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100vern · 28 days ago

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in the zone | ksy

what do you do when it feels like your entire life is falling apart? you spend the last of your inheritance on a beach house for the summer, of course. sure, the listing was suspiciously cheap, and there’s a massive waterpark right outside the bedroom window, but you just need to get away, so it’ll have to do. besides, it’s not like your entire world can get turned upside down in three months… right?

⟡ pairing: hoshi x f. reader ⟡ genre: strangers to lovers, (accidental) roommates; smut, fluff, lite angst ⟡ rating: explicit. minors do not interact with this or any of my work. ⟡ warnings: bestie minghao. lots of talk about wasted potential, dead-end jobs, fear of change, job-based insecurity, self-doubt (no this is NOT a self-insert why do you ask!!). mentions of grief and mourning a loved one but nothing super heavy. alcohol and weed use. swearing. mentions of food/eating. pet names (baby, pretty girl). two down bad losers who are disgustingly into one another after a concerningly short amount of time, which is the beauty and entire point of fanfiction. please suspend any and all disbelief, thank u! ⟡ smut warnings: kissing. grinding/dry humping. public indecency but not public sex. hair pulling. dirty talk & praise. oral sex (f. receiving, mentions of m. receiving). protected vaginal sex. everyone orgasms. ⟡ wordcount: 20.2k ⟡ credits: bee (@imnotshua) and jess (@starlightkyeom) for reading this over for me, as always. i was in a time crunch and we're under a tornado watch so this is unedited and any mistakes are my own. if there's anything glaring i will fix it at a later date. :') ⟡ written for: the carat bay collab, hosted by @camandemstudios! thank you both for letting me participate. please make sure to check out the rest of the fics! ♡ ⟡ author's note: this is based entirely on the beach town i spent all my summers at as a kid, so there's a lot of nostalgia here. i wasn't sure i was gonna get this done on time, but with the power of god and anime vyvanse on my side, we managed to pull through... even if we had to pivot bc my original plan would've tripled the length. i hope you enjoy it!

Fate is not something you believe in, but if you did, you think it’d feel a lot like this.

“It’s not fate,” Minghao comments unhelpfully from his side of the lunch table, “it’s suspicious. It’s also highly concerning that they look the same to you.”

You frown. Spear a piece of near-wilted spinach on the end of your fork, sending a bead of salad dressing onto your phone that you don’t notice and consequently smear all over your screen when you scroll through the rental listing with your other hand. “Do the horrors ever cease?” Minghao stares blankly at you. You sigh at his lack of humor. “Are you saying you don’t think I should go?”

“No,” he’s quick to say, handing over a napkin. “On the contrary, I think you need to get the fuck out of here. All I’m saying is I think you should go to a place that isn’t such an obvious scam.”

A scoff escapes you as you stare down at the listing again. Super Host Soonyoung stares back at you for the hundredth time today. If it were possible to judge someone’s character from a blurry internet picture the size of an ant, you think he’d seem very kind with his beaming smile and doughy cheeks, not to mention the stylish sunglasses sitting atop his head that seem like they were purchased from an actual store and not a military-grade infomercial.

Besides, he’s opening up his home to strangers. Shitty people don’t do that, do they?

“They do if they’re landlords,” Minghao deadpans.

You concede the point. Not that you’d argue, anyway—renting out your beach house for the entirety of the summer is near-textbook landlording—but the lunch room is starting to fill up, and the last thing you need (or want) is your coworkers asking questions.

Aside from Minghao, these people are not your friends. They’re people you offer that weird closed-mouth smile to when you meet at the coffee machine and awkwardly have to wait your turn, sharing fake laughs when one of you complains that, no matter what option you pick, it always comes out tasting like an ashtray. They’re people you sign birthday cards for and have no idea how old they’re turning. They’re people who tell you all about their families and show you pictures of spouses and kids you swore belonged to someone else.

They’re people whose names you can’t match to faces when you get office-wide emails congratulating them on anniversaries and accomplishments; celebrating retirements; regretfully announcing departures for bigger and better things. They’re people you swear at under your breath for microwaving something foul or not pulling their weight; for wearing too much cologne and kissing ass for promotions that’ll never be theirs.

These people are not your friends, but you’ve been here so long that it feels like they should be.

“I need to decide before everyone else gets the same idea and it gets booked up.” A loud cackle sounds from the table beside you. Deborah, one of the new hires. You’d been expecting a picture of a middle-aged woman when her introductory email had been sent out. Imagine your surprise when a baby-faced new grad was staring back at you. “Wanna get together after work and tell me all the reasons why this is a terrible idea?”

Minghao, the bastard that he is, pretends to check his calendar. “Hmm. Looks like I’m all booked on the ‘dispensing extremely valuable advice no one listens to’ front. I do, however, have an opening tomorrow. Mimosa-drunk at brunch or wine-drunk at a more socially acceptable hour. Your choice.”

A glance at your phone tells you you’ve got five minutes and three-quarters of your salad left before your mandatory unpaid lunch break is over. You stab at the mixed greens again and frown—you left it too long and now everything is all soggy and gross. “First of all, this is the worst salad I’ve made this year. Don’t let me try any more Pinterest recipes. Second of all, you never ask me to hang out on weekends.” You narrow your eyes at him. “What’re you doing tonight? Do you have a date?”

Deborah immediately stops shrieking, attention piqued by her eavesdropping. Of course, she tries to play this off by pretending to check her makeup in her phone camera, except you can see her screen—and that she accidentally opened her credit card app.

So far, she owes $2,927.43 for the month of January.

A bastard but not an idiot, Minghao shakes his head, aware of the eyes on him. “No,” he answers, and his voice is so solid and sure you nearly believe him. “Well, not like that. I’m meeting my parents for dinner.”

God, you can practically see the cartoon hearts floating above Deborah’s head.

“Well, wine-drunk sounds better to me,” you answer, ignoring the fact that Minghao’s parents are in Turks and Caicos this week for their anniversary. Which he told you three days ago. “Orange juice gives me heartburn.”

With a put-upon sign, Minghao stands from the table. Gathers his trash and drapes his cardigan over his shoulders in a way that looks fashionable and cool. “I have got to make plans with people my own age.”

You snort. “Well, you can always ask—“

He cuts you off with a very pointed, “Back to the grind,” even though he says that’s “stuff white people say, along with ‘another day in paradise!’—and if you ever ask a white person how they’re doing and they respond with ‘I’m alive,’ you need to take a half-day.”

Everyone in this place is so fake.

And it isn’t like your day gets any better. An hour before closing time, your manager pops up on the ledge of your cubicle. “Heeey,” she chimes, pretending to wince at what’s about to come out of her mouth next. All things considered, she’s nowhere near the worst person to work for: she’s trustworthy, didn’t hesitate to give you the time off you needed, sends funny memes in the team group chat. So your whole thing with her isn’t her fault, it’s just—she’s years younger than you, so it touches on all those old insecurities. “Glenn needed to take the rest of the day, and in true Glenn fashion he didn’t get those reports done before he left. I hate to ask, but could you maybe, possibly, perhaps stay a little late…?”

In the split-second since she appeared at your desk like a bad omen, you’ve made up your mind: that beach house will be yours for the entire summer, scam or not.

Because you hate Glenn as much as the next guy (which, on your team, is mostly everyone), but you hate this place as an institution even more. What it represents. The insecurities and inadequacies it picks at. How comfortable you’ve grown here and the convenient excuses that comfort provides.

So you agree before you can come to your senses, because saying no will look bad, and the only thing you’ve got going for you and having been here so long with barely anything to show for it is the amount of PTO you’ve racked up, so you can’t and won’t give anyone a reason to refuse your request.

With a few minutes left in the day, everyone starts packing up and discussing weekend plans: sports and TV series they’ll be watching, new coffee shops they’re checking out, hobbies they’ll be catching up on. Before you can up the volume in your headphones, your cubicle mate asks if you’re doing anything fun. “Ah, just trying that new winery tomorrow, I think,” you answer, and you hope she won’t remember this come Monday because you don’t know anything about wine and can’t think of many things worse than discussing it.

Five-thirty hits. Everyone trickles out while you stay seated, glued to your desk and receiving everyone’s sympathetic glances. It takes a half hour just to get into Glenn’s reports because, for reasons unknown to you and your manager, he password-protected them—and once you’re in you see why. Half-baked columns, wrong formulas used even though knowing and understanding Excel was a job requirement, numbers you can’t trace back to any of the provided data. At seven you’re ready to put your head through a concrete wall. By eight you finally hit the halfway mark.

At quarter to ten, you finally send off the reports and sit back in your chair. Sitting in thischair for so long has to be doing irreversible damage, so you make a mental note to schedule a massage for tomorrow afternoon before you meet up with Minghao. With a sigh, you squeeze your eyes shut and try to conjure up some moisture. Nearly five hours after the rest of your coworkers, you pack up your belongings, twisting your body as you stand and trying not to wince as your knees and back make some concerning sounds.

Then, before you shut down your computer and go home to rot in bed until you’re forced to socialize, you put in your PTO request for June 2nd through August 29th.

(It gets approved first thing Monday morning.)

Vacations (In Theory) are very different from Vacations (In Practice).

Here you are on May 30th, mentally preparing for another long night hunched over your desk. Not only do you need to work ahead as much as you can for your nearly three month absence, you also have to include a paper trail to prove you at least tried to problem-solve before dumping it on whoever’s unlucky enough to cover you.

Minghao waits for you. Plops his stuff on your desk, pulls up a chair, and scrolls through social media while you work, making offhand comments every now and then about people you don’t know and all their drama while you try not to comment on how weird it is. In all the years you’ve worked together and have been friends, he’s never stuck around while you worked late, but the excuse had been convenient: I have plans tomorrow and you’re leaving early on Sunday so let’s grab dinner after work was much easier to say than I’m not going to see you for three months so let’s grab dinner because I’ll miss you.

You hadn’t commented on that, either.

Nonetheless, you put your head down and focus. Minghao had made a seven-thirty reservation at a place more upscale than the two of you usually frequent, and you’ll need to hustle if you have any hope of getting out of here within the hour.

Time seems to fly after that. Not only at work, but at dinner, too. Despite your first impression of him (deeply serious with a cutting resting bitch face), you’ve always enjoyed spending time with Minghao. He’s funny, now that you’re acquainted with his sense of humor, and he’s both carefree and solid in ways you could only dream of being. All of his troubles seem to come and go like the tide, never sticking around for too long and overstaying their welcome. The thought of him no longer being there when you return is too much to bear, so you make him promise not to change jobs until you’re back.

He quirks an eyebrow and pulls a face. “First of all, you’re going on vacation, you’re not dying. Second, I’m not promising you that. I apply to twenty jobs a week at minimum. I don’t want to be—” He pauses. Seems to be aware of what was about to come out of his mouth.

I don’t want to be like you, working a dead-end job.

I don’t want to be like you, undervalued by every metric of the word.

I don’t want to be like you, latching onto something no good for me just because it’s comfortable and I’m terrified of change.

I don’t want to be like you.

Minghao flushes. Stumbles over apologies. “No need to apologize,” you assure him, plastering on a smile you know isn’t fooling anyone. Take a sip of your drink to feign normalcy. Take a bite of food that tastes like sawdust. Good thing you were almost done, anyway.

Because Minghao was right, and everyone knows it.

Saying goodbye is awkward at best and painful at worst. Deep down, you know Minghao is just embarrassed—you would be, too, in his shoes—but just like Vacations (In Theory) and Vacations (In Practice), what you logically know to be true is very different from what you internalize. Because it’s not just embarrassment, it’s also the reason you don’t go for team drinks; the reason you don’t have anything personal on your desk. You just don’t see the point in integrating yourself into a place you shouldn’t be to begin with.

But that’s the whole point of this vacation, isn’t it?

Three months without having to think about work. Three months to decompress and pretend you’re going to do all that philosophical shit, like six a.m. trips to the beach to stare at the waves, stick your toes in the sand, and “find yourself.” Whatever that means.

There’s not much to do around the apartment except making sure you eat whatever’s left in the fridge. Coming home to a bunch of rotten food and having to go back to work the next day? Absolutely not. You’d need to bypass your office and go straight to an institution instead. You spend the rest of the day doing laundry and packing. You stand in front of your shelves and deliberate for far too long over which books to bring and then you do the same with your music library as you stare down at an empty playlist.

It’s early when your alarm goes off—barely eight o’clock, the sun already high in the sky as it beams through your curtains, birds chirping. Feels like waking up on a holiday morning or the first day of school: giddy excitement on the surface, nerves simmering just below. Makes it easy to get up and make your bed, to get dressed and put on sunscreen, your sunglasses, when there’s no dread weighing you down. Makes it easy not to mind the hours-long drive. Makes it easy to drive with the windows down, music loud, the wind in your hair.

Makes it easy to feel like you’re driving towards something, rather than away from it.

Halfway there, you stop at a small cafe for lunch, the feeling almost transcendental as you eat outside and let the sun warm your skin. You order an iced coffee to-go and it sweats in the cupholder, nothing but melted ice by the time you pull off the highway and navigate the smaller back roads, some of them covered in sand. You take a deep breath and smile. Everything smells like the sea—salty and slightly sweet, the sulphur of low tide.

The town looks like a postcard.

In your excitement, you’ve looked at a lot of pictures over the last few months, but none of them can compare to reality. Ice cream shops with striped awnings. Sidewalks covered in chalk doodles. More seafood restaurants than you can count. Antique and surf shops. Wooden playgrounds next to fenced-in basketball and tennis courts. Families walking back from the beach, pushing sleeping kids in strollers, lugging chairs and coolers and boogie boards behind them.

That excitement creeps back in the closer you get, and at every red light you look around and marvel at all the houses. How uniform they are. How they’re all elevated with ground-floor garages. The porthole windows and porches wrapped in white railing. Front yards with pinwheels stuck in thin strips of grass. Colorful cruiser bicycles stashed in tiny alleyways behind the houses, some laying on their sides with the wheels still spinning. If you close your eyes you can hear laughter and bells.

You pull into the driveway at ten after three, surprised to find that this house doesn’t look like all the others. Where they had vinyl siding in neutral, inoffensive colors, this one is mint green, bright and vibrant, with white scalloping along the facade. It reminds you of ice cream—the flowers in the wooden boxes beneath the windows look like sprinkles, and with how close you are to the boardwalk, the smell of fried dough hanging in the air, it’s easy to pretend.

Out of the car, an older couple in matching windbreakers waves as they pass you on the sidewalk. Everything sounds so much closer: the waves crashing, delighted shrieks from people on rides, the men combing the beach, trying to sell drinks and popsicles, squawking seagulls in search of someone’s food. You can see the ocean from where you stand, peeking out from beneath the boards. This is exactly what I needed, you think. Feels like your smile is permanent.

Until you try to get into the house.

You’d been given a door code when you confirmed your reservation. It doesn’t work. No matter how many times you try, 0-5-2-5 gets you nothing but a blinking red light and an encroaching panic. Phone already in hand, you send a message to the rental host—Hi! I’m at the house, but the door code doesn’t seem to be working. Is there another one I can try? Thank you!—before sitting on the porch steps to await your fate.

What you expect: a response rife with apologies, both for the mix-up and the inconvenience.

What you get: someone stampeding down the stairs and pulling the door open.

Super Host Soonyoung stands in the doorway wearing a sheepish smile and red-tinged cheeks. Except for the sunglasses, he looks just like his picture (especially the doughy cheeks), so at least you know you’ve got the right place. Still, you ask, “Hi, are you Soonyoung?” just to confirm, and that seems to knock him out of his stupor, offering to grab your bags and give you a tour.

Which seems strange. You don’t really need a tour, do you? Surely you’ll be able to find your way around over the next few months, but Soonyoung is extremely apologetic and seems a little embarrassed so you don’t say anything. You do let him grab your bag, though—mostly because meeting new people is always difficult for you, so letting him take one bag while you take the other gives you something to do with your hands. Gives you something to comment on and laugh about when he pretends to strain taking it out of the trunk.

When you get inside, Soonyoung gives you the choice of three bedrooms. Two are upstairs. Of those, one has two large windows facing the street, rewarding you with a view of the boardwalk and the ocean, while the other also has beach views that are semi-obstructed by the waterpark. The third and final bedroom is downstairs, just off the kitchen. Soonyoung offers this one and says it might be “less awkward,” which also strikes you as strange, considering—

Wait.

“Bathroom-wise, it doesn’t really matter what one you pick. There are full bathrooms on both levels—”

Reality hits you like a truck, head-on and all at once. Maybe it’s less reality and more the obvious, because listening to Soonyoung explain where the bathrooms are and giving you a tour and being here in general puts a lot of things into perspective very quickly.

“I think I fucked up,” are the only words you’re able to muster. Soonyoung’s mouth snaps closed. “Or you did. Either way, one of us really, really fucked up.” Soonyoung pauses. Tilts his head to the side like a puppy, the confusion obvious, and you think he’s about to ask what you mean so you beat him to it. “The listing was for the entire house.”

That does it.

“I—what? Are you sure?”

The second question is rhetorical. You know it, Soonyoung knows it, everyone knows it, so you don’t answer, just nod and offer a sympathetic, closed-lipped smile and hope the ground will split apart and swallow you.

Horrifyingly, all you can think at this moment is that Minghao was right about this being a scam. You’ll have to tuck your tail between your legs and tell him, because you can’t stay here. Sharing a space—not only is it foreign to you, you’re not sure you even can. There’s an art to being a good roommate, and after living alone both during college and all your years as an adult, it’s not a skill you have.

And it takes a while, longer than you expected, for the disappointment to hit. For all that excitement and all the plans you had—sticking your toes in the cold, early morning sand; sunset walks up and down the boardwalk; eating so much fried food you’re sick of it within a week; waking up to the sound of waves crashing—to come crashing down around you. This was supposed to be a reset. A reward for dragging yourself this far and surviving. A balm for all the regrets you have about your life and a compass to find a new direction.

All of it—gone.

The tears are just as embarrassing as you thought they’d be.

To his credit, Soonyoung doesn’t panic. He doesn’t seem to flinch at all, which surprises you; he gently grabs your arm and helps you to the small table in the kitchen. Pulls out a chair and gestures for you to sit, and when you do and he can be sure you aren’t going to bolt straight out the door, he pours you a glass of water, sits across from you, and calmly says, “We can figure this out.”

Any other time you’d probably scoff and say something that belied just how hopeless you found this entire situation, but now, after experiencing a concerning number of mental breaks in a very short amount of time, you’re happy to let someone else take the reins and do the heavy lifting. Of course, you don’t know what that looks like in this case. Do you ask for a refund and try to find a hotel? Surely not: any reputable hotel would cost ten times what you spent on this place, not to mention they’ve probably been booked solid since last year. Do you ask for a refund, find a hotel, book as long of a stay as you can, and spend the rest of your summer having a staycation at home? That sounds miserable.

There are probably thousands of podcasts talking about what a horrible idea it’d be to live with a strange man for three months, and it’s your fault for idealizing this entire trip so much to begin with that makes any alternative seem like a fate worse than death, but you can’t stay… right? Even if it somehow wasn’t the stupidest idea of all time, that doesn’t even touch on the fact that it’s Soonyoung’s house, and who's to say he even wants you here, anyway?

“Since this was my second embarrassing fuck up of the day, I’ll just… go somewhere else while you’re here, and you can have the house to yourself.”

You blink. “For three months?”

His eyes widen for a brief second. You’re starting to think he wasn’t prepared for any scenario, let alone this one. “I—yeah, yeah, of course. Three months! Psh, that’s nothing, you know? Barely any time at all.”

“I mean, it’s a quarter of a year. That doesn’t seem insignificant.”

Those same wide eyes have begun twitching. “Riiight.” He follows this with a very long sip of water. “It’s really no trouble, though. I can sleep at the studio. There’s a couch and a bathroom there and everything.”

It definitely doesn’t seem like it’s no trouble. Soonyoung looks like he’d rather remove all of his teeth with very dull tools, and even if this was his (admittedly catastrophic) error, it doesn’t feel right putting him out of his own home—especially to a place where having a couch and a bathroom are considered an upside. Does the bathroom even have a shower? How would he cook? Is any of his stuff there? God, you can’t do that to someone.

So it’s with a little caution, a lot of stupidity, and an ill-advised desire to be more spontaneous and free-spirited as if you’re a character in an Elizabeth Gilbert novel that you ask, “Is it weird for you if you just… stay?”

For all of Soonyoung’s mismanagement, it’s clear he doesn’t want to inconvenience you further or make you uncomfortable. He’s insistent that he’ll leave, insistent that it really is no trouble and it’s the least he can do for fucking up the listing, and insistent that if you just give him some time to pack some clothes, he’ll be out of your hair in no more than thirty minutes. With a sigh, you go through your questions again.

Does the bathroom have a shower? No, but—

How would you cook? Maybe I could come over once a week to meal prep, if you wouldn’t mind? There’s a microwave, at least.

Is any of your stuff there? Like, an old pair of sneakers. And maybe a musty sweatshirt.

By the time you ask your follow-up questions, both of you know he isn’t going anywhere, and perhaps if he’d confirmed that you’re one-hundred-percent okay with this nineteen times instead of twenty you wouldn’t have gone for it, but he does so you do.

“I really don’t have to—” You wave him off. Ask him if there are any house rules he’d like you to abide by aside from the obvious. When he sends you a questioning look, you admit you’ve never been anyone’s roommate before. “Oh,” he responds. Takes a second to think. “I don’t think so? Sometimes I keep weird hours. Like, I have my regular jobs, but sometimes I’ll go to the studio if I’m restless or want to work on something, so I guess me going in and out in the middle of the night is something to be aware of. I’ll make sure to be quiet, though.”

“Is it like a regular nine-to-five? I don’t want to disturb you, either.”

Soonyoung screws up his face. “God, no. I—wow, I just realized you have no idea what I’m talking about. I run a dance studio for the local kids. Most of them take summers off to go on vacations or whatever, so once school’s out we only open two or three days a week, depending on how many of them sign up. This year there weren't many, so we decided on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

“And your other job?”

He scratches at the back of his neck. “Ah, that one’s kind of embarrassing? I… work at the waterpark next door. Carat Bay.”

“Oh, that doesn’t seem so bad.”

He sighs. Runs his thumb vertically along the length of his glass and collects the condensation. “When I first opened the studio, I didn’t realize it wouldn’t be busy all the time, you know? I spent my summers here, so I figured everyone else did, too, and I needed to pick up a second job to cover the studio rent on top of a million bills for both here and there.”

You want to tell him you understand. Want to tell him it isn’t embarrassing to do what you have to do to make ends meet; that, if anything, it’s brave. That you’ve been there (and still are). That you’re a little embarrassed by your job, too. But then he continues. “It probably isn’t embarrassing for the high school and college kids, but I’m almost twenty-nine and I’m operating the splash zone. It definitely feels embarrassing.”

You hum. Look around Soonyoung’s kitchen. From the listing photos, you knew it didn’t look like every other rental beach house, with all the ocean motifs and white wicker furniture and seashells nailed to the wall. It’s not sparkling marble and stainless steel, either, but it’s nicer than your outdated kitchen. “You seem to be doing okay, though. I mean—you’ve got this nice house and a dance studio. That seems pretty good for someone our age.”

Soonyoung laughs, a little shy and self-conscious. “I inherited the house from my grandma. I could never afford anything like this.”

“Mm, no offense, but I put that together pretty much immediately.”

When Soonyoung laughs this time, it’s bright and open, reaches his eyes and brings his entire being to life. The two of you make small talk for a few more minutes until you’re unable to stifle a yawn, and then Soonyoung is up and heading for a cabinet drawer immediately, pulling out a stack of takeout menus and saying to take your pick, dinner’s on him tonight. After you try (and fail) to protest, you ask him what’s good and accept his answer of a taco spot not far, and he puts through the order. Asks if you’ve decided on a bedroom so he can carry your bags, so you choose the streetside one upstairs with the view of the water, and while he’s gone to pick up food, you take a quick shower and unpack.

Minghao [6:22pm]: everything ok? how’s the house? You [6:49pm]: It’s a long story I’m too exhausted to type out rn You [6:49pm]: But I think this is gonna be really good for me 🤞

When you wake up the next morning, you expect it to have followed a night of fitful sleep.

Being in a stranger’s house. Said stranger sleeping only a few feet away, door cracked, his soft snores drifting down the hall. An unfamiliar place. A beach town that, while picturesque and dreamy, seems to also be nocturnal. Once most of the town turned off their lights and locked their doors for the night, it’d taken on a second life—groups of friends walking to and from the bars and clubs, shrieks of laughter and heated arguments, the to-be-expected disregard of the time and basic decency that comes with being immature and on a group trip in your early twenties.

You’re surprised, then, that you feel refreshed when you wake up. That the last thing you remember is your head hitting the pillow. It’s the most restful sleep you’ve had in months, and you roll over to check the time feeling ready to take on the world.

8:37am

Spoiled for and overwhelmed by choice, you take your time getting out of bed and going about your routine. When you slip out of your room to brush your teeth, you notice Soonyoung’s bedroom door is wide open. Even though you’re curious, you don’t (and wouldn’t) peek—instead, you’re distracted by the aroma of freshly-brewed coffee wafting upstairs.

“Good morning,” Soonyoung greets you. He’s sitting on the couch, one leg crossed and tucked beneath him. “I made coffee if you want some. I also left out the bread. If you wanna let me know what you like, I can go grocery shopping later—”

You smile. “Sure, thanks.” Wander into the kitchen. Fill a mug with coffee, cream, a little sugar. Pop two slices of bread into the toaster and, once they pop back out, spread on a thin layer of butter.

And then you hesitate. Should you eat here? Would it be weird to join Soonyoung in the living room? Would it be rude if you didn’t? With a sigh, you compromise and meet in the middle. Place your plate on the newel cap of the staircase and wrap both hands around the mug, soaking in the warmth. Soonyoung has the television on. You don’t recognize what’s playing, but it seems to be a mid-season rerun of some sitcom—background noise, mostly, which is exactly what it seems to be now.

Neither of you are watching. Soonyoung’s scrolling through his phone and you’re content to stare out the bay window facing the street, watching people pass by on their way to the beach. Large straw hats, colorful umbrellas, excited toddlers waiting for an opening to dart away. The waves still crash. The seagulls still screech. “Do you have to work today?” you ask Soonyoung because you feel like you should make conversation.

“Not today, thankfully,” he answers. He sets his phone down and twists his body so he’s facing you. “Back to the studio tomorrow, and I’m scheduled for the waterpark Friday through Sunday.”

You nod. You’re tempted to ask if he wants to do something together and decide against it, not wanting him to feel obligated. If you’re being honest, you’re not entirely sure you want to hang out, still wrapping your head around the fact that the vacation you spent months idealizing will not come to fruition. Not fully. But there’s nothing stopping you from grabbing a book and sitting on the beach for a few hours.

Long enough to decompress—or start to.

“I’ll probably head to the beach.”

“Cool. Let me give you a beach tag.” What he hands over reminds you of an oversized bread clip: octagonal and neon red, 2025 SEASON printed in the center. You have never seen one of these in your life. “Are these not a thing where you’re from?”

“You have to pay to go on the beach?”

Soonyoung’s nose twitches as he bites back a laugh and nods. Explains that the money’s used to maintain the beach and the restrooms and pay the lifeguards and a whole bunch of other things. “Supposedly,” he tacks on conspiratorially.

“Did the mayor get a brand new Porsche?”

“I don’t even know who the mayor is.”

An hour later, after you changed and decided on a book, and Soonyoung not only gave you a beach pass but also his favorite chair (one of the nice ones that recline and have a drink holder) and his phone number (under the guise of you sending him your grocery list, to which you inexplicably offered to just go with him instead), you have to admit the beaches are impeccably maintained.

Touché, beach pass.

With your toes dug into the warm sand, you get through half of your book. Spend the rest of the time dozing off in Soonyoung’s chair, lulled into a half-sleep by the rhythm of the waves crashing and retreating, the conversations of the people around you that becomes a singular thrum, the shrill sound of the lifeguard’s whistle that jolts you awake every time someone goes out too far.

Soonyoung texts you around three, asking if you still want to go to the store with him. No worries if not, he tacks on, you can just send me your list. So you start packing up what little you brought, thankful your walk back to the house is short. You’re drowsy from the sun, warmed through to your bones, still in awed disbelief that this is what the entirety of your summer is going to consist of. That you won’t have to suffer like the poor kid running the mini golf course, nearly dead from either boredom or a hangover behind the ticket window. That your whims will be able to come and go like the tide.

You rinse the sand from your feet at the spigot in the backyard. Return Soonyoung’s chair to where he’d grabbed it from. Leave your sandals by the back door and do a final shake of your bag to get rid of anything that might track into the house. Now that you have the right code (0-5-2-6; Soonyoung had mistyped it in his original message), you let yourself in, surprised to find him bent over the kitchen table with an extremely long grocery list in front of him.

“Lucy, I’m home,” you joke.

He looks up at you with a lopsided smile. “How was the beach?” he asks, eyes returning to his list.

“Beach-y keen.”

There’s a beat of silence—one that’s long enough to have your cheeks warming from embarrassment over a very bad dad joke—before Soonyoung lets out a snort of laughter. “Terrible.”

“Definitely not my best,” you concede, mirroring his smile. Even though he can’t see it, you nod at the list. “What are you up to?”

“Grocery list.” He holds it up, unfurling it like a scroll. “Do you think this is enough?”

You move closer, eyes scanning over what he’s written down. Four different types of burgers and soft drinks. Regular and gluten-free bread; milk and non-dairy alternatives. Brown, white, cage-free, organic eggs. Enough snacks to fuel a youth athletic team for at least a month. Pasta, lunch meat with ???? written next to it, cereal, rice. “Are you planning on buying out the store?”

“I—no, I just didn’t know what you like.”

“May I?” you ask, gesturing for him to hand you the list. When he does, you flip it over and create separate sections: one for each meal, one for pantry items (staples and snacks), and one for drinks. “Do you usually meal plan?”

Soonyoung’s stare is blank. “No. I just go to the store and buy things I like and try to eat it all before it goes bad.” Thankfully, you’re able to keep your horror to yourself. “You do? You’re that organized?”

“I wouldn’t say organized.” You flip the list back over and put checkmarks next to the things you like. “Do the same thing, and then we can come up with some ideas so we aren’t going rogue and overspending.”

After a lot of back and forth, a little friendly ribbing—“Do you really need four boxes of fruit snacks?” you tease Soonyoung, to which he replies, “Sorry, grandma. Add another box of Fig Newtons to the list instead,” which causes you to promptly cross them off—and even more organization and assigning of duties, the two of you emerge triumphant over the shopping list. If your calculations are correct (which they should be, considering how long you’ve lived alone and have done this exact thing every week), this shop should last roughly two weeks. You also give yourselves two days a week to either order takeout or go to a restaurant, considering Soonyoung’s sporadic work schedule.

As you pile into your car, Soonyoung slides into the passenger seat. Covers his eyes with a pair of sunglasses and rolls the window down. Leans his head back against the seat and sighs, appearing to be the epitome of contentment and inner peace. “Thank god it was you I fucked up the listing for.” He says this like it’s nothing. As if it’s a completely normal thing to say and it doesn’t have you nearly swerving into a telephone pole, stunned by the sincerity in his voice. “Can you imagine if it was someone as bad as me?”

It’s his words, and not the hours you spent in the sun, that keep you warm through the chilly grocery store aisles.

The first two weeks of your vacation feel well-earned and restorative, with a slight sunburn.

After that, however, everything starts to feel… different. Like you’re living someone else’s life. An alternate reality where you wake up whenever you want to, stroll casually up and down the boardwalk with an iced coffee and no destination in mind; where all those things you’d stressed over months ago are nowhere to be found, dragged out to sea by the current.

It’s a slow, gradual process. A little awkward and jilted at first as you both grow used to one another and figure out what and where the boundaries are. As you’re both determined not to make it weird or overstep.

Nonetheless, the two of you fall into an easy routine. Most of your afternoons are spent at the beach or around town, and on the two days a week Soonyoung is at the dance studio, he always texts you right before his last class to check in about dinner: if you want him to cook, if you want to cook, if you want to go out or order something for delivery. Meals are now eaten on the couch so the two of you can commentate whatever’s on the television.

(Fridays are your favorite. Soonyoung stops at the liquor store on his way home from the waterpark and the two of you get drunk on beer and soju and watch wrestling. You share two styrofoam takeout containers of tacos, and the drunker Soonyoung gets, the more ridiculous his commentary becomes. By the time the six-pack is gone, he’s sideways on the couch, his head nearly in your lap, bowled over from the weight of his laughter.)

A two-week trial period is usually far too short for you to make friends—hell, you didn’t even talk to Minghao until you’d run into him at the coffee machine every morning for three straight months—but Soonyoung is easy to get along with. To livewith. He’s easy to like. So you’re not shocked when you reach the three-week mark and all those inhibitions seem to disappear. When he appears in the doorway of your bedroom and asks if you wanna swing by the waterpark later that afternoon and keep him company.

“It’s so boring,” he whines. “I just sit there and make sure people don’t pee or drown, which is nearly impossible, anyway. It’s a giant bucket that dumps water on you—how could someone drown.”

You laugh to yourself, thankful your back is turned to him. You’ve been trying to decide between the neon green bikini and the one-piece with the cut-out just below your chest for a good fifteen minutes and aren’t any closer to a decision. “An adult human can drown in as little as two inches of water, you know.”

“Yeah, if they’re an idiot, maybe,” Soonyoung fires back. “Wear the green one. That color will look really good on you. And then come to the waterpark. I’ll give you a free pass.”

When you turn to face him, he quickly pulls out all the stops: truly pathetic puppy dog eyes, plush bottom lip pushed out, hands clasped together like he’s about to start begging. Before this exact moment, you would’ve said your resolve was made of steel, that you were not a person susceptible to a grown man’s pouting, but you cave in a concerningly short amount of time. Huff, try to act like you’re very displeased by this turn of events, and say, “Fine, but this is a family establishment so I’m wearing the one-piece. You only said the bikini because you’re a pervert.”

He’s torn between defending himself and letting out a triumphant hurrah before settling on both. “Hey, I’m not denying it,” he says casually. “You’ll really come, though?”

You shrug. “Sure, so long as you leave me alone sometimes so I can read my book.”

Cue the triumphant hurrah. “Yes! Okay, I can do that. I’ll see if there are any cabanas open and reserve one for you.”

“Wow, I even get my own cabana boy?”

Soonyoung rolls his eyes and starts down the hallway to his room. “And you called me a pervert,” he calls over his shoulder.

Well, if he didn’t bother denying it, you aren’t going to, either.

—

Not only is the heat relentless, the noise does not stop.

Luckily the first issue is largely solved by the cabana Soonyoung was able to nab you. It isn’t all that large, only enough space for two lounge chairs, and to your dismay there are no men in tiny swimsuits holding trays of colorful drinks with little umbrellas waiting for you to beckon them over, but at least it blocks out the sun. Shields you from the worst of it. There’s less to be done about the heat, but once the humidity becomes too stifling you wander over to Soonyoung—easily identifiable in his garish yellow shorts and matching visor—and wait for him to blow his whistle, alerting everyone to the giant bucket of water about to be dumped on them.

“Nice legs,” you tease, wolf-whistling as you approach.

Soonyoung pretends to be scandalized. Gasps. Twists sideways as if he’s trying to hide his skin from your lustful gaze. “In front of the children?” he accuses.

No kids are paying attention to your conversation when they’re about to get drenched, but you play along anyway, sliding your sunglasses down your nose. “Can’t help it. Those tiny little shorts and your pale thighs really get me going.” He scowls, pulling said shorts further down said thighs to hide the discrepancy in skin tone. “God, it’s loud here,” you change the subject, taking pity on him. “This is what you put up with the entire summer?”

“Just wait—it’ll get worse in a second.”

He’s right, unfortunately. From the second the bucket begins to tip and for at least three full minutes after it unleashes its gallons of water, all you hear is screaming. High-pitched, manic screaming loud enough to make your ears bleed, but the water is cold and you’re thankful for the reprieve from the heat, even if it doesn't last long before it evaporates.

“Ah, gotta love it,” he deadpans. “Only twenty-six minutes and fourteen seconds until the next one.”

You snort. Ask him if he wants anything from the snack bar because you need a drink—a very cold, very refreshing drink. All he requests is a bottle of water. Not a bad idea, considering you’re probably dangerously dehydrated from how much you’ve sweat, but you change your mind as soon as you reach the counter. You hear a chorus of angels. It feels like the light of divinity itself shines a spotlight on the part of the menu advertising non-alcoholic piña colada slushies.

You promptly order two—and a water.

When the kid behind the counter hands over your order, you can’t help the beaming smile that forms on your face, but it’s short-lived. Yes, your drinks come with colorful umbrellas and are topped with cherries, and Soonyoung’s water comes straight from a cooler, dripping ice-cold condensation all over your hand and the warped wood top of the counter, but it’s hard to feel victorious when the kid who hands them to you looks like he’s going to keel over and die from heat stroke.

“I—thanks,” you mutter, taking in his flushed cheeks and the hair adhered to his forehead with sweat. You stuff a few bills in the tip jar. “Sorry you have to work here.”

You’re surprised to find Soonyoung in one of your cabana chairs when you return. His visor is pulled over his eyes, his energy completely boneless, and if you weren’t in this weird limbo of maybe-friends you’d probably tease him a little. Call him Sleeping Beauty or flick some of the cold water on your hands at him.

Instead, you place all three drinks on the small, rickety table in between the chairs. “Special delivery.”

Soonyoung lifts his visor. Laughs softly when he sees what you’ve ordered. Asks, “Is one of those for me?” and reaches for one regardless of what your answer is.

“It”—you begin to answer, watching as he dangles a cherry by the stem—“wasn’t,” you finish after he pops it into his mouth.

“But I’m on break.” He pouts. “And it’s so hot outside and this drink is so cold.” He sticks the straw in his mouth and has to speak around it. “And if Chan’s running the snack bar today I bet he put alcohol in this.” He takes a sip. “No booze. Coward.”

“Do you often drink on company time? Also, that kid at the snack bar looked about ten minutes from death. Someone should probably check on him.”

Soonyoung waves you away. “I’ll do it after I clock back in.”

“When is that? Rigor mortis might set in by then.”

“An hour. Rigor mortis is when they go all stiff, right?” You hum in agreement. “Easier to move, then.” He sucks down the rest of the slushie, finishing with a loud slurp that draws some attention your way, finishing with an exaggerated ahh. “Wow, that was really good. Can you wake me up in forty-five minutes?”

You scoff. Tuck your legs beneath you and reach for your book. “Don’t you have your phone? Set an alarm.”

“Mm, don’t want to. What are you reading?”

You tell him the title. Explain that you’d picked it up for cheap in a secondhand shop in town while you were wandering around one afternoon just because you’d liked the cover. “It’s okay,” you say. “It’s not really grabbing me, but it’s well-written and not very long so it could be worse.”

“Do you read a lot?”

“Try to.” Realizing this is not a very satisfactory response, you add, “I’ve tried to read at least three books a month since I graduated college.”

“I’m not good at math, but that seems like a lot of books.”

You laugh. “I don’t always manage it, to be fair. I’m happy with thirty books a year.”

“I haven’t read one book a year in maybe… ever. Do you have a book job?”

The question is asked around a yawn, words and inflection steeped in exhaustion, which is just fine by you. Because it’s easier to glance over at him—arms crossed over his chest, rising and falling rhythmically, and towel covering his face to further block the sun—and say, “Okay, old man, nap time for you,” and laugh at his responding middle finger than it is to exhume all that ancient history. Easier than adopting that indifferent affect as you say, “No, no book job, just a desk in an office,” and wondering if your discontent is made of tissue paper. If it’s palpable.

If it is, Soonyoung doesn’t say anything.

So you don’t, either. You stay mum about the lifelong absence of a dream. How there were things you liked but nothing you could envision doing forever. How it made you aimless, drawn to whatever felt easy at the time, content to let the wind pick you up and take you wherever it wanted. How you had to swallow down that small bite of embarrassment every time someone asks what you do for a living or how much you make. That lethal combination of hopelessness, bitterness, and jealousy you feel when it seems like all of your friends, classmates, and old coworkers are lapping you.

Those things don’t matter here, you remind yourself. You focus your attention back on your book and set an alarm so you can wake up Soonyoung.

Minghao wants to visit you.

This, of course, poses a problem. While you’d alluded to it on your first day here, you and Minghao haven’t talked much beyond a few texts every few days, so you never got around to telling him the full story. That the man you thought you were renting an entire house from is still occupying it. That he sleeps a few feet down the hall and cooks meals alongside you. That, even when he’s at work or both of you retire for the night, your phone will light up with messages or DMs from him as he sends memes or links to places around town he thinks you might like—and that you always hope he’ll ask if you want to go together.

There’s no real reason to deny his request. Much to your dismay, Soonyoung doesn’t mind. Seems to light up at the possibility of meeting one of your friends, someone he only knows about from stories and anecdotes and late-night scrolls through your Instagram feed, where you and Minghao have made it a game to tag one another in the ugliest photos either of you have ever taken. He goes into planning mode almost immediately, and if you were less mature you’d probably pout at the way the “you” in his messages becomes “you and Minghao.”

Inexplicably, you care about disappointing Soonyoung far more than you care about disappointing Minghao, so you tell him to call you once he’s done work so the two of you can come up with a plan.

Your phone rings just after seven, screen lighting up with the only normal photo the two of you have ever taken together. It should bring you comfort, the reminder that this is Minghao and he’s your friend and can even look ugly sometimes when he puts effort into it. But he’s also got the demeanor and general vibe of a parent picking you up from the police station. Something about him just exudes disappointment.

