his bitter old age. By the looks of it, he hasn’t even reached his 40s yet.

Another observation. Sylus Qin is big. To be tall is one thing—not that special in a world of models doubling as singers—but this guy nearly swallows the sofa with his huge, obviously muscled frame. You wonder how he finds the time to work out between ruining lives.

And as you take in his chiseled appearance—certainly vampiric, you think—you realize with unprecedented dread: Sylus Qin is handsome.

“Mr. Qin,” the host begins, “we know this opportunity is extremely rare, so let me just say—it is our absolute honor to have you here during such a busy time for you.”

It’s an ambiguous reference, probably not even to his most recent work, but you flinch backwards anyway.

“Not a problem at all,” he drawls smoothly. “And just ‘Sylus’ is fine. I heard you all like to…have fun on this show.” He finishes the reply with a conspiratorial smirk, and you can all but see the women in the audience swoon at his despicable charm. “Like you said, this is a rare moment. You’re here to ask, and I’m here to answer. So, ask away.”

“Perfect,” the host starts. “So, Mr—ahem—Sylus, you’ve built your reputation through exclusive music correspondence for a variety of publications…”

***

As the minutes tick by and your hatred turns to intrigue, you start to really study the man in front of you. Learn his unique cadence, contemplate the angle of his aristocratic nose. Take in the way his ruby eyes glint when he talks about music, the way he sounds older than the age listed on his Wikipedia. And his IMDb. And his famousbirthdays.com. You’d triple-checked.

You note the way he smirks at difficult questions, as if welcoming the challenge and begging for something harder. The way he crosses and uncrosses his thick, long legs as he weaves his answers into an impromptu PR masterclass. The way he panders to the audience so subtly you’d think it natural—if not for the way his large palms open when he looks their way, as if luring them into his trap from the stage.

Fuck, he’s hot. And you can’t even try to pretend otherwise.

Until a particularly sore subject snaps you out of your ogling and draws you back into the conversation.

“Now, Sylus, you may be a critic, but you’ve received some criticism yourself lately for your ‘harsh and grating’ reviews, especially in the pop sphere. Some go as far as to claim you’re even biased against pop artists. What do you say to that?”

And Sylus Qin chuckles. The bastard chuckles. As if he actually finds it funny.

“I give albums and their creators the reviews they earn,” he says evenly. “I didn’t get to where I am today by handing out participation trophies.”

He’s doubling down. You can’t believe he’s doubling down.

“I’ve heard that some recent articles of mine have…ruffled some feathers. There’s never a shortage of angry fans in my inbox,” he shrugs. “But it’s my job to speak up when projects are…uninspired. You all get better music that way,” he quips, spreading his palms once more.

Uninspired. Uninspired. The word that’s flashed in your head nonstop for the past 36 hours. A failed ascent to the top of pop stardom reveals itself as little more than uninspired noise.

That was the exact quote he’d left in his scathing review of your album—you remembered. Because you’d read it—cried to it—over. And over. And over. And he’d just alluded to it with a smirk on his face, the crowd eating straight from his outstretched hands, in front of the entire country.

Ugly, uncontrollable shame heats your face as the all too familiar tears sting your eyes once more. As you search for the remote through blurry vision, your blood burns hotter than lava, and you curse yourself for letting your guard down. For seeing any redeeming qualities—even if only physical—in a man with his reputation. With his lack of empathy.

When your fingers close around the controller and you stumble off the bed, more than ready to click the TV off and return to the glorious rot-until-you-get-kicked-out plan, you freeze as Sylus speaks again.

“That said,” he continues, “I encourage any artists who’ve been offended by my commentary to come chat about it in person. That’s my reason for coming here, after all—to announce that I’ll be attending the annual Spirit Awards this year.”

Thumb hovering over the “off” button, you blink your tears away in disbelief. The Spirit Awards. You know that show. You know that show well. Because as thanks for your viral performance at last year’s event, you’d been invited to sing in the main performance slot.

You were going to headline. And Sylus Qin would be your audience.

As the interview ends and his figure fades to black with the next commercial, a sudden realization talks you down from the ledge.

This was your chance. To give the best damn show you’d ever put on, to reclaim the work whose meaning had been stolen from you. To sink his reputation, and to save yours.

Maybe it’s a good thing he looks the way he does, you think, a slow smile spreading across your increasingly mischievous face.

Because for the first time in almost two days, you’re confident. Confident that you’ll not only get him to change his mind, but that you’ll get him. Period.

