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yslgreen · 2 months ago

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Fucking Disappointment

Pairing: dbf!Joel x F!reader - 10k.

SUMMARY: You’ve always disliked Joel Miller, your dad’s grumpy friend and neighbor. Growing up, he was nothing but short responses and cold glares, never bothering to hide how little he cared to even speak to you. Rude. Dismissive.

You never thought you could feel anything for him. But years later, everything feels different. And so does the way he’s looking at you.

WARNINGS: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no outbreak au, no ellie, dbf!joel, age gap, mean joel,pet names, alcohol consumption. weed consumption, oral m!receiving, dirty talk, degradation

A/N : First time writing Joel Miller, but this fucking guy is stuck in my head on a loop and I had to get him out of my system. Even created a whole new blog just for him. And now that I’ve written this, I somehow have even more ideas?? No beta, because life is life. Hope you enjoy

Here on AO3

ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ.ᖭ༏ᖫ

"Waiting for you at the exit!" the text from your dad read. You checked it one last time as you made your way toward the terminal exit, eyes scanning the crowd. The rolling of your suitcase felt almost too loud in the busy airport, but you barely noticed it as you searched.

And then, a hand waved in the air—there he was. Your dad. His face lit up with that familiar, wide grin, and before you knew it, he was already moving toward you, eager and excited.

As you reached him, he pulled you into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around you like you were still his little girl. You sank into the embrace, feeling the warmth of his chest against yours, the steady beat of his heart familiar and comforting.

You pulled away from your dad’s embrace, smiling up at him. "You look like you’ve been waiting forever," you teased, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. Your dad chuckled, ruffling your hair like he used to when you were younger.

"I’ve been here for a while, actually," he said, his voice a little too cheerful. "Couldn’t wait to see my favorite graduate."

You rolled your eyes playfully. "I’m your only graduate, Dad."

"Yeah, yeah." He laughed again, clearly proud. "Still feels like a big deal."

You smiled again, the pride bubbling up inside you. It felt surreal ; starting college years ago, it seemed like a lifetime ago. And now, here you were, finally done with it all. Sure, college had been a great experience, but nothing beat the satisfaction of being done.

Your dad reached for your large suitcase, lifting it from your hand. “I can take it, really,” you protested with a smile, appreciating the gesture.

“No, no,” he responded, waving off your offer. “The flight must’ve been tiring. Today’s about you, so let me take care of you.”

You thanked him, feeling a warmth spread through you at his caring words, and the two of you made your way outside the terminal. As soon as you stepped into the Texas air, the familiar thick heat hit you like a wall. You had almost forgotten just how intense the summer heat could be, especially after spending so much time in the cooler, more temperate climate of Chicago.

You both made your way to his car, and soon you were on the road toward your childhood home.

"I'm so happy you're here," your dad said, his smile wide and genuine as he glanced over at you.

"Come on, I was here for Christmas," you chuckled, brushing off his excitement. "It’s not like we haven’t seen each other in years."

"It felt like it for me," he replied, his voice softening a little as he focused on the road. "The house always felt so lonely without you. I’m really happy you're home."

"I'm happy too, Dad," you said, your own smile creeping up. It felt good to hear that—good to know your presence meant something more than just the occasional visit.

The conversation naturally flowed as the miles ticked by. Your dad asked about your last few days at school, how the flight had been, and whether you’d managed to catch up with any of your friends before leaving. You found yourself laughing and reminiscing, the easy familiarity between you two making it feel like no time had passed at all.

After a little while, the car slowed, and you could see the familiar neighborhood signs in the distance. The streets, lined with houses you once knew so well, felt like a snapshot of your childhood, almost frozen in time. And then, the house came into view. The old oak tree in the front yard stood tall as ever, its branches casting long, familiar shadows over the driveway.

As you opened the car door, you could see your dad grinning from ear to ear, his excitement practically radiating off of him. You shot him a questioning look, but shrugged it off, assuming he was just that happy you were home. If you’d been paying closer attention, you might have noticed the unusual number of cars parked along the street—more than you'd expected for a quiet neighborhood.

But you didn’t notice. Not yet.

When your dad handed you the key to the house and told you to go ahead and open the door, you were too caught up in the warmth of the reunion to think twice about it. You turned the key in the lock, pushing the door open slowly, expecting the quiet stillness of home.

But before you could even step inside, someone flipped on the lights.