You’ll have it in spades soon.

Minghao spends a few minutes catching you up on things back home, tells you about the goings-on at the office: a new girl in his department he suspects might be a nepotism hire, the creepy IT guy you’ve all complained about for months finally getting fired, a day last week the plumbing broke and everyone got sent home early. “I’m ready for a vacation,” he sighs into the phone.

You grimace, thankful Soonyoung isn’t around to watch this trainwreck occur in real time. It’s another late night for him at the studio as he prepares for the mid-summer recital, still not fully satisfied with the choreography. He’d done the same two days ago and didn’t come home until nearly midnight.

“Hello? Are you there?”

You sigh. Tell yourself it’s better to just rip off the bandage and not prolong it anymore, but you can hear Minghao in your head saying I told you so and it gives you agita. Makes your palms sweaty. You cannot, in good conscience, allow yourself to be patronized by someone younger than you.

“Yeah, so, about that…”

Just as you expected, Minghao is not particularly gentle in his response. “A scam is a scam,” he says. “Do you have any idea how stupid it was to stay there? You don’t know that guy! He could be a serial killer for all you know, or worse—a furry.”

“I’ll be surprised if he’s a furry,” you retort, picking at a bit of pilled fabric on the couch. “But also, it wasn’t entirely a scam, he just messed up the listing. It’s not like I got here and the house didn’t exist and some dude claiming to be a prince was laughing all the way to the bank with my money.”

“You’re hopeless.” You can practically hear the way he’s pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I am not. It’s really nice here, Hao. The town is nice and Soonyoung is nice and he owns a dance studio and works part-time at a waterpark that he gets me into for free sometimes.”

“Is the waterpark nice?”

You hesitate. “I, um—it’s not horrible. Sometimes Chan puts alcohol in the piña colada slushies.”

“That… sounds kind of good, actually. With the little umbrellas?”

“And a cherry,” you confirm.

This, more than anything else, seems to be what seals the decision for him. After confirming for the millionth time that Soonyoung doesn’t mind his company (and that he’s not a serial killer, to which you send him the link to Soonyoung’s Instagram and ask does this look like a serial killer to you? because his most recent post is a photo of him on a giant flamingo floatie in the pool, mouth stained orange from a bag of cheese puffs, to which Minghao reluctantly agrees it does not), he agrees to call out of work and make the drive Friday morning.

Which, of course, is the day the sky decides to crack open.

This is unfortunate for Minghao, who has to make the same hours-long drive you did. This is unfortunate for you, who was looking forward to trying a new brunch cafe on the boardwalk. This is not unfortunate for Soonyoung, who was scheduled from open to close at Carat Bay and now has the day off, which he’s spending preparing for Minghao’s arrival: fridge and pantry restocked, floors vacuumed and mopped, sheets washed and dried, downstairs bathroom stocked with fresh towels. Like the grocery shopping and cooking, you and Soonyoung had worked out a system early on, so on any other day all of this is stuff you’d be helping out with.

Except Xu Minghao must’ve either been a member of a spy network or a teenage girl in a past life.

Normally it’s to your benefit that Minghao can find anything on the internet. Unlike you, he’s not prone to or all that interested in gossip (so he says), but he’s receptive when you assign him a task, and over the time you’ve known each other, the partnership has served you well. Usually it’s just mundane work gossip: who’s sleeping together, who’s on job-hunting sites begging for leads, who got embarrassingly, shit-faced drunk over the weekend and overshared in their Instagram stories. Usually it doesn’t affect you all that much, forgotten soon after in the way mundane work gossip always is.

This time, however.

Although sending him Soonyoung’s Instagram had alleviated his fears that you’re shacking up with a serial killer, it revealed something far worse: you’re shacking up with a Gemini.

Again—not usually a problem, considering astrology isn’t really your thing. You’d be hard-pressed to differentiate a Gemini from a Cancer or whatever else, so when Minghao tells you this it’s met with a hum of acknowledgment and nothing else. It was only once he asked, “Did you guys do anything for his birthday?” that it all started to sink in and panic gripped at you.

Minghao can find anything on the internet because he doesn’t stop at the surface-level stuff. You’d sent him Soonyoung’s Instagram and he didn’t just scroll through the first few posts, he scrolled years back, almost to the beginning, and that’s where he’d found the post: Soonyoung surrounded by friends, their arms slung over his shoulders while he held a cake, two lit number candles perched on top. 25!!!! the caption read.

It was posted on June 15th.

Which was last Sunday. Nearly a week ago. Soonyoung hadn’t said anything, had gone about his day as usual—coffee and a breakfast sandwich eaten at the two-seater table on the front porch before he showered and got ready for work, and even after he got home and the two of you shared a pizza and watched baseball, he never mentioned it.

Hence why you aren’t helping Soonyoung with the cleaning. You’re at the grocery store ordering a birthday cake because if there’s one thing you cannot do it’s bake, even when it’s box mix and prepackaged frosting (and Soonyoung deserves a cake that’s both edible and stays upright). You move to the aisle with the party supplies and curse the lack of options.

A children’s cartoon character or plain red, edges yellowed from age. Tough choice.

You grab a few other things and stand in line to check out, checking your phone religiously. You’d gotten out of the house under the guise of a pilates class you “couldn’t cancel,” so anything longer than an hour will start looking suspicious, but the required 24-hour notice from the bakery had posed a problem. Soonyoung is scheduled at the waterpark tomorrow, and you can’t turn it down because he was kind enough to get you and Minghao another cabana (and Minghao really wants one of those slushies), and then he’s back at the studio on Sunday to put the finishing touches on the recital.

So, here you are. Arms full of items you can let overheat in the trunk of your car and a receipt for a small marble sheet cake, a request for Happy Birthday, Soonyoung! to be written on top in blue frosting, surrounded by confetti sprinkles.

—

Soonyoung and Minghao get on like a house on fire.

You aren’t surprised by this, considering you don’t think Soonyoung has ever met a stranger. He’s good at it—the small talk, navigating those awkward moments, making people feel comfortable. Minghao has only been in the house twenty minutes before he’s giggling and entirely charmed, made to feel right at home even though he’s dripping rainwater all over the freshly-mopped floors. Seems to forget he was supposed to be angry that the rain had ruined one day of his vacation.

Soonyoung insists on carrying on the Friday tradition of takeout, alcohol, and wrestling, which is not something Minghao would watch without outside influence. But he fits in seamlessly. Falls into step with Soonyoung’s chaos, taking over his ridiculous commentary when Soonyoung’s either too drunk or laughing too hard to finish his sentences. Polishes off two orders of tacos on his own. Assumes bartender duties and mixes your drinks to questionable ratios, but perfection nonetheless.

Not to mention he out-drinks both of you. Soonyoung is worse off, retiring to bed just after eleven, groaning about his head and worrying about how he’s going to get up for work as he ascends the stairs. Minghao laughs, watching him fondly. You get the impression there’s a lot he wants to say—and maybe he would if you weren’t seeing three of him—but as it stands he cleans up the living room and asks if you want a glass of water.

“No, I’m okay,” you answer. “I think.”

Still, you aren’t surprised to find water and painkillers on your nightstand when you wake up. Luckily you don’t need them, spared from the torture of spending hours at a waterpark with shrieking children with a hangover, so you send a double-text to Soonyoung—

You [9:37am]: Are you alive? You [9:37am]: Hao left me some water and painkillers if you need them

—to which he simply replies:

Soonyoung [9:50am]: p lease

With a laugh, you throw the duvet off of your legs and pad down the hall. Knock quietly on Soonyoung’s bedroom door and laugh again at the pitiful come in you receive in response. And he does look pitiful. When you walk in, he pops out from under the covers with dandelion hair, face puffy from the alcohol, cheeks ruddy. What little sleep he got must not have been great—he looks exhausted, so you move Minghao’s gifts to Soonyoung’s nightstand, whisper a little fighting!, and head downstairs to brew a pot of coffee.

Not long after, Soonyoung makes his way downstairs and collapses into one of the kitchen chairs. Face-plants onto the table and groans into the wood. Without a word, you grab the bread from the pantry and pop a few slices into the toaster, sliding them onto a plate and serving them to him plain once they’re done.

“This will help with the nausea. Do you think you can stomach coffee?”

He scoffs. “Sure hope so. What’s the point in living if I can’t?”

Minghao emerges halfway through Soonyoung’s third cup, looking fresh and well-rested in a way only the person who drank the most and isn’t suffering a hangover can do. He greets you and Soonyoung with cheerful good mornings and questions about how you slept and how you’re feeling. “Not as bad as him,” you answer, jerking a thumb in Soonyoung’s direction, who gives you both the finger before returning to his face-first position on the table.

Your friend looks at the plate of crumbs and the mug of coffee. He sends you a look that’s easier not to look at or acknowledge.

—

Somehow, Minghao is able to talk you into sharing a two-person tube and joining him on all of Carat Bay’s waterslides.

This is horrifying for many reasons (the height of the slides, seeing Minghao’s bare feet), but it also proves useful. At the top of the highest slide, just as you fit yourself in the front of the tube and screech when Minghao wiggles his painted toes at you, the worker responsible for pushing you towards your certain death asks, “Oh shit, aren’t you the one staying with Soonyoung?”

“I—yes.” You glance at his nametag. Mingyu, it says, and you think you vaguely recognize him from Soonyoung’s Instagram. Horrifying again, because he’s somehow even more attractive in real life and you’re squished into a two-person innertube with Minghao and his painted toes, but he’s friendly and charming and talks at you like you’re old friends.

“That’s cool,” he says, ignoring the impatient discontent and creative insults from the line of children behind you. “Soonyoung said he had someone staying with him and that you’d been here a few times, but I’m always stuck up here.” A child throws a tiny flip-flop at him. It hits him in the chest and falls to the ground. “Wow,” he deadpans, “lucky me.”

In an attempt to stifle his laughter, Minghao asks what time he gets done, telling him about the belated birthday party the two of you have schemed to surprise him with. Fuck me, you think, watching as Mingyu somehow becomes even more attractive as his eyes light up. Not only is he done two hours before Soonyoung, he’s going to invite more of his friends, too. They’ll pick up more food and more snacks and more alcohol. All you and Minghao have to do is pick up the cake and decorate, which last night’s drinking provides a convenient excuse for.

During Soonyoung’s break—which he once again spends napping on a lounge chair under the cabana—Minghao says the two of you will probably head back to the house soon. “I think the heat’s making her hangover worse,” he says, injecting a convincing amount of sympathy into his tone.

Just as you expected, Soonyoung buys it. Finishes up his break with a groan and says he’ll text you when he’s done to check in about dinner, and then there’s nothing but the thwack-thwack-thwack of his slides as he returns to his post at the splash zone.

Two and a half hours to go.

Minghao stays behind to start on the decorations while you go pick up the cake. It turns out better (and bigger) than you expected, and you thank the bakery profusely as you rush back toward the exit. Back at the house, streamers and balloons line the staircase bannister and hang from the light fixtures; a HAPPY BIRTHDAY! banner stretches across the doorway leading into the kitchen; the plates and napkins are both set out, sharing the same cartoon tiger.

Luckily, it gives you both enough time to shower and look presentable before everyone else arrives.

True to his word, Mingyu knocks on the door with his hands full: a case of beer, a pile of pizza boxes, bags of chips in various flavors. Behind him stands a group of people, only one of whom you recognize. Chan, alcoholic slushie barista extraordinaire, greets you with a wave and a large smile. You are wholly unsurprised to see he brought soju.

The next hour is met with more names and faces than you’ll ever be able to remember. Friends of Soonyoung’s, coworkers from Carat Bay, coworkers from the dance studio—all of them kind, making you and Minghao feel welcome and included. They shout in excitement when Soonyoung texts you saying he’s done work. Compliment your quick thinking when he asks what you and Minghao want to do for dinner and you tell him Minghao insists on cooking, and to just shoot you a text when he’s on his way back so he can put it in the oven. When that text comes through, they all hide in the kitchen out of sight and hold their breath, anticipating and waiting, the occasional giggle sneaking through.

You drape yourself across the couch. Minghao stays in the kitchen and, once you call out that the birthday boy is coming up the drive, pretends to chop vegetables to truly sell it.

And when Soonyoung comes through the door, looking just as exhausted as he had this morning and slightly more sunburnt, you almost feel guilty. Almost think he won’t be in the mood to host. Almost think you’ve made a horrible mistake. He asks, “Do you know what he’s making?” to which you shake your head.

“No idea. He won’t tell me—says it’s a surprise,” you respond, thankful your voice and expression both stay steady and neutral.

Soonyoung drops his bag at the door. “Hm. I’ll see if I can get it out of him,” he says, winking when he catches your eye, like it’s you and him against Minghao; like he’s solving this manufactured mystery for your benefit.

Then he walks into the kitchen.

There’s the expected shouts of SURPRISE!

And then there’s a few seconds of silence.

“What the fuck,” comes Soonyoung’s eventual response. You sidle up alongside him, laughing when he turns to look at you with a stunned expression. “What the fuck?” he repeats, quieter this time, meant only for you.

“Happy birthday.” You reach up to playfully pat his cheek. “Belatedly, anyway. Why didn’t you tell me?”

His cheeks go red. As he opens his mouth to answer, sheepish words biting at the back of his teeth, one of his friends interrupts. Slaps him on the back and puts a drink in his hand. Laughs and gives him shit, asking how he didn’t notice all the decorations.

Soonyoung steals a final glance in your direction as he’s pulled away.

Everyone eats, drinks, and laughs. You cut the cake before Soonyoung’s face can wind up in it, only for someone to grab a slice and smash it in his face anyway. Uproarious laughter follows. Someone snaps a picture: first, a close-up of Soonyoung’s face, covered in cake crumbs and enough frosting to stain his skin; then, a second photo of him washing it off in the sink, entire head stuck under the faucet.

It really shouldn’t strike you someplace deep. The memory should be enough, but you find yourself asking, “Do you guys want me to take a picture of all of you?” so you have something to remember it by, too, even if you’re behind the camera.

Minghao must notice, because he offers to take it instead, taking your phone from you and gesturing for you to join the group. They’ve all got their arms around Soonyoung again but they make room for you. Mingyu, heads taller than everyone, moves from Soonyoung’s right and to the back.

“Are you—is it on a timer?” Minghao shakes his head, clearly confused. “Well, put it on a timer and get over here.”

“Me?”

Soonyoung rolls his eyes. “Who else would I be talking to? Come on, it’s my birthday and you’re my friend, so get in the picture.” He coughs. “Please.”

Minghao laughs, but you can tell from the heat in his cheeks that he’s a little caught off-guard at Soonyoung wanting him in the picture, at declaring him his friend, so he fumbles with your phone. Can’t figure out how to set the timer. No one helps, of course—they give him shit and playfully boo him, flustering him more. Once he does figure it out, he sets the timer to the wrong length so the first few photos are candids, Minghao nothing but a streak across the frame. This earns him another round of boos that render him entirely useless, have him squatting beneath the weight of his laughter, but then he sets it correctly, thirty seconds, and there’s a smile on every single person’s face when you look at it later.

After that, it’s party time—within reason.

Someone connects to the small speaker in the living room and shuffles a playlist, upbeat with a low, thrumming bassline, perfect for a party. Minghao gets roped into a conversation with two people from Soonyoung’s studio, exchanging socials and numbers. Someone has left a pan of weed brownies on top of the stove, though no one takes credit for them.

That’s how Soonyoung approaches you some thirty minutes later, half of a brownie stuck between his teeth and chocolate clinging to the corners of his mouth. “Hellooo,” he greets you, each letter slurring together, eyes bloodshot. “Are you having fun?”

“I am,” you answer. “Are you?”

“Yes. D’you want the other half of this? I don’t think I should eat the whole thing.” Soonyoung offers the brownie to you, bottom lip slightly pouted. “I’m not a lightweight or anything,” he adds, as if it’s of the utmost importance to squash any thought you might’ve had about him being one. “And I didn’t stick the whole thing in my mouth. I broke it in half before I ate it, so there’s no spit on it.”

With a huff of laughter, you take the brownie from him and place it on a plate on the counter behind you. You also grab a napkin, turning to Soonyoung with what you intend to be stern, furrowed brows until he goes a little cross-eyed and it makes you laugh. “Why is your mouth always covered in something?”

You reach for him; he comes willingly and immediately.

“Ooh, are you gonna clean me up?” he quips, trying to wiggle his eyebrows. He winds up just squinting and un-squinting his eyes, heavy-lidded and getting redder by the second.

You ignore his teasing with a roll of your lips. Place your hand on his cheek to steady him, grounded by the warmth and softness of his skin. Soonyoung sucks in a breath when you touch him. Covers your hand with his own. Stares at you so intently you forget why you’re touching him at all, that there’s a party raging around you; forget that you’re surrounded by all of Soonyoung’s friends and their curious glances. You forget what the napkin in your hand is for, uselessly pinched between your fingers.

Everything narrows to the size of a pinhead. Soonyoung is all that exists in this moment, and it’s both exhilarating and terrifying. Until now, you thought the banter had just been banter—innocent and fun but ultimately superficial. Until now, you could brush off his coy remarks and blame it on proximity and Soonyoung’s ability to flirt with a lamppost if he thought it’d flirt back. Until now, you thought the next two and a half months would be easy; that you’d be able to compartmentalize your attraction to him.

Because this isn’t about that.

You’d needed to get away—from your job, your apartment, your life. All of it. Needed a break from the constant what-ifs and self-doubt and the nasty, unrelenting feeling that you aren’t doing enough, aren’t living up to your potential. That what you are doing is walking down a dead-end street and foolishly trying to find an exit point. You needed to try to outrun everything you’ve pushed aside, knowing it’s long overdue for it to catch up.

You don’t want Soonyoung to be one of those things. Don’t want him added to your list of what-ifs, not realizing it’s already too late for that.

So, just for a moment, you let yourself indulge. You press the napkin to the corner of his mouth and wonder how it’d feel if it were your lips instead, how he’d react, what noises he’d make. If he’d gasp in surprise or suck in another breath through his teeth. If he’d push you away or move his hands to your hips to pull you closer. If he’d let you take your time and do what you wanted or if he’d take control. If everyone around you would be surprised or if they’d think oh, of course.

You don’t find out the answer to any of those questions.

Instead, you clean the stubborn chocolate from the corners of his mouth without a word. Your touch is far more tender and delicate than you think this moment calls for, but if Soonyoung agrees he doesn’t mention it. Keeps his gaze locked on you, eyes tracing every movement. His intensity surprises you, having been outshadowed by his larger-than-life personality, the way he makes you laugh without having to try. But the intensity of the moment surprises you, too, how it all feels amplified: how you can hear every hitch of his breath, even over the noise of the party; how you can not only feel the warmth of it on your skin, but also the tension. How it feels like a massive, tangible thing in the center of your chest.

“All done,” you manage to say, coughing to clear your throat, dry from nerves and the rest of the chaos swirling around in your head.

Soonyoung smiles. Sends a wink over his shoulder as he disappears into the crowd, and you feel his absence immediately and immensely.

Minghao calls you over and reintroduces you to the people he’s been talking to. They’re kind and funny and gracious with their time. Junhui tells you all about how he and Soonyoung met, about his time at his studio. Tells you all about the kids they teach and how much they love Soonyoung. All the gifts they make for him and how they watch him dance with wide, starry eyes, trying to replicate everything he does.

Which is exactly what you find yourself trying to do later on.

Soonyoung had found you in a half-hearted conversation with Chan and Mingyu and dragged you to the living room. “Dance with me,” he said, cackling brightly when you looked at him, bewildered, and said you didn’t know how. “I’ll show you. C’mon, it’s easy.”

Dancing with someone who does it for a living is not easy, but Soonyoung is a good teacher, full of praise and laughter and gentle corrections. It’s all in good fun, anyway, and that’s exactly how he makes it feel as he jokingly shakes his ass and twerks on his friends; as the room goes blurry when he takes your hand and twirls you around. And when the song switches to something slower, headier, more sensual, there’s an immediate spike of panic that Soonyoung snuffs out—he puts distance between the two of you but stays in your orbit, hovering, waiting for you to call the shots.

You know he’ll back off if you want him to. You know he’ll take it in stride and not allow things to get awkward. You also know this decision isn’t life or death, that this can just be harmless fun you blame on the alcohol and weed in the light of day when the sheepishness creeps in. And you have to admit that sounds enticing, because the two poles of your body are pulling you in opposite directions, warring with one another. Try as it might, your brain—with all its logic and reminders for you to use some common sense—is no match for the heat simmering beneath your skin.

It’s a split-second decision, you pulling him back in, letting him fit his hands to the curve of your waist, your eyes fluttering shut at the body heat that seeps into your skin. You watch as the corners of Soonyoung’s mouth lift infinitesimally before he straightens them again, like he doesn’t want to look cocky, doesn’t want this to look like a foregone conclusion, but you like it on him. He wears it well, and you’re taken by it in the same way you’d been taken by his intensity.

You know there are eyes on you—his friends’, Minghao’s—but you can’t find it in you to care. Every time Soonyoung touches you, it feels like you’re the only people left on earth, like you’re swimming through molasses, weighed down by the intoxication of it, the yearning, the need for more.

His hands move to your hips, his lips to just beneath your ear. “Is this okay?” he asks, words spoken so quietly against your skin you feel them more than you can hear them.

You nod. Still have no clue what you’re doing, feel awkward and too big in your own body, but you remind yourself it doesn’t matter. That it’s okay to just enjoy the way Soonyoung is touching you. The way he moves his body, perfectly in sync with the beat of the song, purposeful and precise. The proximity to and closeness of another person.

It’s the same later on, long after all of Soonyoung’s friends have left. Only you and Soonyoung are left at the house, your crossfades providing a convenient excuse to stay behind. No one says anything, but you catch the look Minghao sends you on his way out the door, having accepted an invitation from Jun and Mingyu to check out some new club, wanting to make the most of his last full day in town—it’s discreet and sly, but it also says I hope you know what you’re doing, because you’ve been doing it all night.

You don’t.

You know it just as well as Minghao does, so you start cleaning up the kitchen to give yourself something else to focus on. Plates, cups, and napkins in the trash. Leftovers in the fridge or pantry. Icing wiped off the floor and counters. A massive garbage bag tied up and placed next to the back door to take outside. Time alone, room to breathe. Being around Soonyoung is starting to feel like the two magnets of your head and heart are repelling.

“Leave that for tomorrow.”

You wipe the back of your hand across your forehead. “I’m almost done,” you gently argue. “Besides, it is tomorrow. It’s almost two o’clock.”

Soonyoung just laughs, nodding his head in the direction of the door. “Come on.”

“Soonyoung, there’s still food everywhere, you’ll get bugs—”

“Do I have to drag you out there myself?”

He doesn’t, though you don’t think you’d be upset if he did. “Fine. At least take the trash out with you,” you compromise.

You’re not sure what you were expecting, but it certainly isn’t for Soonyoung to lay on his back in the middle of the yard. No blanket, no towel—even if it’s mostly dried out from the previous day’s storm, you’re not exactly chomping at the bit to take the risk, but Soonyoung has no such reservations. He stretches out like he’s making a snow angel before he tucks his hands behind his head and sighs in content, though you’re not sure why. There’s far too much light pollution this close to the boardwalk to see anything in the sky, not to mention the noise.

Still, you either have to join him or stay standing and look like an idiot.

So you sit down beside him, arms stretched out behind you, your knee knocking into Soonyoung’s elbow. He rolls his head to the side and smiles, and you feel it behind your ribcage, sharp and hot like fireworks. “How did you know?” he asks. “About my birthday.”

Any other time you’d crack a joke, say something cheesy like ah, I have my ways, or that you’d paid an Etsy witch to find out, but in the middle of the night, sitting side-by-side in Soonyoung’s small, dewy strip of grass, it doesn’t feel right. Feels like a moment that requires sincerity. “It was Minghao, actually,” you admit. “He was there when I first saw the rental listing and told me it was a scam because of how cheap it was, so ever since then he’d sort of been convinced you were a serial killer or something. I had to come clean about us rooming together when he asked to visit and that only convinced him more.”

Soonyoung groans. “Damn. I wanna laugh but it’s not funny. Is it funny? He still came here after all that?”

“Well, luckily I’d already been to the waterpark with you by then and watched you nearly pass out when that kid fell and scraped her knee, so I knew there was no way you could kill someone—”

“Hey!”

“—and I sent him your Instagram. We both decided that, aside from the can’t handle blood thing, a serial killer probably wouldn’t post a picture of themselves with cheese dust all over their mouth.”

His jaw drops slightly. Looks like he wants to—and thinks he should—be offended before he snaps it shut and thinks it over. “Mm, that’s probably fair.”

“Yeah, so. As one does, he basically stalked your account until he saw one of your birthday posts from years ago and asked if we’d done anything fun for it this year, and I had to say no because someone didn’t tell me.”

Sheepish, Soonyoung apologizes. Says he didn’t have plans anyway and didn’t want you to feel obligated or make things weird. “It’d only been two weeks.” And when you move to protest, he rolls onto his side, head propped up by his elbow, and says, “I know now it was silly, and I’m still a little blown away the two of you threw all of this together. I—it just means a lot, so thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you reply, voice barely above a whisper. “I hope you and your friends had a good time.”

“I haven’t had a bad one since you got here.” Such a simple statement, but the honesty in his words steals the breath from your lungs. “I’d been having… a bad time. Before you got here. So yeah, it means a lot that you’d go through the trouble.”

It wasn’t any trouble, you want to say. Want to refute the notion that doing something nice, especially for him, was a bother, something only done out of a sense of obligation. Want to tell him you’ve been having a hard time, too, and doing something like this, celebrating someone else, helped ease that perpetual grief even a little bit. That feeling someone’s hands on you in the way his had been—selfish, wanting, longing—was a welcomed change from the hands clutching at your own, rubbing at your back, accompanied by waterlogged, sympathetic words. Apologies that only made you feel worse.

You want to tell him it was nice to be desired instead of pitied.

Instead, you say, “I’ve been having a bit of a hard time, too,” because the rest feels too honest. More words not meant for this moment.

And it seems you chose correctly, because Soonyoung’s brows quirk upwards. “Really?” he asks.

You nod. “I don’t want to dump on you, but my grandmother passed away last year. I used all of my PTO and the last of my inheritance to book the rental. It just sort of… felt like everything was starting to catch up with me, you know? The grief, the insecurities I’m feeling about my job. I needed to get away.”

Soonyoung frowns, and you brace yourself for more of the usual—I’m so sorry for your loss and other such sentiments you wish you could feel thankful for and don’t—but, as usual, he finds a way to surprise you. “Damn,” he mutters, sounding entirely convincing as he whistles, “I feel like I should give you a refund now. I scammed you out of your inheritance.”

A bubble of shocked laughter erupts from you and spreads to Soonyoung. Soon, both of you have dissolved into breathless, belly-aching laughter, trying desperately to shush one another so you don’t disturb the neighbors. And maybe you hadn’t been able to say all those other things, but this you are:

“Don’t you dare. I’d pay it every single time, a million times over.”

July arrives before you know it.

After Soonyoung’s party, things largely go back to normal. Minghao stays in touch, not only with you and Soonyoung, but also Junhui. Like clockwork, he texts you often for “updates.” He’s not interested in what books you’ve read or how many hours of sun you’ve soaked up at the beach. No, all he cares about are any updates in your relationship with Soonyoung—of which there have been none, so these days, understandably, your conversations don’t last all that long.

Additionally, you see Chan and Mingyu more often. Sometimes, when their shifts end at the same time, they swing by the house after work and join you for dinner… and shenanigans. A random Tuesday sees the four of you having a water balloon fight in the backyard. Soonyoung calls dibs on Mingyu, thinking his height will afford them some sort of advantage, but he underestimates Chan’s dodge and weave and that Mingyu’s height is nothing more than a giant target. Another weeknight has all of you nearly coming to blows over a game of poker.

Occasionally, on days they don't work, they join you at the beach. They rope you into boogie boarding and volleyball matches; they nap or mess around in the water while you read. Sometimes Soonyoung will stay behind and pester you with questions: what you’re reading, what it’s about, whether or not you like it, isn’t that similar to that one you read last week, what you think is going to happen.

And then Soonyoung gets a rare weekend off.

Friday, too, which is spent like all the previous ones. Takeout, cheap beer, watching wrestling and adopting silly voices. Even with all the time in the world, it’s not something either of you are willing to give up.

Saturday, though—

Instead of preparing for another hot, sticky afternoon at Carat Bay, Soonyoung appears in the doorway of your bedroom not long after noon. He’s still in his pajamas—nothing but a pair of black briefs you’re sure were created with the sole intent of torturing you—and his hair sticks up at odd angles. But he looks good. Looks like temptation itself with his golden skin, honeyed from the sun; the six pack of abs peeking out from beneath the waistband; his voice, deep and husky from sleep.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” You try to swallow, not at all surprised to find your mouth has gone dry. “Sleep alright?”

Soonyoung hums. Crosses one arm across his body to scratch at his collar bone, which does nothing at all to alleviate your suffering. “You got anything on the agenda for today?” You shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak. “They’re doing fireworks on the beach tonight, if you wanna check it out? We can make a day of it and do the whole boardwalk thing.”

“Oh,” you manage to choke out. “Sure. That sounds fun.”

His responding smile is another arrow to your chest. “Cool. You’re good with rides, right? Or are you gonna puke on me if I drag you on a rollercoaster?”

I might puke on you if you don’t put a shirt on, you think. “No, I’m good,” you confirm instead. Then you actually give yourself a second to think of something that isn’t Soonyoung and his sculpted, insanity-inducing body and follow up with, “Except maybe that spaceship-looking thing that spins around really fast.”

Rookie mistake: you forget to put the teacups on your no-go list.

After getting your wristbands, it’s the first ride Soonyoung drags you on. “If you’re gonna puke, we might as well get it over with early,” he reasons. You’re too gobsmacked to argue or try to sneak out of line when he isn’t looking, so the next thing you know you’re being ushered into an empty cup by a minimum wage employee entirely indifferent to your plight, all hopes of a last-second escape dashed.

Soonyoung’s sinister grin fills you with dread.

Because you know exactly what he’s going to do.

“Soonyoung, don’t—”

It’s no use. As soon as the ride starts moving, Soonyoung’s grabbing onto the bar in the center and spinning your teacup as fast as he can. Aside from his wild cackles that slip through, you can barely hear anything over the sound of your own screaming, louder than even the small kids being spun around by their parents. All you can do is squeeze your eyes shut and hold onto the safety bar for dear life, filling your thoughts with anything that doesn’t require a barf bag.

(You obviously don’t know in the moment, but later on, Soonyoung digs his phone out of his pocket. Goes into his camera roll and thumbs until he finds what he’s looking for before holding it out to show you. And you’re a little stunned, is the thing, because there you are. Eyes shut, gripping onto the bar just like you remember, but it’s the way you’re smiling that takes you by surprise. You can’t remember the last time you looked so happy. Can’t remember the last time you felt it, either.

“Do you mind if I post it to my story?”

Feels nearly impossible to tear your eyes away from it, but you manage to nod. Say, “Sure, as long as you send it to me first,” and he does.

You [6:28pm]: [Attachment: 1 Image] You [6:28pm]: What do you think this means? Minghao [6:34pm]: that you’re fucked

A fresh wave of nausea hits you, because you don’t need Minghao to tell you that.

You already know.)

Somehow you survive, even though your first steps back on solid ground are a bit shaky. Soonyoung laughs and offers up a half-assed apology you know he doesn’t mean, but he lets you choose the next few rides to make up for it. Chivalrous, sure, but there are so many you don’t know where to begin. Anything upside-down is out of the question for now, given the state of your stomach, so you point at a dilapidated-looking ship and say, “What’s that?” even though it’s self-explanatory.

“Ghost Ship.”

The hesitation in his tone immediately piques your interest. Oh ho ho, you think, smiling to yourself—he should not have spun you dizzy on the teacups. “Oh. Is it scary?”

So subtle you nearly miss it, Soonyoung puffs out his chest and stands up straighter. Stares at the ride as if it offended him personally as he says, “I—no! Not really. No, it’s not.”

“Is it not scary or not really scary?”

“It’s not scary,” he clarifies, lying through his teeth. “Not to me, anyway.”

“Cool, let’s go on it, then.” You start walking towards the ride entrance, pretending not to know he isn’t following. “It’s eight tickets,” you say, keeping up the ruse. Soonyoung still hasn’t followed and your wristbands are loaded with unlimited ride tickets. “Do we have—Soonyoung? What’s wrong?” Checkmate. Soonyoung’s cheeks go pink as he shuffles a few feet closer. “Do you not want to go on it?”

“I do!” he insists. “It’s just—it’s just, uh. Doesn’t that rollercoaster look way more fun? Or… look! The log flume looks fun, too!”

“But then we’ll have to walk around in wet clothes.”

“That’s what the rollercoaster is for.” You stare blankly at him. “You know, for drying. ‘Cause it goes fast.”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to go on that one,” you say, making sure to pout a little. There’s a very visible war waging inside of him. He either looks like a chicken on the ride or he looks like one by refusing to go on it at all. And that’s nothing a bit of bargaining can’t fix, so you say, “If you’re too scared, I can always hold your hand.”

You expect there to be at least a split-second of hesitation, but Soonyoung just says, “Deal!” and reaches for you. Laces your fingers together and doesn’t let go of you the entire time. Not while you wait in line, not while you’re on the ride (where he does scream his head off and grips your hand so tight you’re surprised it doesn’t cut the blood flow), and not after.

Soonyoung holds your hand as the two of you walk up and down the boards. As you duck into souvenir and t-shirt shops with crude sayings. As your stomach starts to rumble and he asks if you’ve ever had a deep-fried cannoli. As he somehow seems shocked when you say no and offers to buy you one, and when you jokingly ask if he’s trying to kill you, he squeezes your hand and says, “Never,” in a voice so soft it nearly makes you cry.

The only time he lets go is to pay for your food. He finds an empty table and sits on the same side as you, bodies pressed so close together your thighs touch. Takes another photo after he convinces you to try the cannoli. It’s far too sweet and far too rich, and you can’t stomach more than a couple bites, but Soonyoung wears a proud, beaming smile the entire time that helps it go down easier. He cleans the powdered sugar from the tip of your nose and, when he’s done, he stares at you so intently you think, this is it, he’s going to kiss me.

But he doesn’t.

Not yet, anyway.

There are things he wants to do first. More rides, more hand-holding, more obscene t-shirts he tries talking you into buying, more strange foods you can only find in a place like this. More people he wants to introduce you to, too, because he seems to know everyone. They all greet him warmly, like their day is better just by running into him, so by extension that warmth is also on offer for you. “Oh, hi! Who’s this?” they all ask, and Soonyoung introduces you by name each time.

He never says, Oh, she’s renting one of my spare rooms for the summer.

He never says, Oh, she’s just a friend.

He never says, Oh, no, it’s nothing serious, because it isn’t anything at all.

Not once does he shy away. Never seems embarrassed to be seen with you. Doesn’t seem fussed by his friends glancing down at your clasped hands and assuming you’re together, or watching the way he throws an arm around your shoulder and pulls you into his side. He doesn’t put a name to whatever is simmering between the two of you, but he doesn’t snuff it out, either.

Soonyoung gives you an answer to a question you haven’t dared to ask: does he feel it, does he want this, too?

A single spark of hope can be a dangerous thing. You know this as well as anyone. But it doesn’t feel so scary when, later on, the two of you see Chan manning one of the game booths, scrolling mindlessly through his phone as a young kid throws darts at a wall of colorful balloons. “Wow, great job,” he deadpans every time one pops, not bothering to check how many were taken out before handing over a giant stuffed animal.

“I’m gonna win you something,” Soonyoung declares. “Which one’s your favorite?”

You hum. Tap your finger against your chin as you pretend to mull it over. “The tiger,” you answer. “The really big one.”

Soonyoung pretends to push up sleeves that don’t exist. “Coming right up.” He approaches Chan. “Hello, sir. I’m here to win the giant tiger for the lovely lady.”

Chan ignores him and holds out his hand for the money. “Pay up, weirdo.”

As they argue, you wander into another souvenir shop. It’s mostly more of the same—tacky figurines of sea life and shot glasses featuring anatomically incorrect genitalia, skimboards and mugs with seashells for handles—but you pause in front of a rack of keychains. You’re not going to find Soonyoung’s name on any of these tiny surfboards. There are others, though: #1 Grandpa, Rock Star, Boy Mom, They Didn’t Have My Name. You laugh at the last one. Almost pick it up for Soonyoung until another one catches your eye.

Best Teacher

When you return to Chan’s game stall, Soonyoung is holding the tiger around the neck, grinning triumphantly as he rocks back on his heels like he hunted it himself.

“Welcome back! As you can see, I fought valiantly to win you your requested prize.”

He returns his arm to your shoulders, pulling you back into his side as he continues walking down the pier. From behind, Chan yells, “No he didn’t! He didn’t win shit, he grabbed it when I wasn’t looking! He’s a fraud!”

Naturally, Soonyoung ignores this. Pretends he doesn’t know Chan at all and asks what you’re going to name your new friend. “Probably nothing, if you keep carrying them like that. I think they’re turning purple. Or blue.”

Soonyoung gasps and adjusts his grip. Carries your new friend around their middle instead of their neck. “Okay, no attempted murder charges for me. One of my friends is on ferris wheel duty tonight—let’s see if he’ll let me use his locker.”

“Trying to get rid of my child already?”

“They’re heavy,” he whines.

You poke his bicep. “Are these just for show, then? God gives His biggest biceps to His most useless soldiers.”

“Did you forget I won this—”

“Stole,” you correct.

Soonyoung rolls his eyes. “Did you forget I won this for you? How can that be useless?”

You’re poised for a response that’s cut off by someone shouting his name. A lanky, kind of tall man is leaning over the wrought-iron railing, waving his arms like one of those blow-up things outside car dealerships. He’s wearing a tie-dyed shirt and his nametag has two names on it. HANSOL is crossed out with VERNONwritten underneath in bigger, bolder letters, prompting you to ask Soonyoung what his name actually is.

“Both,” he answers. Then, to Hansol-Vernon, he asks, “Can I use your locker for this thing?”

“Just leave it here,” Hansol-Vernon says, pointing at the floor of his operating station. He cracks open a can of beer. “Y’all want some? The fireworks are gonna start soon so everyone bounced. No one’s wanted to ride this thing in fuckin’ hours.”

Surely this is in violation of at least fifteen different safety standards. No one else seems to care, though, so you’re not going to be the one to bring it up and be a wet blanket about it. “Sure.” You shrug, accepting two cans when he hands them over.

Soonyoung, on the other hand, seems to have other plans. “Can we watch the fireworks from this thing?”

“Probably. They’re doing them all the way down the beach, so I don’t think they’ll, like, hit you.”

Soonyoung looks at you. Asks a question with his eyes that you answer with a small nod. “Sick. Give us more of those”—he points to Hansol-Vernon’s beer stash—“and don’t bring us back down until I say so.”

“Dude, no. If you’re planning on fucking up there again don’t even—”

You choke on your beer, coughing violently as you try to prevent it from coming out of your nose. Hansol-Vernon slaps you on the back and asks politely if you can get it together because he can’t have a death on his hands, either. “Thanks, Hansol-Vernon,” you say, wheezing a little as you regain your voice.

“It’s just Hansol. Or Vernon.”

That doesn’t clear up much.

Still stuck on three sentences ago, Soonyoung scoffs, indignant, and crosses his arms over his chest. “First of all, that was Mingyu! Don’t blame me for his debauchery! Second of all…” He pauses. “No second of all, actually.” He turns to you. “Do you wanna watch the fireworks from up there? I promise I won’t try to fuck you.”

You choke again.

Regardless, you agree. Vernon (which you’ve settled on calling him due to his shirt, which doesn’t have much of a Hansol vibe) gets you two situated, shouting a very pointed, “Hands where I can see them at all times!” when you reach the top.

And the view is breathtaking.

Nearly the entire town is visible, flat and sprawling as it encroaches on the shoreline to your right and the bay to your left. Lit up bright, welcoming like a beacon, though you’re not sure what it’s luring you into. You watch the waves break against the shore. The ant-sized people moving in herds. All the other rides that are operating and flashing and playing stupid little songs. You watch two seagulls perch on the roof of the ticket booth and fight over a french fry.

Under no circumstances do you look at Soonyoung, even though you know he’s looking at you.

The weight of his gaze is overwhelming. Has fire needling beneath your skin, pricking at your most sensitive spots. Because not only are there implications in it, there are wants. Wants that you know would be mirrored in your own eyes. And that’s… is it smart to start something with a predetermined end date? Soonyoung isn’t an idiot, wouldn’t be going into this with eyes wide shut, but you’re not sure where you stand. If it’s a risk you’re willing to take and a hurt you’re willing to both endure and put someone else through.

Still.

A single spark of hope can be a dangerous thing, and Soonyoung’s looking at you like he wants to engulf you. Like he wants to take every broken part of you and piece them back together with gentle hands. He’s looking at you with no trepidation at all, and it’s no small thing to be looked at like that. Like there’s potential. Like whatever you have to offer is worthwhile.

It should be scary. You should be throwing out emergency flares, begging whoever comes to your rescue to make you think rationally. It’s only been a month. You’re leaving in two. Hours of distance separate the two of you. You barely know him. He barely knows you; might eventually uncover all the things you hate about yourself and find them ugly, too.

It should be scary.

But it’s not.

So here, at the top of a ferris wheel that might as well be the top of the world, is where you finally meet his eye and manage to say, “I want you to kiss me. When the fireworks start, I want you to kiss me.”