Sylus Qin, we’ll see about that fucking 4.7 when I’m done with you.

III. THE PLAN

Bleary eyes. A full night of sleep lost. And three 12-ounce iced coffees delivered straight to your door.

But after eight and a half hours, Operation: Silence Sylus was a go.

After the interview, you’d set up a makeshift situation room in your studio. You’d hauled all your devices—phone, laptop, monitor, smart watch, you name it—into the space for backup. Anything that could find information, you needed. You’d have even dragged your smart microwave in here if you could figure out the wires.

But, all things considered, the setup had been the easy part. Because what came after was an informal case study on the most elusive man in history.

You’d started simple: his social media.

There was more to work with than you’d expected, but nothing too crazy. He had 2.6 million followers—a fraction of yours, you’d smirked, but still good for someone whose work is out of the spotlight.

His photos had no discernible aesthetic, as if he posted them straight from his camera roll. And his upload patterns…the lack of marketing was so severe it sent a shiver down your spine. The man posted a few times a year, if that, and the captions he did include were vague and simple. He’s lying about his age, you’d decided, because this guy is old as fuck.

But Sylus’s dire need for a social media manager was far from the most interesting thing you’d noticed. No, in all your 264 weeks’ worth of research—you’d scrolled until the app wouldn’t let you refresh anymore—not a single other person was featured on his feed. Like, there’d been more motorcycle pictures than humans on there. You’d have chalked it up to the narcissism typical of men like him, but he hardly even posted his own face.

And as shameful as it was to stalk the man who’d publicly humiliated you’s Instagram to see if he had a girlfriend, it was absolutely necessary. If the answer was yes, it’d put the whole plan in jeopardy! You were simply doing your job as a diligent creative, covering all your bases in advance. How would you seduce him into changing his mind about you if he had a fucking girlfriend? Or worse?

That would be your next stop, then, you’d nodded resolutely. His dating history.

But no matter how many articles you read; how many variations of Sylus Qin girlfriend, sylus Qin single, Sylus qin married, sylus qin Boyfriend you’d put in the search bar; how many viruses you’d probably gotten on your laptop from clicking through trashy tabloid sites; there was nothing. No photos, no reported sightings, hardly even a rumor. You’d typed in Sylus Qin asexual as a last resort, but that came back empty, too.

You’d sat in disbelief for a second, wondering how he could be so…clean. Even with his…glowing personality, his looks and success more than made up for any quirks. In this town, people should have been throwing themselves at him left and right, bogeyman allegations be damned.

But there was no mistaking it. As far as romance was concerned, the man was a blank slate.

Good thing you were coming for him with a big feather pen, ready to brand your name into his skin.

***

After analyzing his public image and making sure no…obstacles would block your path, it was time for a personality study. And where better to start than his full catalogue of reviews? His portfolio was practically front and center on his publication’s website—all 114 articles offered to you on a silver platter.

Almost immediately, you’d taken a nervous breath and hastily clicked past the most recent page. The abject horror of the 4.7 was still too fresh on your mind, and you’d be damned if tonight ended with a traumatic episode. So you’d landed on the second most recent page, starting with reviews from a couple months ago. And you’d read.

104 irritatingly confident articles. You’d read his praise, his disappointment, his bewilderment, his disgust. His beautifully packaged this-person-should-be-sent-to-prison-for-making-this-es. No matter how much you disagreed with some—most—of his takes, he was an incredible writer.

He tolerated jazz the most, it seemed. The smooth melodies, the warm embrace of the trumpet, trombone, and sax. It was so incredibly old. But it suited him.

“The riveting blend of brass and reed solos marks the triumphant rebirth of a fallen genre,” he’d complimented a band earlier this year. Looking at his preferences, it was no wonder why your synth-heavy pop beats seemed to have personally offended him.

But for all the things Sylus thought he knew about you, he was missing a few key items:

You were desperate. To win back the public, to win his approval, to win him.

You were planning a deluxe album with six new songs. And one of those songs said please fuck me disguised under a sensual trumpet solo.

You were desperate enough to release said album and perform said song a month early, solely to prove a point.

And with one screaming match of a phone call to Devon at 6 a.m., it’d been done.

You hadn’t coordinated with your dancers yet. Or told your label. Or informed the Spirit Awards producers that you’d be changing your set. But in your sleep-deprived, caffeine-jittered mind, it was all but confirmed. Your next performance would be dedicated to Sylus Qin.