In an instant, a chorus of voices erupted from the shadows, and people leaped out from every corner, yelling, "Surprise!" Laughter and cheers filled the air as you blinked in shock, your heart racing. There, in the middle of the living room, was a crowd of familiar faces—family, friends from home, and even some you hadn't seen in years—all smiling wide with excitement, their surprise catching you completely off guard.

You clenched your hand to your chest, letting out a startled yelp. You hadn’t expected this. The shock of the surprise hit you hard, and before you could even catch your breath, your dad patted you on the shoulder from behind.

You turned to him, eyes wide. “What the—?”

He smiled, his voice loud enough for the entire crowd to hear. “She’s home!” And the room erupted in cheers once more.

“Say hello,” he continued, his grin never fading as he gestured to your luggage and backpack. “I’m gonna take these to your room.”

You were still frozen in place, your mind racing. This wasn’t how you had imagined the evening going at all. You’d expected a quiet night—maybe convincing your dad to order some takeout and watching a stupid movie together, just the two of you. Definitely not a surprise party in your honor.

Before you could even process it, people were already crowding around you, greeting you with warm smiles and happy chatter. It took a few sentences before your brain caught up with reality, but once it did, you found your rhythm, smiling and thanking everyone as you pulled them into quick hugs. You exchanged brief words, trying to take it all in, but it was impossible to focus on everyone.

You couldn’t even guess how many people were there—maybe twenty? Most of them had already split into smaller groups, some headed toward the kitchen, others into the backyard. The whole house felt alive with laughter and conversation, buzzing with energy.

Just then, your dad returned, his arm slipping around your shoulders as he pulled you in for a brief side hug. You squeezed his shoulder, still processing the surprise.

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice full of warmth.“Is it impolite if I go take a shower and change?” you asked, motioning to your travel outfit—a worn pair of sweatpants and an old T-shirt. You felt ridiculously underdressed for a party like this, your clothes inadequate for the occasion.

He chuckled, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He kissed the top of your head, then nudged you toward the stairs. "Go on, don’t take too long."

You quickly excused yourself, sprinting toward your room. Your dad had definitely gone all out to surprise you—the room was spotless, everything neatly in place, just as you remembered. It was a comfort to see your space waiting for you, a small piece of familiarity in the chaos of the evening.

You threw your suitcase on the bed, quickly unzipping it and rummaging through the contents in search of something nice to wear. It didn't take long before you darted into the bathroom, the cool tile floor a relief after the heat of the day. You were the type who loved to take long showers, sometimes staying under the warm water until your dad had to yell from downstairs, complaining that he also needed hot water for his own shower.

Tonight, though, you needed to be quick. You didn’t want to keep everyone waiting too long, especially after they’d all come out to celebrate you. The trip had been exhausting, and while the time under the water was always soothing, you knew there was no time to indulge tonight. The warm water washed away the tension from your muscles, soothing the soreness from the weird position you'd managed to fall asleep in on the plane. You barely bothered to dry your hair, knowing the humid air outside would do the job quickly enough.

You grabbed the first sundress you had found, a simple white one that was light and breathable enough for the Texas heat. It wasn’t too fancy, but it was comfortable and easy, and right now, that was all that mattered.

You made your way back downstairs, already feeling more like yourself. The shower had worked wonders, and the light sundress helped you settle into the warm, familiar air of your childhood home.

Your dad spotted you first, his face lighting up again. He was mid-conversation with one of your aunts but paused as you approached. “There she is,” he said proudly, motioning for you to join them.

Your aunt greeted you with a warm hug, immediately launching into the usual questions—congratulations, how was school, what was next. You gave her a polite smile and nodded through the compliments, but when she asked about your future plans—a question you weren’t ready to answer—you skillfully deflected, asking her about her work, her garden, anything to shift the spotlight.

Your dad stepped in then, mercifully. “I didn’t even offer—do you want something to drink?”

“Sure,” you said, flashing a grateful smile at your aunt before following your dad toward the kitchen.

On the way there, you exchanged quick hellos and short hugs with a few familiar faces scattered through the living room. The noise of the party pulsed gently around you—music low, conversations layered, the clink of glasses in the background.

Once in the kitchen, your dad turned to you, hands already moving toward the fridge. “What’ll it be?” he asked.

“What are you offering?” you asked, leaning against the counter.