Soonyoung smiles so wide his cheeks dimple. Scooches forward to sit on the edge of the bench, so close his knees knock into yours, always touching now that he’s allowed to. So close you can smell the sea salt and the remnants of cologne that stick to his skin. So close you can see yourself reflected in his eyes, surrounded by stars.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” he asks, voice deep and molten, words nearly spoken into the crook of your neck. You almost have to look away again—almost have to call the whole thing off out of self-preservation—because that intensity is back. Has your breath hitching in your throat, sweat beading along your hairline.

Soonyoung cups your jaw. Runs his thumb over the seam of your lips. If you were any more coherent you’d nip at it with your teeth, soothe the sting with your tongue, show you can give as good as you get. You want Soonyoung just as affected as you, just as wanting. Just as gripped by the anticipation. Just as fucked up over the possibility of it all.

And it seems like he is, because he leans in impossibly closer. Uses his free hand to grip at the meat of your thigh, slide it higher until it’s nearly settling on your waist. He pinches the fabric of your shirt between his fingers like he’s trying to savor it, trying to memorize every detail of this moment. When he speaks this time, you actually do feel it against your skin. Feel the way his lips form around each word. Feel his warm breath every time he exhales. Feel your stomach somersault when he asks, “What if I don’t want to wait for the fireworks?” Feel your core throb when he continues, tone headier than you’ve ever heard it, “What if I just pulled you into my lap and kissed you right now?”

If you were any more coherent you’d tell him to do it. You’d smirk, press your tongue into the fat of your cheek, lean in just as close and watch the goosebumps rise on his arms when you tugged his earlobe between your teeth and said, “Why don’t you find out?” But you’re all out of sorts here on the top of the world, scared you’re going to come plummeting back to reality any second.

Because Soonyoung feels like a dream—not idealized or put on a pedestal, but realistic and attainable. Someone it’s easy to exist alongside of. Someone who shows you off without reservation and swindles his friends out of glorified carnival prizes just because you want one. Someone not afraid of or deterred by the liminal state of your relationship, before things became more solid and defined. Someone who knows when to push and when to be patient. Someone who looks at you and sees a future you could barely imagine—not because you didn’t want it, but because all those assumed barriers.

Grief so overpowering some days you could barely get out of bed. Salary, title, and job prospects not where or what you thought they’d be after graduating nearly a decade ago. Feeling trapped by both of these things. Knowing it’s pointless to tie your self-worth to numbers and degrees and prestige but being unable to help it. Being quietly dissatisfied with a simple, ordinary life.

But while those things are true, they aren’t what defines you.

You haven’t decided this thing with Soonyoung is worth pursuing because of his job—jobs. How much money he does or doesn’t make isn’t what you see when you look at him. What you see is his smile when he walks through the door on Friday evenings. The way his brows pinch and his tongue sticks out just so when he’s cooking dinner for the two of you. The look he wears when he shows up in the doorway of your room, half embarrassment and half mischief as he asks you to help him bleach his hair at some ungodly hour—that he trusts you to help even though you’ve never done it before. You see a man that, for the past month, has welcomed you into his home and his life.

All of those things are what makes it easy to plant your hands in the center of his chest and push him back against the bench. To crawl into his lap just like he’d teased, to nip at his skin just like you’d wanted, and whisper, “Maybe I don’t want to wait, either.”

Fate is not something you believe in, but if you did, you think it’d feel a lot like this: the first firework exploding as soon as Soonyoung grabs you by the back of the neck and draws you in for a searing, bruising kiss. The way he groans into your mouth and moves his hands to your waist, trying to erase space that doesn’t exist. You can tell he’s holding himself back, that he wants to thrust his hips, desperate for friction, but doesn’t want to risk making you uncomfortable, is letting you set the pace.

And the pace you want is just as frenzied.

“Fuck,” Soonyoung swears, hissing as you fully drop your weight onto him. When he tilts his head back, you move your lips to the column of his throat, delighting in the sounds spilling from him, the way he finally dares to roll his hips.

You moan, unable to help the sleazy smile that stretches across your face. “God,” you rasp, matching his thrusts, “you’re so hard.”

Soonyoung scoffs. Makes a sound like the air’s been punched out of him. “Do you know—shit—d’you know how long I’ve wa-wanted to kiss you? And have you seen yourself?”

“I have,” you snark, threading your fingers through his hair. “You could’ve, you know. Would’ve let you.”

“Pull it harder.” You do as you’re told, tightening your grip, staring down at the man beneath you. Lips parted, breathing labored, unsure what to do with his hands. You want to mess him up. Want to bring him close to the edge and make him suffer through having to wait. “Mm yeah, just like that, baby—make it hurt.”

Every word strikes you deep. Has you needy and clenching around nothing, unfazed by the world around you, that you’re in public. Fireworks continue to explode. So will you, soon, if Soonyoung doesn’t—

“Touch me,” you beg, unashamed of the need in your tone. He should hear it. He should know how affected you are by him, what he does to you. What you’ve been trying to ignore for weeks. “Soonyoung, please. Touch me, take me home, I don’t care, just—”

You’d be hard-pressed to say how you got here.

On your back in Soonyoung’s bed, his head between your legs. Panties pulled down only as far as they needed to be for him to get his mouth on you, and god is it good. Soonyoung’s made a trembling, gasping mess of you in record time. Has you clutching at his sheets every time he suctions his lips around your clit; every long, pointed stroke he makes with his tongue. Stars explode behind your eyelids every time he praises you, and you’d wanted him on the edge but you make it there first.

Soonyoung can tell. Sucks two fingers into his mouth and teases your entrance. “You’re gonna come, aren’t you, baby?” You nod, unable to muster actual words. Soonyoung grins, devilish and wicked, and presses his fingers inside. Crooks them immediately against your front wall as he returns his mouth to your cunt, sucking and licking, nipping at your skin.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Mhmm, let me feel it—that’s it, good girl. Taste so fuckin’ good; you drive me fucking crazy.”

You come with a shout, vision nearly whiting out, your hands back in Soonyoung’s hair to anchor you to this plane of existence. Wave after wave of euphoria hits you, and you almost beg him to keep going, to not go easy on you, make you come again, but you also just want him closer. Want to taste yourself on his lips. Want to hear his fractured intakes of breath as you grip his cock and touch him properly for the first time. Want the two of you to have to sleep in your bed because you make such a mess of his.

All he gives you is a few seconds to catch your breath. You know what you must look like, chest heaving and sweat-slick, and it makes you feel powerful. Sexy. Gives you the confidence to shrug off the last of your inhibitions and say, “C’mere, please,” and kiss the taste of your pussy off his lips, suck it off his tongue.

You skim your hands down his body—the expanse of soft, warm skin, chest to thigh. Grab at him over his briefs, rub your thumb across the wet patch you find there. Soonyoung curses when you suck that same thumb into your mouth and groan at the taste, the musk and hint of salt. One day you’ll return the favor and make him come with your mouth, have his muscles contracting as you swallow him down and let him fuck your throat, but right now you’re too impatient. Need him inside of you too badly.

There’s plenty of time for everything else.

Hand dipping beneath his briefs, you’re finally able to feel the weight of him. His velvety skin. Soonyoung hisses and tugs his bottom lip between his teeth. Watches you like a hawk, predator and prey, and it just spurns you on more. Has you circling and pumping his length, trying to figure out what he likes—which seems to be everything, judging by the way he hides his face in the crook of your neck and whines. “Baby,” he mewls. “God, you’re gonna feel so good around me, so tight and wet. Fuck, I’m never letting you out of this bed.”

“Yeah?” you tease, thumbing at his slit, collecting the pearls of pre-cum. “You wanna keep me forever?”

Another loud moan. “Please don’t say things like that,” he pleads, and you swear your heart stops, that your stomach drops through the mattress and onto the floor, before he follows it up with, “you’ll make me bust in my underwear like a virgin.”

You giggle, because that’s just how it is with Soonyoung: so easy to exist, to let go of your fear; so easy to laugh when everything starts feeling a bit too serious.

Easy to lob a truly terrible joke right back at him. “Come lose it, then.”

He barks a laugh. Leans over to fetch a condom from his nightstand. “Would you, the beautiful, incredible woman who I can’t believe is naked in my bed right now after I scammed her, like to do the honors?”

You would, actually, so you do.

Soonyoung kisses you as he slowly presses inside. As he fucks into you inch by inch. When he bottoms out, he gives you time to adjust; moves his hands to your waist and massages the skin just above your hip bones. “Okay?” he asks, and when you nod, tell him it’s okay to move, he presses another kiss to your forehead. “Good job, pretty girl; took me so well. I knew you’d feel like heaven.”

He fucks you slowly at first, measured and precise. Takes his time rolling his hips as his hands explore anything they can reach, like he can’t bear to not be touching you even though you’re connected in the most raw, sensual way two people can be. He waits he can feel you spasming around him, until your legs are locked behind his back, begging him to fuck you faster, harder, before he obliges. Before he puts all the power in his hips to good use. Before he rolls you onto your stomach and enters you from behind, both of you gasping at how much more intense it feels.

“Close,” you warn him, not at all surprised at how quickly your second release has snuck up on you.

With a final nip to the back of your neck, Soonyoung plants his knees against the mattress and grabs you by the hips, angling your body so he hits deeper, harder; so his balls slap against your clit every time he thrusts into you. You’re mindless with pleasure. Babbling nonsense as you beg him not to stop. Wouldn’t fuckin’ dream of it, he speaks through gritted teeth.

The coil of tension in your gut finally snaps. Again, you come with a shout, entire body pulling taut as Soonyoung continues to fuck you through it, his own undoing not far behind. Only a few more thrusts before he’s draping his body over yours and spilling into the condom, hands immediately reaching for yours to twine your fingers together.

It’s quiet in the immediate aftermath. Soonyoung rolls onto his side and presses his front against your back, arm secured around your middle. Kisses the top of your head and sighs. “I need to clean us up but I don’t think I can move.”

“Hm. At least take off the condom so your dick doesn’t get all pruney.”

Soonyoung startles, bolting upright. “Can that happen?”

“Dunno,” you respond, feeling sleep nipping at your heels, “but I’d rather you didn’t risk finding out. I happen to like your dick very much.”

He laughs. Rolls out of bed and playfully swats at your ass on his way to the bathroom. “Yeah, we’re not leaving this bed for a long time.”

In the morning, you wake up Soonyoung with your mouth and ride him until you’re both dizzy and breathless.

You fetch a book from your room and read while he dozes in and out of consciousness, content to just be next to him. You ignore the slew of texts from Minghao, who had heard from a friend of a friend of a friend that there had been a development in your and Soonyoung’s relationship the night before, but once your phone vibrates for the hundredth time that morning, you figure you might as well get it over with because you know Minghao—know he won’t relent until he gets what he’s looking for.

Minghao [11:03am]: ignore my actually important texts all you want, but at least look at this 🙄

What he’s sent you is a job listing.

You can hardly believe what you’re reading. Not only is it nearly your dream job, but it’s remote and triple your current salary—and, most importantly, you’re qualified.

You [11:12am]: Minghao what is this?? Minghao [11:12am]: a friend is a higher-up there. says we can use him as a reference but if your resume looks good it might as well be a done deal Minghao [11:13am]: i already sent yours to him btw You [11:14am]: Freak. Why do you have a copy of my resume?? Minghao [11:14am]: i don’t. i sent him your linkedin Minghao [11:14am]: your ugly ass headshot must not have scared him off bc he said he’ll be in touch soon

Now you’re breathless for an entirely different reason.

You’ll figure out a way to thank him later, ask if he’s making the switch with you because both of you deserve better. You won’t get your hopes up—not until it’s a done deal, and not until you talk to Soonyoung. Because whatever this is between you is heading down a path you want to follow; want to see through to the end, wherever that may be.

For now, though, you’re happy to exist alongside Soonyoung. Happy to listen to his quiet snores and let him cuddle into your side. Happy to be in this house in this little beach town that has already given you so much.

Perhaps fate is something you believe in, after all.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading! Sharing and reblogging my work is the best way to show you enjoyed it, but I also accept any and all feedback and screaming in my inbox. <3

#caratbaycollab #hoshi smut #hoshi x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen smut #svt smut #soonyoung x reader #soonyoung smut #seventeen imagines #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fluff #seventeen scenarios #svt x reader #svt imagines #svt fanfic #hoshi fanfic #hoshi imagines

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xan-izme · 1 month ago

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Dubble Life Pt. 15 (Batfam x reader x ATSV)

Summary: The calm before the storm.

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part 14

@huening-ly,@mariadvorak, @superherosdystopiafreak, @chelluv, @houseissofine, @esposadomd, @greyeyedmockingbird, @1-800-daisy, @c0c0-puffsxxx @arthurswife, @h0rr0r-10ver-69, @josiepapen, @natashanice165, @amber-content, @mahbeanz @azurewisteria, @seraph101, @skepvids, @lara20aral, @iwasveronica, @jackrabbitem, @nickey-diano, @idonthaveanameforthisacc, @sekidekiboombeki, @masters-blog, @lulpeepkins, @sgarrush-blush, @redsakura101, @danart501, @definitely-not-sammie, @khaleesihavilliard, @reallynotsoconfident, @uknowimdumb, @bat1212

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Your birthday was coming up. You usually don't think too much about it. But now a certain person is no longer in your life, your dreading it. So many little things your mother did for you started to hit you a little more now.

You were on top of a building watching the city from above while in your spider suite. Your snapped out of your train of thoughts when your time watch started to beep. You sighed as you grabbed the watch, attaching it to your wrist. It was a call from Jess. You reluctantly answerer. A hologram of the older woman shows up.

"Y/n! we detected an anomaly at your location."

You nod and pull your mask on. "Got it. Report back in 10."

Jess quickly spoke before you hung up. "Wait! . . . Don't go in alone. I could send Peter B in. Pennie is available for dispatch-"

"No." Your firm tone broke through. Jess frowns

"You can't always go through these alone Y/n."

"Never said I was alone." Before Jess could even speak you ended the call. Jason walks up next to you.

"So. Where we headed?"

You checked your watch to see where exactly the anomaly was. "23 kilometers east. looks like it's about four blocks away from crime ally."

As if on que an explosion is heard.

Miles has been feeling bad for snapping on you. So, he's hoping the birthday presents he prepared for you will mend over the gap that has been growing between you two.

While Miles was working on one of his presents, a portal opened up. He jumps out of his chair and grabbed a bat, ready to strike, but paused when he watched Gwen come through the portal. Miles's brows furrowed. Confused as to why she was here.

Miles never really talked much with Gwen, only interacting with her during missions with Y/n.

Gwen put her hands up "Whoa there! c-calm down. It's just me."

Miles slowly puts the bat down. "What are you doing here. Y/n said-"

"I know what she said. But this is important, please. Hear me out."

Miles was hesitant, but eventually the two settled down and began to talk.

Gwen explained how things are getting more difficult in the spider society. Spiders from other universes are disconnecting. anomalies are getting out of hand. And Miguel is sensing something more is going on. Everyone is needed on standby. So much is happening at the same time in so many worlds. Miguel needs to make sure he can connect all the dots to understand just what in the hell is happening.

"I found a lead. Your worlds Kingpin has been working with Alcamex for the past few months. That explosion at the bridge with Y/n's mother, the anomalies popping up here and in Gotham, he is connected. She won't listen to me. . ." Even with Gwen's mask over her face, Miles could tell that the distance between her and his cousin has pained her.

"But you, she'll listen to you. As long as it's from you, she'll do it."

Gwen hands him a hard drive full of the information needed convince Y/n to come to HQ and help figure out the chaos that has been going on for months.

Back to you and Jason. Two anomalies in the same place at the same time, this has never happened before. It was slightly overwhelming. Jason cleared out the last of the civilians as best as he could while trying to support you while you fought the two villains that were teaming on your ass.

"Are those things real?" Jason spoke from under his mast as he dodged a blow from doc-cot's tentacle's. This Doc-oct seem to have real tentacles coming from his back

"Looks like it-" Your hit from behind from a Sandman variant.

Jason tries to get to you but is stopped by Doc-oct.

You were struggling. You don't have a sandman in your universe, you're not familiar with how to stop him. You shoot a wed to pull yourself out, but it doesn't work, he was practically drowning you with sand.

Jason tries to not be too violent with villains. He really tries. But as soon as he sees some sand monster trying to suffocate you, welp kindness is definitely out of the window. He shoots at Doc-oct goggles making him lose sight and balance for a few seconds. Enough time for him to pull out his swords and slice off its tentacles. Once Doc-oct was on the ground Jason wasted no time to knock the man out.

Before he even reaches out, in a blink of an eye, someone comes swinging in attacking Sandman from behind

"What the. . ." Jason gets a good look at the surprise guest, readying his gun. To his shock and confusion, it's someone with a spider suit.

You cough and gasp for air, Jason now by your side helping you up.

"Who the hell is that." Jason spoke as he watched the new spider swinging circles around Sandman. You were confused and look to the direction Jason was looking. And there, you see a spider hero a very familiar one. The air around him moving like he was cut out from a comic book. Finally, those damn spikes on his head.

"Hobbie?" You mumbled in utter shock.

You and Jason were on top of a roof watching Hobbie throw the anomalies through a portal and jumping in right after.

"So. . . Is he a close friend of yours?" Jason just watched you dramatically watch the other Spider Hero leave through the portal.

". . . Yeah." You never realized how much you missed your friends from the society till now. You frown, the eyes of your mask squinting just slightly, showing how sour your mood is now.

"Well, aren't you just a ball of sunshine today." You and Jason quickly turn your heads to the direction the voice came from.

There Hobbie stood, his arms crossed as his head tilted. "Well, you going to just stand there all buggy eyed? or you going to come on over and give me my hug love!"

Suddenly your filled with joy, your frown from before replaced with a smile. Before Jason could react, you ran past him and towards Hobbie.

Jason watched you and your friend hugging each other.

The hug lasted longer than Jason was comfortable with. Hobbie pulled away, ruffling your head before cupping your face.

"You have been missed."

You paused for a moment, your smile faltering. You have missed them too. You think you miss everyone. Not for sure. It's hard to tell now. You were sure you hated the whole society just a few minutes ago. But seeing Hobbie again, just brought back memories of how much joy your friends from the spider society brought you in hard times. How they understood the heavy responsibility of protecting your world and family.

"I. . . I missed you-"

Suddenly Jason separated the two of you by stepping in the middle "Okay! Hug time is over."

You gasped when Jason points the barrel of his gun at Hobbie

"What the hell- Red Hood stop!" You were baffled by Jasons actions

Hobbie cocked his head to the side, unamused.

"Look buddy. Thanks for the help and all. But I think it's best you hop back into that portal of yours." Jason's voice came out cold and stern, causing you to frown at his behavior.

Hobbie stayed silent for a moment, glancing over to you.

"Heard your birthday was coming up. Got you a little something"

He tossed you a box. But Jason caught it before you could grab it.

Hobbie chuckled at the threatening aura coming off of the man that stood between you and him. Hobbie stepped back

"Catch you later love!" Hobbie shot a web into the open portal from behind him and gave you two a goodbye salute before he was pulled into the portal before it closed.

You watched Hobbie leave, feeling a little bit of sorrow take over you. But Jason snapped you out of it by "gently" smacking your head.

The drive back to the manor was awkwardly silent. Jason was now for some reason in a bad mood. You were staring at the box in your lap. You felt the excitement of opening the present Hobbie had gotten you. Was it another ticket to one of his concerts like before? or was it going to be something wilder like that baby bore he tried to gift you for Christmas before Miguel took it away due to it being from a different world.

"So, you going to fill me in on Mr. London back there?" Jason's voice finally broke the silence, his eyes focused on the road,

". . . Hobbie. He's spider man in his world. One of my old partners for anomaly missions." Your fingers traced the edge of the wrapped box.

"He's a good friend." You spoke with fondness. Jason scoffed at your words "Sure."

Your brow quirks up "What?"

"You two were hugging longer than needed, hell you don't even hug demon spawn like that. And he's your favorite. Sure, you two were just friends?"

Your face scrunched up "What? Ew no he's like, hella older than me. Like your age."

"Wha- you're a bitch." Jason swore if he wasn't driving, he would put your spider ass in a headlock. But he knows Bruce would kill him if he got in a car accident with you in the car. You burst out laughing.

"And plus, I don't have favorites, I love everyone in the manor equally . . . . Except for you of course."

Jason immediately got irked by your words and began to shout about driving the car in a ditch and burying your body where no one can find it. But you laughed. Your laughter filled the car.

And for a moment, Jason's expression softens. You two rarely get these moments together. You two might be partners when it comes to fighting crime, but your technically his sister. He doesn't get the sister side of you that much, that side mainly going to Damian, Dick or Tim.

"Ugh, I'm hungry now."

"Of course you are."

You let out an exaggerating gasp "Hoe, you calling me fat?"

With a smirk Jason spoke in the calmest way he could.

"Yup."

Not even a second later you punched the older man in the arm.

"So. . . how in the world were you two able to get into multiple accidents, with just one car, at the same time." Bruce was staring you and Jason down.

One moment you and Jason were in the car horsing around, next the two of you are getting scolded by Bruce for getting into and accident while causing three other cars to crash.

". . . It was Y/n fault!" Jason was quick to place the blame on you. You immediately sat up straight

"Oh, hell no!"

The two of you started to argue. Bruce could only breath in deeply, letting out a long sigh. Why was it so hard to raise kids? Just why?

Bruce decided to just send you to your room for the night. But Jason was to stay.

The room went silent for a moment now that it was only Bruce and Jason.

"How many times have I told you, and your brothers. When it comes to her, you are to be as careful as you can be." Bruce spoke sternly.

"Come on Bruce, she's tougher than you think. She ain't a desert rose."

"She's not like us Jason. You could have left that crash with a few cuts and a bruise, but she could have ended up in the hospital."

Oh, if only Bruce knew.

". . . Fine."

Jason wonders why Bruce hasn't told you about the truth of this family. You have been here for months. Was it because of trust? Jason doesn't know. But he does know that you are not that different from them. He wonders how Bruce will react when he finds out you've been a vigilante longer than Damian.

Today was the day. Your birthday, sad to say it did not start off well.

You woke up late. Like really late. Damian tried to wake you up multiple times, but you wouldn't budge. Jason had to elbow your stomach to wake you up. Not the best way to wake up.

You rushed yourself to get ready, running down the stairs, almost knocking Tim out.

"Whoa! Y/n slow down!"

"Sorry Timmy!" You shout your apology as you rushed down the stairs.

You quickly grabbed the ready cup of coffee Alfred set for you and downed your breakfast like there was no tomorrow. Not seeing Dick and Bruce who just stared at you wide eyed, absolutely baffled.

You ran out the moment you finished.

". . . did she even chew?" Dick questioned as you glanced to Bruce who just sighed.

"Nope."

Of course, school didn't go by smoothly. The first few hours felt like hell. You had three big tests in three classes in a row. Your fourth period made you socialize with a bunch of kids who clearly already were a friend group. Feeling a little left out.

But that didn't matter. It was lunch time. And you were on the way to eat lunch with Damian. As you were putting your books away in your locker, you felt your watch buzzing. Your brows furrowed, quickly heading to a secluded area and answered the call, a hologram of Miguel pops up.

Miguel seems to freeze. He wasn't expecting you to actually answer. He stuttered out your name

"You- How are you doing?"

You frown as the older man went on a rant about wanting to know how you were doing.

"This is an emergency line Miguel. Get to the emergency part please."

"Right, right. Sorry." Miguel cleared his throat.

"Emergency meeting, all spider hero's needed."

"Now?"

"Now would be ideal."

You sighed. This was not how you wanted to spend your lunch time.

"Be there in five."

Before Miguel could respond, you hung up. You groan while dragging your hand down your face. You don't really want to face Damian right now. So, you texted your brother about needing to leave for an emergency. Then texted Jason about the situation, so he can cover for you in any way he can.

Bruce wanted your first birthday with him and the others to be perfect, he wanted to throw a gala, but Alfred and Damian immediately shook their heads at that. You would not feel comfortable with that, surrounded by a bunch of rich people you didn't know was not a way you would have enjoyed your birthday.

So, he asked Rio, your aunt for assistance. So that is how he ended up in a small caffe with Rio, the two have been planning for today for a week now.

"I'm planning to use white roses for the floral decoration- she likes roses, right?" Bruce glanced up to Rio to confirm his choice.

"Oh no, lily's. orange ones."

Bruce nods and listed those down.

"So, what did you get her?" Rio set down her cup of coffee.

Bruce paused for a moment and smiled, pulling out a small box from his pocket.

"I know she doesn't like anything to extravagant. But I didn't want to be too simple." Bruce slid over the box to Rio.

Curious, Rio opens the box, expect some sort of Jewlery. But no.

". . . Keys?" Rio's brow quirked up in confusion.

"Are-are you getting her a car?" Rio spoke with a shocked expression. Bruce felt a little doubtful now.

"Is it too much? I mean- she's at the age where she could learn. All my boys know how to drive so they could teach her when I can't."

"Bruce." Rio cut him off from his nervous ranting.

"She's going to love this." Her words of reassurance calmed the man down.

"Nothing has to be perfect, just everyone being there will be enough for her."

Bruce knows that. He just wanted to give you so much. He has the money and power to do so. But he also knows that spoiling you with money and expensive Jewlery or clothes won't fill up the space between the two of you.

But he wants to keep trying. Because you're his daughter, and he loves you.

---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---

A/N: over 2,000 followers. . . WTF!?

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joelmillers-wife · 1 month ago

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take my hand (joel miller x f!reader) chapter nine

18+, MDNI series masterlist: here | please check this for complete series warnings and tags | 🎵series playlist pairing: joel miller x f!reader chapter summary: fully recovered from your injury, you and joel go on a typical routine patrol that takes a sharp turn wc: 11.5k. buckle up rating: this story is 18+ (minors, do not interact), there will be eventual smut in later chapters chapter warnings and tags: cursing and tlou lore accurate outbreak content below, angst, graphic violence, gore, blood, TW: topics surrounding SA (nothing happens, it’s mainly just alluded to the subject but please be careful while reading and feel free to message me beforehand for specific details), hurt/comfort, trauma, small bits of fluff, reader has no description besides she has hair, jackson!joel, age difference: reader is in her 30s and joel is in his 50s, sloooow burn a/n: double update this weekend because i will be gone next weekend and won't be able to post until the last week of may. enjoy this long one (also as an apology for the last chapter being so short). be kind to yourselves. ao3 | follow @writtenbynic and turn on notifications for chapters! dividers made by: @saradika-graphics , check them out!

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IX. X&Y

I dive in at the deep end You become my best friend I want to love you but I don't know if I can I know something is broken And I'm trying to fix it Trying to repair it Any way I can

As you had assumed, your shoulder had healed well, courtesy of Joel’s fine stitching, and you soon were more than capable of returning to your usual routine. With the weeks that had gone by, the spring steadily unfolding into the welcoming heat of summer allowed you to become more appreciative of this season, considering the colder temperatures this city was capable of having.

Your continuing friendship and abundant amount of time spent with Joel had settled any previous anxieties you had—the two of you falling into a pattern of familiarity that made his presence comforting and one that you purposefully sought out.

One thing that had changed was Ellie, specifically in regards to Joel.

You hadn’t pushed, or even asked about it in the first place, but all you know is that things had been more… tense between them. A part of you chalked it up to her being so close to becoming an adult, and wanting more freedom. She was beginning patrol training soon, and the idea made Joel nervous with her being out there outside of his watch. Joel had asked Tommy to get her supervised shifts set up with the two brothers, you, or Jesse—the young man you had gone on patrol with the day your shoulder was injured, who had proven himself to be a good fit as an up-and-coming leader in Jackson.

The extent of what you had learned was that a certain patrol shift ended up with Joel and Ellie fighting off a decent sized group of infected when checking out a music store. Since that day, Ellie had been standoffish to Joel, and you could see the impact it left on him. He seemed more on edge and uncertain around her—a stark contrast to the easy understanding that usually flows between the two of them. It was a simmering tension that didn’t raise an eyebrow to all of Jackson, but you saw it.

The advice you had tried to give him was that she was a teenager who was growing and wanting her independence, but his reactions always gave off the impression something else had been going on—subconscious nods that told you your perspective on it wasn’t the full story. You had never, and would never, push the topic though. The most you’d been doing was hoping that Joel knew he could confide in you if needed.

To you, Ellie was changing—not just physically, but also with the people she surrounded herself with. You stopped hearing much about Cat, her close friend you have briefly spoken to occasionally, and seen Ellie around a newer friend of hers that she has been spending an increasing amount of time with. Dina. She was a sweet girl. Very vivacious and teasing—her energy making it difficult for her to not capture everyone’s heart. You understood why Ellie had gotten close to her, and the idea warmed your heart. Ellie seemed more comfortable around Dina—the girl bringing Ellie out of her shell just a bit. It was a reassuring feeling to know that, whatever was going on in Ellie’s life, she seemed to have others she was close to that she could rely on.

“You all set?”

You’re brought out of your thoughts when hearing a voice as you were locking your front door behind you, turning to see Joel standing at the end of your walkway as you lock your front door—the warm air hitting your skin telling you that patrol would be good today.

“Yup. All good,” you respond with a smile.

Joel gives you a warm look in response as you make your way over to him, the two of you falling into pace with each other seamlessly as you make your way through town and over to the stables. Reaching the area, you find that Jesse is posted out front, and feel pleased as he greets you with a kind smile the moment he sees you.

“Hey Jesse, how’s your mom been?” You ask.

You hadn’t spent so much time with the man at first, but ever since your injury, you had spent enough moments with him after that that you felt comfortable being friendly with him. He was polite enough to check on you after that day—occasionally stopping when he saw you around town to catch up and see how things were. Being one of the newer recruits, he was younger, probably early to mid twenties, but just as prepared as any of the others who went past the gates for patrol.

“She’s been alright. She told me Dina brought over some lemon cakes that were a recipe of yours she and Ellie made—it was amazing. Think she’d smack me if I didn’t pass along the compliment to you.”

A laugh bubbles out of your chest at his words, but your attention is cut off when you hear someone clear your throat behind you.

You look back to see Joel standing closer over your shoulder, glaring down at Jesse. You didn’t notice how, or when Joel had gotten so close to you, but his frame hovers over you and nearly engulfs you in his presence.

“Think we should head out now,” Joel says, a hint of bitterness in his tone.

Turning back to say goodbye to Jesse before heading out, you feel bad when you see the young man look down to the ground sheepishly. You assume that Jesse being with you when you were shot had made Joel act odd around him, at least when the topic revolved you. Joel was always fine with Jesse being around Ellie, even agreeing that Jesse has proved himself of his capabilities, but perhaps Joel didn’t like him when it came to your own safety.

Watching Jesse walk away, you and Joel mount your horses—a playful comment leaves your lips as you turn to him, prepared to make your way over to the gates. “Ready, partner?”

Your words seem to make Joel’s body relax from his previous tense state around Jesse, a half-smirk gracing his lips before shaking his head lightheartedly—his chest moving a bit as you see him try to suppress a laugh. “Sure am, darlin’,” he says, before tugging the reins of Callus to alert him to begin moving with you following them close behind.

The trek to your destination went quick and without any difficulty. Finished checking your designated area, Joel suggested the two of you venture a bit further into a neighboring city.

“Tommy told me ‘bout it. He said we could find some extra supplies in the area. Apparently he and Eugene had found it and said the area seemed mostly clear of infected. It’s a bit of a trip, but, I have the time if you feel up for it?”

You nod in agreement as the two of you ride your horses over to the city. As he said, it did take some time, but the two of you dismounted and tied up your horses before walking through the city, checking in and out of different stores for some items.

One store that you pass happens to be a coffee shop. The moment he notices the sign in the shop window with a faded coffee cup design, Joel lets out a half-sigh, half-groan—a vocal cue of nostalgia that makes you smirk.

“You know, you do have coffee at home. Like, so much.”

Joel makes a soft tsk sound. “Not the same, darlin’. S’good enough to make me pretend like it’s the real thing, but not the same.”

His words that end in a sigh have you breaking into a small laugh. “Ah, yes. Possibly the only thing worse than living with infected is not having Starbucks, huh?”

Joel catches the sarcasm in your town, side-eyeing you as you two continue to make your way in and out of the various shops along the street.

“Okay, little miss trouble, you tellin’ me you ain’t got nothin’ you’d kill to have again?”

The nickname he’s used for you more often causes your face to flush, making you look down at your feet to try and shove the feeling away as you think about his answer. You let out an exaggerated hum, tilting your head to the sky and squinting as you try to figure out your answer.

“Something for pleasure? Chocolate covered strawberries. Something practical? A silk pillowcase.

You turn to face Joel and see him give you an amused look. “Chocolate covered strawberries, huh?”

“Mhm. Chocolate covered strawberries were my favorite dessert.”

“Think you could make it?” Joel asks.

You ponder on the idea. “I think chocolate would be technically possible. Probably just wouldn’t taste as sweet as all those artificial things they threw in food. I know I seem to make good carrot cake and lemon cakes, but I’m not sure I even know what I would need to make chocolate.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Joel open his mouth to speak before he seems to quickly shake away the thought. Instead, he twists his face in confusion. “And a pillowcase? You have those?”

His tone makes you slightly laugh. “A silk one, Joel.” Your clarification only makes him roll his eyes playfully, none the wiser of the difference. “It’s gentler on your hair. Guess I just miss tiny things for self-care. I always slept with a silk pillowcase before. Made my hair softer or whatever.”

For some reason, the memory stings more than you had thought as you miss the simple luxuries of the world before. You swallow down the thought and sigh. “Now… that is something I have no idea how to get.” With a teasing, yet wishful sigh, you say, “I’ll live, though.”

Joel breathes out what sounds like a laugh. “Still, I’m sure it’d be nice to have.”

You look over at him to see him giving you a thoughtful look, the intensity of his gaze causing you to break eye contact and look forward.

The two of you continue roaming through the stores, only finding a few bits of supplies that could be taken back to Jackson.

“So,” Joel says, breaking the comfortable silence. “Jesse’s cute.”

You look over to him, a surprised look on your face at the sudden topic, when you see him with a firm look on his face.

“Didn’t know you swung that way, Miller.”

He laughs loudly, not expecting your response before clarifying. “I meant, like, for you or… somethin’.”

You scrunch up your face at that. “He’s kinda young isn’t he?”

“He’s around 23, I think… Not that far off from you.”

“I’m in my early thirties Joel,” you say while laughing awkwardly. “Not exactly the age range I’m looking for.”

“Closer to his age than mine. ‘Bout ten years is not much of a difference compared to the twenty-somethin’ year difference to mine.”

His persistence on the topic has you looking at him quizzically, only to find him looking straight ahead, avoiding eye contact with you as you see a muscle tick in his jaw.

Trying to ease the odd tension that’s built, you laugh and ask, “You implying my only options are between Jesse and you?”

Joel tenses up at the question briefly, a sight that doesn’t go unnoticed by you. The rigidness goes away as quickly as it came as he shrugs with no other response, his lips settling into a tight line and a frown appearing on his face.

The awkwardness that’s been created from your words has you biting the inside of your cheek while trying to come up with a response to redirect the topic. “I mean, I guess? He’s cute and all but… no. He’s not someone I see like that.”

Joel gives a thoughtful nod as you two cross onto the other side of the street. “Thought it might be an option for you, is all. Assuming you aren’t with anyone–”

You give him a deadpan look at the suggestion before he can finish. “Trust me, you’d be the first to know if that was the case. Plus, I don’t know… I’ve had people ‘flirt’ with me without knowing because I just didn’t even think to see them that way. Maria and Ellie always have to call it out when it happens because I’m apparently ‘too blind’.”

The memory makes you laugh before another thought comes to your mind. “How about you? Anyone around?”

The mere thought has Joel scoffing as he shakes his head. “Think I’ve solidified myself as someone who is unapproachable.”

You laugh at that. “Hey, you didn’t scare me off that easily,” you say pointedly. The two of you continue walking side by side as you push a bit further. “What about Esther?”

Joel suddenly whips his head to look at you as if you spoke another language. “Esther? What about her?”

“Oh come on Joel,” you say with a playful roll of your eyes. “She’s always staring at you, trying so desperately to get you to talk to her. She seems cute—nice enough.”

You’ve seen her around before and spoken to her. She was… fine. Pretty, though. An older woman, closer to Joel’s age, whose voice was a bit too high-pitched with a smile that was a bit too fake. You first picked up on her advances to Joel at the bars when she’d come sit beside him at the counter, leaning her body a bit too close to his to get him to look at her. He never did.

Your mention of Esther comes with a tinge of distaste in your tone, one that Joel doesn’t seem to miss as one corner of his lips quirk up just a bit before he shakes his head. “No chance in hell darlin’. She reminds me too much of the PTA moms I’d have to deal with at Sarah’s schools. Gonna be a big pass from me on that front.”

As you take in the information while nodding, an odd sense of relief falls off your shoulders. Something in you has you not wanting to drop the topic just yet. “So… there’s no one you got your eye on?”

You ask the question while looking at him, still walking side by side down the sidewalk, and see him turn his head to meet your gaze. His mouth parts open slightly as he looks down at your lips, his expression indicating he has a response.

“Hey there!”

At the sound, a chill runs down your spine as the two of you quickly spin your bodies around to see six men across the street a couple stores down, slowly walking closer to you. The one in the front and center appears to be older, with a handgun stationed at his hip, and a wide smile spread on his face. Two of the men stand on one side of him while the other three stay on his other side. Some are younger than the others, but each is seen holding shotguns and assault rifles in their hands positioned in front of them.

Joel angles his body slightly in front of you, shielding their view of you as much as possible as he hisses, “Stay behind me.”

Complying, your hand slowly goes to rest on your own gun stationed at your hip as you take one step back to stand half-behind Joel. You watch him as he grips his assault rifle slung around his neck a bit tighter.

The group settles about twenty feet away from you before the man in the middle speaks up with the same disturbing smile, making you realize it was him who spoke up in the first place.

“You guys from around here?”

Resting your left hand on Joel’s back for comfort, you feel his body tense up further and see a slight tick in his jaw as he clenches it repeatedly, gritting out in a monotone voice, “Just passin’ through.”

The man waits for a few seconds to see if Joel will continue speaking before saying, “We don’t usually get many people come by here, so… it’s nice to see some friendly faces after looking at so many dead ones.” The words slip past his lips in an unsettling saccharine tone. “You two have a community of your own?”

Joel doesn’t respond verbally, and instead gives a single shake of his head, lying to the group so as to not let them know anything about Jackson.

His smile falters for a moment before widening again. “You know, we got a settlement about a couple hours to the west… you two are more than welcome to come with!” His eyes trail away from Joel to settle on you before he adds, “We got plenty of women so your missus won’t feel too scared.”

The moment he looks at you to speak to you directly, you feel Joel shift in his feet for a moment before a low growl leaves his throat that’s only loud enough for you to hear. Voice thick and gruff, he responds, “We’re alright. Again, just makin’ our way through.” It’s clean. Final. Leaving no room for argument, but it doesn’t seem to satisfy them.

A younger one from the group speaks up, eyes on you over Joel’s shoulder. “Now, my mama raised me right, so I can’t in good conscience let a beautiful young lady go on her own when I could help her.” His eyes trail over Joel’s form before smirking. “Can’t imagine an old man like you is able to take… proper care of a woman like that in a world like this.”

The words insinuate something darker that has bile rising in your throat. Your palm on Joel’s back has you able to feel his reaction—his body tensing before practically vibrating in anger. Looking up to eye his profile, you see his jaw clenching and moving as he grinds his teeth together. From your view, Joel’s eyes can be seen shifting between the group frantically as his mind races with what the best move is.

Somehow, the group seems to realize his intentions before you do as you see them all grip their weapons tighter. At the same moment, Joel quietly spits out a sharp go to you. You waste no time at all as you immediately move to duck behind the abandoned car for cover that is parked to your right while you hear shouting before the men begin to shoot in your direction. You feel Joel’s hand on your back as he throws you both to the ground—the two of you pressing yourselves low against the side of the car.

The sounds of gunshots stop for a moment as you hear them walking closer to your position. You look at Joel with a panicked expression to see a focused look on him, but not before you see a flash of fear in his eyes when he looks at you.

Frantically, he looks around before he settles on one of the stores a few feet to the right of the car. You follow his gaze to notice that, in their attempt to shoot you two, the men had shot up the coffee shop you had gone into earlier—the glass windows shattered as shards of glass line the sidewalk below. Joel looks back at you for confirmation and you give him a single nod, knowing his plan without any words spoken between the two of you. He jerks his head in the direction of the café, instructing you to make a run for the shop as he peeks over to the car to cover you from the men.

The place was further down from where the men were approaching from, allowing more distance to be created between them. Joel and you use the mailboxes and old bus stop benches for cover as you each take turns shooting at the men as you move. Making your way into the opening created from the broken windows, Joel makes sure to stay close behind you as you run in, the protection allowing you to duck behind the counter and bakery case before he jumps over to sit behind as well.

The continuous shooting as you two ran now stops. A voice you recognize as the first man who had spoken, the one who you assume is their leader, calls out to you both. “Oh come on, now. We don’t want to hurt you guys! Just want to make sure you both find your way out safely.” His voice drips with malice at the end, causing another bone chilling fear to course through you.

Fear begins to wrap a hand around your throat and causes you to lose focus. You look at the wall in front of you while breathing erratically, trying to swallow down the panic and think of something. Joel nudges your shoulder to grab your attention, the contact briefly snapping you out of your thoughts. He gestures to your weapons that you both hold and nods in the direction to the group outside. You give your own nod of understanding, and he takes a deep breath while looking at you before you both take turns to poke your bodies out and shoot off a few shots to the group.