There was only one more piece to put into place. With newfound conviction, you’d reopened his Instagram and clicked “Direct Message” before you could talk yourself out of it. And while you’d have liked to send him a colorful list of expletives, you maintained your professionalism.

Hi! I heard you’re going to the Spirits next Sunday. Hope you’re in the crowd for my performance—would love to chat after :)

The passive aggressive smiley face of doom. Sent and delivered.

His fate was sealed, but he didn’t know it yet.

Between excited bounces of your leg, you’d taken a final pass at his portfolio, and your eyes found your name before you could stop them.

“Deeming the music passable is more of a compliment than any listener should be willing to give. A failed ascent to the top of pop stardom reveals itself as little more than uninspired noise.”

Failed. Uninspired. Noise. There they were again, the insults seared into the back of your mind.

A reminder of your shame, but a motivator for you to make him eat his words.

IV. THE PREP

You’d always loved awards shows.

The buzz of energy backstage, the rushed glimpses of peers and legends, the flamboyant accessories and vibrant strips of fabric strewn across the floor. The kind of chaos you’d learned to thrive in.

After making the rounds of greetings and introductions, you take a break outside your dressing room in the main hall. Your stage outfit was already on and hidden under a frilly robe; you always liked to arrive early in case of any mishaps. (Lesson learned from the time you’d been fashionably late and had to go onstage in an unfashionable loose corset. That had slipped down mid-song.)

Chatting with your head dancer, you laugh at a video she shows you on her phone before spotting something in the corner of your eye: a flash of white hair.

Your body goes rigid.

But the lightning-quick twitch in your eye is forcing you to turn around, and your breath hitches as soon as you do.

Sylus Qin is here.

Just as he said he’d be, you suppose, but it’s no less surreal seeing the object of your warring emotions in the flesh.

Somehow, he’s taller than he looks on camera. Bigger, too. How someone whose job involved hunching over a laptop writing hate mail every day could be built like a professional athlete, you’d never know.

Black slacks are snug around his strong legs, and he’s paired them with a silken, wine-red shirt that you’re sure would match the color of his eyes if he’d just turn arou—

It’s like he heard you. Felt you.

Because before you can even finish your thought, Sylus Qin’s bewitching ruby eyes are on you.

When your jaw drops slightly, his lips curl. And as that lazy, taunting, I’m-better-than-you smirk spreads across his gorgeous face, it reignites the feelings that got you here. The hatred and humiliation and unyielding spite.

So with flames in your eyes, you pat the dancer on the back and give her a cheerful platitude before storming—no, sauntering, you should saunter—over.

When he bends his neck to accommodate your comparatively small stature, Sylus Qin watches you like you’re his favorite reality show.

“Sylus!” you squeal, pulling him into a side hug. One thing you’d learned in the industry: overfamiliarity was the best form of offense. “It’s so nice to see you here! I’m glad you could make it.”

You expect him to falter. To push away from you in a decidedly rude yet necessarily humanizing show of uncertainty. For that condescending smirk to waver in confusion, only a little.

But to your surprise, he simply wraps a very muscled arm around you and returns your embrace. He’d been trained well, you lament with an inward groan.

“It’s great to be here,” he says smoothly, and the way he rumbles your name makes you want to forego the performance entirely and beg him to take you here and now. “Especially since someone was nice enough to invite me to watch their performance. I get the opposite, usually—people typically fake illness when I watch them in person—so I just had to see this for myself,” he drawls.

At some point, he’d laid his warm hand on your robe-clad shoulder, rubbing up and down in time with his slow words. But like that wasn’t enough, you’d almost been too wrapped up in his heady scent to notice. In his teasing embrace, the smell of spice, leather, and a hint of pomegranate envelop you, and you have to school your expression to look like you aren’t huffing it in.

As you stare up at him blinking dumbly, you notice his smirk widen, and somewhere in the back of your head you remember that conversations are two-sided.

“Y-yes,” you try to assert, cursing the way your voice shakes with need. “It’s right up your alley. I think—I know you’ll like it.”

“You know, hm?” he quirks a brow, circling his thumb against your arm.

“I know. It’s a new song, much more to your liking. Think of it as…a tribute. To your glowing review of me,” you reply coldly, untangling yourself from his hold despite your body’s protests. If you had any chance tonight, you had to level the playing field. Which meant Sylus Qin could not touch you anymore.