He opened the fridge. “Well, we’ve got enough beer to last us a few days,” he said with a grin. “Or, if you’re feeling bold, I could get you something stronger.” He nodded toward the assortment of bottles lined up neatly on the counter.

“A beer’s fine to start,” you replied, smiling.

Your dad handed you one, and you popped it open, ready to head back and rejoin the crowd. But just as you turned, you collided with something solid—someone, actually.

You stumbled a little, beer sloshing near the rim of the bottle, and barely had time to react before your dad’s voice cut in, cheerful and unaware of the tension that had just shifted the air.

“Joel! Wondered where you went!”

Your whole body tensed for a beat, instinctual and sharp. Of course. You took a quick step back, enough to finally look up and get a good look at the man you’d just bumped into.

Joel Miller, your dad’s best friend since the day he moved into the house next door. He stood there, looking down at you with that same gruff expression he always wore around you. Taller than you remembered. Broader, too. The kind of presence that filled the room without trying.

“Was just outside,” Joel said, his tone casual as his eyes slid right past you. “Came in for a new one,” he added, lifting his empty beer bottle like proof.

Your dad reached into the fridge and tossed him another without missing a beat. Joel caught it with practiced ease, cracking it open one-handed. Then, for the first time, he actually looked at you—and at the matching bottle in your hand.

“Since when are you old enough to drink?” he asked, the words edged with something that wasn’t quite teasing.

You met his gaze, unimpressed, and took a slow sip before replying. “It’s been a while.” Your voice was flat, arms crossing over your chest.

The man had known you your whole life and somehow still looked at you like you were a surprise—and not a pleasant one.

The air between you bristled, charged with the same tension that had always simmered there. You didn’t like him. He didn’t like you. And neither of you bothered to pretend otherwise.

Joel turned away, launching straight into a conversation with your dad as if you weren’t even there. Like this wasn’t your party. Like none of this had anything to do with you.

Typical.

He’d never really cared about you, and he’d never made an effort to hide it. The bond between him and your dad had been instant, the kind of easy friendship built on shared interests you’d never been part of. Their jobs, fixing things, football and other stuff you’d always found boring or just flat-out irritating.

With you, Joel was different. Always had been. You weren’t part of the equation, just some brat he had to tolerate in order to spend time with your dad. He’d never been subtle about it either—rolling his eyes when you asked questions, sighing when you pushed his buttons, offering only the bare minimum in response when forced to talk to you.

You used to think he hated kids. But no—he just didn’t like you.

Which was fine, because you didn’t like him either. You tolerated him, because your dad liked him, but as you got older, you stopped pretending to be polite. If Joel couldn’t be bothered to try, then why should you? You rolled your eyes when he spoke, talked back when he got snippy. Your dad had always tried to get you to see the good in him, but you never did. And honestly, it didn’t really matter. Joel was just… there. Always hanging around whenever you came home, like part of the furniture : annoying, unavoidable, and easy to ignore.

You left them to their conversation, not bothering to hide your disinterest, and stepped outside to find people who actually enjoyed your presence. The scent of barbecue drifted through the air, warm and familiar, and your stomach growled as you grabbed a plate from the folding table piled with food.

Before long, you found yourself seated at a picnic table with a mix of childhood friends and cousins you hadn’t seen in ages. The conversation flowed easily, catching up, teasing each other, slipping back into old rhythms like no time had passed at all.

People came and went as the night wore on, stopping to hug you, offer congratulations, ask about school. You recognized a few of your dad’s work friends lingering on the patio, most of them clustered in the same spot—around your dad and, of course, Joel.

The conversations kept going, and so did the beers. You were genuinely grateful to whoever had stocked the fridge like they were prepping for the apocalypse, because no one was going easy on them, least of all you and your friends.

As the night wore on, people started saying their goodbyes. A few last hugs, warm smiles, and congratulations passed between you and the guests as they filtered out. You thanked them all, the praise and attention making your cheeks ache from smiling.

Eventually, only a handful of people remained—six or seven at most. You and your friends made up one little cluster, your dad and his made up the other. Joel, of course, was still right there with your father, like he’d just been absorbed into the foundation of the house itself.

When your last friend finally stood to leave, mumbling something about an early shift, you pouted dramatically. “You’re really gonna leave me here with them?” you whispered, tilting your head toward the older crowd.