In the time you spend out of cover, you notice they are spread out around the front of the shop, surrounding you while using their own forms of cover.

The ordeal goes on for what feels like an eternity–the two of you only getting one man down in the process. Joel drops down next to you for cover again before cursing quietly. He looks around the shop and leans his body to look past you. Getting your attention, Joel leans in close to you to quietly rush out a command. “M’gonna go sneak around the side to try and catch ‘em off guard. You keep shootin’ them from the front to distract ‘em, alright?”

No time to debate, you simply nod in agreement and Joel wastes no time to crouch down and crawl his way behind the counter and back his way around. You lift your body to peek over the tops of the counter and fire off a few more shots at them before dropping back down. In that time, Joel’s plan succeeds by surprising them with the angle and getting down one of them in the process. More shouting is heard from the men, alerting you that Joel killed the one he snuck up on.

Two down, you tell yourself. You can do this.

The back-and-forth continues. You fire off a couple shots at them, take cover when they shoot at you. Inevitably, you knew someone would have to make a move that caught more off guard.

Thankfully, you’re able to take one more down and soon after, Joel takes his own down from behind one of the cars. You do a mental scan of the group, remembering who was a part of it and which ones would be left. Thinking over it, you realize that only two would remain—the younger one who couldn’t have been much older than a teenager, and the leader of the group who you haven’t heard from or seen him show himself as much as the others.

Angling your head a bit, you look to find Joel coming up on the younger one. The one who had made a comment about you.

Joel shoots him in the kneecap before swiftly kicking the gun out of the kid’s hand. A sharp cry of pain is heard from the boy as he begs for mercy. Looking through the foggy bakery case, you try to squint to see a better view of what was happening. What you find is the sight of Joel kicking the boy’s head back with the butt of his gun, repeatedly smashing it into his skull. The twisted sounds of bones breaking fill your senses, mixed in with garbled cries of pain and pleading words spoken from the boy.

You peek over the counter once again to fire out a shot in hopes that the sound makes the leader’s presence known, but you’re met with the soft click of the gun signaling you are out of bullets.

Dropping back down, you curse and force yourself to not panic but fail as you reach into your jacket pocket with shaky hands trying to find your spare ammo. In the process, you don’t hear the crunching sound of glass close to you until you feel a tight grip on your arm as you’re forced to a standing position. A sharp yelp leaves you from the movement and your eyes widen when they settle on the figure that grabbed you.

“Looks like you’re caught now, princess,” he sneers.

The leader of the group gives you a sick smirk and snarls as he yanks you out from behind the counter after taking your gun and throwing it off to the side. You desperately try to fight against him, wriggling your body to free yourself from his grasp and run away, but he just presses your back deeper into the front of his body. Locking his left arm in front of your chest with a bone-breaking grip, he drags you out onto the street a few feet away from Joel.

He’s still straddling the boy as he beats him far past death, seemingly distracted as he gives no indication he heard or noticed what happened. The realization that his right ear had been facing the coffee shop hits you, understanding why he wouldn’t hear above the sounds of his fist driving into the boy’s face.

The leader calls out to Joel with a wave of his knife before pressing it against your throat and applying enough pressure for you to feel the sharp edge dig into your skin, alerting you if you move too suddenly, it would slice you. In a desperate attempt to keep the knife away from you, you keep your left hand gripped on his arm across your chest and your right hand holding his wrist that holds the knife to your throat—hoping you could use the force to escape if his grip loosened in the slightest.

At the call, you see Joel straighten up. His head whips around as he looks wild and confused, before his eyes settle on yours and you watch his entire body freeze in an instant.

You don’t take your eyes off him as you try not to let panic consume you, trying to use Joel’s presence as a source of comfort, but you aren’t stupid. You are aware that there is little that can be done from Joel right now without triggering this man to hurt you in some way. What causes your composure to falter, is you can tell that Joel realizes it too.

Joel raises his hands slowly in front of him, his rifle still slung around his neck but the handle of it loosely held in his hand as he holds it out and away from his body.

“Let her go.”

The tone in Joel’s voice is one you haven’t heard before, one that makes you shudder. It’s a mix of pure blind rage, combined with complete fear, all while his eyes never stray from yours. Not once.

The man laughs disturbingly. “You think this is a fucking discussion? We just wanted to talk, and you killed my fucking men.”

You feel the grip from his arm wrapped around your chest tighten, simultaneously applying more pressure with the knife held in his other hand. You feel nauseous—bile rising in your throat for what seemed like the hundredth time today as you feel his body behind you press further into yours.

Joel seems to notice the action as he looks down quickly to the lower half of your body before flicking his eyes up to the man, a sickening snarl on his face. You see his body twitching from anger despite the distance between the two of you, noticing the way his hand’s grip on his gun tightens.

The man brings his face against the side of yours, his nose pressed against your temple as you feel his breath fanning your neck. Side-eyeing Joel, he says, “Can’t say I blame you, though. I mean if I found something this pretty in a world so ugly, well… I wouldn’t want to let it go either.”

He looks between you and Joel, a smirk in his voice as he snickers. “It’s a good thing I’m willing to share.”

You try to slow your breathing back to a steady pace, desperately trying to come up with a way out of this situation. You know that it would be hard for Joel to make a sudden move without something happening to you in the process, and you can tell from his body language and from how well you know him that he realizes it too. But you can also see, feel, the anger in him and his growing impatience.

Your eyes flick around the scene before you to figure something out. Out of the corner of your eye, you focus on the way the man holds the knife to your throat. His right arm is held up and out, and the knife is long enough to cover your whole throat. His grip on the handle makes it so his hand is not parallel to your body, but rather it is held just above your shoulder. Noticing the detail, you think of a plan.

God, you hope this will work.

As if he could hear your thoughts, Joel breaks eye contact with the man and settles his gaze back onto yours, his eyes softening in the slightest when they meet your own. You flick your eyes down to your grip on the man before very slowly taking your index finger you have on the man’s right wrist, and make two light taps on the back of his hand—the action so delicate that the man doesn’t notice. But Joel does.

The movement catches Joel’s eye instantly as he’s hyper aware of every single part of your body at the moment, making him look at the hand holding the knife. The furrow between his brows twitches in understanding, a movement only you would catch, before he locks eyes with you again.

Silent words pass between you in mere seconds, and you know Joel understands what you need him to do. His jaw clenches briefly, a sign that tells you he isn’t happy with the plan, and he quickly looks back to the man’s hand before his eyes flick between both of yours, a sudden nervous look in them.

The two of you understand the risk, but both know there isn’t another option.

Gritting his teeth, Joel moves with a swiftness as he tightens his grip on his rifle and positions the weapon to aim. The movement is so sudden that the man has no chance to process what is happening before Joel shoots once at the back of the man’s hand that holds the knife.

You only feel a small sharp sting followed by relief as the bullet grazes the top of your shoulder instead of completely penetrating your skin as it goes through the man’s hand.

He yells in distress as he pulls his right hand off your throat and drops the knife in shock. The moment makes his grip on your chest loosen, allowing you to rip his left arm off you and elbow him in the stomach before throwing yourself forward. In the same moment, Joel reaches for you and catches you by your forearms to try and break your fall as you land on the ground from exhaustion.

Seemingly satisfied with your immediate safety, Joel begins walking over to the man that sits on the ground screaming in pain and repeatedly cursing, “You fucking bitch!”

His face shifts into one of fear when his eyes lift up to the sight of Joel marching towards him, whatever expression on Joel’s face makes him scramble to try and get up to run. Before he gets the chance, Joel reaches his cowering body and uses the toe of his boot to kick the man in the chin, sending him laying back down on the ground with another curse and blood rushing from his nose and mouth.

You stay on the ground, hands digging into the pavement behind you as you watch Joel tower over the man before climbing on top of him. Joel reaches forward to wrap his left hand around the collar of the man’s shirt and raises his right hand, balled into a fist, and brings it down onto the side of his face repeatedly.

Your senses are consumed by the violence before you. All you can focus your eyes on is the violence before you. All you hear is the disturbings sounds of the man wailing in pain, bones crunching, and Joel. His snarls and grunts fill your ears as he proceeds to slam his fist into the man’s face for what feels like forever.

Eventually, you stop hearing the sounds of pain coming from the man who had almost killed you. You realize he’s dead, but Joel doesn’t stop.

Eyes unable to be taken off the right side of Joel’s body over his body, you watch as Joel begins to alternate between fists as he continues beating him—only using his dead body as a vessel to let out pure anger and adrenaline at this point. The sounds of impact become more wet as blood completely covers the dead man’s face, Joel pounding into him relentlessly with the occasional sounds of bones crunching still occurring. You didn’t even know there were so many bones in the face to break.

Time passes, you aren’t sure how long, before Joel’s movements slow down to a stop. You think he only stops because his body is exhausted as you hear his harsh breathing and watch the rapid rise and fall of his chest. His fists twitch as if holding himself back from continuing, and you look to see the knuckles on both of his hands are covered in deep bruises along with blood. So much blood, covering his hands, arms, and splatters of it on his face.

This is what Maria had meant that first day you were here. What Joel was capable of.

As if he entered his body again, Joel seems to freeze. Perhaps he was lost in the violence and forgot you were there. Maybe, with the right side of his body facing you, he didn’t hear your labored breathing. You watch him slowly stand up off the now dead body, hovering over it as he looks down with disinterest. He turns and begins to walk over to you silently, his head angled downwards as he extends a bloody hand to help you up.

You take it, your fingers wrapping around his usually warm and calloused palm that now is wet and sticky with blood. Allowing him to pull you up, you try to duck your head to look at him, but he has his eyes trained on the ground since he stopped punching.

“Are you okay?”

The words come out broken through his hoarse voice, the question being the first thing he’s said in however long he was killing that man. His eyes don’t raise past your waist, still not making eye contact with you directly as his face is etched in a deep frown.

You just want him to look at you.

You nod your head for a second before speaking up, your own voice sounding so small—the effort of speaking being almost painful. “Yes.”

Joel doesn’t seem satisfied with your answer as he opens and closes his mouth for a second, his frown deepening even more before he harshly shuts his eyes for a moment.

“Did they–” The words sound as if they are being forced out of his throat, his voice catching and a choked sound coming out as he spoke. “Did he… did he touch you?”

“No,” you respond softly.

Joel nods slowly before looking around at the aftermath of the fight.

Why won’t he look at you?

After a few moments, Joel clears his throat and his voice breaks slightly as he says, “Sound could’ve attracted clickers. We better head back to Jackson. S’gonna get dark soon.” The words are factual, said with no real rush in them, as if he’s forcing himself to move on. He gestures towards the horses down the road behind you, walking past you for a few steps. You stand there, staring at the barely recognizable dead body ahead of you before you turn around and call out.

“Joel?”

Your voice cracks at the name and you watch as his movements halt, turning his body half towards you with his eyes still firmly fixed on the ground. All he gives you is a hum of acknowledgement before you take one hesitant step towards him, seeing him tense up and take an unconscious step back. The action makes a crack split in your chest.

“Joel,” you repeat, voice barely above a whisper. “Can you please look at me?”

Hearing the tremble in your voice, Joel slowly, yet carefully, lifts his eyes to yours. Seeing his brown eyes finally making contact with yours makes you take a shaky breath in. The same eyes that always look at you with so much warmth in them that it envelopes you in him. You feel so small at the moment, not knowing how to tell him what you want.

He studies you for a moment, his own breathing stuttering when he makes eye contact with you. His frown deepens at first until he sees something in your eyes that makes his hardened face soften into relief, as if he read your mind and could hear the thoughts you desperately wanted to convey.

You aren’t scared of him, as he feared. As he has feared, for almost two years. Fear that if you saw every side of him, you would recoil with disgust. Completely pulling yourself away from him and looking at him like a monster.

In that moment, he realizes you don’t fear him. You need him.

He lets out what must have been a breath he was holding in since the two of you heard the stranger’s voice for the first time, his entire body sagging before launching himself forward in your direction. The moment Joel moves toward you, you impatiently step forward too and throw yourself into his arms.

You wrap both of your arms as tight as possible around his waist, eyes screwed shut and burrowing your face into his chest. Smelling sweat, and blood, and him. His own arms wrap around your back, somehow holding you tighter than you were holding him, as if he wanted to feel every inch of your skin against his own. He brings his right hand to hold the back of your head, pushing you even further into him before resting his face against the top of your head and letting his eyes fall closed at the feeling of you safe in his arms.

The comfort somehow makes you want to crumble further, the freedom to be more vulnerable causing a sob to escape your throat. You try to stifle the sound but Joel already heard it, rubbing the back of your head with his thumb as he moves to dip his head into the crook of your neck and breathes you in deeply.

“I got you, darlin’. Always,” he whispers against your neck.

With those words, you let everything out.

The name he’s called you for months now somehow hits you harder than it ever has, making your knees buckle as the exhaustion and loss of adrenaline seems to catch up to you. You feel Joel adjust his grip to hold you tighter and keep you up, mumbling against your skin, “M’not gonna let you fall.”

His touch and his words provide you more sturdiness and protection than you have ever felt—more than you thought was humanly possible.

Your sobs and panicked breathing eventually even out into sniffles as you focus on the rhythm of his heartbeat that you faintly hear with your ears pressed against his chest. You stand there holding each other for what feels like too long, yet also not long enough. When you feel more calm, you begin to loosen your hold and pull away, but not before Joel’s grip on you tightens just a bit more before letting you pull yourself away first.

You lean only inches back from him, eyes trained on the base of his neck as you feel his breath on your mouth. He brings the hand that was on the back of your head over to gently cup your cheek, rubbing his thumb underneath your eye to wipe away tears and the tenderness of his touch has your eyes falling shut. You feel him lean his forehead against yours for a few seconds before he pulls back enough to place a gentle and lingering kiss to your forehead.

Taking a step back from you, he moves his grip to place one on your waist and another on your upper arm. His eyes move across your face, taking in every detail before he breathes out to say, “We gotta go home, darlin’.”

His words cause you to snap back into reality as he was right. The sun had begun setting and it would be a long trip back to Jackson—you two had to leave now. It didn’t stop the small part of you that wished you could stay in his arms for the rest of your life.

You turn your body to head down the street when you feel him slip his hand into yours, squeezing tightly, before leading you over to your horses.

Déjà vu is a funny feeling. It’s something that people tend to forget just how odd of a sensation it is.

The blinding white lights that make your head pound intensely. The sterile smell of the hospital room. The hushed voices between the medical staff as they poke and prod you. Your own dissociative state as you sit silently, eyes unfocused on the wall in front of you. It’s all eerily similar to what you remember as your first day in Jackson.

All you want to do is go home and go to sleep for as long as humanly possible.

Joel and you had made your way back to Jackson, arriving close to midnight, you think. Due to how far you two had gone, it got dark fast. You had spent the ride back feeling Joel’s eyes on you at any chance he could get, but you had just stared straight ahead, too exhausted from the events that just occurred. About an hour in you remember Joel had called out to you, offering for you to ride on his horse sitting behind him so you could rest and use his back as support. His offer was due to his notice that your eyes had started fluttering shut more and more often, worrying him further on your current state. You declined, knowing that him having to steer his own horse while holding onto the reins of yours as she rode beside would only make the journey go slower.

You just wanted to be home as fast as you could.

Once arriving back to town, you found Maria, Tommy, and a few other leaders in the town waiting at the gates restlessly. Your absences had made the others worry something was wrong, and they seemed prepared to head out in search of you two.

You vaguely remember shouting. Tommy’s face growing alarmingly concerned at the sight of the state you two were in. Maria’s own body sagging with relief at the fact you two were alive before matching her husband in his concern once her eyes scanned over your form. You had felt hands grabbing you, bringing Joel and you to the doctor quickly to get you both checked for injuries.

Since riding into Jackson, Joel hadn’t seemed to have taken his eyes off you now that he didn’t have to focus on the road ahead. You faintly recall his sounds of protest when the doctor had separated you two into your own rooms—Joel only succumbing to their efforts when Maria laid a firm hand on his chest to hold them back. “We’re giving her a female doctor to check her over, and I’ll sit with her the whole time. I promise.” Her words brought Joel a tiny bit of peace before becoming nauseous at the need for their decisions regarding you.

A hand touching your shoulder brings you back to reality for a moment, causing you to flinch at the sudden touch. Looking up, you realize the doctor was speaking to you with Maria behind her and looking over her shoulder to watch your reactions.

“What?”

The memory of your first day arriving here comes back to you once again when you speak, remembering the overwhelming feeling you had so long ago. The feeling of being underwater while drowned-out voices echo around you and try to grab your attention.

The doctor sighs before looking at Maria, not impatiently, but knowingly. “I’ve checked her thoroughly. Besides the small wound on the top of her shoulder from the bullet, she doesn’t seem to have any other injuries. Some bruising, sure, but I mainly think she’s just overwhelmed.” Her voice drops to a whisper as she leans closer to Maria, intending for you to not hear what she says. But you do. “The mental signs of infection are most likely due to the trauma.”

She talks about you like you aren’t there. Like you aren’t human.

The question that races through your mind, the only question you care for the answer to, comes out of you. “Where’s Joel?”

Maria turns her attention to you when she hears your voice croak out the words. She gives a sad smile before replying, “Don’t worry honey, he’s just outside talking with Tommy right now. He’s alright, too…we figured you’d want your space–”

“I want Joel,” you say, leaving no room for argument in your tone.

Her eyes soften in understanding and she gives a small nod before the doctor opens the room to head out, Maria following her out. She leaves the door open a bit, allowing you to hear the hushed, broken sentences from Tommy and Joel—the door angled so you could see Joel leaning close to Tommy to whisper, their words fading in and out.

“...Where do you think they…”, you hear from Tommy first.

“Don’t know. Can't be too close. We were so far out and…”

“... Could be on their way if they see… Just like David was…”

David? Who was David?

“No, no… made sure they couldn’t follow…”

You wish they would speak up louder so you could hear more of what they were saying.

Then, in a weaker voice, you hear Joel say, “It happened again, Tommy… I couldn’t protect her, I couldn’t–”

Their conversation is interrupted as Maria walks up. You see Joel’s body language straighten out and tense up as he looks to her with stoicism. It isn’t until you hear your name being said in the mix of words that you see Joel’s head snap in your direction before he takes quick strides to get to your door.

The moment it opens, his eyes are alert—worried. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

You shake your head. “Nothing, just… wanted to see you. Make sure you’re okay too.”

His features soften, his round eyes so heartbreakingly beautiful that you forget about what happened for a single moment and only focus on him.

“Yeah, I’m alright, darlin’. Doc said you’re cleared. They patched up your shoulder and everythin’.”

You nod, not caring much for the state of your injuries as you can only focus on one goal. “Can we go home now?”

Joel nods without hesitation. “‘Course we can,” he says, walking towards your chair. His hand seems to hover over your back, wanting to guide you but knowing you had been jumpy to anyone touching you the whole time you were here. You take the initiative to lean your body into his when you stand up, giving him a silent cue that his touch was welcome—craved, even. You hear a small sigh of relief leave his mouth as he wraps his arm around your back, holding you close to him as he guides you both outside the building.

You catch Tommy and Maria speaking in hushed tones outside the front door of the hospital before stopping when they see you two. They both look down to Joel’s arm around you—Maria with a firm look on her face, lips tight and brows twitching together, while Tommy offers a more softer and sympathetic look. “You guys let me know if you need anythin’, alright?”

Joel gives a nod of acknowledgement to his brother before Tommy comes over to pat his shoulder, leaning in as you hear Tommy whisper to him. “Take care of your girl, alright, big brother?”

The words don’t impact you as much as they might have before today, letting you know that you aren’t completely there, but they seem to affect Joel as you hear him take a sharp inhale of breath before giving a single nod in response.

It’s a short and silent walk to your house until you turn onto your walkway. Joel leads you over to your door as you reach into the inside of your jacket to take out your house key in the pocket there. Your hands uncontrollably shake as you try to get them, but your struggle is stopped not long after by the feeling of Joel’s hand gently laying on top of yours.

You look up to meet his eyes, seeing his eyebrows pushed together and up a bit as he gives you the same tender look he’s given you, and only you, all night whenever he looks at you. “Let me,” he softly commands, taking over to reach into your pocket. As he grabs the key and opens your front door, he still supports your body with his other arm as you lean into his side.

He gently helps you into your home before closing and locking the door behind him while you just stand there, numb, and looking around the entryway. When he finally turns around to look at you, he’s met with the sight of your back, unmoving, and his worry only grows.

Slowly walking around to stand in front of you, he lifts his hand to carefully brush away stray pieces of hair that have fallen in front of your face, as if he’s done the action a million times. You look at his chest, yet stare at nothing in front of you as your eyes continue to stay unfocused. Noticing this, Joel begins to frown as he feels a lump in his throat—a pain stabbing him in his chest.

He brings his hand that brushes your hair away to cup your chin, delicately guiding your head upwards to try and get you to focus on him. It seems to do the trick as your eyes meet his, blinking repeatedly to adjust your eyes to your surroundings.

The sight of you more focused eases Joel’s worry a bit. You lift your eyes to his and watch as he smiles sadly. “There she is. Missed ya.”

You become aware of how you’ve been acting. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to–”

Joel cuts you off with a shake of his head before speaking to you with sincerity in his voice. “Absolutely nothin’ you need to apologize for, darlin’. Just want you alright is all.”

You numbly nod your head, watching as Joel straightens up to look over to your staircase leading upstairs. “How about you go up there, take a shower, and get ready for bed. I’ll give you some space if you want and head home to do the same before I–”

The thought of being alone makes you frantically shake your head, eyes wide as you begin rambling. “No, please don’t leave. I don’t want to be alone, please just–”

Surprised worry appears on Joel’s face as he places his hands on your arms to steady you and bring your attention back on to him, ducking his head down to level his eyes with yours once again. “Hey, hey,” he hushes soothingly. “I’m gonna come right back, make you some food to eat ‘til you fall asleep, okay?”

It’s not enough. You shake your head again. “Please don’t go yet… you can use my shower before I do and then we can eat. I have plenty of spare towels if you’re okay with that?”

Joel pauses for half a second before giving you a smile in response. “‘Course I can, darlin’. Let me go home to grab some clothes, then I can get washed up here and we can eat before you sleep. That sound alright with you?”

His suggestion is the most logical, so you nod in agreement. It doesn’t stop you from standing at your window and watching him as he walks across the street to his house, only to stare at his door waiting until he comes back out. The lights go on and off as he seems to move about the house before he comes back out shortly. Seeing him again has you letting out a breath of relief, taking no hesitation to swing open your door before he is even fully on your side of the street.

The sound of you opening the door has his steps faltering for a brief moment, his movements pause until continuing to make his way inside—a small bag over his shoulder that you assume is filled with a change of clothes.

You hover close to him as you watch him cross the threshold and remove his shoes at the front of your door. He gestures upstairs with a nod of his head. “You take the first shower, okay?”

You try and argue, suddenly feeling bad about making him stay here with you, but he just shakes his head at you. “Nope, I’ll be alright ‘til you’re ready. I can start preparin’ some hot food for you so it’s nice and fresh for when you’re done. Take your time, okay?”

Nodding to him, you slowly make your way upstairs, turning at the top to see him watching you until you reach your bedroom. You then hear the sounds of him walking into your kitchen—the clanging sounds of pots assuring you he was still here.

Your body moves like a zombie. Your motions are on autopilot as you walk into your bathroom, turning on the shower to let it warm up before beginning to undress. Once completely stripped, you look at the pile of clothes that now lays on the bathroom tile—what looks like every inch of it covered in blood and fully ruined. You stand there for a few seconds too long, simply looking down and glaring at it as if its presence disgusts you, before deciding you would throw it out in the morning. Or maybe even burn it.

As you turn to step into the shower, you make an effort to avoid your mirror at any cost, forcing your legs to lift and settle into your position under the stream. The hot water burns your skin, a feeling you relish in that moment as you wish it would rip your skin off and allow your body to start over. You grab your various soaps and begin washing your hair, your body, your face—ending up scrubbing relentlessly in every spot you can possibly think of until the skin burns raw, the dried blood that was left on you far gone.

You aren’t sure how long passes after you finish removing the filth of the day from your body, but you stay standing under the water and let it cascade over your body—your arms folded across your midsection as you tilt your head down to stare at the drain as it turns from red to clear.

A knock on your bathroom door pulls your attention, followed by a call of your name. “You okay in there?”

It takes you a second to find the strength to speak before you’re able to call out a response. “Yes,” you reply, the broken sound of your own voice shocking you.

There’s a short pause before you hear Joel respond. “Alright… just wanted to let you know that the food’s ready, so you can come down whenever you’re done.”

Surprise hits you for a moment. “How long have I been in here?”

With a layer of worry in his tone, Joel calls out, “Uh, just lil’ over an hour… Why? Is somethin’ wrong?”

You shake your head before you realize that he can’t see you. “No… I’ll be out in a moment.”

You hear him say to take your time, but you already turned off the water and step out, beginning to dry off and put your pajamas on.

Once finished, you open your bathroom door expecting to see Joel standing in your bedroom. In his absence, panic begins to build inside you and has you calling out his name hurriedly before you see him poke his head into your bedroom door out of the corner of your eye. You turn to face him fully and sigh with relief, realizing that he was just standing outside in your hallway.

“Sorry,” he sheepishly responds. “Just wanted to give you some privacy.”

You shake away his apology, feeling ridiculous for your reaction in the first place, and move to grab the clean spare towels you have in your cupboard and hand them to him. “Here.”

He gives you a polite smile before taking the pile of folded cloth into his hands, adjusting his grip to pick up the bag he brought here that was leaning against the wall outside your room.

“You go head downstairs and start eatin’. I’ll join you when I’m done. Should be only ten minutes, I promise.”

You nod and let him walk past you into your bathroom, closing that door behind him.

For a moment, you stand in your bedroom doorway and look in the direction of your staircase. Hovering for a moment while fidgeting, you feel unsure of what to do with yourself until you decide to sit on your bed and wait there for him. The sounds of him turning the water on and moving around brought you a bit of peace, and you end up staring at the clock to watch the hands tick by while you wait for him.

He was right about the time as you hear the water turn off only twelve minutes… and thirty-seven seconds later—your eyes never straying from the moving lines on your clock until you hear shuffling, assuming he’s getting dressed before the bathroom door opens.

Joel comes out with his head bowed down as he runs a towel quickly through his hair, wearing black sweatpants and a soft looking navy blue T-shirt. He takes two steps out of the bathroom before his head raises back up to see you sitting on the bed waiting for him with your legs folded beneath you.

He jumps slightly, not expecting you to be there, and looks out your bedroom before turning back to you with a confused expression. “Thought I told you dinner was ready?” He calmly says, no judgment or accusation in his tone.

You look down at your hands you’d been fidgeting with in your lap, picking at your fingernails. “I… I wanted to wait up here for you.”

He blinks once. The confusion stays with him for a second as he processes your response, until his face shifts into warm understanding. “Okay. Let’s go down to eat.”

The moment he steps away from the bathroom door, the bright bathroom light he had shielded you from with his body no longer lays on you. When you stand, Joel takes a step towards you to help you up but freezes once he sees you under the light, his face hardening.

Confusion and worry consume you for a moment, but clarity strikes you when you see his gaze trained below your face. Due to the dim lighting of your house, and the fact your clothing up until now was covering most of your body, Joel had not yet seen the extent of your injuries that you avoided staring at in the bathroom.

His eyes stay glued to the brushing on your arms for a few seconds before they lift up to the bandage on your shoulder. His focus travels to your throat where you assume a long thing cut laid there from the knife that was pressed against you.

Still looking at your throat, you watch Joel’s top lip twitch before he swallows his emotions harshly. “C’mon,” he mutters softly, placing his hand on your shoulder and guiding you gently downstairs.

Reaching the kitchen, you see a pot of stew sitting on the now-off stove with two bowls next to the stovetop and a large ladle placed against the side of the pot. Joel pulls out a chair for you at your kitchen table, letting you sit before he goes over to fill up the two bowls with the food, coming back over to place them down in front of your respective spots before going to grab some water from the fridge.

You both settle into your seats and begin to eat silently, the only words spoken being a quiet thank you from you for him making you something to eat. He brushes off your appreciation lightheartedly, as if his sentiment was as natural as breathing and nothing worth being thanked for. The sounds of silverware clanking against the ceramic bowls mixed with the domestic nature of the two of you eating together in silence is enough for you a sense of safety and comfortability to wash over you, no words needing to be shared to fill the quiet.

When you finish your bowl, Joel moves to take it to the sink as he was done with his own a few minutes before, and starts to wash and put away everything. You watch his back silently as he moves, thinking you hear a very faint sound of humming coming from him, but it’s too quiet for you to be sure.

As he dries the last bowl left, you quickly rush out a question you've had on your mind since coming home.

Joel turns to face you, looking confused and making you realize you had spoken too quietly. You wait a few moments as he turns the water over, drying his hands on your dish towel and turning his body to face you directly as he leans back against the sink counter.

You clear your throat and look at the ground as you repeat your question. “Can you sleep here tonight?”

His lack of response for a few seconds fills you with shame, feeling stupid for even asking. Trying to rectify the embarrassment, you begin to ramble out more words with your head angled towards the floor. “I just… I don’t really want to be alone tonight. I know the couch is not the most comfortable thing to sleep on, so if you don’t want to I completely understand, I just–”

“Yes.”

The sound of his voice responding to you makes you shoot your head up to look at him, eyes wide as you hadn’t expected him to agree. Making eye contact with you, you see a sure look in his eyes mixed with… relief?

Did he want to sleep here tonight, too?

Mouth parted in a small “o” shape, you slowly nod. “Okay… um, I have some spare pillows and blankets in my bedroom closet. Let me go get them for you and I’ll set you up on the couch.”

Joel wordlessly nods, walking into the living room as you quickly make your eyes upstairs to grab the items. In your room, your eyes glance at the clock hung on your wall to see it was 2 am. Your body seems to snap back into its previously exhausted state as you realize how long the day has been—Joel’s presence since you arrived home seems to have distracted you from the reality of the toll your mind and body took on today.

You make your way downstairs to find Joel watching you carefully as you walk up to him and hand him the pillows and blankets. He takes them with a hum of appreciation before he begins to set up his space for the night.

The sight of him fluffing the pillow onto one end of the couch and stretching the fabric of your quilt across the narrow cushions has you wince. The guilt of making him, as big and broad as he is, spend the night on your cramped couch grows in you.

As he finishes his movements with a final flick of his wrist to throw one end of the quilt at the end of the couch, you open your mouth to tell him he can go home. Somehow, despite his back being towards yours, he turns to look at you before you can even speak, only to immediately say, “I want to be here.”

Your mouth flutters open and closed after he speaks with such confidence, momentarily stunned at the timing of your thoughts. Or perhaps he knew what you were going to say without even seeing that you had wanted to speak.

You give him an attempt at a smile, your lips barely curling up in one corner, something that takes a bit of effort as you think you haven’t done it since before your run in earlier. You seem to be proven right when you see Joel’s shoulders sag with relief at the sight, grateful to have some emotion be shown out of you.

You look around the room, unsure how to say goodnight, while also not wanting to be away from him. He seems to notice your hesitancy, because he nods his head in the direction of your staircase. “Let me get you to bed, darlin’.”

Assuring him you can do so on your own, you shake your head and begin to protest. He carefully reaches his hand out to hold one of your hands as his eyes focus on you and speaks with the same confidence from before. “I want to.”

With that, you allow him to walk up with you to your bedroom—Joel opening the door for you and guiding you inside. You make your way over to your bed and watch with slight awe as Joel reaches over to pull the covers back, allowing you to slip in. The action makes your cheeks flush, and you become grateful for the darkness in the room as you crawl into bed and settle beneath the covers. You look at the lamp that sits on your dresser in the corner of the room before eyeing Joel nervously. His gaze follows yours to look at the lack of light with furrowed brows.

“Could you… um…” you trail off, gesturing towards the lamp with your chin. He understands your request and walks over to turn it on so that a dim warm light fills your room.

Embarrassment fills you for a moment, feeling like a fucking child who just woke up from a nightmare and needs their light on to sleep through the night. Maybe that’s what today was, you think. One big nightmare, and you’ll wake up tomorrow feeling normal again.

Logically, you knew you would recover. Having had these encounters in the past before, you always compartmentalized the experiences and moved on—forcing yourself to bury the complexities of your emotions in order for you to be able to keep going both physically and mentally. Today, though, you found yourself feeling safe in terms of your reactions. Joel’s patient and gentle nature with you makes you feel free enough to not need to keep it all in. For once, you could let yourself rely on someone else to be there for you.

As Joel makes his way back around to you, he sits on the edge of your bed beside you to begin adjusting the blankets until they cover you more properly. Satisfied with his effort, he rests one of his hands on top of yours that lay on your stomach overlapping each other. His eyes lift to yours with such warm intensity that it makes your heart skip a beat. You can’t recall a moment where anyone has ever looked at you with so much emotion and care in their eyes.

The two of you simply gaze into each other’s eyes for a minute before Joel breaks the contact by leaning forward slowly, slow enough for you to stop him if you wanted, but you don’t want to. His lips press a lingering kiss to your forehead, a deep inhale leaves his nose before he pulls back.

“Goodnight, darlin’,” he says as he stands and begins to walk backwards out of your room, eyes never leaving your face.

“Goodnight, Joel.”

You watch him leave your room and notice how he keeps your door partly open so that you can see him walk down the staircase, deliberately leaving your dim staircase light on to give you more comfort.

reblogs and comments are appreciated! i hope you all enjoy <3 follow @writtenbynic and turn on notifications for updates!

a/n: sorry for the emotional rollercoaster, and posting it after episode 6. feeling masochistic. 🏷️: @dendulinka6 @suzysface @koshkaj-blog @orcasoul @emmasveinyahhdih @thatoneperson38747 @silksepia @orodaeh @ithinkimokeei @emnull0 @warriorkarol @luvwanda @pascal-mynightlyobsession @grayandthyme @crlsummer @ashleyfilm @darling-imobsessed @tjohn63

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #tmh series

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sl-ut · 2 months ago

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Can you please do a Jesse x Miller Reader smut where Joel and Tommy catch them and Ellie comes in like 😨 then starts mocking them THANK YOUUU🫶

the thing

omg i’ve had this request in my inbox for like two years :’(( so sorry but i’ve been really digging the actor for jesse in the show so here we are! it’s not specific to the show so you can imagine it as live action or game jesse! i also went kinda off track from the request but has similar vibes only it's tommy teasing them and not ellie. also there's no real smut but i would def be open to doing a part two with some!

pairing: jesse (tlou) x fem!miller!reader

description: jackson was not a very big place, so why did it take so long for them to connect?

warnings: slightly nsfw towards the end but no smut, swearing, slight au but it doesn’t really change anything (joel and ellie don’t interact in this but in my mind it’s important that they have made up), reader is referenced to not fit into jesse’s clothes but there’s no indication of whether its too big or too small so that’s up to your imagination, alcohol and weed use, mentions of violence and r’s shitty ex but neither actually appear.

words: 4.8K

date posted: 6/5/25

Jesse found himself tapping his foot repeatedly against the pavement, eyes flickering down to check the faltering watch on his wrist, always a minute behind no matter how many times he rewound it. Oh well, he was one of the few in Jackson who had the luxury of owning a watch while everyone else relied on wall clocks alone. Still, no matter how slow the moving hands of his watch were, the girl was now at least ten minutes late.

“Good afternoon,” her voice chirped as she rounded the corner with an easy grin on her face and her preferred horse following in tow, expression betraying absolutely no remorse for her tardiness, “you ready?”

“I was ready ten minutes ago,” he told her, rolling his eyes, “you know, when we were supposed to head out? What’s your excuse this time?”

The girl scoffed, “I was in the bakery all morning, you know how Penny gets–you don’t leave ‘til she says so.”

His head tilted to the side for a moment; as far as her past excuses went, this was probably the most believable, especially since he caught a whiff of warm cinnamon as she came to stand next to him.

“Alright,” he nodded, “I’ll let you off this time. Let’s just get moving, we’re already behind schedule.”

“Sir, yes sir,” she saluted him, turning to climb atop her horse with ease.

Until recently, the girl was not someone that Jesse would have considered a friend. He knew her from around town, of course, and they generally ran in the same circle (which was basically just a group of people within a three year age range), but they had only spoken a handful of times prior to being assigned to patrol together. He’d actually been the first to make her feel welcome within the younger crowd in Jackson when she’d first arrived, but she soon started dating a boy named Keegan, who Jesse particularly did not like, while he had started hanging out with Ellie and Dina more once he and Dina had started dating.

Now that they had been spending more time together a few times per week, Jesse wondered how they hadn’t hit it off from the beginning. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t initially attracted to her, as he’d always thought she was very pretty, and she was impossibly easy to talk to. His only flaw was the fact that he had given her space after she had arrived bruised and battered and clearly so clearly mentally drained by whatever she had faced out in the wild, though it had been for that very reason that she became so easily attached to Keegan. He was the first one that she had felt personally close to when she arrived in town, which had translated to a lingering sense of protection, even when he wasn’t always the nicest to her.

The patrol had gone relatively easily, coming across only a small handful of infected along the way, which the pair of them were able to take out within seconds of spotting them, and they had been able to make up for lost time. Conversation flowed easily between the pair–random questions, town gossip, and just about anything that either of them could think of.

“Are you going to the thing tomorrow night?”

“The thing?” Jesse hummed teasingly, “Which thing?”

“I mean, it is the only thing going on tomorrow night,” she joked, “you know, the thing!”

“Oh, that thing,” Jesse snorted, “the one at the Bison? Tomorrow night at seven o’clock sharp?”

She giggled, “Yes, that thing at that specific time and place. Are you going?”

Jesse shrugged, “Dunno. I was gonna go, but I think Dina is and we haven’t really been on the best terms lately. I feel like I’d just be looking for trouble.”

“Oh shit, I feel like every time I hear about you two it’s something different.”

Jesse watched her from the corner of his eye for a moment, eyes following the sunlit glow as it traced her features. He sighed, “Yeah, well…I don’t even know what to say about that. I care about Dina, a lot, but I don’t know if I see this going on for much longer. I feel like I need someone a little more mature, less prone to drama, and she needs someone that…”

“Doesn’t have a stick up their ass 24/7?”

His head whirled to the side, catching her beaming face as she fought back a laugh at his own shocked expression, “Excuse me? Don’t make me report you to Tommy for insubordination.”

She scoffed, “Oh please, like he’s gonna do anything.”

“You’re right about that,” Jesse rolled his eyes, “I’d probably get in more trouble for it than you would, kiss ass.”

“I am not a kiss ass!” She argued, “He just loves me more than he loves you. Maybe you just need to try harder.”

“Maybe I just need to be related to him. That worked out easily enough for you, didn’t it?”

Those who had any sort of personal connection with Tommy Miller had heard tell of his older brother, the one who hadn’t been the same since the end of civilization and had been his inspiration to branch out from the QZ and seek some sort of better life, whether that would be with the Fireflies or not. The last he’d seen him was back in the Boston QZ months before he had even arrived in Jackson. No one would have expected him to ever hear of him again, let alone for the older Miller to turn up at Jackson’s gates with two young girls at his side.

They had all made their own impacts on the community. Joel had become a trusted councilmember and quickly became someone that people saw as a strong leader, while Ellie had become known for her fiery temper and headstrong attitude. The third member of their party, however, had become a central figure in Jackson’s social scene, quickly becoming popular among the younger crowd while also making an effort to maintain familiarity with as many other members of the community as possible. She was often responsible for the parties that took place and seasonal celebrations, often being seen as a goody-two-shoes to most while also having a tendency to party with her inner circle. Jesse often wondered how she had the energy to do it all, and he was not the only one who found it so surprising to discover that the girl made of sunshine was the daughter of Jackson’s resident grump himself, Joel Miller.

She didn’t answer him, huffing quietly as she rolled her eyes. She was not angry with him, not truly, but it was difficult to not feel irked by his comment considering that some around town often criticized her father and uncle for giving her and Ellie special treatment. Of course, they felt more of an attachment to the two young girls, as would anyone else for their own children, but she did not feel that either of them let her off any easier than anyone else when she landed herself into trouble.

“You’re going with Keegan, I assume?” Jesse asked, suddenly self conscious by her silence, “To the thing, I mean.”

She snorted a laugh, “You assumed wrong. We broke up two weeks ago.”

“Oh,” he swallowed, unsure of how to proceed. He’d never heard her sound so annoyed in the entire time that he had known her, “Sorry to hear.”

“It’s fine. I just realized one day that he treated me like shit. I’m over it. Though, I’m surprised you didn’t already know. Last I heard he’s been spreading it around town faster than the clap.”

Jesse choked out a laugh, “Don’t tell me…”

“A rumour I heard after we broke up,” she chuckled, “but he’s apparently shacked up with Emily, Theresa, and Melissa since then, so it’s not out of the question. Honestly, doc says I didn’t show any signs so I don’t really care.”

“Fair,” he nodded, “so are you still going?”

“Dunno, I guess I am the one who planned it…” she thought for a moment before a small smirk appeared on her face, “I’ll go if you do. We can drink and endure the presence of our exes together.”

Jesse sighed, “That’s a hard bargain you’re driving.”

“Some call me a businesswoman by heart,” she shrugged, “what do you say?”

He turned his gaze back to her, feeling a small stutter in his chest as their eyes met. She offered him a soft smile, melting his weak attempt at playing cool away until he found himself relenting, agreeing to attend the thing together despite his innate desire to avoid his ex-girlfriend at all costs. The grin that split her face made his limbs feel like jelly and brought a scarlet flush up the nape of his neck and across his cheeks. They continued on in silence, only sharing a few more words throughout the rest of their patrol route until the gates of Jackson came back into view.