“Mm,” he hums, eyes lingering on the spot you’d detached yourself from before flicking up to your face. “I reviewed your album, sweetie. Not you. Even so, nothing I said was untrue,” he shrugs as you bristle with rage. “But…if your performance is to my taste, as you claim, then you’ll know my review soon after. Before the end of the night, I’d say.”

His words are intentionally vague, as if he’s goading you into asking what he means. But under the heat of his gaze, you’re too prideful and angry and turned on to ask for clarification.

“Then I guess we’ll see, won’t we?” you challenge him with a saccharine smile.

He nods plainly, as if merely entertaining the idea of you ever impressing him. “I guess we will.”

That twitch in your eye? It’s back with a vengeance.

Before it can overtake your whole face, you spin on your heel and sashay away from him, pretending not to care if he watches you leave or not.

Refusing to stop before you’re out of his sight, you disappear into your dressing room and slump into the nearest chair. As the stylists flock over to put the last touches on your hair and makeup, you try not to chew your nails off and ruin your fresh manicure. Damn him, you think for the 300th time in a week.

***

In the center of the room, a monitor broadcasts the show’s live feed. The early portions go by in a blink—time flies when you have pre-seduction attempt anxiety, you guess—and before you know it, it’s 10 minutes to showtime.

As soon as you’re clear to set up on stage, you make a beeline for the curtain and pull it back ever so slightly, looking for Sylus in the crowd. And just to your luck, there he is, sitting pretty in the second fucking row. Great if you don’t mess up, catastrophic if you do.

Just as his all-knowing eyes shift toward the stage, as if he somehow felt your gaze from afar, you inch back into the inky shadows of the curtain.

Two minutes to go. Clenching your hands into fists, you squeeze your eyes shut and breathe.

It was time to channel the outrage, embarrassment, and devastatingly irritating lust into the performance of your life.

V. THE SHOW

The soft swells of a trumpet float through the hushed arena.

The player, first chair in a local jazz ensemble, sways gently to the beat, his dark skin glowing in the warm stage lights.

In time with the soulful melody, dozens of dancers fan out around the bar set, fiddling with prop bottles of fake booze. Your hours of research had pointed you in one direction: a speakeasy theme.

Perfect for a jazz intro, and seductive enough to get your point across without getting you banned from live television.

The outfit under your robe was a modern take on the 1920s: a bejeweled crimson flapper dress, sharp black stilettos, and a thick raven’s feather nestled in your hair.

Just like you’d practiced, you stumble onto the set, miming drunken confusion as you trip into a male dancer’s arms. You shoot him a flirtatious smile when he steadies you, only for your attention to be captured by the trumpet still crooning in the background.

Enraptured by the player, you glide across the stage to lean against him, standing back-to-back with your hands on your heart. The tassels on your dress flow in time with the sultry swirls of your hips.

A few more beats, and the intricate solo dwindles into the main riff that marks the true beginning of your set, to the audible gasps of the crowd. Look, you liked jazz as much as anyone—well, maybe not someone—but this was still your song. Your stage. And you were here to wake it up! As good as the player was, you had hypothetical sex to sing about.

So the trumpet fades out, replaced by a poppy trap beat. Between each drum hit, your female dancers crowd you, tearing off the edges of your dress until you’re left in a shimmering red bodysuit.

Strutting across the stage, you work through the lyrics of the first verse, eyeing the audience as you sing for someone special to come and take what he wants from you.

The way you prowl from edge to edge is suggestive, inviting. The screams of the fans drown out the sound in your earpiece, but the winks you give them are only for show. You’d decided a week ago that you’d be a bad idol tonight. You’d make up for it later—a giveaway, follow spree, or something—but tonight, your focus was reserved for one man.

As you ease into the chorus, your muscles glint under the twinkling lights, flexing in time with fluid spreads of your arms and gentle footwork. A siren song is what you’re singing, rhythmic pleas for a partner to make good on his promise falling from your lips.

The next verse brings a slowdown in the melody that you meet with sensual rolls of your hips. Twisting your frame, you slide a purposeful hand down to rest just above your pelvis, tangling the other in your hair.

The beat picks back up as you lead a line of men down the steps and into the audience, playfully evading their touches. It’s a calculated game of cat and mouse—one you’d hoped would pique the interest of the man you’d done this for. And as you parade right behind his row, boldly ghosting a hand over his shoulder in the dim crowd lighting, the tension in his muscles tells you you’d been right.