She snorted, pulling you into one last hug. “You’ll survive. But in case it gets too hard…” She slipped something into your palm with a grin.

You looked down to see a neatly rolled joint nestled in your hand.

“Figured you haven’t had time to stock up yet. Consider it a graduation gift,” she said with a wink.

You stifled a laugh, hiding it quickly in your fist like a teenager. “You’re the best,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“Don’t I know it,” she called over her shoulder as she disappeared into the night.

You watched her disappear down the driveway, then turned back toward the house, heading toward the patio where your dad and his friends were still gathered, half-lit by the string lights draped above.

“Goin’ to bed already?” your dad asked as you passed by, the buzz in his voice saying he hoped you’d stick around a little longer.

You smiled, still carefully cradling the joint in your closed hand. “Nope. Just takin’ a lap. Think I might’ve had one too many.”

Frank leaned back in his chair with a chuckle. “Can’t hold your beer, huh? Like daughter, like father.”

You shot him a grin, backing away into the house. “Give me five minutes and I’ll prove I can outdrink him.”

That got a round of laughter, your dad laughing loudest of all while his friends chimed in with mock protests and teasing.

You were a smoker—on and off. Mostly when you were stressed, or buzzed just enough not to care, like tonight. Your dad wasn’t—never had been—and you didn’t exactly feel like getting a lecture tonight. You just wanted a little more fun, to stretch the evening a bit longer.

So you slipped into the kitchen, quietly opening one cupboard, then another. You were hoping, maybe, some old forgotten lighter had been tossed in a drawer. A leftover from a guest. Anything. But no luck so far.

You didn’t hear the back door creak open. Didn’t notice the presence behind you until a low voice cut through the quiet.

“What are you doin’?”

You startled, spinning around. Joel stood a few steps inside, the kitchen light casting a warm line across his face. You must’ve looked caught—like a teenager up to something—because his brow lifted in that way of his. That silent judgment.

Normally, he wouldn’t have cared. Would’ve walked right past you without so much as a glance. But not tonight.

He moved to the fridge, opened it like he’d done it a thousand times—which, to be fair, he had—and grabbed a beer. ““What’re you diggin’ through drawers for like that?”’

“Nothing,” you said, crossing your arms like a shield.

He cracked the cap off with one hand, took a long pull, then looked you over again. “Nothin’, huh.”

His voice was skeptical, casual in that way that always grated on your nerves. He didn’t believe you. That much was obvious in the way he leaned back against the counter and just... looked. Waiting.

The stare stretched long between you, hot and heavy like the Texas summer outside.

You didn’t look away. Just stood there, jaw tight, staring back. The message was clear in your eyes:

Why the hell are you still here?

You didn’t want to be the first to break, to move, to let him think he’d gotten under your skin. But at some point, your patience thinned, you just wanted to smoke and unwind. So you walked past him, your every step saying I’m done with this.

You didn’t bother hiding the way your shoulder brushed his slightly on the way out. Didn’t mask the glare you shot up at him as he looked down at you, still leaning there like he owned the place.

You didn’t speak. Didn’t offer a word. Just walked out of the kitchen, your footsteps solid on the hardwood as you made your way to the stairs.

You didn’t look back—but you could feel his eyes on you, lingering, sharp as ever, watching you disappear.

Once in your room, jaw tight and heart still a little too fast, you dropped to your knees by your bag. You were annoyed—annoyed at him, at the whole damn moment—and all you wanted was the comfort of a quiet high. You unzipped the front pocket, fingers digging past receipts and pens, and there it was.

The lighter.

Right where you needed it.

You walked down the stairs slowly, careful with each step, not wanting to draw any attention—especially not from Joel. If he was still brooding in that damn kitchen, you had no interest in crossing paths again.

A quick glance confirmed the coast was clear. No voices. No movement. You slipped through the front door without a sound.

Outside, the night wrapped around you in a warm hush. The air was thick with leftover summer heat, cicadas buzzing low in the distance. You made your way to the old oak tree, the one that had watched over you since childhood, and slid down with your back against its trunk.

The joint was still in your hand, slightly bent from your grip. You brought it to your lips and flicked the lighter you’d grabbed from your bag upstairs.

Nothing.

You tried again. Pressed harder.

Still nothing.

“Fucking really,” you muttered under your breath, jaw clenching as you stared down at the useless plastic.