He dismounted his horse once they were inside, offering a hand up to the girl as she did the same. He was glad that the weather had been warmer that day, meaning that he had gone without gloves for patrol and he was able to feel the warmth of her hand against his own calloused flesh. They walked side by side as they led their horses back to the stables, occasionally bumping shoulders and sharing small smiles before they met Tommy and Maria at the gate of the stables.

“Hey kiddos,” Tommy greeted them both, leaning against the stable door as they filed in one-by-one, “how’d things go?”

Jesse began a review of their patrol, what they saw, what they didn’t see, how many infected they’d taken out, what sort of changes in the landscape they might have noticed, while Maria moved over to help the younger woman unsaddle and brush her horse. He could overhear a few words and giggles from the next stall over where the two women discussed the event taking place later that evening. Finally, she appeared next to Tommy to interrupt his report.

“I gotta head to help set up for tonight, but did you want to just meet at my place and go together? I was gonna go a bit early if that’s okay.”

Jesse’s ears burned at the look of surprise on Tommy’s face, his large brown eyes flickering between the young man and his niece, “Uh, yeah sounds good.”

“Great! See you later, then.”

Maria took her place as she disappeared out of the stables, sharing a look of amusement with her husband as they turned their attention back to the young man before them who seemed to wish he could shrink into the floor beneath him.

“Something you wanna tell us?” Maria asked with a grin. She was a no nonsense woman for the most part, but she couldn’t help the entertainment she found in the love lives of Jackson’s young people.

“Uh,” Jesse hesitated, “no. We–uh, we’re just going to the thing tonight.”

Tommy let out a deep chuckle at the discomfort on the younger man’s face, “I see. And I assume you asked Joel’s permission before you asked his daughter to the thing?”

“She asked me,” Jesse argued, “I wasn’t really expecting it.”

“So you’re telling me you only accepted because you didn’t wanna hurt her feelings?” The older man crossed his arms over his chest with mock aggression.

“No!” Jesse blurted, “I just didn’t know she saw me like that.”

“Mhm,” Tommy hummed, stifling a laugh, “Well I suggest you head over and have a conversation with Joel about this before he finds out through someone else, AKA me.”

Maria swatted his arm, “Give him a break, Tommy. She’s a big girl now, she can take care of herself.”

“Oh I don’t doubt that, I’m looking out for Jesse here. Not sure if he’ll be able to take care of himself if Joel walks into the party tonight and catches this one pawing at his daughter.”

Jesse sputtered in response, his usually cool facade completely broken under the pressure placed by the girl’s uncle, especially now when he considered that the pressure would be applied tenfold when Joel found out that he was now pursuing his daughter. He and Joel had been close ever since he had arrived in Jackson, and especially since he had started hanging out with Ellie, but his relationship with Dina had been famously unstable and he didn’t want Joel to suspect that it might be the same way if Jesse were to start dating his daughter. So, as soon as he was able to escape the clutches of Tommy Miller, he set out in the direction of Joel’s “office”, which was one of the older and uninhabited homes in town that he used as a headquarters for the construction crew he and Tommy had assembled.

Joel seemed surprised when Jesse began his speel, explaining how he genuinely cared about the girl, and that it may seem soon after their respective breakups but it felt right in the moment, and finally ending it by giving Joel his permission to hurt him if he did anything wrong. Joel was silent for a few beats, watching Jesse through narrowed eyes before he took into a roaring laugh, fist slamming down on the table as he took in the nervous state of the normally confident young man.

“Well,” Joel cleared his throat as he composed himself, “I can tell you I wasn’t expecting that today.”

“So…” Jesse shifted uncomfortably, “is this a good sign or…”

“Listen,” Joel sighed, “I’ve come to learn that she’s not gonna listen to me when it comes to these things, but I do appreciate this. You’ve already got a step up from that ass-hat Keegan, but that’s not saying much. Oh, and if you hurt her, I’m not gonna be asking permission before I lay hands on you. Understood?”

Jesse gulped, but his nerves began to lessen, “Yes, sir.”

That night, Jesse found himself climbing the front steps to Joel Miller’s house at six-thirty on the dot, a small smile finding its way onto his face as he found his date seated on a patio chair with a book in her lap. She turned her face up to offer him a similar expression as he greeted her, sliding a piece of folded paper between the pages of her book to save her place before setting it aside.

“Hey,” she greeted in return, standing up to meet him halfway, “you’re right on time. You trying to impress me, or something?”

“Something like that,” he shrugged, eyes taking in her patch-work sundress and dark brown boots, “you look nice–pretty, I mean.”

She glanced down at her dress, smiling bashfully, “thanks. Hey, can I ask you something before we go?”

He nodded, “Yeah, sure.”

“Is this a date?” She blurted, wringing her fingers together nervously, “I mean, I didn’t mean for it to be, but then my dad said you came to ask his permission to take me out, and then I realized that I sort of want it to be, but I didn’t want to assume anything because I’m the one who asked you, and–”

Jesse wanted the earth to swallow him whole. This entire time, he’d been shocked but elated that she had asked him out, especially considering that he didn’t think it was likely that he was going to muster up the courage to ask her on his own, only to discover that she had only asked him as friends?

“Oh god,” Jesse groaned, “oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make things weird between us. I just thought, since we were talking about Keegan and Dina and then you asked me that maybe–holy shit, I’m an idiot.”

The girl grasped his forearm tightly, regaining his attention from the physical touch, “No, no, I just… I didn’t know you saw me that way. I do like you, Jesse, I just think I didn’t want to admit it until I knew you liked me too.”

His heart continued to race, only now for an entirely different reason, “Well, I do. A lot.”

She grinned at him, leaning up to press a gentle kiss to his cheek, “Well I like you too. A lot.”

The pair stepped closer to one another, his eyes falling to her lips as his cheek burned from the affection. She tilted her face upward, an invitation for him to invade her space even further, which he had no issue in obliging as he dipped down to meet her in a soft, curious kiss. It was only a peck, and then another, and then another before their lips met in a solid, proper embrace, each of them gaining familiarity with one another as his hands slid around her back, bunching in the fabric of her dress as he pulling her even closer, her own running through his silky black hair.

The sound of a throat being cleared forced them apart, their hands flying off of one another in seconds as they turned to find the source of the noise, finding both Miller brothers at the foot of the stairs, one wearing a deep frown while the other could barely contain his laughter behind a shit-eating grin.

“Jesse,” Joel grumbled, climbing up the step slowly before he turned to square himself up to the younger man, “glad to see you found your way. Now if you don’t mind taking this off of my porch–and never let me see that again.”

“Dad.”

Joel turned his stern stare to his daughter, raising his eyebrows at her before pressing a kiss to her temple, “I mean it. Don’t need to see this meathead pawing at you all the time.”

“Leave ‘em alone, Joel,” Tommy chortled, “we’ve just gotta get you set up now. Lots of single ladies around Jackson.”

Joel snorted, turning on his heel and entering his home without another word. Leave it to him to flee at the first mention of his dating life. Tommy patted Jesse on the back, pausing to kiss his niece on the head as well before he followed his brother inside with a teasing farewell to the young couple.

They stood there for a moment, each of them bathing in the embarrassment of being caught making out by her father and uncle before she turned back to him, breaking the silence.

“He doesn’t think you’re a meathead, if it’s any consolation. He really likes you.”

“I think that was before I was dating his daughter.”

She tilted her head in confusion, “Do I have a sister I don’t know about?”

“Uh…” Jesse stammered, “not dating, I just meant–”

She laughed, punching him on the arm as she pushed past him and slipped down the steps. She glanced over her shoulder as she called back to him, “I’m messing with you. You don’t gotta ask me anything just yet, but don’t let me catch you looking at other girls.”

Jesse breathed out a laugh. The Miller family would be the death of him, that much he was sure of. He jogged to catch up with her, allowing her to slip her fingers through his own as she dragged him off in the direction of the Tipsy Bison.

Just over an hour later, the bar was filled to the brim, laughter and chatter echoing around the building over the sound of the folk music being played by the small ensemble off to the side. Jesse leaned against the bar, eyes scanning the crowd in search of his date. He’d gotten sucked into helping Seth with loading crates of liquor into the building, reluctantly leaving her side for only twenty minutes and now he had completely lost sight of her in the crowd.

“Looking for someone?”

Jesse turned his head to the side, finding his ex-girlfriend leaning onto the bar next to him with a glass of whiskey in her hand, “Oh, hey.”

“Hey,” she narrowed her eyes at him, “so, are you looking for someone?”

He shrugged, “and what if I am?”

“Then I would like to hear it from you,” she stated, “look, I get it, we’re broken up. Just be honest with me.”

He sighed, but nodded his head as he finally spoke the girl's name, “We’re here together.”

Her eyebrows rose instinctively, but quickly dropped into their natural position, “Can’t say I’m that surprised. I always knew you liked her.”

“Dina,” he groaned, but she cut him off.

“I’m not looking to start anything,” she told him, “at first, I figured we’d get back together, we always do. But, we honestly should have broken up a long time ago. I’ll always care about you, but I’m happy that you’re happy.”

He was surprised by this, considering that his ex-girlfriend had always taken rejection poorly and usually found a way to turn situations in her favour, but she would have had to have been blind to ignore the glaring issues that they had endured in their relationship, “Thanks, Dina. It means a lot. But maybe now that we’re over, you could give Ellie a chance. She’s been into you for as long as I can remember.”

Dina turned her attention to where Ellie was laughing with Maria across the bar, a small smile growing on her lips, “You think so?”

“God, she’s definitely considered killing me just to get to you,” he joked, “don’t rush into it if you’re not ready, but keep it in mind.”

She flushed, nodding her head as she placed her hand over his on the bar for a moment, squeezing it one final time before she pushed away from the bar and headed off in the direction of Ellie, eagerly pulling her away from Maria and onto the dancefloor.

“What did she want?”

He turned his gaze back to where Dina had previously stood, finding the narrowed gaze of the girl he’d previously been in search of, “Nothing, she was just asking about you.”

“Really?” She crossed her arms, “That’s it?”

“Why?” He smirked, turning his body to face her, “You jealous?”

She shrugged, “Should I be?”

“No,” he leaned closer, taking her hand in his, “she said she was happy for me, and I told her to go talk to Ellie.”

She glanced over, finding the two smiling girls on the dancefloor as her expression softened, “Oh. Yeah, Els has been mooning over her for years.”

“I know,” he laughed, “just like you have been for me.”

She turned to him with a growing grin on her face, “Oh please, you’re the one who asked my dad for permission to take me to a public function.”

“Oh don’t remind me,” he dropped his forehead to her shoulder to hide his embarrassment, “I thought he was gonna mount my head on his wall.”

“He still might,” she shrugged, “just depends on how long it takes you to get me a drink.”

He stood back to his full height, an easy smile finding its way across his features, “Yes, ma’am.”

After three drinks and a quick trip outside to take advantage of Jesse’s harvest from Eugene’s stash, the pair found themselves twirling around the dancefloor for hours on end before they finally bid their farewells, giggling their way down the torch-lit streets of Jackson hand-in-hand. His heart thrummed in his chest everytime he glanced over at her, already finding her wide, glossy eyes staring up at him as they walked.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” she asked, a soft twinkle in her eyes as she rested her head onto his shoulder. He maneuvered his arm to wrap around her shoulders without ever letting go of her hand, now interlocked and resting against her collarbone. “I’d say we could go to my place, but I think it’s too early on for my dad to catch you sneaking out.”

He laughed as he pivoted their direction to head towards his own lodgings, a small apartment above the seamstress’s place, “Yeah, I’d like to keep my head for a little longer.”

“I would like you to, too.”

Jesse’s apartment was fairly bare, furnished with just the basics, but decorated just enough to make it feel like his. He shared it, of course, with another guy a few years younger than them, but he had yet to return from the party and if things went well with the girl he’d been dancing with all night, Jesse was hopeful that he wouldn’t be back until morning.

“Wanna watch a movie?” Jesse nodded to the small box TV in the corner, then to the small shelf containing a handful of VHS tapes, “choices are limited but I think we have a little bit of everything. I think we even have a chick-flick around here somewhere.”

She nodded silently as he guided her to his room, fishing around for a baggy t-shirt and shorts for her to change into before leaving her to change. He set the movie up, selecting one that was just interesting enough that it was watchable, but just boring enough that neither of them would be opposed to missing out on parts of it. He popped one of the windows near the ratty old couch open, digging out a bag of hastily rolled joints and his trusty lighter, leaning back on the couch as he waited for her to emerge from his room.

She looked cute in his shirt, though he was surprised when his eyes were met with her bare legs up to her thighs, having foregone the shorts that he had set aside for her. She smiled bashfully as she settled into the couch next to him, “The shorts didn’t fit. This is okay, though, I think it covers enough.”

He shrugged, taking a slow drag from the joint, “You look cute in my clothes.”

She snuggled into his side, accepting the joint as he offered it to her and turned her gaze to the TV, “what’d you pick?”

He held the VHS sleeve up, “Dude, Where’s My Car?. It’s alright, I’ve seen it a few times.”

“Never heard of it,” she spoke as a puff of smoke escaped her lips, handing the joint back over to him, “but sounds okay to me. At this point I just keep watching Star Wars over and over. We have two of them, and they’re set like twenty years apart so I have no idea what’s actually going on.”

The movie was easily forgotten. At first, they had sat in silence while passing the joint back and forth before dazed conversations took over. She laughed at almost everything he said, snuggling closer and closer until he was entirely reclined against the armrest with her curled into his chest. Her chin rested against his pec as they spoke, giggling at one another as an easy silence took over, their eyes meeting as the mood in the room shifted.

Her eyes flickered from his down to his round lips, watching in anticipation as he ran his tongue across his bottom lip nervously before she scooched herself forward until she could comfortably press her lips to his. It wasn’t rushed or heated in the beginning, instead falling into a slow, but slightly messy rhythm as her hands came up to take hold of his dark hair while his own slid across the expanse of her back, one settling on the curve of her spine while the other gripped the back of her thigh to hike it further up against his waist.

She let out a small whine against his lips, pulling away for a moment to focus her attention to trailing her lips across his cheek, over his jaw, and down his neck. A low grumble rolled through his chest at this, her name falling from his lips with a quiet moan.

“We don’t have to–” his hands gripped her waist tighter as he struggled to keep his composure.

She returned to his lips, pressing one more long kiss to them before pulling back with a wicked grin splitting her face.

“Take me to bed, Jesse,” she whispered.

And who was he to deny her?

#x reader #reader insert #imagines #tlou fanfiction #tlou jesse #jesse x reader #tlou jesse x reader

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oh-thats-what-it-is · 1 year ago

Text

Jess Mariano SMUT: The best friend and the boyfriend.

POV: Your best friend Rory always gets what she wants as the town’s golden girl. Well, you have had enough and its time you get what you want.

WARNINGS: 18+ (minors dni); cheating; rory slander; lorelai slander; p in v intercourse; dirty talk; unprotected sex; light choking - i think that is it

AUTHOR’S NOTE: wasn’t enough jess smut for me on here. Wanna fix that! first time writing anything so please be gentle. 2k+ words

You’re at Luke’s diner trying to get some work done before your exam tomorrow. The wetness inbetween your legs was proving a great distraction to the task at hand. You had to muster every ounce of concentration to listen to what Lane and Rory were saying. The three of you were finishing up your group project for school. You had all been friends for years, but recently you had found it hard to be yourself around them.

The reason for that, was standing behind the counter, serving customers with a surly look and a quippy comment if he spoke at all. Jess.

The whole town knew about him and Rory. How could they not? Stars’ Hollows’ golden girl drew attention wherever she went. Her and Dean’s romance had been the talk of the town - the stuff of young love! And she could do no wrong. Even after she dragged Dean through hell and back with her indecisiveness before ultimately bringing him to breaking point - people still loved her.

And hey - you did too. She was your best friend. But you couldn't help but roll your eyes at the way the town fawned over her. Even though it had been happening your whole lives. Rory and her busybody, try-hard mother were the apple of the town’s eyes. And you were used to it.

But you had been surprised that Jess had fallen for it. When he arrived in town, a sullen and brooding figure, you had immediately felt drawn to him. You could sense his angst. You could feel it vibrating off of him. And lets not pretend like he wasn’t a total smokeshow. He looked like a man.

If only Lorelai and Luke weren’t so close. Then you might have gotten your chance. But as fate had it, and as it always seemed to, Rory got in there first. Lorelai invited Luke and Jess over for a welcome dinner, and he instantly became smitten with Rory’s mild manner. It only took a matter of months - and a breaking of one Dean Forrestor’s heart - until they became an item.

At first it was all rosy. Rory wouldn’t shut up about it. But you could tell. Something wasn’t quite right. Two months passed and Rory would go red every time Jess was brought up, or came to sit with your group at lunch. You asked Rory - genuinely as a friend. She would just mumble and divert the subject. Lane also pressed, but there was no budging Miss Gilmore.

It was only a month ago when you cottoned on to what the problem was. You had been wearing jeans that hugged your ass, and a top that teased just enough of your cleavage to make anyone blush. You bumped into Jess in the hallway at school. As in, physically bumped into him, as he came around the corner. He grabbed onto you out of instinct to apologise.

“Oh hi Y/N. What are you….” His eyes trailed down to your chest. You didn’t notice at first. You thought he was dazed by the surprise interaction.

“Just on my way to Spanish. Señora Castilla is making us do a book report - I’m doing 100 years of Solitude.”

“Hmm” he responded. “That’s one of my favourites. Magical realism, love, scandal - “

And then you clock. His eyes are on your tits. His hand is still on you. On the small of your back.

This man is hungry. He hasn’t been laid or anything of the sort in a while. Or at least since he has been with Rory. Jess wants you. You avert your gaze.

“Jess. I have to go.”

He moved his hand lower, testing the waters. You don’t remove it. You inhaled, trying to retain your morals. You remind yourself: We’re in the middle of the hallway. At school. He is Rory’s boyfriend. Rory is my best friend.

You repeated these over and over to yourself like a mantra, willing yourself to move. After what seems like an eternity, he whispers in your ear: “My car. 10 minutes,” and sauntered away.

And that was how it began. A whole month of some of the steamiest makeout sessions, hottest sex, and best orgasms of your life. Did the secrecy turn you on? Maybe. Did you feel bad for Rory? Perhaps. But were those moments with Jess worth it? Absolutely.

You had to be careful. Not just to avoid Rory and Lane. But Luke couldn’t know either. If he did, he would have gone straight to Lorelai and it would have been a whole thing. It wasn’t worth it. So the two of you would sneak in quickies in his car, behind Miss Patty’s studio, in the AV room at school etc.

But Luke was out tonight. Doing something for Lorelai probably. Who knows. Jess had suggested the two of you take advantage of the situation. He had recently acquired his own room at Luke’s, ever since his uncle had knocked a hole in the wall for him. It wasn’t much, but you couldn’t wait to share a bed with him, and take your sweet time worshipping his body.

“Okay Y/N, we’re off. You coming?” Asked Lane.

“Nah, I have a bunch more work to do for my college application. I will see you both tomorrow?”

Rory went over to give Jess a kiss goodbye. You couldn’t help but smirk as you saw him looking at you as she kissed his cheek. The two girls waved goodbye and left the cafe.

The minute they left, Jess pounced on your table. He summoned Cesar to take over his shift and close up.

“Cmon baby” he whispered, taking care not make it look obvious to the other customers what was going on.

You and Jess went up the stairs silently but quickly. The minute you reached the top flight and opened the door into the living quarters, Jess slammed the door shut and pressed you against it.

“Do you know how bad you are? Sitting right next to my girlfriend and giving me those ‘fuck me’ eyes all night? It was all i could do not to take you on the table right there.”

His forehead was against yours, his hands cradling your face. All you could see was him. All you could feel was him.

“Such a good boy for restraining yourself,” you cooed, trying lure him into making the first move. Each time you were together, it still felt like new. A game of chicken. Who would break first? Fresh and dangerous, yet familiar and comforting all at once. “It must have been so hard for you” you said, moving your hand towards his crotch. “Show me how much you want me” you dared.

It was too much for him. He growled and leant in to kiss you with everything he had. He was messy and sloppy with need. His teeth clashed against yours. You moaned with need. Your hands wandered to your waist, dipping under your trousers, then your panties. You started playing with your clit and panting his name back into his mouth.

You were still against the door. Jess moved his hands under your shirt, finding the valley of your chest easily as you hadn’t worn a bra today.

“Fuck” he said, breaking the kiss. “You had your tits out all day baby girl? You are such a slut, wanting everyone to notice.”

Before you could begin to formulate a reply, his mouth was on your left nipple. You sighed as he sucking with such fervour. Just as you got used to the sensation enough to say something witty to him, he bit down hard. You yelped - this was a new move from him. He obviously felt emboldened by the new setting, being in his own territory and out of a car.

Jess went to your right nipple, sucking and making the most obscene slurping noise and his hand went to your other tit. It was too much. It felt too good. You started playing with your clit with even more until he finally noticed.

“That’s my job Y/N. Its not like you to be so selfish!“ he scolded. He grabbed both your wrists and pressed himself into you, letting you feel his bulge. You whimpered at the loss of your fingers inside your wet cunt and pouted at him. He brought your fingers to your mouth.

“Suck” he said, with a devious glint in his eyes. Like a fucking wet wipe, you did as he said. You were embarrassed at first, but didn’t care. You would do anything he said at this point.

When he was satisfied you had fully cleaned your fingers, he took them out your mouth and kissed you hard and hungrily on the lips.

You saw you opportunity to the turn the tables, to take power. “Jess?” You asked innocently.

“Hmm?” He responded, trailing kisses down your neck.

“The whole point of tonight is that we have a bed for once. Let’s make the most of it.” You pushed him off you and took his hand. You walked past the door to his bedroom. He stopped you and looked at you confused.

“Oh Jess. I don’t wanna be fucked in your single bed. I want to feel all of you” you whispered in his ear, guiding him to Luke’s room and king-sized bed.

His eyes widened with realisation and need. Was this a bad idea? Almost certainly. Did he care? At this point, not even wild horses could stop him from having you. He would do anything you said. And he had to admit, there was something hot about doing it somewhere he shouldn’t.

You pushed Jess onto Luke’s bed, unzipped his jeans and pulled down his boxers. His cock sprung up immediately. It was red, throbbing and angry. You couldn’t help but drool. Jess saw this and smirked. He knew what he did to you. He pulled off his shirt, knowing it would drive you crazy.

You dived onto his cock, unable to wait any longer. You took all of him in his mouth, as he held your head there. His pubic hair tickled your nose. You stayed there for as long as possible, until your eyes watered. You took your head off, wiped your mouth, and then began bobbing up and down slowly.

Jess propped himself up on his elbows, watching you like a hawk. His tongue was sticking out as he concentrated his breathing to stop himself from blowing his load. His dark curls were pressed wet against his forehead as beads of sweat started to roll down his face.

You moved to his balls, gently sucking them into your mouth while your hand moved up and down on his rock hard member. He started moaning and rocked his hips into your hands, desperate for more.

You had him right where you wanted him. You removed yourself from him completely and clambered to sit on top of him. His cock was nestled in your folds. So close to where he wanted to be. So close to where you wanted him to be. But you decided the chase was more fun. You lowered yourself down, so that your tits were pressed against his chest.

You whispered “Can Rory make you feel this way, Jess? Does she drive you wild like I do? Can she make you moan like a bitch the way I can? Has she ever made your cock this hard?” You punctuated each sentence with a nip on his ear.

“Fuck you,” he replied, grabbing your ass and turning you onto your back so that he was on top. He pushed himself into you and started fucking you with no mercy.

Your tits were bouncing with every thrust and you were whimpering with need every time he pulled out. You snaked your arms around his back, pulling him deeper into you. You didn’t want any space between you.

“You’re such a whore Y/N. Fucking your best friend’s boyfriend. I can’t believe it turns you on so much.”

You moaned at this words, unable to deny the appeal of the whole situation.

“Fuck baby, I can feel your cunt clenching around me as i say that! You are a fucking whore Y/N, squeezing me with your greedy pussy. Such a bad fucking girl.” Jess yelps, spanking your ass.

“I am a whore Jessy, your whore, only for you” you cried, embarrassed by your pathetic display. He grinned as you used the nickname you only brought out for him when you were cock drunk beyond belief. You groaned inwardly as you couldn’t believe you had given him the satisfaction of that ego boost.

You were lost completely in Jess. He moved his hand down to your core, adding a finger into your weeping pussy, and using his thumb to toy with your clit. It was bliss.

“Jessy?” You called out.

“Hmm?” He groaned in response.

“I want you to cum inside me” you begged.

His eyes widened as a wild look came over him. Without missing a beat, he swung your legs over his shoulders and bent you in two as he fucked into you harder than before. His hand moved to your throat, gently choking you. You stuck your tongue out like a dog in heat - animalistic and beyond a care as to what was normal.

The bed’s headboard was hitting the wall with every thrust from Jess’ pelvis, sure to cause a suspect dent tomorrow. But neither of you could have given a single fuck as the you both chased your highs. The sound of skin slapping, moans and gasps were obscene.

“Jess, have you seen Luke’s toolbox? We need it and he said it might be - Oh my god!”

You both froze and turned to the door. Lorelai was face to face with you and Jess butt naked on Luke’s bed. Sorry - lets rephrase that. Lorelai walked in on her daughter’s boyfriend and best friend fucking raw on Luke’s bed.

She narrowed her eyes and hissed: “Get the fuck out.”

#jess mariano #gilmore girls #milo ventimiglia #gilmore girls smut #jess mariano smut #literati #lorelai gilmore #jess x reader #jess mariano x reader #jess mariano x y/n #jess mariano imagine #jess imagine #gilmore girls imagine

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teddypickerry · 6 months ago

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teddypickerry. welcome to troy’s blog! 𓆩♡𓆪

lover of all things vintage and glam. ridiculously accurate taurus sun and libra rising. i watch either garrett watts and sam and colby, 2000s tv shows i haven’t stopped rewatching since they came out, or westerns since i am a cowboy on a steel horse i ride (in my heart at least). please do not interact with my blog if you are not 21+ i do not want to have to block you. always feel free to reach out to me, friends!

(dated) 𝙊𝙉𝙀𝙎𝙃𝙊𝙏𝙎.

teach me tonight ( jess mariano ) bubblegum fantasy ( sonny corleone ) parallel universe ( alex turner ) a taste for violence ( jess mariano ) murder in high-heels ( nikki sixx ) pretty metallica fan ( lorelai gilmore ) can i go where you go? ( jess mariano ) motley crue hcs ( motley crue ) antique store boy ( jess mariano ) out of my system ( nikki sixx ) safe route ( jess mariano ) africa ( steve harrington ) and i love her ( jess mariano ) nikki's girl ( nikki sixx ) cuddle freak ( steven hyde ) home with you ( jess mariano ) tell me we weren't just friends ( jess mariano ) don't take my sunshine ( tommy lee ) sixx's gone soft ( nikki sixx ) hogwarts halloween ( all harry potter boys )

𝙎𝙀𝙍𝙄𝙀𝙎.

dad jess one. ( single dad jess mariano ) dad jess two. ( single dad jess mariano ) dad jess three. ( single dad jess mariano )

MOODBOARDS.

thank you for being here! request for fics + moodboards!

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always-andromeda · 1 year ago

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𝐝𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⟡ Ellie Williams x F!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ⟡ 1232

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⟡ You and Ellie enjoy an all-too-rare "quiet" moment with each other.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ⟡ soooo...this is my first time writing something for Ellie...please be gentle lmao. I decided to be a little easy on myself and start off with something light with absolutely no plot. Just pure, fluffy porn. That being said, I want to add that from this point onwards, anything I write based in the TLOU universe, I will be including links on what we can do to aid Palestine. From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free.

HOW YOU CAN HELP PALESTINE

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ⟡ smut (minors, do not interact, please and thank you), reader has no physical description aside from being afab and able-bodied, fingering (reader receiving), oral (reader receiving), pet names (babe, baby), slight overstimulation, general softness, nothing else I can think of!

Early mornings suit you, Ellie decides. Especially when it's all cold and quiet and blue light as a thin layer of frost covers the outside of the window by her bed. You're both thankful that it obscures the view of any eyes that may have been peeking into Ellie's garage.

They would've seen you sprawled out on her mattress and Ellie slotted firmly between your legs, paying all sorts of attention to your thighs. And thank fucking god, you're the only one who can hear the filthy words that fall from that wonderful mouth of hers.

"You're so fucking soft, babe." Then she chuckles, "And so easy to work up."

Your thighs shiver with anticipation and you're far beyond the point of feeling any kind of shame about it. There's only urgency filling your chest as you hope that Ellie's teasing turns into something. It wouldn't be the first time that she'd spent so long on you that Jesse had to come and "wake her" for patrol.

Now that had been a special kind of torture: Ellie hoisting herself up off of you and yelling to Jesse that she'd be right out as she pulled on her hoodie and gathered her hair into a bun at the nape of her neck. She grabbed her backpack, kissed you on the forehead, and muttered, "See you tonight," with a cocky grin. Then she fucking left.

And you'd have to shake away whatever mounting pressure she'd built up inside of you and uncomfortably shuffle your way home in yesterday's clothes all while trying to avoid the watching eyes of Jackson's population. It felt like every ounce of deprivation was written on your face in those moments and you hated it.

So you thread a hand through her hair, gently urging her towards your cunt.

"Hey, hey, hey, I'm gettin' there," she teases and removes your hand.

“Now, please,” you whine.

But it’s no use. With a little laugh under her breath, she keeps peppering kisses along your bikini line. You know she relishes in it, listening to you gasp as she gets closer and closer to where you need her only to pull back moments before her lips could connect with your center.

She must be feeling nice this morning; she hasn’t admonished you for squirming or whining. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t have patrol today. Or maybe it’s because you spent hours after dinner the night prior relieving her stress as well. Or maybe it’s just the simple fact that quiet moments like these are rare. All you know is that you can handle it; you can handle her.

You ball up the sheets in your fists and adjust your hips ever so slightly, settling in for whatever Ellie has planned for you. She uses a finger to pull the thin cotton crotch of your underwear to the side and groans to herself.

She laughs, “I don’t even have to try and you’re soaked.”

You lift yourself up on your elbows to look down at her. “Imagine what would happen if you did try,” you quip.

“Tough talk for a girl in your position,” she says. Before you can give her another snarky reply, she licks a long stripe up the center of you. The sudden warmth is welcome but it still startles you.

Ellie adds with a scoff, “Besides, I don’t need to imagine. I am well aware of what happens when I try.” With that, she eases a finger in you.

In and out, she patiently worked you open until asking, “Want another, babe?”

You give a breathy yes. A beat passes where you wait for her to request a please alongside it. But it never comes. She must be feeling really nice.

With a whine, you feel her slip that second finger in. She’s methodic, curling her lithe fingers with each pump and carefully itching an ache inside of you that begs to be scratched. Bit by bit, she only feeds the flame; only makes it climb higher and higher up your belly until it seems to burn at the back of your throat. That wet squelch between your legs intensifies as she fucks you faster. You let out a soft moan and Ellie curses under her breath.

“That’s right, baby. You’ve got it.”

You can’t quite see her expression but you can tell she’s got that smug smirk creeping across her face. It’s the face she makes when she can tell just how well she’s playing you.

Right then she decides to go for the kill. Her tongue flicks over your swollen clit in time with her scissored fingers and before too long, you’re chasing it. Rutting against her mouth, you follow that all consuming fire that burns away each and every one of your better senses. It craves nothing more than pleasure and the praise of the girl you love more than life itself.

Strangely, you don’t mind it. In another world, you could afford to be so needy and so selfish whenever you wanted. Perhaps that’s why you’re so drawn to the feeling now; to the fleetingness of it. It’s lightning in a bottle. And with the heat mounting, you feel ready to burst.

A string of wanton curses falls from your lips. Bones scorched with pleasure, you're quickly approaching the point where you’ll be nothing more than ash.

Ellie groans desperately against your cunt, “C’mon, give it to me. You’re almost there.”

That’s all you need to fall over the edge. You shatter as soon as your climax makes contact. You’re a mess of limbs. Legs wrapping around the woman attached to your cunt. Heels digging into her back, still chasing that endless more until it damn near hurts. Chest heaving as you start to realize that it never will be enough. But somehow, that’s alright. If it was enough, there’d be nothing left for her to give; nothing left to yearn. And you’d rather spend the rest of your life wanting her than wandering in oblivion.

Finally, the pleasure gets to be too much. You’re all but a pile of smoldering cinders, terrifyingly close to blowing away in the wind. You cry out and tap the side of Ellie temple, signaling the end of the

She quickly obliges and switches to pressing gentle kisses to your mound between whispered praises. Hands gripping your thighs, her thumbs swirl soothing circles to your trembling flesh. Her kisses work their way up your belly, between your breasts, across your collar, up to your lips.

“You alright?” she asks softly.

Your head still spins a bit but you manage a nod and a low hum which only makes her chuckle.

A thin layer of sweat on her forehead sheens in the light. The smattering of freckles you adore dance with the flush on her cheeks. Judging by the creases next to her eyes and the smile she wears, she’s languishing in how you look too.

“I sure did a number on you, huh?”

“A little,” you mutter. But you know you’re not fooling her.

Ellie settles at your side and weaves an arm behind your neck, loosely holding you to her. You stay like that for a few seconds; quietly intertwined.

You look up at her through your lashes and break the silence. “Love you, Els.”

She smiles and presses one last kiss to your nose. “Love you too, weirdo.”

#˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚#ellie williams smut #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams #the last of us #the last of us part 2

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p1tterp4tter · 21 days ago

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“Think about it.”

Playlist & Sneak Peek!

Series Masterlist

READ CHAPTER ONE HERE!

Pairing: QZ!Joel x Reader, Jackson!Joel x Reader

Summary: You loved Joel. Then he abandoned you. He came back after you had already moved on. But… had you? Actually moved on? Or is that just what you told yourself to survive in the years without him?

Warnings: 18+, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, Infidelity, marriage of convenience/loveless marriages, explicit sexual content, angst, previously established relationship, age gap (20s/50s), abandonment, slow burn, female reader, no use of y/n, Joel doesn’t know how to express his feelings until it’s too late, brief mentions of physical violence, non-canon timeline, some canon characters have been written out of this story, I’m so nervous posting this please be nice to me

A/N: This story will contain a ridiculously inaccurate timeline! We are honestly deviating from canon in a lot of ways. Also, HEY, haven’t written anything in like almost a decade? What the fuck? Fanfics are written so differently now than they were the last time I wrote something. Please be nice to me. Also, there will be themes of infidelity, loveless marriages, and more, so if anything like that makes you uncomfortable, please don’t read! Some parts of this story are inspired by personal experiences and relationships I have been in, so be gentle please. Also no one has proofread this besides me so bear with me.

Dividers by @saradika

Images featured and characters mentioned in this story do not belong to me!

“Think about it.” — Playlist:

It didn’t take long for you to settle in nicely to the Jackson settlement.

Taking quickly to a job in the stables, you cared for the horses and made sure they stayed fed and healthy, training them to be able to handle long patrols through the harsh terrain and hazardous weather. Making sure they wouldn’t spook at the sound of gunshots or clickers.

Years passed. You made a life for yourself, wedging yourself comfortably into the community. You had a routine— friends, even. A life that made survival worth it.

You had almost forgotten about Joel, about the QZ.

Almost.

You lived in a nice enough cabin, alongside a man named Mitchell. The two of you made it a home. He fixed leaking pipes and squeaky hinges; the kitchen smelled like homemade bread on the weekends from your baking.

He treated you well. He made sure you were both warm and fed. In some ways, he reminded you of Joel. Only… less. Smaller; physically and metaphorically. Less of a man, in a stereotypical, selfish way that you hated to admit thinking about. That, and the fact that you didn’t love him.

You were comfortable. Happy, even, most of the time. It wasn’t love. It was complacency. You felt guilty, but reminded yourself that this was just what life was in the apocalypse— find someone when and where you can. Lean on each other’s backs and stave off your inevitable death for as long as possible.

You shared a bed. Shared rations and conversations. It was more of a relationship than it wasn’t— so that’s what the two of you called it. You wore a ring on her left hand for him, and he for you. Husband and wife, or as close as you could get to it in the end of the world.

Life was good, all things considered. Until the day two new figures approached the gates of Jackson. You had been working the stables when you heard the commotion outside. Tommy, one of the leaders you had gotten to know here in the settlement, was shouting at something or someone.

You made quick work of tacking up your favorite horse. A tall, chestnut quarter horse mix named Gus. You made your way to the gates from the stables, heavy canvas coat keeping you warm, jeans hugging your once hunger-pang legs and hips, flannel tucked in loosely. Your boots tapped Gus’ sides softly, upping his pace as the two of you made your way towards the commotion. Silently praying it wasn’t anything serious, that no one was hurt or worse, nothing could have prepared you for the real cause behind the sudden draw of attention.

Despite the layers of fabric covering your body and the thick socks inside your boots, or the wool cowboy hat resting your head, you felt your entire body go cold when you saw who the sudden fanfare was for.

Tommy was locked into an embrace not too many paces from the gates… with Joel.

Joel Joel.

Joel-who-should-be-dead Joel.

Joel-who-left-you-without-a-word Joel.

And with him, a little girl.

Your heart began beating rapidly, ears ringing from the revelation that he was even alive, head foggy as it tried to wrap around the fact that he was here in Jackson. All you could hear was the panting of your own breaths and the sound of Gus’ heavy hoof beats crunching in the snow, slowing and eventually coming to a stop under the steady guidance of your hands on the reins. Your ears were ringing, vision blurring at the edges.

Tommy and the once familiar figure were still just silhouettes in the distance, but there was no mistaking the man.