You can’t see his face, but the thought of him suffering right now is so satisfying, you have to fight to keep the vindictive smile off your face. Revitalized, you flounce back onstage right as the bridge melts into the final chorus—your favorite part of the show.

Because while you’d been working the crowd, the crew had lined up seven shiny motorcycles at the front of the stage. Six were for your dancers, of course, but the seventh? That one was special. You’d gone through hell to get that bike on time—the same luxury model that was plastered all over Sylus Qin’s Instagram. The seventh bike was yours.

Taking your place in the center, you swing a leg over the seat and lower your hips gracefully, snapping back into the final moves of the choreography.

With a daring raise of your eyebrow, you glance at his massive frame in the second row. He’s relaxed now, body no longer rigid with surprise. A bit too relaxed, you think, with the way his legs are spread apart, thumb swiping lazily across his smirking mouth. His gaze locks onto the familiar brand etched into the side of the bike before traveling up to yours, and the half a second of eye contact sends a shudder down your spine.

Between hazy, hopefully covert blinks, you hum out the last note of the song to thunderous applause. When you release your ending pose, waving to the sea of cheering faces, your eyes find his seat once more.

But Sylus Qin is gone.

VI. THE AFTERMATH

The moment you step backstage, a flood of congratulations greets you.

Dancers, friends, and strangers huddle all around you, whooping with joy at your undeniable triumph.

But between the friendly pats on your shoulders, sweaty hugs, and heaving breaths, you wonder if tonight can be called a success at all.

Hours and hours of mourning your young career. Of research that, in any other circumstance, probably would have gotten you on a watchlist. Of hard work, of pivoting, of betting your entire future on the hope that he’d break. And he’d just…left.

You were never one to stop a celebration early, but the burning pangs of defeat are too much to bear. With a tight smile and a flick of your card into the nearest hand—drinks are on you tonight—you trudge back to the solace of your dressing room.

And the scent of leather and spice hits you a second too late.

Because in all his wicked glory, Sylus Qin is in your empty dressing room, lounging in your chair like he owns the place.

Your initial reaction—a startled jump and a choked squeak—has his eyes sparkling in satisfaction, and you stalk up to the mirror with a scowl before you can embarrass yourself any further.

Feigning nonchalance, you remove your accessories one by one, starting with the feather in your hair. As you place it gently on the marble counter, a firm chest presses against your back, and you see his frame nearly swallow yours in the glass before you.

“If I were a bolder man, I’d think you were trying to send me a message just now,” he purrs into your ear.

Glancing at his reflection, you shrug noncommittally. “Did you like it?”

You receive a soft hum in response.

As you continue your act with trembling hands, Sylus cages you against the hard edge of the counter, admiring the remaining pieces of your costume with light, teasing touches.

Once you make no effort to stop him, a large hand rises to close loosely around your throat. When his thumb brushes your bottom lip, you bite it hard enough to sting, and his deep chuckle worsens the throbbing between your legs.

“I’m enough of a man to admit when I’m wrong. I underestimated you, it seems.” The low admission sends blood rushing through your ears, and you lean into him with a quiet gasp. “You have me right where you want me now, right? Then tell me—how did you come up with your little stunt?”

Tense seconds tick by as you debate your options. How humiliating it’d be to come clean in his arms. But then again, humiliated had been your main emotion as of late. With a deep exhale and slight tuck of your head, you begin your confession.

“I just wanted you to change your mind,” you whisper, watching as he unravels the satin ribbons on your bodysuit.

“I was so proud of that album, Sylus. Took me months to feel good enough to release it. And then I wake up to see the most respected voice in music calling it worthless.”

Your voice wobbles at the mention of his review, and his fingers freeze on the lowest ribbon.

“I thought my career was over. That’s what you do, right?” you ask, eyes flashing up at him. “Ruin people like me.”

Checking your teary gaze in the mirror, he has the decency to press a kiss to the skin between your neck and shoulder.

“My manager had to do a wellness check,” you add with a self-deprecating chuckle. “I could barely get out of bed. But then he told me…I’d have a chance to see you that night. And I guess the anxiety of impending doom was enough of a motivator. So I got up, and I watched.”

As your voice steadies, it grants him permission to undo the final ribbon. It loosens with a firm tug, and the slackened fabric sags around your body, waiting to be removed entirely.

“I really did want to change your mind. To prove myself to you. But then I saw that stupid fucking interview…saw you for the first time, and I…”

“You what, sweetie?” he murmurs into your neck, spurring you on with a gentle kiss.

“I wanted you, too.”