You shook the lighter, flicked it again, and like a gift from someone above, a blessed spark appeared long enough for you to light your joint. You inhaled, slow and satisfied, the burn calming, the quiet of the night wrapping around you like a weighted blanket.

Then, a voice cut through it.

“You serious right now?”

Your eyes flew open mid-exhale. Joel.

He stood at the edge of the porch, arms crossed over his chest, face shadowed—but the tone was all too clear. Disapproval, plain as day.

You coughed lightly, caught off guard, waving a hand like you could erase the smoke between you. “Jesus, do you ever make a sound when you walk?”

“Didn’t think I needed to,” he said, stepping off the porch, boots crunching against the grass as he came closer. “Didn’t figure I’d catch you hidin’ out here like a damn teenager.”

“Not a teenager anymore,” you shot back, trying to steady yourself, annoyed by the interruption.

“You sure? Then why are you smoking here, hiding from your daddy?” he asked, his tone low, judgment lacing the words.

“Can’t I just want a moment to myself?” you retorted, holding his gaze steady as you took another hit.

Joel didn’t answer right away. Just stood there, arms crossed, eyes flicking down to the joint between your fingers. The judgment was all over his face. If a cigarette would've earned you a lecture from your dad, this? This would light a fuse.

But you didn’t hide it. You didn’t even flinch. Hiding it would’ve meant guilt. It would’ve meant Joel won.

And you weren’t giving him that.

He huffed through his nose, like he couldn’t believe you had the nerve, but wasn’t surprised either. “Y’know he’s gonna smell it the second he steps outside,” he muttered.

“Then maybe he shouldn’t step outside,” you said calmly, shrugging as you brought the joint back to your lips.

“You never admit when you’re in the wrong, do you?” he snapped back, his tone clipped. Joel didn’t like getting talked back to—especially not by you.

You stood up, brushing grass from your dress, chin lifting as you squared up to him.

“Oh my god, Joel. It’s one joint. I’m not twelve anymore,” you said, voice rising with each word. “I drink. I smoke. I do a lot of things.”

That made him pause. His eyes locked on yours, and for a second, it looked like he might ask what exactly those "things" were. You saw it, the curiosity, judgment, maybe even a flicker of something else but he bit it back, jaw clenched.

“Let’s not pretend you’re some saint who’s never touched a joint in your life. Or worse,” you added, eyes narrowing. “We both know that’s not true.”

He took a step closer, slow and sure like he always moved, and before you could react—before you could even take another inhale—his hand reached out. Quick. Firm. He plucked the joint from between your fingers like it was his.

“What the hell—” you started, already ready to snap, but the words caught in your throat when instead of lecturing you, instead of crushing it under his boot like you half-expected, he brought it to his own mouth.

Joel inhaled. Long, steady. The ember flared, lighting up the edges of his face—the hard line of his jaw, the crease in his brow, the scar on his temple..

He stood there, smoke curling from his lips, his eyes half-lidded as he brought a hand up to run through his hair like the weight of the night had finally sunk into his bones. There was more gray than you remembered. At his temples. Scattered through the strands like dust on old wood. He looked… older. In a good way.

You blinked hard. You didn’t want to notice things like that, not about Joel.

“Never seen you smoke before,” you said, trying to cut through the strange haze between you.

“That’s ‘cause I know how not to get caught,” he muttered, taking another pull. Calm. Unbothered.

You scoffed. “Oh, so you’re hiding too? What, scared my daddy’s gonna ground you?”

That pulled the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not a smile, exactly, but close enough to spark something sharp in your chest.

“You’re gettin’ old, you know that?” you said, letting it land like a tease, but there was an edge to it.

He tilted his head, gaze pinning you in place. “Am I now?” he said, voice low, thick with that familiar southern drawl—like honey and gravel. He stepped in just enough that you caught the scent of smoke and the heat from his skin. “Funny, comin’ from the girl sneakin’ off like she’s still seventeen.”

You rolled your eyes. You were starting to think this might be the longest conversation you’d ever had with him.

You reached out, palm up. “You gonna give it back?”

Joel didn’t answer. Not with words.

Instead, he stepped forward—close. Too close. The air shifted instantly, thick with something that wasn’t just smoke or summer heat. His hand lifted, steady, unhurried. And without asking, without a word, he pressed the joint back between your lips.