It was him. Joel.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel tlou #tlou hbo #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #joel x reader #joel x you #please be nice to me I haven’t written a fanfiction in years

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sexy-monster-fucker · 3 months ago

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omgggg your writing is so good!!! Would you do Jesse Gemstone again? I'm dying for more of him x reader lol the visual of the season 4 mustache down THERE is doing something to ME

AHHHHHHH IVE BEEN WAITING FOR ANOTHER JESSE REQUEST!!— I need Danny McBride to stop getting hotter (also did anyone else notice the terrible spray tans everyone got this season??)

mustache!Jesse Gemstone x Reader

CW: infidelity, secret relationship, sorta forbidden love trope, oral f!receiving, soft degradation, p in v, creampie

a/n: technically spoilers for the newest episode??? this season has been so fun, does everyone agree Megan Mullally is gonna be the villain this time? just me? Okay.

~~~

You brushed through Kelvin Gemstone’s hair. Slick with gel to obtain the perfect fauhawk look. The room loud with Judy and Jesse’s southern twang screaming back and forth. Choosing to ignore the two pompous Gemstones to make sure you did not mess up Kelvin’s look. He was just nominated for 'Top Christ-Following Man of the Year' after all. His strange lover squatted by the side of the chair discussing something you halfway zoned out. Fixated on the hair atop his head.

“Jesus Christ, Jesse! You literally stole that look from Beej! He was rocking the stache then you swooped in and tried to grow your own little pube-stache!” Judy’s voice sounded like she was on the verge of crying. The argument continuing over from a few days prior. Tensions high now that their father’s newfound relationship had been revealed to them.

“Shut the fuck up, Judy! BJ wishes I was copying him. He’s just a punk-ass Gemstone wannabe,” Jesse snapped his fingers to end his sentence.

“How did you end up so… not like them?” you leaned down to whisper to Kelvin, smiling in the mirror at him.

“I’m the baby. So Mamma and Daddy got to screw up twice before hitting the lottery,” his eyebrows bounced as he joked with you, thumbs wiggling as they pointed towards himself. Hiding your shared giggles as to not interject into the argument roaring behind you.

You had known Kelvin since your childhood. Being a member of their church for as long as you can remember. Your father being one of the Deacons, allowing you to get closer to the Gemstones. Being closer in age to Kelvin than either of his older siblings. It helped you bond.

“BJ looks like a sad, washed-up seventies porn star! One of those ones that had to hand out his VHS’s to get anyone to watch ‘em,” Jesse exaggerated with his hands.

“Bitch, please— You’re talking about a possibly permanently disabled man! This isn’t some stupid joke, Jesse! There are more important things happening than your dumbass mid-life-crisis mustache!” Judy stomped her foot, hands balled up at her sides. Teeth gritted together as she sneered at her brother. Tears welling as she stormed out of the dressing room.

“Get your shit together before Sunday service,” Jesse shouted after his sister. Flattening out his collar in the mirror. Fluffing out his sideburns and mustache. Deep eyes looking at the reflection of your ass across the room. Pretending you did not notice as to save face.

It was scandalous. And completely wrong. But you and Jesse had been hooking up for years. Making sure to keep things as secretive as possible. The Gemstones could not afford another scandal.

And you made sure no one knew. Cringing at how Judy and Kelvin would react learning that you, someone they had grown up with, was fucking their older brother. Married, older brother. Which is why you kept your interactions limited. For the sake of your friendship, but also Jesse’s marriage. It’s not like you ever expected him to leave Amber. She would kill both of you before he even got the chance.

"Alright, Kelv. Is this to your liking?"

"It looks great as always, Brother Kelvin," Keefe smiled brightly admiring his boyfriend.

"Perfect, per usue, Y/N," Kelvin smiled up at you, placing his large framed glasses on his face. Standing and thanking you again. Walking out with his partner following him closely. Stopping to give Jesse a dirty look, "Have Y/N fix your hair, you look like someone just shook you up."

Jesse arched his lip and stuck his tongue out at Kelvin. Brother returning the gesture with an annoyed snort. You remained where you stood. Cleaning up the countertop ridden with stray hairs and product. Pretending the silence was not deafening. Trying your hardest to keep your eyes off him. Always awaiting his signal. He loved thinking he was in charge.

The click of the lock on the door made you smile. Stomach flipping at the sound of his fancy shoes clicking on the linoleum floor. Ring clad hands splaying across your stomach pulling your attention up. Smiling at the older Gemstone in the mirror. His face tucked against your shoulder. Newly grown mustache tickling the bit of skin exposed by the off-shoulder dress.

"You just gonna act like I ain't even here?" Jesse grinned, voice lower and sultry. Kissing gently along your neck, trying his hardest to get a reaction out of you. Biting your lip in an attempt to hide the smile that began to beam across your cheeks. One of your hands reaching into his curly locks behind you.

"Is it the 'stache?" Jesse joked, poking a finger in your side. Causing you to jump and your facade to falter. Giggling quietly as his hands turned you around to face him. His tongue glazing across his teeth as his eyebrows bounced. Cheeks pink as his eyes met yours. Fingers digging into your waist, holding you against his chest. Lips finding their place on yours. Familiar rhythm of your mouths, knowing how the other would kiss. Teeth clinking together causing a laugh to bubble up between you.

"It's definitely... different," you flattened a hand against his open collar, "Better than when you were dying your sideburns." You teased him as always. Causing a chiding laugh to come from him. Lips attaching themselves to your throat. Facial hair brushing your jugular. Sloppily kissing along your pulse, canines grazing your skin for a moment. A soft moan fell from you when one of his hands gripped your ass. Feeling Jesse smile at the sound.

"I could give you a mustache ride," Jesse's tone was laced with tease. So you laughed. Noticing how his brows furrowed at your response. Stopping when you realized, "Oh! You were serious."

"Duh," Jesse rolled his eyes.

You smacked his arm, "Don't get snippy with me, boy."

Jesse growled with a smile, lips back on yours as he pushed your body against the counter. Hands roaming every inch, desperately cupping and pinching every flab and mound. Almost like he was trying to see if anything had changed with you in the few weeks it had been since the two of you had been alone. Kissing into you harder than he normally did. Tongue parting your lips. Your hands cupped the sides of his face, manicured nails scratching his scalp.

Large hands helped you onto the counter. Spreading your legs so that he could stand between them. Your dress inching up your thighs. Cold marble helping cool the sensation at your core. Hungry lips ventured down your neck, kissing along your collar as he kneeled before you. Knees pressed into the shag rug on the hard floor. Tucking his face under your dress and gawking at your soaked panties.

“Fucking slut, aren’t you? I’ve barely even had my hands on you,” Jesse reprimanded, his way of dirty talking. You nodded, chills decorating your limbs when his hot breath fanned against your core. Thick digits spread fondly across your bare thighs. Massaging the meat, pushing your dress up so that he could look at you. Eyes dark with lust fluttered up at you.

Tenderly, he peeled your panties from your core. Exposing the place you needed him most. Jesse chuckled in satisfaction, pressing himself into you. Mustache tickling your throbbing clit as his tongue swiped along your slit. Your head fell back against the mirror, moaning his name.

“Goddammit, you always taste so good,” Jesse grunted feeling his cock harden under his dress pants. One of his thick fingers curled into your hole, causing your hips to rut forward. Whining as you laced your fingers in his curly locks. You would definitely have to fix his hair now.

Jesse’s finger prodded at the soft spot that had you closing in on a quick orgasm. With how his mouth sucked on your clit, and the overstimulation of his new lip broom you were sweating. Never realizing it could make such a difference in your experience. In love with the way it rubbed you perfectly.

Your hips rocked against his face. Chasing your orgasm at a rapid rate. He perfectly curled and pumped his finger inside you. Cold metal of his rings sending goose bumps down your skin. You cursed under your breath each time his tongue would circle your nub. Lapping into you, knowing your body. Knowing how close you were to gushing along his face. From the sound of the air tightening in your throat and how you had your head thrown back. Swallowing hard with forced shut eyes.

You looked so beautiful like this. Jesse always thought you did. Unable to pry his eyes off you anytime he would make you finish. Whether he be above or below you. Loving how soft you got, compared to your usual combative nature with him. Always making sure to seem like you were childhood ‘friends’ instead of fuck buddies. If you could even call yourself friends. Just being one of his younger brother’s stupid friends who always seemed to hang around. If he had known you were this good of a fuck, things would have been different. Not allowing you to slip through his fingers. Not having to settle for just this. As good as it was, he wanted you.

Those thoughts only angered him. Which was why he talked down to you during sex. Unable to stand the way his chest fluttered when you would smile at him. Or when your big eyes would doe up at him. How softly his name rolled off your tongue.

Like it did right now. Even while you were cumming on his tongue, his name was like heaven from you. Repeating it like a prayer over and over. Nails scratching his skin as you held onto him for support. Waves of ecstasy had you shivering. Thighs spasming as he continued sucking and fucking your hole. Ignoring the way his cock throbbed almost painfully.

Standing and smashing his lips into yours. Taste of yourself strong along his lip. Mustache glistening with each bit of arousal he had collected. Trying so hard to catch your breath with his mouth on yours. Chest thumping heavily as you gasped. Thin line of sweat forming along your brow.

“Pretty girl,” he complimented. Hands quickly freeing his throbbing member from its confines. Smacking upward, pubic hairs dancing along the base. Tip leaking and swollen, needing you. Feeling yourself drooling at the sight. Inviting him back between your legs. Sheathing himself into your welcoming entry.

Moaning in tandem. Pressing your mouths back together to hide any louder sounds escaping. Jesse allowed you to adjust before finding a fast rhythm. Hips snapping up into you. Pussy still sensitive from your previous orgasm. Voice cracking as you tried to say his name.

Skin smacking deliciously together filled the room. You gripped his girth perfectly. Jesse only having one other to compare you to, having a personal preference for you. Liking how you clinged to and praised him. No matter how far back he pulled, you were always happy to bring him back. A pleasant reminder of your relationship.

Jesse tucked his face into your neck, one hand firmly on your hip the other wrapped around your waist. Gutturally moaning into your skin as he approached his finish. Kissing your clavicle as he repeated your name. “I’m gonna cum, Y/N. Can you take it, baby? Let me fill you up real good,” Jesse breathlessly begged.

You nodded profusely. Arms draped over his neck as he repositioned to be pressing foreheads together. Noses resting on the others tip. Eyes awkwardly staring from this angle.

“Gonna be sitting through church with a reminder. Won’t let you forget how good I fuck you. My fucking cock sleeve,” Jesse heaved with his words.

“Yes, Jesse— please—“ you begged, feeling yourself approaching a secondary release. Knot tightly wound up. Overwhelmed with how full of him you were. Cock stretching the walls inside you so pleasurably. Convulsing along his member.

Coaxing him to his own finish. Thrusted and holding himself flush against you. Jerking with his rope of cum that shot inside you. Savoring the way your cunt milked each drop of his seed. Panting as you both rode out your finishes together. Your chin resting against his shoulder with your weight slumped into him. Heartbeat pulsing along your skin as you rested your eyes for a moment. Loving the musky smell of sex. Mixing perfectly with his expensive cologne.

Silently, you held each other. Nothing but heavy breathing being exchanged. Jesse’s hands spread along your back, looking at himself in the mirror. How perfectly your body fit against his chest. Analyzing the zipper on the back of your dress. Loving this color on you. Pulling back to kiss your lips again.

“Let me fix your hair,” you giggled. Hopping off the countertop. Instructing him to sit. Rummaging through one of the drawers finding his curling brush. Making sure his halfway pompadour would keep every bit of volume it had. Running it through his disheveled hair. All your doing.

Jesse pressed himself forward, planting a tender kiss on your hand. Trying his hardest to get a smile from you as you attempted to hide what had happened. Fluffing his locks with blushed cheeks. Jesse’s hand rested on your hip, absentmindedly thumbing circles into the flesh. Eyes admiring your face as you concentrated on his hair.

“I’ll have to clean off your,” you put a finger across your top lip, “little friend too.”

Jesse smiled. Cheeks bulbing at your joke. Having a million things he wanted to say, opting for silence. Watching you walk over to the sink and wet a towel. Coming back to dab the soapy cloth along his lip. Stretching his mouth down so you did not accidentally get any in his mouth. Lovingly, you combed through the hairs on his upper lip. Restoring him to his former glory.

“Voila!” you held your arms up at your sides, “All ready for the big screen now, stud.” Earning yourself a smile from him. Quick to stand and press his lips to yours again, hands cupping the sides of your face. Your own hand joining one of his, leaning into his touch with a smile. Enjoying the moment of intimacy. Knowing it was fleeting.

“Are you coming to service?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Fuck no!”

“Then it’s settled,” you shrugged. Laughing at his dramatic and over the top nature. Watching him check himself out in the mirror one more time. Blowing himself a kiss, just in the hopes of hearing your switch laughter once more. One of his favorite parts of you.

“There’s a trip coming up. And I’ll need my personal stylist with me,” Jesse said off-handed trying his hardest to not sound desperate.

“Of course, Mr. Gemstone,” you teased, swiping off his shoulders. Looking at his eyes in the mirror. His hand coming up to hold yours against his shoulder. Imagining a life where he did not have to hide you. One where you could have been the mother to all three of his boys. Where you shared a bed every night. One where he did not have to cheat on his wife…

But that’s not how things worked out.

And he was happy to have you anyway he could.

~~~

[END]

// Thank you so much for reading! I still cannot believe this is going to be the final season of the Righteous Gemstones, I’m so heartbroken. I am so happy to still be receiving requests for Jesse, seems like the girlies are in his court this time around. As always, Comments and Reblogs are appreciated. If you want to be tagged, or have a request feel free to message me! I love hearing from you guys <3 //

{tags}

@dannymcbridelover ~ @megangovier ~ @ringa-starr ~ @pushingdaisies1 ~

#jesse gemstone #jesse gemstone x reader #danny mcbride #danny mcbride x reader #the righteous gemstones #righteous gemstones #hbo #hbo max #writing #fanfic #sexymonsterfics #request

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elliesbelle · 1 year ago

Text

nobody compares to you

chapter 14

pairing: ellie x reader

synopsis: you're in your junior year of college and at a party, you run into the girl who broke your heart: ellie williams. despite the time it took to reset your life, will you risk a broken heart again for her?

content warnings: modern college au, cursing, angst, dealer!ellie, some setting is in a hospital, mentions of catheters and needles, descriptions and talk of anaphylaxis, mentions of financial difficulties, mentions of alcohol, mentions of toxic parents, mentions of death and suicide, minors do not interact

word count: 7.9k

chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen

series masterlist

my masterlist

i have a ko-if if you like my work so much that you feel compelled to tip me ♡︎

the "nobody compares to you" spotify playlist

palestine will be free

The first thing you feel is something plastic poking the inside of your nose. It smelled of chilly, medicinal air conditioning.

The next thing you feel is a massive, unpleasant weight on your chest. Then at the crown of your head. Then some weird pressure squeezing your calves every few seconds. Then an entirely full bladder.

“I need to fucking pee.” You mutter, voice dry and raspy.

“I think you can just go, dude.” A familiar voice replies.

You fight against the crustiness of your eyes but immediately regret it. All you can see through the slits of your eyelids is a harsh, white light.

“Am I… Am I fucking blind?” You whine.

“I’m pretty sure that your eyeballs are still inside your head. So hopefully not.” You hear the voice chuckle.

You fight against the unforgiving glare from above, forcing your eyes open. It takes a few moments to gain control of your body, but you’re eventually able to crane your neck towards where the voice had previously echoed from.

“J-Jesse?” You croak.

“Yeah. I’m here, bud.” Your raven-haired friend smiles.

You spot him to your left, sitting in, what appears to be, an uncomfortable armchair. He wore a blue disposable mask over his nose and mouth, his hair looking unkempt and unshowered, and you notice how his clothes look wrinkled and slept in.

“What happened? Are you alright? What’s going on?” You groggily inquire.

“You’re the one all strapped to a hospital bed, but you’re asking me if I’m okay?”

Jesse takes your hand and squeezes it appreciatively. He flashes you a soft, warm smile.

“How are you feeling?” He asks.

“I-I’m not sure…” You admit. “What… what the hell happened?”

“Well,” Jesse starts slowly. “You went on a date with Anderson to Orchards yesterday. At the end of it, you were being a total dummy and made out with her after she ate a whole plate of shrimp.”

“N-no, no,” You interrupt, scrunching your face up as you try to recall the previous day’s events. “She ate this whole soup thing for dinner. Some weird French dish with some weird-sounding name.”

“Bouillabaisse,” Jesse clarifies. “It’s a fish soup. It doesn’t always have shellfish in it, but hers apparently did.”

You groan.

“Oh, I am such a dumbass.”

“Please explain to me exactly how you were being a dumbass in this situation.”

“You literally just said that I was a dummy!”

“That was Jesse of the past. I’m a much more mature man now in my old age.”

You attempt to smack his arm, but he’s saved by the many coils of IVs attached to you, pulling your hand back.

As he playfully rebukes you for attempted physical abuse, another person enters the room. A kind-looking nurse walks in with a clipboard in hand. Wearing dark blue scrubs, a low ponytail, and a surgical mask, she greets you with a friendly wave. She approaches your bedside opposite Jesse, and her glasses-covered eyes indicate a friendly smile.

“Hi there,” She nods. “My name is Yoojin. I’m your nurse today. I’m so sorry for not being here when you woke up. I had to step out for a few seconds, but your brother here assured me that you were in capable hands.”

You turn to Jesse and mouth in amusement, “Brother?”

He suppresses a laugh.

“Later.” He whispers through his mask.

You turn to Yoojin with a small grin.

“No worries. I only just woke up now.” You assure.

She gives you, what you assume, is another smile under her mask.

“So how are you feeling?”

Jesse remained by your side the entire time, only leaving briefly when he needed to use the bathroom or take a call. He sympathized with your gripes about being bedridden, making lighthearted jokes about your catheter, messing around with the IPC devices off your legs over and over until a nurse came in and kindly asked him to stop.

The TV in your room wasn’t working, so he kept you entertained, cracking his usual dad jokes and telling some old stories of Jackson you hadn’t heard yet. You pretended not to notice that the anecdotes he’d recall always excluded an essential person in his childhood, and you tried your best not to remark on it.

After a couple of hours, Dina finally came around to visit. She walks in as you’re berating Jesse for stealing a fruit cup you knew you weren’t going to eat. The sight of her immediately warms your heart.

“Dina!” You exclaim. “Oh, I missed you.”

Dina sets her bag down next to Jesse, lowers her face mask for a moment to give him a quick peck on the cheek, and pulls up a chair next to him. She takes your hand and beams at you graciously. You notice that her eyes are slightly glassy.

“Oh, babe,” She sighs. “I missed you too. Sorry that I’m just getting here. Had to deal with a few things before I came over.”

“Don’t apologize, D. I’m just glad to see you.”

She squeezes your hand softly.

“I’m so glad you’re awake,” She gulps. “You worried us so much.”

“Sorry about that,” You grin sheepishly. “I was being a bit of a dummy.”

Dina blinks for a moment before giving Jesse a smack on the back of his head at this.

“Oy vey. You asshole.” She chides knowingly.

“Hey! No need to abuse me! I’m delicate.”

He caresses the spot where she hit him as you laugh heartily.

The couple recounts the events of last night for you, explaining in detail as much as they know. You listen without interruption until they reach the topic of your EpiPen.

“But how’d you guys get to my EpiPen so quickly? Did you pass by my apartment?” You ask them curiously. “I don’t mind if you guys did! It’s just not that close to the restaurant. Wouldn’t have made much sense to book it back to my apartment, honestly.”

Dina and Jesse share a look you don’t understand. Your eyebrows furrow, confused by their hesitation. Eventually, Dina responds.

“Uh, well…” She begins slowly. “Jesse actually happened to have a spare EpiPen at his place. Thank god, right?”

“You did?” You turn your head towards Jesse. “I didn’t even know you had one, Jesse.”

“Y-yeah,” Dina continues cautiously as you notice Jesse’s expression shift to a poker face. “He used to have an, uh, egg allergy growing up.”

“What?” You ask incredulously.

“Yup,” Jesse chimes in. “I grew out of it when I was in high school. But my mom still insists that I have an EpiPen on me. Just in case.”

You continue to look completely discombobulated. You don’t fully buy their story, especially since neither were looking you directly in the face. But you’ve always trusted Dina as a sister and Jesse like a brother, so you half-heartedly accept the tale they’ve decided to present you with.

“Oh, okay,” You say, slightly unconvinced. “Well, thank god for that, I guess. Is it okay that you used it on me, though? What if you suddenly need it again?”

“No worries,” Jesse assures you. “I’ll call my mom and ask her to send me a new one.”

His poker face improves, so you concede for now.

The couple continue to recount the previous day’s events until they eventually catch up to the present.

“Only family is technically allowed to visit you in the ICU,” Dina confesses at one point. “Jesse had to say he’s your brother to get past the nurses' station. The nurse manning the desk at the time could definitely tell we were lying, but she was really nice and allowed it anyway.”

“Oh, gotcha,” You say. “Well, you’re basically my brother, anyway.”

“You should feel so lucky to share the same genes as me.” He boasts, stealthily avoiding yet another smack from Dina.

“What about you, D?” You ask, turning towards her. “What did you say you were? My sister?”

“Nah, I didn’t wanna be siblings with Jesse, even just as pretend.” She grimaces.

“Okay, yeah, didn’t think of that,” You realize, scrunching up your nose in total disgust at the thought. “Gross.”

“Wouldn’t be able to get that image out of my head.” Dina shudders. “Anyway, I told them that I’m your life partner.”

“My what?” You giggle.

“Hey, it counts!” Dina defends. “Well, kind of. The nurse had to list me as your ‘spouse’ instead, which feels like a hate crime.”

“Oh, shut up.” You laugh as Jesse chuckles.

“What? You don’t wanna be married to me?” Dina asks in mocking shock and offense.

“I am absolutely honoured to be married to you,” You assure her. “I’m just worried about poor Jesse. How in the world are we supposed to break it to him that we’ve actually been married for over ten years?”

“Oh, please, Jesse’s known from the start that he’s always just been a side piece.”

“Hey!” Jesse interjects in indignance. “I’m right here.”

“Be quiet, side piece. The wife and I are speaking.” Dina waves him off.

You burst out into laughter at Jesse’s playfully hurt expression.

The three of you discuss what the doctors have told you, and you eventually bring up the conditions required of you to be discharged.

“I know that the doctors and nurses saved my life and whatever. And of course, I’m very grateful. And I truly do not mean any disrespect,” You say. “But I want to get the fuck out of here, uhh, right fucking now.”

Dina smiles and Jesse chuckles.

“I know, babe.” Dina sympathizes.

“You’ll be out sooner than you know, bud,” Jesse adds. “Don’t stress over it. We’ll get you out as soon as possible.”

“Oh!” Dina suddenly pipes up and reaches into her bag. “I can’t believe I forgot. I brought your phone. I was able to grab your purse for you before the paramedics took you away. I turned it off and charged it at home, so it should have some juice.”

She places your phone in your hand, and you flash her a grateful smile.

“D, you need to be canonized for your good deeds, I swear. With a statue and everything.”

“Oh, I know,” Dina smirks. “Brought your wallet too. Not sure if you wanna keep it here or bring it back to your apartment, though.”

“I’ll ask them if I can keep it here with me.”

A thought suddenly hits you.

“I’ll… I’ll have to figure out how to pay for all this when I get out.” You sigh.

“Oh, babe,” Dina says reassuringly. “Don’t worry about any of that right now. Just focus on resting, okay?”

“Your insurance will hopefully take care of a huge chunk of it,” Jesse contemplates. “It’s through your dad, right?”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” You say as your hands begin to fidget anxiously. “Something as big as this, they’ll probably contact my parents. I… I can’t let them know I’m in here. I know it’ll start shit and… I just know it won’t be good.”

The couple give you identical, concerned looks.

“D-do they know? Th-that I’m in here?” You ask timidly.

“Not that we know,” Jesse replies. “Neither of them is on your emergency contact list. And you know that Dina and I would never speak to either of them. Unless it’s to tell them to shove a stick up their respective asses.”

You and Dina giggle.

“Speaking of which,” Dina adds. “You can ask your uncle. I called him yesterday while you were still out. I hope that’s alright.”

“Oh, that was so thoughtful of you,” You say gratefully. “What did he say? I hope he didn’t worry too much.”

“Honey, you almost died. Of course, he’s worried. He loves you.” She checks the time on her phone. “He should be arriving sometime later today, actually.”

“Shit,” You groan. “He didn’t have to do that. He gets so busy with work during this time of the year. This must have been so inconvenient—”

Jesse suddenly takes his thumb and middle finger and flicks you on the forehead.

“What the fuck!” You exclaim in indignance, rubbing the spot you were hit, as Dina gives him another hard smack on the head. Jesse ignores you both.

“You are more important than any goddamn job that exists in the world, in the whole motherfucking galaxy. Your uncle loves you, just as we do. So no more complaining about it, dumbass.”

You give him a pouty look, but his words fill your heart.

Your best friends stay the rest of the time until your uncle arrives around midday. Relief and affection overwhelm you when he enters the room. You squeeze him with the tightest embrace you can possibly give for someone essentially strapped to their hospital bed. You ignore the loud beeping resulting from the tangling of your many IV wires.

After your friends help you unravel all the cords, they gather their things and get up from their chairs.

“We’ll let you guys talk.” Jesse says, offering his seat to your uncle.

“Oh, you don’t have to leave.” Your uncle graciously assures them.

“It’s alright; have some family time,” Jesse insists kindly. “I’m pretty sure she can only have two visitors at a time, anyway.”

The couple make their way towards the sliding glass door.

“I cannot express how grateful I am for you two,” Your uncle says before they exit. “Thank you for saving her life. And thank you for keeping me in the loop.”

“Please, no need to thank us, really.” Dina nods kindly. “She’s family. We would do absolutely anything for her.”

“That means you’re both family to me too.” Your uncle concludes. “Thank you.”

You hold back tears of vast emotion from three of the most important people in your life exchanging such caring sentiments. You’ve never felt luckier.

“We’ll be in the waiting room,” Jesse promises. “Let us know if either of you needs anything, okay?��

Jesse and Dina take their leave, and your uncle subsequently takes a seat next to you.

“Oh, Uncle,” You start before he can speak. “I’m so, so sorry. You shouldn’t have flown all this way. I can’t believe I was so stupid to have—”

“Hey, hey,” Your uncle interjects. “None of that. You have no reason to be sorry. You needed me, so I’m here. I’m not mad, and this is not your fault.”

Tears form in the corners of your eyes.

“I just feel like I’ve inconvenienced so many people. If I could have just paid attention…” You lament. “And now I’ve totally made you drop everything to be here. I know you’ve still got work—”

“You are a thousand times more important than my job, sweetheart.” He shakes his head and squeezes your hand, echoing Jesse’s previous words.

“But…”

“You are my family. Nothing is more important than that.”

You smile at his adamancy.

“And especially since losing Rafael,” He continues. “I think of you as my own.”

“I know, Uncle.”

You squeeze his hand back in affection.

“D-did…” You suddenly say. “Did you tell—”

“No, your mother and father don’t know a thing about this.” He answers insightfully.

“Thank god.”

“Did you want me to tell them?”

You grimace. Your uncle chuckles.

“I figured as much.” He surmises.

“I just don’t know how to keep this from them forever, though,” You continue. “They’ll see it through the insurance company. I…”

“Don’t worry about that. I can talk to the nurses later today before I leave, see if I can pay it in full myself without needing to use your father’s insurance.”

“Uncle, please. Please don’t do that. This is going to be so costly, and you’ve still got your mortgage and Raf’s leftover student debt—”

“I just want you to focus on getting better, alright? I don’t want anything else on your plate right now.”

“Uncle, promise me. Please. Please promise me. Do not spend a single cent on this. I want to do this on my own. I’ll figure it out. Please promise me.”

He gives you nothing more than a smile in response.

Your friends and uncle take turns rotating as your company for the rest of the day. They’d only leave your side when the doctors and nurses needed to conduct extensive tests to ensure that you were still stable. You were never on your own for more than a few seconds, your loved ones determined that you not feel alone.

You’d turned your phone on almost immediately after Dina’d handed it to you. But as a small, gracious gesture of appreciation, you had set it aside to give your visitors your undivided attention for the rest of the day.

It wasn’t until the evening, when your friends and uncle waved you goodbye as visiting hours ended, that you allowed yourself to finally glance at your notifications.

Anxiously picking your phone up, the first thought you have is to call Abby. Jesse and Dina had mentioned she was with them in the waiting room the night before. But, like your friends, she was informed that she wasn’t permitted to see you in the ICU as she wasn’t family. Dina and Jesse sent her home with the promise to let her know as soon as possible when you finally woke up and that you were alright.

You notice that she’d messaged you earlier in the day. But much too embarrassed to face her just yet, you decide instead to first call your old freshman roommate.

Tara picks up after only two rings, almost as if she’d been waiting by the phone for your call. She greets you with a happy shriek of your full name, an amused giggle escaping your lips as a response to her sudden enthusiasm.

“Thank fucking god!!! I’ve been waiting all fucking day to hear the sound of your voice!”

“Umm, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” You reply, smirking. “This is actually Satan, here to leave a message. I’m calling to let you know that I will be collecting your mortal soul sometime during the next 24 hours.”

“Oh nooooo,” Tara plays along. “What on earth have I done to warrant eternal damnation, Miss Satan?”

“Not sure if you know, but homosexuality is actually a cardinal sin. And unfortunately, you seem to be a notorious, flaming homosexual. I know, I know; it’s quite disappointing. But alas, I do not make the rules.”

“But Miss Satan, are you not a homosexual too?”

“Well, that’s exactly how I know it’s a sin.”

The two of you crackle at each other’s banter, and you make plans in your head to spend more time with Tara and the rest of the girls after you’re released from the hospital.

You and Tara chat for a little while about the most mundane things, like her classes the day before and her plans for the weekend. She apologizes for not having more to say and for “being so boring,” but you’re genuinely happy to just hear her prattle off about anything.

At some point, she hands her phone over to Astrid, who greets you with a similarly delighted shriek that her girlfriend had received you with prior. She gushes over you with love and concern, insisting that she and all the Wilson girls come to visit you as soon as you’re out and adjusted.

“Tara just about broke down when I told her about it.” She reveals. “She was about to leave for her shift at Ruston’s when Dina called, and I’m pretty sure the whole dorm could hear her sobbing.”

“What?! I did not!” You hear Tara shout from a short distance.

“You had so much snot running down from your nose that I just about hosed your face down before you left!” Astrid yells back.

“Stop telling her that! She doesn’t need to hear all that!!”

You giggle at the couple’s repartee.

“Anyway,” Astrid continues. “Kris, Sid, and I tried to come down for a visit, but they apparently only let family in. Jesse and Dina seemed to have monopolized the fake roles of being your family already.”

“Yeah, sorry about that, Addy.”

“Oh, don’t be sorry,” She brushes off. “I’m just glad that you haven’t been alone there. Those two really care about you, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Dina started to make a whole fuss when they wouldn’t let us past,” Astrid continues. “Threatened to sue the nurses, all the doctors, the entire hospital. The receptionist nurse didn’t even get a chance to kick her out ‘cause Jesse himself forced her to go leave and take a walk to calm down. I don’t think she came back until a couple of hours later.”

“Yeah, that sounds like our Dina.” You snort.

The two of you discuss what you’d like to do whenever you finally get released, Astrid swearing to get you out of your apartment nearly every day after your discharge.

“I don’t think I have all the stamina for all that, babe.” You chuckle.

“Then you better get yourself to the gym with Jesse, and build that stamina the fuck up! I want your sexy self at parties and clubs, living your best 20s life with us!”

You chuckle warily at this, simultaneously pushing away the reminder of who Jesse’s daily workout partner is.

After saying your goodbyes to Tara and Astrid, you make brief calls to the rest of the girls of the Wilson Crew. They all answer your calls with an assortment of jubilant greetings, each girl expressing their elation and gratefulness that you’re finally awake and safe.

You send individual texts of love to Dina, Jesse, and your uncle, thanking them extensively for coming to your aid and expressing your excitement to see them again very soon.

Having done your rounds of gratitude, you finally acknowledge that you can no longer ignore the unread texts of the blonde-braided woman you’d had your near-fatal dinner with. You open up your message thread with Abby to see that she’d sent you only three texts earlier in the day.

You stare at her text.

Oh. Huh.

No part of you blamed Abby for the incident; in fact, you’d been feeling a tremendous amount of remorse for putting her through such a traumatizing and jarring ordeal. It had been plaguing you so much since you woke up that you were far too embarrassed to ask Jesse and Dina more about her.

But something about her texts bothers you. There was very little warmth and familiarity in her messages. Her words didn’t seem that of the woman who had been walking you to your classes every day, who showed you off to her friends at the Bow and the Arrow, who treated you to a lavish restaurant on a fancy date. Who kissed you with so much passion on the sidewalk of that same restaurant the evening before.

Is… Is she angry with me?

You continue to stare at her strange messages for several more minutes, unable to process the situation you’re somehow in now. You can’t think of an appropriate response that would lead to something honest, so you decide to put your response off.

A-at least until after they release me… At least until I get home…

The doctors only began to discuss the possibility of your discharge early Sunday morning. Though it hadn’t even been a full two days since your admittance, it took everything in you not to practically beg them to let you go. You’d been insisting to anyone who’d listen that you were completely fine, that you’d walk right out yourself if you weren’t strapped to your bed with a million wires.

It wasn’t until midday, as you were mercilessly beating Jesse’s Shy Guy as Pink Gold Peach in Mario Kart, that Yoojin walked into your room with good news. You don’t notice her at first, too busy taunting Jesse for landing in 7th place while you scored 1st.

“You only won because I got Lakitu’d in the second lap! Fuckin’ Isabelle was sending red shells at me nonstop…” Jesse gripes.

“Sucks. Sounds like a personal problem, man.” You shrug.

“Alright, I want a rematch, but on the Egg course this time.”

“You’re such a sore fucking loser!”

“There’s a shortcut on Yoshi’s circuit close to where the finish line is, by the way,” Yoojin interjects, eyes smiling. “If you use a mushroom and drift to the hidden waterfall on the right, it’ll get you pretty far ahead.”

You and Jesse look up, a bit sheepish at her witnessing your juvenile behaviour. The nurse looks completely unbothered by it, however, and she approaches your bed as you place your controller down.

“Aww, come on, Yoojin,” You whine. “Don’t tell him that! I’m on a winning streak!”

“Shh,” Jesse shushes you, attempting to cover your face with one hand. “Don’t listen to her, Yoojin. She’s delirious from all the drugs you’ve been pumping her with. I must know all your secrets, ‘cause I swear, this one is cheating.”

“Maybe later,” Yoojin laughs as you flick Jesse’s forehead. “Because you might want to hear what your doctor just told me.”

Your ears perk up at this.

“I can go home?”

“Your most recent labs just came back, and everything looks good.” Yoojin nods. “And your vitals have been stable for the last 24 hours. So unless you plan on wolfing down ten pounds of shrimp sometime before leaving, we can get started on getting you released sometime later today.”

Your face breaks out in a huge smile, and you turn to grasp Jesse’s arm.

“Dude! I can go home!” You exclaim.

“Yes, I heard,” Jesse says. You can feel his smirk through his face mask. “Finally.”

You turn back to Yoojin.

“I can go right now?” You ask.

“It’ll take a couple of hours to make sure everything’s set for your discharge,” Yoojin says, chuckling at your eagerness. “But just hang tight, and you’ll be out of here in no time.”

“Why don’t you guys settle things here while I go tell your uncle?” Jesse offers.

Your uncle had stepped out to get some lunch at the hospital’s food court not too long ago. He and Jesse had arrived on the dot when visiting hours began earlier in the day. Dina had accompanied them but left shortly after to take care of other obligations, promising to be right back the second she was done.

“Oh, that’d be great,” You say. “Thanks, Jess.”

“No worries, bud. I’ll be right back.”

He gives you a pat on the head before leaving you alone with the nurse.

“So before you leave, we’ll go over a few things to make sure you don’t suddenly relapse during the next few days,” Yoojin begins. “And we’ll make sure you go home with a couple of new, unexpired EpiPens, just in case.”

You nod as she goes on to explain the plans for your discharge. You listen attentively, determined not to end up back in the hospital like this again. As Yoojin wraps up, you work yourself up to ask her a question that’s been at the tip of your tongue since the beginning of the conversation.

“Hey, umm, before you go,” You mutter nervously. “I wanted to ask about how much all of this will cost me. I-I know it’ll be pricey and all, especially with two brand new EpiPens, so I just want to be prepared.”

“That’s not really something I can help you with,” Yoojin replies apologetically. “That’s the jurisdiction of the hospital’s billing department. But I’m sure you can get it all settled with your insurance after you’ve been released. Depending on what you have, they should cover most of it.”

You give her a tentative smile as you wring your blanket between your fingers.

“A-alright then.” You sigh defeatedly.

It takes about two hours for you to finally be released from all your restraints and another hour until you’re finally walking out of the hospital and into the sunny parking lot. Yoojin allowed you a quick embrace before you left, insisting that you promise to be much more careful from here on out.

You lean against your uncle and Jesse for support as you exit the hospital’s automatic sliding doors, legs still a little shaky after being bedridden for so long. Dina pulls up next to you in her car and gets out to open the passenger door.

“M’lady.” She says with a bow, gesturing to the seat.

“Shut up, D.” You laugh, rolling your eyes.

“You sure you’ve got everything?” Your uncle inquires.

“I think so,” You reply. “Didn’t really bring anything with me.”

“Alright, well, I’ll head to my hotel room first so I can take care of a few things. I’ll meet the three of you at your apartment sometime later today. Sound good?”

You, Jesse, and Dina all nod in unison. Before he walks away, you wrap your arms around him in a tight hug.

“Thank you so much, Uncle,” You murmur. “It means so much to me that you came.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart. Anything at all.”

He gives you a quick squeeze before releasing you, promising he won’t take very long before walking away towards his rental car.

“So,” Dina chimes. “Wanna grab some gross, greasy non-hospital food on the way home?”

When you finally cross the threshold of your apartment, you’d already wolfed down the majority of your fries along with half a chocolate milkshake. You collapse onto your couch with a relieved sigh, your best friends falling next to you on either side. You lean your head onto Dina’s shoulder as you take her hand between both of yours.

“I think I’m about to go into the world’s longest food coma.” You decree.

“I’m right alongside you, dude.” Jesse agrees, having devoured one and a half burgers himself on the way.

“No comas, please, or we’re gonna have to turn right back around and readmit you into that hospital.” Dina says.

“Never again, please,” You beg. “If I have to hear the nonstop beeping of a heart monitor for one more second, I’m going into straight-up fight-or-flight mode.”

Your friends chuckle.

“Alright,” Jesse eventually says as he sits up straighter. “Now that you’ve been freed, what do you want to do first?”

You hum as you ponder his question.

“Get so blackout drunk that I totally forget this entire experience ever even happened in the first place?” You offer.

“Right, well, perhaps we can do something that isn’t completely stupid and detrimental to your health. Especially after you were just in the hospital after almost dying.” Dina retorts.

You boo her as Jesse chuckles.

“Well,” You continue. “I guess I should tell the girls I’m finally out. I promised them I would. Or did you guys say anything to them already?”

“Not yet,” Dina says. “They’ll probably want to hear it from you.”

You groan.

“You’re right. Ugh. I don’t think I can handle the sheer amount of screaming and excitement that’ll come with it, though. Kris sounded like she was going to smother me with so much love that I’d suffocate from it.”

“You can always put it off, at least until tomorrow.” Jesse counters.

“I guess so. You think they’ll be mad?”

“Babe,” Dina says, squeezing your hands and rolling her eyes. “You almost died. I think they’ll survive a day.”

“Alright, alright,” You giggle. “I probably should focus on getting work done before class tomorrow, anyway.”

“Ma’am, I know you are not thinking of going to your classes right after you were just in the hospital all weekend.” Jesse scolds sternly.

“I’m fine!”

“Dear lord.” Jesse sighs, exasperated.

“Like I said,” Dina repeats. “You almost died. School is not a priority right now. You need to be resting, not writing essays and doing homework.”

“I don’t want to fall behind!”

“Didn’t your doctor give you a school note before we left earlier? She said you can give it to your professors to excuse you from your classes this week.”

“Yeah, but it’s not mandatory or anything. I’m fully recovered now, so it just seems totally unnecessary.”

“Like hell it is!” Dina bellows before releasing your hands to stand up from the couch. You fall flat on your face onto her spot when her shoulder disappears from under your head, and you muffle irritated curses into the couch cushion. You look up to see she’s disappeared momentarily into your bedroom.

“D… What are you doing?”

Dina reemerges after a few seconds, your laptop in her hands.

“Babe. What’d you get that for?” You ask suspiciously.

“I’m emailing all of your professors myself to tell them that you will not be attending any of your classes this week. Especially since it seems that you want to be such a stubborn dumbass about it…” Dina says matter-of-factly, shoving your head away from her spot on the couch to sit beside you once more.

“Never should have given you my password.” You grumble as Dina opens up your laptop and easily bypasses your lockscreen.

“Alright, who are all your professors again?” She asks, opening up your browser to access your email.

“I’m not telling you!” You reply stubbornly, crossing your arms.

“Hmm… I know she’s got Olinick’s double class on Tuesdays and Thursdays, Mulligan at least on Mondays—” Jesse lists, counting your professors on one hand.

“No, no, no, I don’t!” You turn towards him, shoving your hands in his face.

“—I think Joslin from the English department too, but I can’t remember if that was last year or this year.”

“Jesse!”

By the time your uncle arrives at your apartment, you’d conceded to your best friends and allowed them to draft an excuse email to all of your professors. Dina opens the door for him after he knocks while you make final edits to your letters, and he settles into the ratty, secondhand armchair right next to the couch.

Your uncle chuckles at the scene before him: you with a focused look on your face typing rapidly on your laptop, Jesse leaning back into the couch while gently patting the top of your head as he continued to make suggestions to your email, and DIna taking her seat right back next to you before kicking her feet onto your lap as you lift and place your laptop on top of her legs. It had been a while since your uncle had seen you so relaxed around other people, the last time being right before your freshman year of college. His fondness for your best friends quickly grows by the second.

You look up from your work for a moment to smile warmly at your uncle, and he returns it with one of his own.

“Hi, Uncle! Sorry, I’m just finishing up this email to my professors.”

“No need to apologize, sweetheart. You telling them you won’t be attending any classes this week?”

“Yup,” Jesse answers for you. “Took a lot of bullying on our part to convince her not to overwork herself with school right now.”

“This dummy wanted to go back to classes right away as if nothing happened.” Dina rolls her eyes as she extracts a foot from underneath your laptop to kick you softly, earning her a stern “Hey, hey, hey!” from you.

“Well, thank goodness she has you two to set her straight.” Your uncle chuckles.

“Oh, she’s absolutely lost without us.” Jesse says, continuing to pat the top of your head.

Your uncle smiles. He can tell that Jesse’s joking around, but he knows that the couple have both been selflessly keeping you alive for the past few years.

“So how are you feeling?” Your uncle continues with concern etched on his face.

“Not so bad,” You admit. “Just so glad to be among civilians once again.”

You feel Jesse rub your upper back kindly.

“I’m sure,” Your uncle smiles kindly. “How about we talk about what you’re going to do now that you’re out?”

The four of you discuss what the next, post-hospital visit steps would be. They remind you of the check-up appointment you have later in the week, caution you once more about what foods you need to constantly be looking out for, and double-check that you have your new EpiPens handy and within constant reach.

“I still have my current EpiPen in the bathroom,” You say. “It hasn’t lapsed yet. So maybe I can give you each of the ones they sent me home with, if that isn’t too much of an inconvenience to either of you guys?”

You turn towards Dina then Jesse.

“You sure?” Jesse asks.

“Yeah, I mean, I obviously don’t want something like this to happen again. But if, by some hideous trick of fate, I end up in a repeat situation, it might be smart to just have one in multiple places. Just to cover my bases, I guess.”

“I don’t mind at all,” Dina nods. “As long as you have easy access to one at all times.”

“Yeah, that was my thinking too,” You agree. “Plus, I don’t want to have to use one of yours again, Jess.”

“Mm, I guess.” Jesse hums.

Your eyes meet his and you once again recognize his poker face.

“That sounds like a good plan,” Your uncle agrees. “Let’s try not to rely on just luck next time around.”

You give him an apologetic smile.

The sun had been set for at least an hour when Dina and Jesse finally took their leave. Both offer to stay the night, in case you suddenly need either of them, but you assure them that you’ll survive one night alone just fine. You embrace each of them tightly, putting every ounce of gratitude you have into your hugs.

You settle back onto the couch after you see them both out the door, and you turn towards your uncle still sitting in the armchair.

“I know I’ve said this probably a hundred times the past day or so,” You begin. “But thank you for coming, Uncle.”

“I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I didn’t come,” He replies. “Neither would Raf if he was still around.”

You both share a sad smile.

“I miss him, Uncle…” You whisper suddenly.

“I know. I do too.”

You sigh before continuing.

“I wish he was still here. I feel… I feel so incomplete without him around. Like this has all been an awful nightmare that I have yet to wake up from.”

“I know just what you mean,” Your uncle laments. “But our lives still go on, sweetheart. I think it’d make him sad to see us grieving him for the rest of our lives.”

“But… it just feels so wrong. It feels so wrong to stop grieving for him, to move on from him.”