As he sucks in a breath, you take the moment to step out of your costume, tossing it to the floor below. You’re nearly bare before him, now, save for the thin tights and thong still blocking you from his sight.

“That’s what all this was for,” you reveal, gesturing to the fallen fabric. “I wanted your attention—all of it—in any way I could get it. So you were right. I wanted to end up right here, with you.”

For several seconds, his labored sighs are the only sounds in the room. You, unfortunately, are too afraid to breathe. But before long, warm hands grasp your hips, pulling you flush against his hardened lower half.

Catching your ear between sharp teeth, he floods your senses with a smooth whisper. “It seems you got what you wanted, then. Why don’t I tell you what I thought?”

And the second the “please” escapes your lips, he tears the thin layers left on your hips clean off your body.

He uses your shock to his advantage, taking the chance to free his swollen cock and glide it across your slit, teasing your clenching hole with the pulsing length. When he’s coated in your wetness, he surges into you with a firm thrust, groaning at the squeeze of your fluttering walls.

Allowing you a moment to adjust to the stretch, he gropes the fat of your hip before continuing.

“You obviously did your research,” he rumbles, pumping in and out of you at a steady tempo. “Speakeasies were the home of jazz, for a time.”

As the curve of his tip hits deep inside you, you wish you’d gotten a look at him. You’d expected him to be big, if the rest of his body was any indication, but the sheer fullness in your core feels like it should be illegal.

“And the arrangement…paying homage with a modern twist. It was admirable. Bold,” he grits out, hissing as your cunt tightens at the compliment.

Locking eyes with him in the mirror, you meet his thrusts with a high-pitched whine, asking for more—more pressure, more praise, more of all he could give.

With a patronizing tsk, Sylus grips your jaw in one hand, pulling your face close to his. “How many ratings of mine did you read to pull this off? I wouldn't think you knew what real instruments were, based on that album.”

The barb snaps you out of docility, and you try to twist away from him with a sneer and grumble. But Sylus only pulls you back into his quickening strokes, a fond, terrorizing chuckle enveloping you.

“Don’t run, sweetie. I’m flattered, really. Like I was when you got on that bike—my bike—and I wanted to pull you down from that stage,” he breathes, circling two fingers around your throbbing clit. “Because I knew in that moment, you were mine.”

As his claim rings through the air, he pinches your sensitive flesh and ups his pace, kissing your cervix with brutal strokes as the lewd slaps of skin on skin echo around you. Shaky breaths and soft whimpers leave your mouth, and you rut back into him as much as his firm grip on your hips allows.

“This was all for me, hm? For my attention, you said? Now you have it,” he murmurs huskily, and a sharp scratch of teeth against the pulse in your throat has you spilling over the edge with a desperate moan.

Somewhere in the haze of your orgasm, he pulls out with a groan of his own, leaving you empty and shivering until you feel his warm release coat the curve of your back.

With the last of his strength, he turns your face to his and captures your lips in a heated kiss, your tongues tangling unhurriedly. You’re forced to pull away first, already more than drained of your stamina for the night. When you slump forward in exhaustion, he falls into you, folding you over the counter with his heavy weight.

You groan at the impact but welcome the soothing pressure, and for a while, your heaving exhales mingle in the quiet of the room.

Once his breathing evens out, his low drawl—raspier than usual—eclipses the silence. “So,” he begins, and you can tell he’s smirking above you without even seeing his face. “How would you rate my performance tonight?”

Too tired to scoff, you settle for a mocking hum. “Hmm…an 8. I’d say a 9, but you just lost a point for that line,” you smile softly. “The pacing was good, but the feeling was lacking. It felt a little…uninspired.”

VII. THE EPILOGUE

You can’t feel your limbs the next morning.

You can’t feel your limbs, but your phone is ringing—has been for a few minutes now, you think groggily.

With a pained grunt, you roll over and over in bed until the screen is within reach and put the call on speaker.

“Check your texts!” Devon yells excitedly, damn near blasting your ears off.

“What? What are you talking about?” you grumble. “And you know not to wake me up until at least 4 p.m. after a show.”

“Sure, girl, fire me if you want. Just check your texts!” he repeats, voice climbing to a near screech.

“Fine, just give me a—”

Your jaw drops. It has no choice but to drop.

Because sitting in your inbox, right there at the top, is an updated link to Sylus Qin’s review of your album.

And right there, where that dreaded 4.7 had stared you down, is a giant, boldface 8.

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