Your breath hitched. Not just from the inhale—but from him.

His fingers brushed your lower lip, slow and deliberate. Not an accident. Not rushed. Just enough to leave heat in their wake.

You stared up at him, lips parted slightly around the joint. Your heart beat too loud in your chest, but your body stayed still.

He didn’t look away.

Didn’t blink. Didn’t move.

His gaze locked on yours, heavy and unreadable, like he was waiting. Like he was daring you to break the silence first.

But for once, you didn’t.

You took a slow drag. Held it. Exhaled—right between the two of you.

And still, neither of you moved. Joel held your gaze for one long second more.

Then, like a switch flipped, he stepped back, just a half-step, but it felt like miles. The heat between you cooled instantly, and when he spoke again, his voice had that old, familiar edge.

“Well,” Joel said, his eyes flicking over you with that familiar, judgmental gaze, “didn’t even last a day before you were back to your old tricks.”

The words landed sharp, biting in that casual, offhand way only he could manage. Like everything you did was somehow a little wrong, a little too much..

And just like that, there he was—that Joel. The one who couldn’t help but offer a comment about everything. The one who never missed a chance to nitpick, to point out what you were doing wrong.

You scoffed, jaw tight. “There he is,” you muttered, dragging on the joint, blowing out a thick plume of smoke. “Was wonderin’ how long it’d take for the real Joel to show up.”

He raised an eyebrow, his voice low and sharp. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You took another hit, your thoughts swirling for a moment. You could just let him go, ignore him like you had countless times before. But no, he had to make that damn snarky comment, didn’t he?

You turned to him, the frustration boiling over, and before you could stop yourself, the words came sharp. You stepped in, jabbing a finger into his chest—hard, deliberate. “Always so fucking rude to me. What the hell did I ever do to you?”

He stiffened at your words, clearly not expecting the bite behind them. You poked him again, harder this time. “You never said anything nice to me, never even looked at me like I was a person. Just a damn inconvenience in the way of your ‘good time’ with my dad. So tell me, what did I do to deserve that, huh?”

Joel’s hand shot out, grabbing your wrist before your finger could make contact again. His grip was tight, not painful, but enough to stop you in your tracks. His eyes—those goddamn eyes—narrowed as he looked down at you, frustration boiling behind them.

“Come on,” he said, voice low and cutting. “You really wanted me to coddle you? Like your dad does—pretending you don’t make everything harder than it has to be?” He laughed once, bitter and short. “You’ve been a storm since the day I met you. You’ve been acting out your whole damn life, never grateful, always pushing. What, you think that deserves kindness?”

He stepped in closer, the distance between you shrinking, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m not your dad, sweetheart. I don’t have to pretend to care. And I sure as hell didn’t have to put up with you when you couldn’t even take care of yourself. You think I wanted to deal with you?” He gave you a smirk, as if the very thought was laughable.

The bitterness in his voice cut through you like a knife, the words searing with years of unspoken resentment. Maybe you had been a pain in the ass as a kid, always causing trouble, always pushing boundaries. But you were a kid. Yes, your dad worked himself to the bone to provide for you, and you were left trying to figure it out on your own.

You looked up at him, jaw clenched, trying to hold on to the anger that was threatening to slip away.

“You think I asked for any of this?” you snapped back, your voice dripping with contempt. “I didn’t ask for you to come around, either. You think I wanted to be stuck between you and my dad, always the damn inconvenience? Maybe I was just trying to figure out my own damn life. Maybe I didn’t need someone like you breathing down my neck every time I fucked up.”

His eyes flashed at that, but he didn’t move. Didn’t back away.

"Was I just a disappointment to you, then? Is that it?" you spat out, the question lingering in the cold air between you two.

“No,” Joel replied, his voice hard but low, like he was forcing the words through clenched teeth. “You never disappointed me, kid. You were always exactly who I expected you to be.”

It hit you harder than it should have. Those words stung, but you didn’t let it show. You fought to keep your composure, to hold onto that anger that had been building in your chest. You weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much it hurt.

You yanked your wrist from his grip, the heat of his touch still burning into your skin. “Fuck you, Joel,” you muttered, the words biting as they left your lips. You didn’t give him a second glance as you turned and walked toward the front porch, the weight of his gaze heavy on your back.