“It’s not exactly moving on from him,” Your uncle ponders. “It’s more like… We make a place for him in our hearts. It’s sort of like he becomes a part of us. He’ll always be in everything we do.”

Your eyes well up as a childhood memory floods your thoughts.

When you were eleven years old, you had your first anaphylactic experience. You and Rafael were hanging out at his house, your uncle at work all day. You were making a mess in the kitchen, developing concoctions with half the contents of the pantry. As you were dumping a bag of marshmallows into a blender full of graham crackers and banana slices, Rafael fished an old bag of chips out of one of the cabinets.

The writing on the bag was all in a language you couldn’t understand, but the superheroes on the front seemed to be enjoying the crunchy snack. Raf was tearing the bag open before your greasy fingers started grabbing at its contents.

It didn’t even take two minutes until Rafael realized something was wrong. You were annoyed and taken aback when he slapped the chips out of your hand. It wasn’t until he was hauling you to the garage and strapping you into the passenger seat that you began to feel dizzy. By the time Rafael had driven to the emergency room, your skin had broken out into hives and your throat felt completely swollen. The last thing that you remembered before blacking out was your faithful cousin scooping you up and sprinting to the emergency room’s entrance.

You didn’t hear the end of it from your parents when you’d woken up from being unconscious after a couple of hours. Your mother spared no shame in relentlessly admonishing you, regardless of who was in the room, for your “stupidity.” The doctors and nurses offered you continuous looks of pity as they had to witness your many verbal lashings, though none stepped in to interfere. You were blamed for inconveniencing the family, for forgetting your EpiPen at home, for “forcing” Rafael to drive a car when he didn’t have his driver’s license yet, for obligating your parents to pay for your medical bills.

From that day on, your fear of your parents’ wrath was far greater than the fear of possibly falling prey to your fatal allergy.

All that gave you hope was your uncle and cousin coming to your defense. Unlike your parents, they showered you with care and love, especially Rafael who felt guilty and responsible for your admission. They nursed you back to health after you were released, Rafael promising you that he’d never let it happen to you again.

“Can I tell you something, Uncle?” You ask. “I didn’t even tell Jesse or Dina this. And I don’t think I ever could.”

“You never even have to ask, sweetheart. You know you can tell me anything.”

“I…” You gulp. “There was a point… while I was in the ICU that I was a little lucid for a few moments…”

You wring your fingers together in uneasiness as you stare down at your lap, unable to meet your uncle’s eyes.

“I… I didn’t know what was happening to me. I didn’t know I was going through anaphylaxis again. But I just knew… I felt that something was wrong with me.”

Your uncle listens to you intently, his chin on his hands folded as if he were praying.

“Something inside me… Somehow, I knew that I was dying,” You continue. “Or I knew that at that moment, I could die. I could keep going… or I could choose to let my body give out completely.”

You finally meet your uncle’s gaze.

“And I wanted to. I wanted to just… go,” You confess. “Not in a s-suicidal way. Not exactly, at least.”

Your eyes fill with thick tears.

“But… I wanted to be with him again. I knew that if I gave in, if I succumbed to whatever was killing me, I would see him again.”

Your bottom lip shakes as you continue.

“I miss him so f-fucking much, Uncle. I don’t know how to go on without him around. I’m so l-lost and confused, and all I want to do is talk to h-him about it. But I can’t. There’s n-nobody else in this world that I’ve ever felt as close to as him. Maybe except—”

You break off before you can finish, shaking off the memory of ocean green eyes and a constellation of freckles. The look on your uncle’s face tells you that he already knows how your sentence was going to end, but he says nothing.

“He told me he’d never let anything happen to me. He was always supposed to be here with me,” You sob. “I know that’s selfish. I know that his life didn’t revolve around me. But so much of mine did. I planned… I built my life to always include him. Now what the hell am I supposed to do?”

Your uncle’s sad eyes watch as you roughly wipe your cheeks of the tears uncontrollably streaming down.

“Sweetheart…” Your uncle begins as he stands up from the armchair to sit next to you on the couch. “You are not selfish. I know how much he meant to you. How much he still means to you.”

He takes your hands between his.

“I just…” You sniffle. “It’s been years. I thought I’d healed from it already. I thought I’d moved past all the pain.”

“It’s not a continuous thing, dealing with your grief.” Your uncle smiles softly. “You’ll have moments, hard ones where it’ll all feel raw and fresh again. It doesn’t mean you’re weak or selfish. You just have your own way of handling your sadness.”

You nod in acknowledgement of his words.

“But I think we both owe it to Raf to live our lives, to be happy without him around,” He continues. “His gift to us was time. Time with him and great memories. Even if he’s no longer with us, we’ll continue to carry that gift with us wherever we go.”

Your uncle smiles and you return it, though wistfully.

“I’m very grateful that you trusted me to share this with me,” Your uncle begins. “But don’t be afraid to talk about this with your friends. Especially those two.”

“Jesse and Dina?”

He nods.

“I see just how much they love you,” Your uncle says. “They seem like they would do absolutely anything for you. And I am so grateful that you have people like that in your life.”

“Yeah, they… mean so much to me.”

“I’m glad. So, please. If I’m not around, don’t be afraid to confide in those two. I’m sure if the roles were reversed, you’d do the same for them.”

“I’d do absolutely anything for them.”

“Exactly. So don’t be afraid to embrace the love in your life. You deserve that. And that’s exactly what Rafael would want for you.”

You throw your arms around your uncle and sob into his shoulder.

You and your uncle continue to talk for a while until you realize that it’s nearly midnight. Like your friends, he offers to stay the night in case you need him. But you know his flight home was only in a few short hours, so you insist that he go back to his hotel to get a bit of sleep before he needs to leave for the airport.

It took everything in you not to beg him to stay, but you couldn’t bear troubling him further. And you longed to finally have some time to yourself, so you put on a brave face.

After your many assurances that you would take care of yourself better, you walk him to your front door. When you open it up, you both notice a simple brown box with a thin bow placed on top of your doormat. You pick it up, noticing how light it feels in your hands.

“What is this?” You mutter.

“You got a package?” Your uncle asks, looking at the box.

“No… I didn’t order anything.”

“Strange. Maybe your friends Dina and Jesse left it for you.” He offers.

“I… I guess,” You frown. “Although, I don’t really know why they wouldn’t just give it to me when they were here earlier.”

“Hmm, that’s true,” He hums, squinting his eyes at it. “A secret admirer, perhaps?”

“Ha ha, Uncle. Very funny.”

You give him an amused grimace before untying the bow and removing the lid. You gasp as you recognize what it contains.

“Oh…”

You drop the box and embrace its previous contents.

“My Barbie Bear…”

author's notes:

thank y'all so much for you patience waiting for this new chapter to come out. i literally wrote like, half of this while in the psych ward, and that was all the way in decemeber sldkfjlsdk

tbh i meant this chapter to be a lot shorter than it turned out to be but lskdjfs more content for y'all ig!

reader's first words after waking up is inspired by me saying, "i need to poop so bad" when the doctors were busy working on me in the emergency room lmaoooo

silver lining of me being in the icu back in december is being able to describe it in detail in this chapter hehe. being in the icu suuuuucked but mostly cause it was boring and cold and i wasn't allowed to get up to pee!!!

the nurse yoojin is named after one of my nurses while i was in the hospital. i loveddddd her, she was such a sweetheart and it made me so happy whenever she was assigned to me. i was rewatching arcane while i was in the hospital, and she saw and asked me about it, and then we gabbed about the show and league of legends (cause she religiously plays the game but hasn't watched arcane yet), and i eventually convinced her to actually watch the show heeeheee

reader’s uncle saying he sees reader as his own is what uncle iroh says to zuko in atla, fun little easter egg heehee (you know me and my love for easter eggs)

reader greeting tara on the phone as satan was how i first greeted my best friend when i was finally able to call her through the public phone in the psych ward (hi rhi LOL)

pink gold peach is my main in mario kart lol

reader's professors mentioned are all named after old professors from my former college's theatre department (rip dennis, miss you always ❤️)

reader’s uncle telling her “we make a place for him in our hearts” in regards to rafael is what tara in buffy the vampire slayer says to dawn when their mom dies (can you tell i love btvs)

working on the next chapter asap, lmk what you think of this chapter in the meantime!

also i made an ao3, so if you wanna read on there too, check it out!

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#nobody compares to you series #ellie williams #dealer!ellie #ellie x reader #ellie x you #ellie x y/n #the last of us #tlou #the last of us part 2 #tlou2 #ellie fanfiction #belle speaks #belle writes #Spotify

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admirationandromantics · 7 months ago

Text

Going overboard, Prologue

Okay, so 10 hours early, but I've gotten several requests about the start of the story, so here it is! This has been a big project (still not done with the last 3 chapters...), but so worth it. Remining the readers that this story is 18+ cause of alcohol, smut, drugs (?), throwing up (cause of alcohol, not ed) and other darker themes. Remember that Josh is severly mentally ill, so if you struggle with themes like that, I don't recommend this story.

Some chapters will not feature interactions with him, and some will be longer or shorter, but I'll try to make daily updates, so no worries! This blog is purely for my creative expression, and I don't really want tips or tricks about how to do stuff better, thank you. This whole thing is a way for me to relieve stress and just write without thought. Hope you enjoy, and if you do, please consider following and liking <3

The booze was getting empty, and the night darker. The snowstorm outside had worsened, making the inside of the cabin feel like the perfect cozy place. Emily and Jess had been talking all night about some kind of prank. I don’t know what it was about, and I didn’t want to know. Knowing the lengths they’d go, I kept my distance. During the evening they’d been regularly going away together, whether it was in the bathroom or in the kitchen. They were alone, talking, occasionally giving loud snickers. If Emily wasn’t hopelessly in love with Mike, I would’ve thought she had a thing for Jess.

Josh is slurring around, mixing up words and almost falling over. He’s basically being carried by Matt from place to place when he wants to go somewhere. Hannah is mixing drinks, leaving them on the counter for everyone. I guess it’s tiring being hosts. Well, not for Josh, but the others. I’m sitting on the sofa with Sam, Ashley and Chris. Ashley seems fine, as she doesn’t get very verbal while drunk, while Sam’s not drinking. She’s sketching on her notepad while talking, and I occasionally look over her shoulder to see the products. They’re gorgeous, every line perfectly in place. I’m mesmerised by her talent, her ability to create something so lifelike. She’s almost like Victor Frankenstein, just a little safer with her creations. She’s drawing Chris now, making sure to add that little glisten on his glasses. I look over at him, then the drawing, then him again. It looks so real.

“I’m in awe” I comment, looking up at her. She gets a slight blush on her cheeks, clearly not used to such positive feedback.

“Why thank you” she smiles back at me.

“Ohhh let me see, let me see!” Ashley shouts, reaching out both of her hands for the pad. Sam complies, putting down the pencil and giving it to her. Ashley blushes as she looks at the drawing, biting her lips in an almost invisible manner.

“Oh look-” she points at the drawing, holding the pat in front of Chris.

“She even got some of your freckles” she smiles, still blushing as she looks down on him. Chris doesn’t open his eyes. His head’s resting on her shoulder, and when she nudges him, he gives a slight “mmm” in reply. She gives back the drawing pad to Sam, leaning back so Chris’ head falls in her lap. Luckily she manages to catch his head with her hands, slowly putting him down. He nuzzles into her, and she runs her finger though his hair while breathing out. She’s probably scared he’s going to wake up.

I turn, giving Sam a look before we both turn to her. The motions make her look up at us, confused.

“Sooooo” Sam begins.

“When are you going to ask him out?” I finish, smirking. I can’t help it. It takes a couple of seconds before Ashley realises what we asked of her, and when she does, her eyes widen and both hands immediately go to cover Chris’ ears. Sam grabs my thigh, squeezing a bit to release the energy so she doesn’t laugh.

“Shhhh he might hear you!” she whisper-shouts, looking at us.

“Oh don’t worry, he’s out cold” Sam teases, grabbing a shot glass and filling it to the brim with tequila.

“Well, the brain can still recognise things while sleeping”

“Nerd”

“They’re a perfect match”

“Stop it!”

We both laugh, while Ashley’s still pouting.

“Fine, sorry” Sam continues, giving me the shot glass. I look at her, she’s got a funny look on her face.

“What is this for?” I ask, taking hold of it and bringing it to my mouth.

“You seem more present than the rest.” She smiles, nodding to the glass. I drink up, give a grimage and start looking for the lime.

“There’s no more”, Ashley laughs, and Sam joins her.

“Asshole”. I move to the kitchen, trying to find some kind of drink to make the shot not come up again. Beth joins me.

“You look awful”

“Thank you Beth”. She gives me a beer, and I drink it as fast as I can, killing the gross aftertaste. As I look over at her, she gives me a concerning look. I finish up, another bad taste covers my insides, and I run to the sink, feeling like throwing up.

“Fuck fuck fuck”

“Shit sorry, I didn’t think you would drink that so fast!” Beth exclaims, running to the refrigerator and grabbing some orange juice. As she hands me it, I drink like a feral animal once again, determined to not let this ruin my night. Beth stands behind me, rubbing my back and holding my hair. Just in case. Nothing comes up, and after about three minutes I stand up, giving her a bitch look.

“Karma’s coming for you Beth, that’s not okay.” She’s still smiling softly at me, whispering for me to follow her. I take her hand, and she leads me to the bathroom. We both sit down on the floor, and I begin to feel my whole body pulsing. Every breath is grand, going to the edge of my fingers. Fuck, I’m going to be sick tomorrow.

“I wanted to tell you something” she starts, not looking at me.

“What”

“The others were trying to get you blasted tonight”

“You think I’m naive, of course I know that. Sam never offers alcohol to anyone, and you know how I get”

“Well, yeah. I was kind of in on it”

“I know”, I responded, laughing a little. She looks over at me.

“You’re not mad?”

“Of course not, just fun, I wanted to let a bit loose on this trip”

“You know we have an agenda?” No I didn’t. I look up at her, her face slowly moving to the side, facing me.

“And what is it?” She looks down in shame, and I get a weird feeling in my stomach. If this has something to do with Jess and Emily, I’m leaving on the spot.

“Well, notice how Josh is also…”

“A little out of it?”

“Yeah, that”. Something clicks, a switch, a lightbulb, something, and I rapidly stand up.

“Wait!” I exclaim, suddenly realising. My body is wobbling, and I grab hold of the wall so I don’t fall. Beth follows quickly, hands in the air around me in case I fall.

“You’re trying to get me with your brother?!”

“You like him don’t you?”

“Well Yeah"

“And you’re both drunk”

“So?”

“Drinks of bravery?”

“No”

“Yes”

“Absolutely not”, and I turn to leave. I go out in the hall, but she runs past me and corners me.

“Okay, listen. Maybe this wasn’t the best approach, but don’t let the rest of the night go to waste, we’re having fun. No pressure on that area, okay? You’re just having fun tonight” she explains, a bit panicked.

I can’t be mad at her, but I roll my eyes and give her a nudge, not feeling if I hit her or not. I grab her hand, and we both go to join the others. I know myself, and no matter how drunk I get, making a move on Josh is NOT something I will do. Ever.

As we’re walking down the stairs, the people have gathered in the living room. Matt is on his way to the bathroom, walking past us and smiling. Such a sweet guy. We join the others, sitting down with Josh to my left and Emily on my right. Josh leans over.

“Hey, want to get a smoke” he whispers, probably so Sam doesn’t hear. I look out the window, getting shivers just from seeing the snow.

“The weather”

“We can do it through a window.” I look at the others, who are clearly busy. Nobody’s watching, and we could probably sneak out.

“My room” he whispers, before drunkenly getting up, moving like a penguin up the stairs. He walks past Matt, who’s going down.

“Need help Josh?”

“Do I look like I need help?”

“Yes”

“No I don’t”

Everyone laughs as Josh continues up the stairs. Hannah looks worried, but ultimately starts sipping her drink again. I don’t know how much time has passed before I decide to go. Emily, Jess and Mike went to the kitchen again, but not before drawing a bunch of stuff on Chris’ face. Nobody notices me slipping away, up the stairs and out of reach.

I walk through the hall. Josh’s room is at the very end. The hall is spinning, doors getting mixed up. I open one of them, walking into a dark room. Makeup is spread throughout every counter, clothes everywhere. This is not Josh’s room. I drunkenly make my way out to the hallway again, noticing a door beside which is slightly ajar.

As I arrive in Josh's room, his window is open, cold air flying through the room, giving me goosebumps. He turns around when he hears the door close, looking me up and down and smiling. He’s already got a cigarette in his mouth. I smile back, walking towards him. As I reach for the wardrobe to hold for balance, my hand slips. He’s quick to grab my arm, making a grunting sound when pulling me up. He’s got fast reflexes for someone who’s drunk so much. As I get my balance back, he grabs a pack from his pocket, opening it and letting me pull a cigarette out.

“Got a lighter?” I ask. He smiles, taking the cylinder off my hand and holding it up to my lips. His eyebrows rise, and I take it as a sign to part my lips, leading to him placing cigarette in my mouth. His hand grabs hold of my chin, pulling me closer. He leans over, letting his burning end touch the end of mine.

“Inhale” he whispers between teeth. I comply, lighting my own through his. I stare up at him, locking eyes. He doesn’t move away. Instead, his thumb shifts from my chin to my lips, caressing lightly. I’m drunk, he’s drunk, we don’t know what we’re doing. I pull away, away from his face and hand.

“So we didn’t need a lighter” I say, leaning over to the window and blowing the smoke outside. He stands beside me, leaning over so we’re in the same position, arms brushing against each other.

“You’re cold”, he tells me, looking up worried. His hand moves to my arm, grabbing. He’s warm, too warm. I sigh when he touches me, involuntary. Fuck. I blush, hoping he thinks my redness is due to the cold.

“I don’t feel it”, I respond. A lie, but it’s okay. I’ll survive.

“Damn, drank that much?” he says, walking over to the closet.

“Not my fault”

“Really”, he sounds surprised. Walking back to me, a flannel shirt in hand.

“The others are plotting” I state, as I put my hands out, letting him put it on me. When he finishes, he doesn’t button it, but leaves it open.

“Plotting what?”

“Trying to get us together”

“Really? My sisters’ are in it too?”

“At least one of them”

“Shameless people. Trying to get her brother and best friend together”

“Yeah I know” I laugh, turning away and looking out the window once again. I take a few more drags of the cigarette, using too long, making it almost go out. He starts a new conversation.

“You know, I thought about asking you out once”. I look surprised at him, he has his signature smirk plastered on. It’s my turn to be curious.

“And?” He turns to me, looking down, I don’t know if he’s looking down my shirt or on my waist.

“Well, friend group shit. Didn’t want to fuck it up”. My heart falls a bit, a heavy feeling in my chest.

“Smart choice” I manage to answer.

“I guess”. He sounds oddly disappointed, and I force myself to be more forward.

“Especially since I would’ve said yes”

“What?” he asks, taking my cigarette and throwing it out the window.

“Hey!”

“It was basically out anyway. But are you for real?” he continues, brows furrowed, and hands grabbing my shirt on each side of my waist. My face gets hot, arms wanting to feel him.

“Yeah-”. Before I’m able to fulfil my answer, he drags me into him, chest to chest, meeting my lips in a sloppy kiss. Shocked, I pull away, walking a few steps back. I still hold onto the counter for balance, looking at him. He’s breathing heavily, a bit surprised by my response, and a little hurt.

“Sorry, I got the signs wrong” he says, looking down. I take a breath, calming myself.

“Is this a prank?”

“What”

“Is this a prank?” I say a bit louder, nearly shouting. Probably I am, I just don’t realize it.

“Why would you think that?” he asks, a bit angry.

“Because Jess and Emily were talking about some type of prank and people were getting me drunk and-” I ramble, breathing starting to get unsteady. I’m unsure about how to continue. I’m getting dizzy, needing to lay down. Josh notices. As my vision goes blurry, arms take hold of me, quickly moving me to the bed. My head is pounding, but the room doesn’t spin as much anymore. An arm is holding my head up a bit, and I feel a cold glass touch my lips. Instinctively I open my mouth, drinking the whole glass of water. He lays down beside me, and I can feel myself drifting off.

When I wake up, it’s still dark outside. Josh is sleeping, so I make my way to the bathroom. The nausea is catching up, and I make myself vomit. Several times. Luckily, this means I’ll probably be spared in the morning. My head feels lighter, in a good way. When I’m done, I drink some more water and brush my teeth. I feel refreshed, and a little happy that was it. I don’t need to be stressed about being sick.

As I walk out in the hallway again, I hear voices downstairs. They’re still up. I look at the clock, and notice I was only out for about half an hour. I decide not to join them. I’ve gotten enough tonight. As I make my way in the hallway, I notice Josh’s door which I didn’t close behind me. I walk over, looking inside. Josh is up, sitting on the side of his bed with his head in his hands. I walk inside, closing the door behind me. He doesn’t turn.

“Hey” I say, trying to put on a light tone.

“Hey”. His voice is emotionless, nothing to analyse, nothing to take from it. I walk over, sitting down in front of him on my knees. He still doesn’t look at me, only right down between his legs.

“Can we talk?” I ask. He finally lifts his face, looking into my eyes. Before I can begin, he starts.

“Do you really think I would do something like that?”

“What?”

“Toying with your feelings. Being part of Jess’ and Emily’s schemes?” Now it’s my turn to look down, shame filling my chest.

“I was so drunk Josh, still am, but I panicked, and spiralled…” I feel a tear run down the corner of my eye. I was not planning on crying, but this night had been more eventful and emotional than most. He doesn’t hesitate to dry them, catching each one with his thumbs.

“I know, now I’m the one spiralling, sorry” he whispers. I lean forward, hugging him around his waist. He hugs me back.

“I didn’t mean to pull away”, I explain, not being brave enough to look him in the eyes while confessing. He pulls me away, looking at me. I can’t decipher his face, something hopeful maybe, but not too much. It’s now or never, I must tell him. Before he can ask, I get up, lean forward, and kiss him. He doesn’t back away, instead he grabs my thighs, leading me on top of him, still on the edge of the bed. The kiss is sloppy, as we’re still drunk and a bit dizzy. His hands wander to my waist, grabbing hold of the top of my bottoms. I bite his bottom lip, making him grunt in response.

“Fuck” he mutters. Grabbing harder, making me gasp. He uses the opportunity to put his tongue in my mouth. I let him. He moves his hands, signalling me to grind on him, and I do. I want him. Bad. My body warms up, the window’s still open, but I can’t feel the cold. As I move on him, he pulls off his own flannel, before dragging my shirt off. I do the same to him. Feeling him up from the lower part of his muscular stomach to his shoulders. My breathing quickens, feeling every curve of his body with my fingertips, trying to memorise it all. He's warm, tense but calm, and I melt into his touch. I lean forward to capture his lips again, and he meets me halfway. I can feel myself getting wetter by the minute, and before I know it, he turns us around, laying my back on the bed, hovering over me. He leans down again, kissing my collar and neck. I can’t help the whines that come out of me. I feel needy, hot. I need him. He stops by my breasts, looking up.

“Do you want this?” he asks.

“Yes Josh, please. I want you”

He smiles in response, and I can’t help but mirror it.

***

Loud bangs are heard on the door. I wake up with a headache, but luckily no nausea. I poke Josh, making him wake up abruptly, grabbing his head, a painful look on his face. His headache seems worse than mine.

“Someone’s in the hallway” I say, leaning down and kissing his head.

“Fuck” he whispers. “Let’s get this over with”

“What is it?” he shouts through the door.

“Josh, we need you!” I hear Mike shout. “Your sisters are missing!”

156 notes · View notes

100vern · 2 months ago

Text

while he's gone | ksy & hvc

𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒉𝒆'𝒔 𝒈𝒐𝒏𝒆 // 𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒚, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒈𝒐𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒏𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓.

★ pairing: vernon x f. reader; established hoshi x f. reader ★ genre: open relationship, fwb to lovers au; smut, fluff, lite angst ★ summary: your boyfriend's on tour, but vernon's still in town. ★ rating: explicit. minors do not interact with this or any of my work. ★ warnings: i am reiterating that this is an open relationship so there is NO CHEATING!! i don't wanna hear it!! soloist hoshi, producer vernon, i wax way too poetic about music and interior design, swearing, alcohol, use of pet names, one miscommunication, one tiny argument that gets resolved, discussions about polyamory. everyone being in love and down bad for one another. ★ smut warnings: mentions of threesomes, voyeurism (over the phone), dirty talk, oral sex, dry humping??, protected vaginal sex, marking/biting, multiple orgasms, sex toys, cuckolding, recording (photos/videos), masturbation, teasing, cum play/eating, lingerie. please tell me if i forgot anything! ★ wordcount: 12.6k ★ credits: cam (@highvern) for spreading the "hoshi holding vernon's head down" agenda far and wide. bee (@imnotshua) for telling me when my words don't make sense and fixing them. jess (@starlightkyeom) for reading this over. ★ author's note: more cursed thoughts thanks to a conversation about monsta x with @aeristudios. i've been wanting to write a fic based off "got my number" for ages, so here we are! a lil treat dedicated to @sailorsoons for girlbossing her ass off these last few weeks (and pulverizing her knee). i would also like to apologize to all the hansol truthers. i typed it out once and had a visceral reaction, much like i did using hoshi's government name, so he's just vernon.

Your boyfriend’s flight departed from Incheon just shy of four p.m., though he’d left the apartment long before that.

Needed time to make the hour and a half drive. Fix his hair and makeup before he hopped out and posed for Dispatch. Push his way through the horde of fans and to security, get his face scanned and passport checked. Needed time to make it to the privacy of his terminal lounge where he could catch his breath and lock himself in the bathroom. Needed time to send you a mirror selfie: hoodie unzipped to the middle of his bare sternum, hat pulled low to cover his eyes, tongue just barely peeking out from between his lips.

Made it 😘, it said.

Beneath that, even though the two of you have been through this exact scenario more times than you can count—even though it’s the same every time and he said all the same things as he was fucking you into the mattress last night and again this morning, as he was kissing you goodbye at the door hours ago:

Soonyoung: Love u babe. Gonna miss u sooo much~ I’ll text u every chance I can !! Soonyoung: Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do ㅋㅋㅋ just kidding don’t u dare behave Soonyoung: Send me pictures tho. What if I get lonely 😔

There was a thought: your boyfriend on tour, all alone between the cold, crisp sheets of his hotel bed, no one to occupy all that extra space. You’d snorted at that. Replied with the eye-roll emoji and wondered, privately, if he was going to meet up with the same old flames; if he was going to send you pictures with faces and bodies you recognized. Anticipation clawed its way up your spine and settled in your gut, left behind an insurmountable want.

Saying goodbye was always hard, but this part? It felt like Soonyoung held the forbidden fruit in his hand, sliced and fed to you on the point of a paring knife.

Delicious, in other words.

Whatever you and Vernon have fallen into can best be described as a foregone conclusion: Soonyoung leaves, Vernon arrives, and there’s no need for the discretion or the habit, but you can’t deny there’s a certain allure to it. It feels scandalous, dirty—something that only happens in a dark corner away from prying, garrulous eyes—even though it isn’t. Not really.

Soonyoung will be in Japan, Indonesia, Malaysia, Thailand; he’ll be in Berlin, Paris and London; he’ll go across North and South America. In every one of those places, someone will keep him company until he comes home to you. And, after every single time, you’ll have something in your inbox to mark the occasion—a text, some pictures, a video—because your boyfriend is nothing if not a pervert.

So no, the discretion isn’t necessary. You and Soonyoung are free to do as you please, both separately and together, which is how all of this started, anyway: his album release party, prod. by VERNON in the credits, you safely sequestered on the other side of a velvet rope. Not a secret, just… not out in the open, either, which was both a little embarrassing and difficult to explain to Vernon over the deafening, teeth-shattering background noise as he unabashedly hit on you.

He’d known, of course, that Soonyoung had been writing love songs about someone, but he hadn’t known it was you he’d helped him write about.

Not that it mattered much in the end. Soonyoung had slunk over, drunk on the spotlight and the status it afforded him, the most important man in the room, and looked Vernon dead in the eye. Pushed his tongue into the fat of his cheek, looked like a real sleazy piece of shit, and said, “You wanna fuck my girl?”

He did, admittedly, and Soonyoung had rewarded him for his honesty. Took both of you home and held Vernon’s head down as he told him how to eat you out, wet and messy and filthy. You came in record time, and a man that made you come in record time was not one you were itching to get rid of.

Vernon fucks you right and doesn’t ask a lot of questions you don’t have answers to. Doesn’t mind your unconventional relationship and definitely doesn’t mind recording the way you suck his cock: the way spit pools in the corners of your mouth and glistens under the flash; the way you moan around him as he rasps out husky praise; the way he says shit—fuck, baby, just like that, cock’s so far down your fuckin’ throat, huh; how wet your eyelashes are and the tears tracking down your cheeks.

Vernon fucks you right and doesn’t ask a lot of questions and calls Soonyoung hyung even though they’re colleagues, but that’s the sort of relationship you naturally fall into after you have a threesome and fuck said colleague’s girlfriend, you suppose, and Soonyoung doesn’t mind it. Because he’ll go away for whatever it is he gets called away for and Vernon will come over and tell you to ride him as he pulls out his phone and says shit like, “God, hyung, she’s about to come all over my cock. I don’t think she’s thinking about you at all. You aren’t, are you, baby? You’re not thinking about Soonyoung-hyung at all, are you? Only me,” between gasping, fractured moans.

And Soonyoung knows how that feels, is the thing. Knows the feeling of being suffocated in your tight, wet heat and how it can drive a man nearly to madness, and all he feels is pride. That’s his girl, bringing another man to his knees.

Hence the routine.

Normally you’d go out—a swanky new rooftop bar, a nightclub owned by a friend of a friend. Your drinks would glow neon blue under the blacklights, skinny red straw stuck in a plastic cup that matched the cherry at the bottom. Your skin would glisten with sweat as one of your friends twirled you around, kaleidoscope shapes behind your eyelids, both of you laughing breezy and sweet.

At some point throughout the night, Vernon would text you. You’d send him your location. He’d show up in an outfit contradicting the exclusivity of wherever you were, shower-soft, Sauvage on his wrists and neck, and he’d lean in close, ask if you wanted to stay or get out of there. Discarded on your bedroom floor, pooling at his feet in the club bathroom—it no longer mattered what he was wearing, because it never stayed on very long.

So here you are. While Soonyoung’s 800 kilometers away, undoubtedly trying to charm someone into his bed, you’re at home biding your time until the inevitable, no urge to go out. Instead, you indulge in yourself, work yourself up. Soonyoung, Vernon, both of them together—regardless of who you think about, the results are the same: you pinpoint the anticipation in your stomach and press, let your body sink beneath the weight of it.

Your boyfriend has only been in Osaka a handful of hours when the inevitable happens.

Vernon’s name lights up your screen. Transforms the slow simmer of expectation into full-blown wildfire. Has you squeezing your thighs together, bottom lip tugged between your teeth, when you open the text thread. Before tonight, the last time he’d texted you was three months ago: two o’clock in the morning, a video with a completely innocent thumbnail belying its content, already sent this to hyung but figured u might want it too written underneath.

Vernon: heard soonyoung hyung’s out of town for a while Vernon: what are u doing tonite

You exhale a soft laugh. As if Vernon just happened to stumble upon this information. As if he doesn’t already know what you’ll be getting up to tonight. As if he also isn’t falling victim to the desire. As if his lowercase letters and disregard for his ego with a double-text aren’t feigned nonchalance.

But just because you both know exactly where this is heading doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun.

So you pull your shirt over your head and toss it aside. Open up your camera and angle your body the way you like: glossed lips parted, the bruise Soonyoung sucked into your skin this morning just beneath your collarbone, cleavage framed perfectly, curve of your ass center frame, both covered in cheeky forest green lace. You snap a photo and another one with a painted-on pout; snap a third as the tips of your fingers delve beneath the waistline of your panties.

You: [Attachment: 3 Images] You: Hopefully you?

At the receiving end, Vernon swears, drops his phone. Of course you’re bathed in his favorite color. Of course you’re wrapped in sheets he’s lucky enough to know the feel of. Dizzy, his breath catches in his throat; tries to stave off feeling like he’s in free-fall. He’s no stranger to this kind of insatiable hunger—becomes reacquainted with it every few months, in fact—but it always catches him unaware. Always comes back with such a vengeance, as if all the times before had simply been the prefix.

He grabs his jacket.

Vernon’s barely been at your place twenty minutes when your phone rings.

You groan as he rolls his cock against you, jeans undone but still sitting low on his hips, zipper biting into your skin every time he presses you further into the mattress. The next sound you make he swallows with his mouth. Moves his lips to the column of your throat, the underside of your jaw, the spot just beneath your ear. Takes your lobe between his teeth, asks, “Is it him?” and lets you feel the way he smirks.

Blindly, you reach toward the sound, that horrible scattering across your nightstand that makes your teeth ache. It must be Soonyoung because it’s relentless, another call just as the first one ends, and you’re trying, you really are, but Vernon’s relentless, too. Abandons your space, takes your common sense and all his heat with him as he sits back on his haunches and moves his hands beneath your ass; drags you closer until your cunt—still covered in that dark lace and growing darker the wetter you become—is back against his cock and ruts.

You’re speechless, head thrown back against the pillows, the synapses of your brain misfiring and coming up empty. Both of you are still clothed and Vernon’s still having his way with you; still smirking dirty and arrogant out of the side of his mouth. Almost looks like he’s sneering a little as he asks again, “What’s the matter, baby? Not gonna answer him?” At your continued silence, he amends, “Oh, or maybe you can’t?”

You want to roll your eyes, shut him up with some sharp retort, but he’s got you exactly where he wants you. It’s a place you don’t mind being, either, because whether it’s the way his thick cock feels rubbing against your clit or the result of months of waiting, it doesn’t matter, it all feels divine. Has your breathing labored and heavy, has sweat pricking at your skin, has Vernon staring down at you with a gaze so pointed it cuts through the haze.

So he makes the decision for you. Reaches over and grabs your phone, tucks it between his ear and his shoulder. Keeps his hands free so he can keep moving you against him and greets your boyfriend with a, “Sorry, hyung, she’s a little busy right now.”

You can hear Soonyoung’s bark of laughter from where you’re laying, and then more muted chattering. He must give Vernon instructions, because Vernon puts the phone on speaker and tosses it somewhere on the bed. “Hello, princess. Are you having fun?” All you can manage is an uh-huh that’s fractured in the middle, punctuated with another roll of Vernon’s hips. “Mm, you sound so good, baby. Miss hearing you like that already. Can I see you, too?”

Vernon catches your eye as he reaches for your phone again. Waits for your nod before he points the camera at you and switches it to FaceTime. You hear Soonyoung suck in a breath. Wonder what he looks like. If the low light of his hotel room casts amber shadows across his face that intensify his stare, sharpen it to a point. If he’s got his arm tucked behind his head, laissez-faire in that way that drives you crazy, sensual without having to try. You almost ask Vernon to see, but then Soonyoung clicks his tongue and says, “That set is your favorite, isn’t it?”

The man he’s addressing looks down at you, eyes full of stars. “Yeah, hyung,” Vernon says, and it’s breathy, barely counts as separate words. Through the camera, Soonyoung watches as Vernon runs his fingertips over the hickey he’d left, over the swell of your breast and the space between each rib. Watches as Vernon grips at the meat of your thigh; as his hands flex before he grabs at you again.

“You want to touch her, don’t you? Properly.” He watches as Vernon nods, the camera wobbling with the intensity of it. “Put your mouth on her, Vernon-ah—she loves that so much.”

You can hear the shit-eating lilt to his tone and you know he’s enjoying this. That he loves watching you. Loves that Vernon’s always so fucked up over you and that he gets to direct these scenes. Loves what he gets to experience with you: something enduring and impenetrable, something that grants him freedom and indulgence. Loves you, most of all, but there will be time for that later.

Right now, he wants to watch Vernon make a mess of you. Wants to watch him pull those little lace panties to the side and eat you out, fervent and messy. Wants to hear it when he starts sucking at your clit and you keen high in your throat. Wants to watch the way you grab at his hair and force him closer as you roll your hips and seek out your own undoing.

Right now, Vernon hands the phone to you. “There’s my pretty girl,” Soonyoung says, and your face grows hot—as hot as the hands that skim over your skin and move to take off your panties. Soonyoung loves this part—loves watching someone unwrap you like a present; loves the tension even when isn’t there for it—so you flip the camera so he can see. “Leave them on,” your boyfriend instructs. Vernon’s brows pinch together. “You know she wore that set just for you, so leave it on when you fuck her. Make a mess of it. Cum all over it and ruin it, and then maybe I’ll let you take my card to buy her a new one.”

Vernon’s eyes flutter closed, long lashes fanning across his ruddy cheeks, so fucking pretty.

Anticipation sinks its claws into you again. Feels like an eternity passes before Vernon’s hands start moving again. Before he presses the pads of his thumbs into your hips and the contact makes both of you gasp. Before he leans in closer and kisses all the places he’d left fingerprints. Kisses your stomach, hips, the tops of your thighs and down, down, down until he’s where you want him—until you can feel his breath against your cunt, goosebumps rising from the warmth.

You only tear your eyes away from him to look at Soonyoung. Even through the screen you can tell he’s growing restless: pupils blown wide, teeth worrying at his bottom lip, breathing unsteady. You reach for Vernon, thread your fingers through his hair and tug, and at his resulting whine Soonyoung flips his own camera. What greets you is an expanse of familiar tan skin, his defined abs, legs spread wide, cock curved and hard.

There isn’t an ounce of shame to be found as he palms at himself. Just a ghost of a touch before he squeezes at the base and groans. All the times you’ve watched him do this… you can imagine the way his head rolls back, lips parted, muscles tensing.

“You look so good,” you murmur, and there’s no telling who it’s directed at—because Soonyoung looks good, just as he always does, but Vernon is a vision.

Especially when he’s between your legs.

There’s a glimpse of a half-cocked smile before he flattens his tongue and delves between your folds, stealing the breath from your lungs. One stripe and then another, all parallel lines as he works you over. Wraps his arms around your hips and pulls you closer to his mouth, doubles his efforts, doesn’t pay any mind to the mess he’s making, both of the sheets and of you.

You tug harder at Vernon’s hair. Roll your hips in time with his tongue, both of you endlessly noisy. Vernon groans as he sucks at your clit and you feel the sparks like lightning. Feels like he’s making a mockery of you. Feels like all he knows is your pleasure. Feels like an eternity has passed since he’s worked you over like this, and Soonyoung must agree because he almost sounds whiny as he says, “God, I missed this. Missed seeing you two together.”

You dare a look. Soonyoung jerks himself slowly with a loose fist, drags it out, savors every second and shiver that dances up his spine. Hisses through his teeth when he gathers the precum at the tip and spreads it along the length of his shaft. You want to see his face. Want to see the way his dark hair falls into his eyes when he shudders and curves into himself, the crease that forms between his brows, his eyes when they’re glassy and unfocused.

But then Vernon does something with his mouth that has you crying out—a strangled sound halfway between shock and gratification. Has you mirroring the exact image you expected to see on Soonyoung’s face. There’s poetry in that, you think, and that’s the last thought you have before Vernon drags your orgasm from you and your world tilts on its axis.

When you come to, vision still out of focus and fuzzy around the edges, you’re covered in a thin sheen of sweat, your phone is lost somewhere in the duvet, and Vernon’s still between your legs.

You choke. Feel around desperately for your phone and can barely hold onto it, weak and trembling, all your energy drained. Try to clamp your thighs around Vernon’s head for some reprieve but he knows you too well, knows you can take it, so he forces them back open.

Bliss spreads like wildfire. Starts in your toes and works its way into your bloodstream. Feels like you’ve been carved out of kerosene and matchsticks. It’ll be Vernon, you know—he’ll be the catalyst, light the spark that consumes and overwhelms you.

Especially when he’s like this.

When you’re the only thing that exists to him. When he’d forego pleasure for the rest of his life if it meant drowning in your pussy and getting you off. When he pays no mind to your boyfriend’s obscene goading—“Can you taste me, Vernon-ah? Did she tell you I filled her up this morning? That it was so much it was leaking out of her?”—and stays focused on you. When he runs two fingers through your mess and presses them inside, right against the spot that nearly folds you in half, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, pressure mounting.

“Oh my god. Vernon, please, it’s too much, I’m gonna—”

You feel him smile against your cunt. Pulls back only far enough to bite at the juncture of your thigh and say, “I know you can take it,” in his hoarse voice. With lips that are covered in you. “You’re gonna come again, aren’t you, baby? And you’re gonna be a good girl and soak through these fucking sheets while your boyfriend has to jerk himself off.”

That’s exactly what happens.

The cord inside you snaps. Soonyoung swears as he watches you come again, body pulling taut, Vernon’s name spilling from your lips like a mantra. Vernon’s on you immediately, setting the phone on your nightstand and kissing you senseless. Lets you taste yourself and the way you claimed him. Slots his body between your legs, careful as he presses against you because he knows how oversensitive you get. Waits until the tremors subside and he can feel you tracing shapes against his back before he murmurs a quiet okay? into your ear.

It takes a second for you to nod, but you do.

Vernon looks to his right at your phone. “Still want her fully dressed, hyung? She’s made a pretty big mess already.”

Soonyoung laughs, breathy and a little disbelieving. He loves this part, too, when Vernon dishes back as good as he gets. Both of them know it’s not a competition and would never treat it as one, but Soonyoung can’t help himself sometimes. Loves to stir shit just because he can—because Vernon is younger and looks up to him, but also because you like Vernon and he enjoys teasing you just as much.

So Soonyoung laughs. Asks, “How are you feeling, pretty girl? You want him to fuck you?” and continues stroking himself, pace leisurely, cock glistening with spit and precum, balls tight.

He’s always affected.

And so are you. You nod. Readjust your body beneath Vernon’s so he can press in tighter, so you can wrap your legs around his waist and delight in the sounds he makes—first like the breath’s been punched out of him, then more intentional as the electricity ebbs away and settles into his bones. His fingers grip at your thigh, movements fluid as he rocks his hips, unconcerned with the stickiness seeping through the fabric of his briefs.

Vernon wants you every second of every single day, and he doesn’t care who knows it.

You move your hands to his face. Let your thumbs rest on the high points of his cheekbones and settle into the contours there. Press your lips to his and lick into his mouth, all teeth and tongue and no savoir-faire. Vernon responds in kind. Starts moving frenetic and mindless, vehemence making up for his lack of composure, swallowing everything you give him.

Fucks you up a little that he still tastes like you—that you’re not all that easy to rinse out.

“Shit,” he swears, slurring the word against your mouth, lips bitten red and swollen. “Need you so bad, baby, please.”

Your vision swims, the raw urgency in Vernon’s tone making everything look like television static. All you can do is nod, spread your legs wider, press your body into him and hope he knows what to do with it, but he needs you to say it. “Tell me,” he says, settling a hand around your throat. Not tight—just so he can feel your words, just so he knows they’re there. “Tell me you want me. Tell me how you want me to give it to you.”

“Want you. Wanna ride you,” you answer. “Wanna be able to look at you. So pretty, Nonie—you look so pretty when you cum, I wanna see it.”

Vernon swears again. Sits back and has his jeans and underwear pulled off before you can process what’s happening, rolls on a condom, and that’s where you meet him, in the center of the bed. You move into the space between his spread legs, drape your arms over his shoulders as your knees bracket his hips, spit into your hand and work it over his cock, thumbing at the head just to make him whine.

“Babe—”

And then you’re pulling your panties to the side and sinking down on it.

The stretch is overwhelming. Steals the air from your lungs. Has Vernon pressing his forehead to yours, sharing your breath, dimpling your hips with bruising fingerprints. “Slow,” he pleads, and you’d give him anything, so you kiss the spot just beneath his eye, say okay, okay, and turn your attention to Soonyoung.

Not far off from how you’d left him: touching himself with reverence, not an ounce of shame to be found; sounds spilling from his lips that sound like home. He doesn’t notice you watching, but it doesn’t matter, he’s a performer in every aspect of his life. Thrives when he’s under the spotlight, demanding everyone’s attention, all eyes on him. Sex is no different. Always goes into it with eyes wide open, so you’re not surprised when he feels yours on him. When he says, “What’s the matter, princess?”

Beneath you, Vernon’s starting to gather his bearings. Thrusts slow and shallow and groans. “Did you bring it?” you ask Soonyoung, trying to keep your voice steady as Vernon fucks into you.

“The—”

“Yes,” you interject, already knowing what he was going to ask. Shit, Vernon feels so good. “Get it out. Use it. Wanna see you cum that way.”

Soonyoung swears. Says, “Fuck—god, yeah, I’ll get it,” and disappears from the screen. Vernon’s lips move to your chest, your neck, your mouth. He’s moving in earnest, now—doesn’t care what he sounds like, that he’s devolved into staccato whines and half-syllables. Doesn’t care about the mess between your legs.

Doesn’t care that when Soonyoung comes back onto the screen, you’re wholly focused on him, grinning pleased and wicked. If you want him to work for it, he will. If you want him to give it to you so good you’re not even thinking about your boyfriend, that’s what he’s going to do. If you want him to fuck you so hard you can’t even speak, well, that’s the goal.

So he doubles his efforts. Plants his feet on the bed and uses the leverage to bury himself as deep in you as he can. He’s done this enough to know his angles, know how to have you dripping and shaking, but he wants to savor this. Wants to drag it out for you. Some sick, selfish part of him wants this to be the fuck you’re thinking about later as you’re about to drift to sleep even though you aren’t his to claim. Not like that, anyway. He can still paint you in bruises that match Soonyoung’s, undecipherable from one another. No telling what’s his work and what’s Vernon’s.

“Tell me what to do.”

Vernon glances sideways. Watches as his hyung dribbles lube all over his cock, slicks himself up. Glances at you and sees you watching. Sees the way your jaw ticks, your eyes darken. Can feel how endless your love is for Soonyoung and he wants to burn up.

But then you say, “Fuck yourself the way Vernonie’s fucking me,” and the words soothe over him like a balm. Even more so when Soonyoung listens; when he grabs the pocket pussy and works it slowly down his shaft, moaning long and drawn out the entire way.

“God, I’m about to fucking bust.” Soonyoung laughs. “Tell me how he’s fucking you, pretty girl. Bet it feels even better than this, huh? Bet he’s making you feel so good.”

Everyone’s about to make an early exit at this rate. Vernon tells (begs) him to shut up in so many words. Tries to focus on himself, thinks about every terrible thing in the world to stave it off, but the way you’re nodding along with Soonyoung’s words are hurtling him towards the end at record speed. The way you look at Vernon with constellations in your eyes. The way you’re reduced to mindless babbling, all your words slurring together as you say, “It’s so good. So good, Soonyoungie, he’s so deep, fucks me so good, god I’m gonna come again—”

Vernon panics, bites at your collar bone, knows he wouldn’t survive feeling you clench around his cock. Tells you, “Not yet,” even though he’s barely able to choke out the words; even though he can barely endure you now, cunt spasming, walls fluttering around him. The unbelievable white-hot heat, the vice grip. Fuck, he wants to do this every day. Wants to do this for the rest of his life.

And you must be able to tell. Must see how spaced out he looks, because you move your hands to the center of his chest and dig your nails in, urge him backwards until he’s propped up on one elbow. This is what Vernon sees when he closes his eyes, when it’s been months since he’s seen you and he’s cumming all over his fist: the lines of his own body, the coarse strip of hair that leads from his stomach to where your bodies connect; you on top of him, hips sinuous and sinful as you circle them.

You put on a show of your own. Move your hands to his knees and spread your legs wider. Vernon’s cock looks obscene inside of you, trapped beneath your lace panties, so he grabs your phone, makes sure Soonyoung can see what he’s seeing. Makes sure Soonyoung can see the sheen your wetness leaves on his skin as you grind back and forth on him. Makes sure Soonyoung can hear the slapping of your and Vernon’s skin, the way your pussy squelches, how lewd everything sounds in the still air of the bedroom the two of you share.

“Jesus—fuck,” Soonyoung says down the line, voice metallic and fucked out. “You two are so goddamn hot together. Make her come, Vernon-ah, and then I wanna see her covered in you. Wanna see you ruin my pretty girl.”

Vernon shudders and nearly folds in on himself. Grabs your hip to slow your movements, refusing to get off before you, but you’re determined. Your grin is devilish as you move his hand to your clit and tell him to get to work. As you lean forward briefly to kiss him before you’re moving in earnest again, more intentional than before, and it’s all Vernon can do to stay conscious. All of it’s too much: the way you look above him, head thrown back, the marks he’d left on your throat; the way you’re able to handle both of them at once, riding Vernon into the mattress while you talk Soonyoung over the edge, the most filthy words spilling out of your mouth.

The way you gasp as Vernon thumbs circles against your clit and reach for his hand, trying to ground yourself as your pussy clenches, as you barely have time to stammer out the words before you’re coming on his cock.

“Shit, shit, shit.” Vernon pulls out, almost cries at no longer being enveloped in your heat, pulls off the condom and fists his cock once, twice, and then watches, entranced, as he does what his hyung said and covers you in cum.

Your tits, your stomach, the fabric of your panties.

For a moment, everything is quiet, everyone still coming down and trying to catch their breath. You’re spent, exhausted and satiated in ways you haven’t been in months. Every muscle in your body feels overworked. Your throat feels raw. Every inch of skin that’s bruised feels like a branding iron, and it is, you suppose. Soonyoung’s, Vernon’s, it doesn’t matter—you wear them both.

“Don’t wash those,” comes Soonyoung’s voice.

It takes you a second to realize what he means. “My panties?” you ask, shock apparent. You’d known he was a freak, of course, but the depths of his perversion continue to surprise you. “Soonyoung…”

“Don’t kink shame me, princess, I’m covered in my own jizz and I need another shower. I came so hard I think I had religious visions. How’re you feeling, Vernon-ah?”

The man in question doesn’t answer. You’d think he was asleep with his eyes open if you knew he was capable of it, but that’s not what’s going on. Vernon’s fixated on you. Can’t tear his eyes off of you and the cum that’s drying into your skin, and you know you shouldn’t, that you should give him a break, but there’s no fun in that, so you trail your fingers through the mess on your stomach and suck them into your mouth.

“Yeah, don’t need to ask after that. Goddamn. I’m gonna go shower before you get me hard again. Good luck with her.”

The call disconnects. In the aftermath, the silence is almost stifling, almost makes you feel a sense of guilt that’s entirely undeserved, but then Vernon’s sitting up and crowding your space, hands behind your back as he works at the knots he finds there. Pulls you in closer. Presses a spun-sugar kiss to your forehead that makes your heart skip a beat.

The thing is, though: he doesn’t stay.

It’s not a rule. It’s not something Soonyoung requested to keep some semblance of boundaries in your relationship. He doesn’t care, and neither do you, but Vernon does. Doesn’t want to overstep and muddy the lines. Doesn’t want to make it seem like more than it is, and you’ve always been fine with that, but something about this time feels different. Strikes you someplace deep, hidden away, tucked behind your ribs. Vernon runs you a bath and changes the sheets while you’re soaking your aching muscles and when you’re tucked into bed, he presses another kiss to your forehead, your eyelids, the tip of your nose, the corner of your mouth. Promises to text you later in the week.

And then he lets himself out.

You’re still awake an hour later when your phone lights up with a string of texts, and you force yourself not to think about what it means that you’re disappointed it isn’t Vernon.

Soonyoung: Going to sleep. The two of u wore me out ㅋㅋㅋ Soonyoung: I’ll text u in the morning. Got an early day tomorrow 😭 Soonyoung: Love u baby. Sleep tight ❤️

With Soonyoung in Paris, it’s hard to make the time difference work.

Seven hours usually isn’t a problem—it’s worse when he goes to the Americas, for example—but it’s been weeks since your technological ménage à trois and you aren’t feeling any less unsettled. All you want to do is talk to him. Ask him what the hell is going on with you, why you can’t seem to shake this, what it all means, but it just never works out.

Not the right time. Not enough time. Soonyoung often has his own plans that keep him occupied until the early hours of the morning wherever he is, and by then he’s too exhausted and you’ve been awake for hours, already well into the monotony of your day.

Still, it eats at you. Makes you feel guilty in ways you can’t rationalize. You know you haven’t done anything wrong. Haven’t done anything you haven’t done plenty of times before; haven’t done anything Soonyoung isn’t also doing when he’s not around to answer your calls. And that’s fine—even though it’s unconventional to most, you love the dynamic the two of you have. Wouldn’t change it for anything except Soonyoung himself, so you know he’s not the point of contention.

No, it’s you—you’re the problem here.

Something’s changed, but whatever it is isn’t all that keen to let you in on the secret yet.

So you do your best to push it down and swallow it. You go to work. You meet your friends for dinner and drinks. You suffer through your gym sessions just to give the anxiety and jitters someplace to go. You clean your and Soonyoung’s apartment top to bottom until there’s not a speck of dust to be found and all the countertops start to squeak. You go shopping and charge whatever you want to Soonyoung’s credit card because he’d want you to.

None of it works.

It’s no wonder, then, that you break by the time Soonyoung gets to Paris. That you’re sending up flares and paying little attention to the time difference. That you text him—

You: Can you make some time to call me today? You: I don’t care about the time. You: It’s nothing bad, I promise. Just need/want to talk to you.

—and expect something, anything, in return: the familiarity of his tone, his overuse of emojis, the way he always calls on FaceTime and always greets you barefaced and with a relieved smile, like you’re the only thing he wants to see at the end of a long day. You expect him to say anything for my girl—or, at the very least, can’t today baby 🙁 I’m so sorry, but I’ll have time tomorrow and I’ll call first thing, ok ??

You don’t get any of that.

What you get is silence.

Your texts go unanswered. He doesn’t call. You double-check your calendar just to confirm you hadn’t gotten the date confused, but he doesn’t have a show tonight. Rehearsal and a team dinner, maybe, but nothing that should make him so unavailable to you.

Well, except one very obvious thing.

There’s a flashbang of hurt you immediately try to tamper down. Soonyoung can’t read your mind. He’s never ignored you when you’ve needed him or given you reason to believe he’d do something like this intentionally and maliciously—not to mention that the arrangement the two of you have has never been an issue before, so it’s nothing to get upset over. You know it’s nothing to get upset over, but knowing doesn’t suck the poison out.

A temporary lapse in communication is all this is. You’ve survived worse.

It’s just—

This shapeless, undefinable thing that’s clawed its way inside of you isn’t going anywhere. And you can deal with the stopgap emotions until you’re able to put a name to it—the anger and confusion, the abstract betrayal—but it’s always easiest to carry burdens with two sets of hands, is all.

Hours tick by. What was two hours without a response turns into four; four turns into six turns into you readying yourself for bed and spending the night tossing and turning, checking your phone every time you awake in the middle of the night. When your alarm goes off at eight o’clock and there’s still nothing, all those ugly feelings come swimming back to the surface.

Your first call rings and rings until it goes to voicemail.

So does the second.

Soonyoung answers the third out of breath, voice gravelly. A woman’s laughter greets you before he can, and for the first time ever, it makes you sick to your stomach. Makes you wonder what the fuck you’re doing. Has your hands trembling, all your words stuck in your throat, frustrated tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

Another twinkling laugh that your boyfriend responds to with a husky one of his own. “Hello? Hi, baby, I’m a little—”

Busy, he’s going to say. You’ve gathered as much. Busy is laughing in your ear, probably has her hands all over him, and it’s always been like this, the sharing and the nonexistence of possessiveness, but you come first. That’s the rule. Both of you come first to one another, so busy isn’t acceptable. Busy has resentment biting at your heels. Has your blood pressure spiking, your skin flushing hot.

Has you cutting him off, saying, “So busy you couldn’t answer my fucking texts?” with so much animosity all noise at the other end of the line immediately ceases.

You hear footsteps and the shutting of a door, the turn of a lock. “Okay, I’m alone,” he murmurs softly; you wish it did anything to comfort you. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”

A laugh of your own, derisive and disbelieving. “Yeah, that’s what I’ve been trying to do.”

You’re not about to spill your guts when Busy is in the next room over touching herself so she’s primed and ready to go when your boyfriend ends the call, goes back into the bedroom and says, sorry about that, and climbs back on top of her. You’re not about to spill your guts and feel like an inconvenience.

So you scoff and shake your head, say, “You know what, Soonyoung? Don’t even worry about it. Go back to fucking whoever the fuck she is and forget I even called.”

“Baby, come on, wait—”

You’re not about to spill your guts, so you rewrite the script.

You end the call. You ignore the texts that follow.

You text Vernon and ask if he’s free after work.

He is.

Vernon gets done work a little after ten.

You get off the train a few stops early and decide to walk the rest of the way. It’s been so long since you’ve done this. Since you’ve breathed in the smell of the samgyaetang and dakgalbi restaurants, the tteokbokki and bungeoppang from the street food vendors. Since you’ve thought the neon lights of Hongdae Street were going to blind you and shielded your eyes. Since you’ve walked by groups of friends posing for selfies in the middle of the sidewalk, apple cheeks from wide smiles pressed together; couples doubled over in laughter as they try to jump on one another’s backs. Since you’ve watched patrons stumble out of bars and clubs with queues to get in, faces flushed from the alcohol they’ve already consumed.

Vernon lives in Mapo, in an artsy high-rise in Seogyo-dong. New construction that’s meant to look much older, meant to resemble the industrial loft apartments found in older American cities, warehouses made irrelevant as the 21st century moved in and took hold. They’re all exposed brick, twenty-pane windows, concrete floors, neo-expressionist paintings hung in the lobby.

A block away, a bingsu restaurant is closed until the next afternoon, but it’s what lies beneath that piques your interest: a basement rock bar, show flyers plastered all over the door, live music pounding the pavement and spilling onto the sidewalk.

You’re in the lungs of the city, and it’s every bit as alive as you expected—and hoped—it would be.

You feel at home here, surrounded by people and nightlife and unrelenting noise. Where you and Soonyoung live isn’t dissimilar, just different—more refined and inhibited, more concerned with appearances than letting loose. You’ve gotten good at rubbing elbows with those types of people, as necessary and inevitable as it is, but sometimes you just miss the unpolished grime of ordinary people.

Vernon’s outside waiting for you when you reach his building.

Hat pulled low over his eyes. An oversized black hoodie that drowns his lithe frame, makes him look smaller than he is. Face lit up by the glow from his phone. A lollipop stuck in his mouth that he presses into the fat of his cheek when he looks up, sees you, and smiles.

“Hi,” he greets you, arms twitching at his sides, unsure of what to do—what’s okay, what isn’t. If he’s allowed to be affectionate with you in public. If anyone can know, even though you’re no one to these people and he’s as out of the spotlight as you are.

So you make the decision for him. Place a hand on his waist, lean in and press a kiss to his cheek. When you pull back, his cheeks are the same shade of cherry red as his lips and tongue. He ducks his head, tries to hide it, but there might as well be a flashing sign above his head to signal his embarrassment. “Oh,” he says quietly, touching the spot where you’d kissed him.

You swallow. The Vernon standing in front of you is a stark contrast to the one you fall into bed with. This one is all soft, rounded edges: shy, chivalrous, almost self-conscious—the kind that wouldn’t bruise if you bumped into him. You try to ignore the way your heart is hammering away in your chest, but the duality is making your head spin.

“Do you want to grab a drink first, or should we just…” He trails off, coughing to cover himself when all you do is quirk an eyebrow just to see if you can get him to blush again. “There’s a pretty cool LP bar down that way, if you’d be into that sorta thing? But I also have vinyl at my place, so I guess it doesn’t—”

You know laughing will only mortify him more, but you can’t help it. “Are you nervous?”

“No,” comes his automatic response.

“Are you sure?” you tease, watching as his fingers—covered to the second knuckle by his sleeves—worry insistently at the fabric of his hoodie. He flushes again, mouth opening and closing around words that don’t materialize, and it’s almost painful how endeared you are by him. “Come on, then,” you say, deciding to put him out of his misery, “show me this pretty cool bar.”

It’s a short walk, only a few blocks, but Vernon sets a slow pace and holds your hand anyway. Neither of you acknowledge that his is sweat-slick, and you can tell he’s thankful for this bit of reprieve. Must help him settle, because it isn’t long before he starts yapping away, animated and buoyant. He talks about work, about the album he’s mastering and how he hasn’t yet gotten the sidechain compression on the bass where he wants it. Tells you about a group the company recently put together that he’s excited about and thinks could be really successful.

“I don’t see them much since they’re always at practice,” he explains, slowing further as you approach a convenience store, “but when they have free time some of ‘em like to sit in the studio and watch me work. This GS25 gave me a black eye once.”

“What?”

He sounds straight out of a nature documentary as he tells you the story. How he’d wanted convenience store ramen because they had a 1+1, and on the way decided he needed a Yonsei bread, too, except he was piss drunk and didn’t realize the doors weren’t automatic, so yeah—hence the black eye. And it’s not particularly funny, but you laugh until your stomach hurts anyway; laugh until both of you are off-kilter from it, shoulders knocking into one another, tears blurring your vision and making the city look crystalline.

You laugh all the way to the bar, and Vernon only lets go of you to open the door and help you inside, hand reassuring and warm when it moves to the small of your back.

A two-seater table is open in the far corner. You sit with your back to the wall and a Blondie poster above your head, content to take in the view. Vernon’s content to let you. Asks what you’d like to drink and doesn’t bat an eye when you request a midori sour. You throw him an exaggerated wink as you say, “If you ask them to put a cherry in it, I’ll show you a magic trick.”

Vernon nearly cums on the spot.

But he does as you say. Returns to the table with two drinks and a pencil and paper. “For your song requests,” he explains when he sees you eyeing it.

“Thank you,” you say, taking your midori sour from him. “What are you gonna request? And what are you drinking?”

“It’s a Coke and something,” he answers, “but I’m not telling you what.” You roll your lips to keep from laughing. As if you couldn’t smell the coconut from across the bar. As if you can’t smell it on him now, when all you can think about is if you’ll be able to taste it on him later when he’s licking into your mouth. “I think you promised me a magic trick.”

A group of American girls taught you this in university, back when you were a starry-eyed freshman completely out of your comfort zone, friendless, more wallflower than functioning human. You just need a party trick, one of them had said, something to break the ice, and that’s how you learned to tie a cherry stem with your tongue.

Just like all those impressionable, hormone-riddled college boys, Vernon is stunned when you stick out your tongue to present it to him. Gets that dazed, faraway look in his eyes; has to clear his throat to get his lungs working again. Turns the tables on you when he reaches out and grabs it, putting it in his pocket for safekeeping, and then it’s you who feels like they’ve been punched in the chest.

It’s maddening, how oblivious he is to the effect he has on you.

“Did I ever tell you I was born in New York?” He drums the pencil against the table. Looks around the bar that’s grown steadily busier. “I moved here when I was five so I don’t really remember much, but it’s always felt like this huge part of me, so I went through this phase a few years ago—read a ton of books on the history of the music scene there, listened to all the albums they said were influential.”

You jot down some songs. “And? What was your verdict?”

He takes a sip of his drink. Laughs a little as he scratches at the back of his neck. “I got really into Tom Tom Club,” he answers. “You know Talking Heads, right? Tom Tom Club was the side project of the drummer and the bassist of that band. Husband and wife.”

Over the speakers, a bluesy folk song starts playing, soft and melodic. You’re not as musically inclined as your boyfriend or the man across from you, but you’re still able to be moved by it. Still able to appreciate in others when they love something so much it becomes tangible. When a bluesy folk song starts playing in a bar and it brings a smile to Vernon’s face. When he talks about artists and albums he’s discovered and speaks with all the reverence of an archaeologist digging up ancient riches thought to be long-forgotten. When you glance at the songs you’ve written down and don’t have to worry that they won’t be cool enough, because everyone here just loves music, no matter what form it takes; are able to find something to appreciate everywhere they look.

“Talking Heads had already put out, like, four or five albums I think by the time Tom Tom Club formed,” Vernon continues. His drink is almost gone. “But David Byrne had released some solo stuff by then with Brian Eno, so they wanted to do something, too, and what they made was this really funky, kind of unexpected new wave album.

“They did some really weird stuff production-wise—103 bpm when everyone else was doing 120, deliberately tuning Tina Weymouth’s bass to 150 hertz, using a really crunchy synth. I find myself going back to it every time I get stuck, mostly because it’s the sort of thing you can listen to and feel how much they loved making music.” He pauses. Almost looks horrified when he sees there’s nothing left in his glass but half-melted ice. “I—oh my god, I’m sorry, I can’t believe I’ve been talking your ear off about this.”

Head tilted to the side, you smile. “We’re in a music bar,” you deadpan. “I’d go so far as to say we’re in the perfect place for you to talk my ear off about this.”

“Yeah, but—” You give him a look that has him holding his hands up. “Okay, okay! I’ll go refill our drinks since it’s the least I can do. Do you have your…?”

That aforementioned smile morphs into something more mischievous when you hand him your slip of paper. You watch as he looks it over, nods at the picks he thinks were in good taste: “Dreams” by The Cranberries, “Don’t Push It Don’t Force It” by Leon Haywood, “Smalltown Boy” by Bronski Beat, “When I Come Around” by Green Day just to take the piss out of Vernon, who seems to have an endless collection of faded, worn Green Day t-shirts with loose necklines. Then, you watch as he gets to the last song on your list and his brows furrow.

He looks up at you. Even against the dark backdrop of the bar, against the red green blue lights casting technicolor shapes across his forehead, his cheeks, you can tell Vernon is stunned. Can see how wide his pupils have blown.

There, at the bottom of your list, is “Fantasy” by Mariah Carey.

Arguably the most well-known song to sample “Genius of Love” by Tom Tom Club.

Vernon’s apartment has three bedrooms.

One is used as a home studio, with a massive L-shaped desk that nearly takes up the entire room. In the middle, a laptop hooked up to a massive curved monitor with immaculate resolution, flanked on each side by monitor speakers. Stereo receiver. Preamps and input patch bays. A midi controller and a drum machine.

The rest of the room is taken up by instruments. An upright piano against one wall, clearly purchased secondhand; beside it, a two-tiered stand containing a keyboard and analog synthesizer. Two electric guitars, one acoustic, one bass. More microphones and over-ear headphones than you’ve ever seen in a single room.

Another resembles the LP bar: two walls of floor-to-ceiling built-ins that house his extensive vinyl collection, sorted first by genre then alphabetically. More records sit in milk crates on the floor, waiting to be catalogued and put away. To the right, on the only remaining wall that isn’t fully windows, sits a vintage credenza, most likely Japanese mid-century. You don’t have to ask—just by looking at it, you can tell Vernon’s hi-fi setup is top of the line, each item carefully chosen after hours of research and trial and error. Two plush armchairs, angled toward one another. Colorful shag rug.

His actual bedroom contains none of those things, but there are still touches of him everywhere.

Framed prints from his favorite artists and films. A concerning number of plain white t-shirts hung on a chrome clothing rack. On his nightstand, a well-used Replica candle (Jazz Club; smells like him) sits atop a stack of books with neon spines: Virgil Abloh. Nike. ICONS, Sofia Coppola Archive, Yoshitomo Nara. There’s a lamp on his dresser meant to look like entrance beacons of the New York City subway. Above his bed hangs a neon sign of Basquiat’s Beat Bop album cover, and on the floor, a black and white checkered rug.

As for the rest—well, you hadn’t been given much time to admire it before Vernon was laying you in the middle of the bed and kissing you breathless.

(It does taste like coconut when he licks into your mouth.)

And it isn’t like you needed a reminder—you never do with Vernon—but it serves as one anyway. That the two of you spent the last few hours of a Friday night drinking together in a bar, laughing at one another’s song requests, laughing at Vernon’s drinks mixed with coconut rum, laughing in general. That it’d taken a few rounds, but after the laughter faded and he plucked up the courage, he asked about your and Soonyoung’s relationship: how you met, how it started, how it works. That you answered all his questions because there was only curiosity beneath them.

That he paid your tab and held your hand as you left, giddy and eager to get back to his place. That when the two of you reached an intersection, no walking sign lit up, he pressed his chest to your back and wrapped his arms around your shoulders, pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

That when you passed the GS25, you cracked a joke and asked Vernon if he wanted to stop and get ramen and Yonsei bread.

That he’d clenched his jaw and sent you a look that was pure heat; grabbed you by the waist and leaned in close, whispered in your ear, “I’ve been ready to bust in my fucking pants since you decided to torture me with that cherry, so I’m not doing a fucking thing that isn’t taking you back to my place and making you come over and over.”

Now here you are.

Vernon’s pace is bruising. It’s frenzied and unpredictable, like he’s trying to prove a point. What it is, you don’t know, but you find it hard to care when he’s like this. When he sheds his shyness like a second skin and is brazen in the way he wants you. When you’ve crossed the threshold of his bedroom and he makes it clear selfishness doesn’t exist here—that all you have to do is lay claim to what he’s willing to give.

And maybe that’s the thing: you can’t put a name to what you want. “Everything” feels too heavy, too much. When it’s exactly what’s on offer, it feels like the weight of the world. I couldn’t possibly ask for that, you think, and Vernon is right behind you asking, Why can’t you?

So you’ll take it, for now. You’ll let Vernon’s deft fingers undress you with reverence and you’ll claw at his back and help him pull his hoodie over his head. You’ll revel in his proximity; how it never, ever feels like he’s close enough. You’ll steal the breath from his lungs and wrap your legs around his waist to keep him draped over you like chiffon. And the first time your phone vibrates you’ll ignore it. The second and third times, too.

When it doesn’t let up, Vernon pulls back. Asks, “Is that…? Should I grab it?”

You only have a split-second to decide how things are going to play out—not only this, right here, but everything that comes after. You and Soonyoung come first to one another, but you still feel scorned. A bit petty. Hi, baby, I’m a little busy, still feels like a bruise; has hurt coursing you like it came from a blood bag.

So you thread your fingers through his hair—impossibly soft; the color of molten chocolate—until they’re resting at the back of his neck. Bring his mouth back to yours and let the taste of him transport you someplace else. Vernon groans as he fits his hands to the curve of your waist.

Your phone is still ringing. Vernon opens his mouth and you shake your head. “No,” you answer, voice unwavering, “this one’s just for us.” He stares down at you. Everything he’s feeling shows clearly on his face, but it’s still undecipherable: the push and pull of the tide, always changing. “Kiss me.”

He does. Whatever fire had consumed him earlier has cooled off considerably, replaced only with the need for closeness. Every press of his mouth against your body is delicate. Every brush of his fingertips and knuckles against your skin is tender. When he kisses down your body and makes you come with his tongue, it isn’t booming fireworks but a quiet gasp into the crook of your elbow.

When he rolls on a condom and presses into you, he twines your fingers together again, and they aren’t sweaty. When he rests his forehead on your shoulder, the words he speaks against you are full of velvet praise. When he moves his hips, the sound of his skin against yours reminds you of a symphony: adagios bookended by scherzos, culminating in a shared finale that leaves you both glowing and euphoric.

Four a.m. looks different from Vernon’s apartment.

More down to earth, not as deep into the clouds. You’ve called Seoul home for the entirety of your adult life, but you’re still learning its secrets. Here, on Vernon’s side of the city, it’s more lively. Sleeps less. You watch as dot-sized people duck in and out of 24/7 shops; as groups of friends converge and separate like starling murmuration. You watch through bleary eyes as the city lights start to blur together.

This is where Vernon finds you, sitting on his living room floor, knees tucked against your chest.

Wordlessly, he sits beside you. Stretches his legs out, hands planted on the rug behind him. He’s close enough that you can feel the warmth still stuck to his skin, see every breath he takes from the corner of your eye. And you think you should say something—maybe apologize if you woke him—but four a.m. is built for silence.

Minutes pass. The traffic signals go through their sequence, green yellow red green yellow. The stream of dot-sized people remains steady. The man beside you is steady, too, but he’s also perceptive, and usually it’s a perception that lets you initiate, come closer once you’re ready, doesn’t push. Not this time. This time, he turns to face you and studies your profile. Must notice something, because his eyes narrow, perfect brows pinching in the middle. “You okay?” You nod. Give him a smile you hope is convincing. Four a.m. is a lot of things, but it doesn’t feel like the time or place for this kind of revelation.

Because you like him.

Something of this magnitude should feel world-altering, you think, but it doesn’t. Even if it was subconscious, you’ve known this, so it feels the same as when you look at the sky and see it’s blue, when you look at the grass and it’s green—the universe as advertised and in perfect working order. The way things are meant to be.

But you aren’t sure where the lines are drawn anymore, or if there’s anything left of them at all. Both you and Soonyoung have been here before: feelings that came out of nowhere, hookups that left a more lasting impression than others, the occasional short-term fling. All of it was within the boundaries of your relationship, but something about this—about Vernon—feels different. Feels like something you don’t want to lose.

You suck in a deep breath. “I’m okay,” you confirm, “I just… there are things I need to talk to Soonyoung about, I think.”

Vernon nods. “I figured as much with all the phone calls.”

And because it feels like something you don’t want to lose, you need to be honest. “We got into an argument yesterday morning, before I texted you. It wasn’t—I don’t even know if I’d actually call it an argument, really, because I just got pissed and hung up, but.” You sigh. Place your chin on top of your knees. “I needed to tell you that, because I don’t want it to seem like I used you. It’s not like that for me with you, but I also can’t lie and say I’m not still stung about it.”

Vernon hums. Asks, “Did you want to hurt him?”

“No,” you answer immediately, because it’s true. You never want to hurt him. “I know the relationship me and him have doesn’t make sense to a lot of people. Most people, probably. It works for us, though, and because it’s always worked, I’m not always sure what to do when it doesn’t.” A sigh. “I’m not jealous, you know? I love him, and I love that other people love him. I don’t want someone else’s normal.”

A half-smile ghosts across Vernon’s face. “I’m sensing a but coming.”

“No but.” You laugh. “Well, maybe a but—ever since you left a few weeks ago, I’ve just felt… off? I couldn’t put my finger on it. I couldn’t shake this feeling I’d done something wrong, and I tried talking to Soonyoung about it but we couldn’t make the time difference work, so I texted him and asked him to make time, but he never responded, so I called him yesterday morning. I’m sure you can guess where this is going.”

“Mm, yeah,” comes his simple reply.

“I overreacted, and I need to apologize for it, but I wasn’t ready to have the conversation until I figured out what was weighing on me.”

“And?” His fingers inch closer to yours. “Did you figure it out?”

You place yours over them. “Yeah, I did.”

Vernon had gotten called into the studio just after eleven.

Both of you had tried holding onto the last dregs of excitement of waking up together for the first time. Tried blinking the exhaustion out of your eyes and showing some semblance of life as you danced around one another, brushing your teeth and getting dressed. Vernon paid for your ride home and kissed you goodbye at the door, but not before promising it’d all get figured out.

The drive takes you down streets lined with cherry blossoms in full bloom, petals covering the asphalt, blowing in the breeze. Morning doesn’t often find you philosophical, but there’s something comforting about the changing of the seasons. Winter will always give way to spring in the same way everything will always work out, just like Vernon had promised, and it makes you feel light, finally unburdened, so you dig your phone from your bag.

You: I’ll be home soon You: I know it’s early where you are, but I’m around if you’re up and want to talk

Soonyoung doesn’t answer, but this doesn’t surprise you—the message just sits there, undelivered.

So you thank the driver when he drops you outside your apartment. Without much else to do, you stop into the grocery store to grab a few things, including a bundle of yellow and pink flowers, and the café next to your building after that, where you order something strong and not watered down. You soak up the sun on your skin, let it warm you from the inside out, and after half your coffee’s gone you start to feel human again.

This only lasts as long as it takes to get to your apartment and open the door.

Because there’s your boyfriend asleep on the couch. Soonyoung, whose mouth is hanging open and is snoring lightly. Soonyoung, who’s supposed to be in Europe. Soonyoung, whose phone is laying on the floor, halfway under the couch. Soonyoung, who startles awake when you call his name and punctuate it with a question mark.

Soonyoung, who realizes it’s you and crosses the living room in milliseconds. Who pulls you into his arms before you can breathe life into another question. Who peppers kisses all over your face and sighs when you thumb away the tears beneath his eyes simply because you’re touching him. Who presses his forehead to yours, content to hold you, and you, who fists your hand in the fabric of his shirt, content to let him.

Once the shock wears off, you realize you’re still holding the flowers. Say, “Let me just…” as you gesture at the bouquet. “Then we can talk?”

He’s reluctant to let you go, but he nods anyway. Doesn’t say a thing about the dozens of flowers already covering the kitchen island. When you spin around, his cheeks are dusted pink, teeth worrying at his bottom lip. “I ordered them to be delivered first thing this morning,” he explains. “Well, no—I ordered them yesterday, but they couldn’t deliver that many on such short notice. They also thought it was fake, since I was ordering them from France, so I had to call them, but—”

“They’re beautiful,” you whisper, rubbing a rose petal between your fingers. “Thank you.”

“I panicked. I thought you were breaking up with me.” You don’t mean to laugh, but one tumbles out anyway. Soonyoung pouts around a smile he tries to tamper down, doesn’t take any offense because he, too, knows how absurd it sounds.

“Why would I ever do that?”

He nods his head in the direction of the couch—his favorite place to have these kinds of talks. Says having serious discussions standing up gives him heartburn. Really, you suspect it’s so he has pillows within grabbing distance for when he inevitably starts crying and needs to cover his face in embarrassment, but you’ll give him this. You’ll sit in your usual spot and wait as he sits in his, and then you’ll stretch out and place your feet in his lap like you always do. And he’ll try to apologize first like he always does because he can’t stand things being tense between you, even when it’s your fault.

Today, though, you don’t let him.

“I owe you an apology,” you say, and you want to laugh again at the shocked look on his face, that he can’t believe you beat him to the punch, but you don’t. “I shouldn’t have reacted that way. It was out of line and I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve it.”

“I did a little,” he snarks, all self-deprecation. “I am never, ever too busy for you, and I made you feel like I was.”

“I know.” He moves to protest; you hold up a hand to stop him. “Just let me try to explain this. After Vernon left a few weeks ago, everything felt really off. I had this overwhelming sense of guilt, like I’d done something horrible and I couldn’t figure out what it was, because it’s not like I’d crossed any boundaries, you know? Everything was above board. But I wanted to talk to you about it in case you knew something I didn’t, and then we couldn’t—”

“You like him.” Soonyoung says this as a declaration rather than a question. He says this with a shit-eating grin on his face. He says this as if he’s an old philosopher imparting ancient wisdom upon you, like he’s predicted historical events and has yet to be wrong. “You do, don’t you?”

“I—yeah, but how did you know that? How long have you known that?”

He laughs. “Baby, it’s been obvious to everyone except the two of you since that first night.” You sputter, ready to defend your own honor—Soonyoung’s album release party feels like ages ago now, so surely you would’ve been able to put two and two together before now if what he’s saying were true? “I know you,” he adds, tone far more serious and gentle. “I know what you’re like when you have feelings for someone, remember? I’ve watched you fall in and out of love; not only with me, but—”

You gasp and nudge him in the ribs with your foot. “First of all, I have never fallen out of love with you. Don’t even joke about that—”

“Yes, ma’am.” Soonyoung salutes you sarcastically. Captures your foot and acts like he’s going to tickle you just to get a rise.

“Soonyoung, don’t—you know how ticklish I am! I won’t be able to control my body and I’ll kick you in the ribs or the dick or whatever and hurt you and you’ll get all upset! Also, we are in the middle of a serious conversation here! Stop derailing!”

“I’m not even doing anything,” he lies. “Please continue.”

With a groan (and a very deadly stare), you convince him to stop fucking around. He doesn’t release you entirely, but he forgoes the threats of tickling to press his thumbs into the arch of your foot instead. It works. In an instant, you’re calm, half-melted into the fabric of the couch.

“I went out with him last night.” You swallow, feeling the guilt creep in again. Soonyoung digs in deeper. “I texted him after I hung up on you. I didn’t intend for it to be one, but it very much turned into a date. I slept there.”

“Did you have fun?”

“Yes,” you answer honestly. Soonyoung pulls you closer, moves his hands to your calf and works at the muscle there. “I didn’t tell him.” You don’t know whose sake you’re saying this for—if it’s for Soonyoung or you or even Vernon—but it feels important to admit. To acknowledge that Soonyoung still comes first to you; that, as chaotic as things feel, one thing hasn’t changed. “Wanted to talk to you first.”

“Okay,” he replies breezily. “Let’s talk, then, pretty girl. Let’s figure it out.”

And you do.

The two of you talk for hours. Mostly apologies and promises to do better, but Soonyoung wants to hear all the perverse details of your night spent at Vernon’s apartment. Can’t help himself. Laughs when you scold him for getting hard, but you’re laughing, too. He asks if you want to date him—properly, not only when you’re feeling spiteful—and you ask if it’d be okay if you did. Briefly, you wonder if such a question is presumptuous. After all, you haven’t talked to Vernon, haven’t put your feelings into plaintext, but then you think back to the way he’d touched you last night and come to the conclusion it isn’t.

The two of you talk about the future. Soonyoung makes a point to revisit the original agreement; needs to make sure the two of you are on the same page. “It’s okay if you don’t want this anymore,” he assures you. “I just want you to be happy.”

There’s something in his tone that has you eyeing him. “Do you still want this? You’ve never floated the idea of closing the relationship before.”

“I had a near-death experience,” he jokes. “You know how they say your entire life flashes before your eyes right before you die? That’s all I could think about on the flight home—that it’d be my fault if you left and I’d deserve it because I was selfish; that no one I’ve been with could ever come close to you and none of it would’ve been worth it.”

Everything’s starting to sound waterlogged again. Soonyoung takes you into his arms when you crowd his end of the couch and fit yourself against his side. “If you just want it to be the three of us, that’s more than enough for me.” You press a kiss to his shoulder. “Or we can decide later when I feel less like a deer about to get destroyed by a car.”

You snort. Say, “You can decide. Whatever you want is okay with me. I know it’d be a big adjustment for you.”

“Don’t say what you think I want to hear.”

“I’m not,” you affirm. “I’m really, truly, one-hundred-percent okay with whatever you want to do, even if, like, fifty-five-percent of that is because I’m way less enthusiastic about butt stuff than you—”

“Hey!”

With another shared laugh, the air is cleared. Together, the two of you erase the existing lines and draw new ones. Talk about what it would look like for two to become three. Has another moment of self-doubt and apologizes that he is who he is, that he can’t love you in public the way he desperately wants to, the way you deserve to be loved out in the open. “You love me in the ways you can,” you tell him, “and they’re more than enough because they come from you.”

You talk until the sky begins to darken and the conversation devolves into nonsense. Until Soonyoung realizes he never plugged his phone into the charger and his team’s probably in a panic. Until his stomach rumbles and he suggests ordering a ton of food for delivery, except he really does mean a ton, and when you ask him who’s possibly going to eat it all his cheeks redden and he says, sheepish and a little nervous, “I thought we could invite Vernonie over?”

Another playful groan. “You’re back home for—what, barely 48 hours?—and your main concern is having another threesome?”

“And if I say yes?”

You text Vernon and ask if he’s free after work.

He is.

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