The joint had stopped burning, but you didn’t care anymore as you trew it away. You needed a moment to breathe. You went straight to the bathroom, splashing some cold water on your face to shake off the heat of the argument. You stared at yourself in the mirror, frustration building inside you. Fuck him, you thought. Fuck him.

You spritzed some perfume, just in case the lingering scent gave you away, and then walked back down the stairs, your steps purposeful and steady. In the kitchen, you opened the fridge, but it was the bottles on the counter that called to you. You didn’t bother with the beer. Instead, you grabbed whatever whiskey was within reach, pouring yourself a drink and letting the burn settle in your chest.

You walked back toward the backyard, taking slow steps as you made your way to the patio. Your dad was deep in conversation with Frank and Bill, laughing lightly at something one of them had said. When he saw you, his face lit up with a smile.

“I thought you wouldn’t come back,” he said, his voice warm.

“I said I would,” you replied, offering him a small smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. You didn’t feel like explaining much right now.

You found a chair around the table, making sure to settle yourself just far enough from your dad. You didn’t want him to notice anything—the lingering scent or the storm still brewing in your mind. There was no need for him to ask, and no need to bring it up.

Joel wasn’t around the table, and part of you felt a little relief. Maybe he was already on his way home, back to wherever he belonged. But, as if summoned by your thoughts, there he was—appearing from the same way you had come.

"Thought you forgot where the bathroom was," your father teased as Joel slid into the empty chair across from you.

"Not that drunk," Joel muttered, a little too casually, his eyes flicking over to you like he was trying to catch your gaze. But you didn't bite. Instead, you focused on Bill next to you, making small talk, pretending not to notice the tension building in the air.

Your father’s attention shifted to your drink. "Didn't expect you to be a whiskey girl," he remarked with a smile, eyebrows raised.

You shrugged, taking another sip. "It's nice," you replied, your voice nonchalant, though the warmth of the alcohol barely did anything to calm you.

Your father patted you on the shoulder. "Well, finally, something you’ve got in common with Joel, huh? He’s the one who brought it, you know." He looked over at Joel, pride edging his voice. "You should see his collection," he continued, clearly pleased with the fact that you two could now bond over something.

You kept your eyes on your glass, trying to avoid the sharp edge of Joel’s stare, but it didn't escape you—the way your father was so eager to find common ground, any excuse to connect you with Joel. You gave your dad a small, practised smile enough to ease his attention off you. But your eyes caught Joel’s across the table.

He was staring.

Not in the careless, absent way people sometimes do when lost in thought. Joel was watching you, steady, unreadable, like he hadn’t stopped since he sat down. Like the words you’d thrown at him earlier were still echoing somewhere behind his eyes.

You tilted your head just slightly, a silent question or maybe a challenge, and took a slow sip of your drink—intentional, deliberate. His gaze didn’t flinch.

If anything, it sharpened.

Frank leaned forward slightly, swirling the wine in his glass. “So,” he said, glancing at you with a friendly grin, “Happy to be finished with school ?”

You nodded, taking a sip. “Yeah, finally..”

“Damn, time flies,” Bill said, impressed. “Feels like we were just talkin’ about you leavin’. What’d you end up majoring in?”

“Communications,” you said, voice light. “Which is code for ‘I still don’t know what I’m doing with my life.’”

That got a laugh from Frank. “Well, join the club. Took me years to figure out what I wanted, and even then, I changed my mind half a dozen times.”

Your dad beamed quietly, pride flickering behind his eyes. “She’s smart,” he said. “Always has been. Stubborn as hell, but smart.”

You gave him a small smile, choosing not to argue.

“So what about work?” Bill asked. “You stayin’ around here, or just visiting?”

You hesitated for a moment. “I don’t know yet. Thought I’d come back, take a breath before jumping into anything serious.”

There was a pause, and then Frank grinned. “And anyone special back at school—or here—giving you a reason to stay?”

You raised your eyebrows and laughed under your breath, deflecting with a sip of your drink. “Jesus, Frank.”

He held up his hands, grinning. “What? Can’t ask a question?”

Your dad chimed in, playing along. “Hey, pretend I’m not here if it helps.”

You laughed, relaxed. You didn’t mind your dad. The two of you had gotten close, especially in those past years, separated by college. If there had been anyone serious, he’d probably already know.

“No one worth mentioning,” you said after a moment, flicking your eyes back to Frank. “Just me for now.”

Frank gave you a look, all charm and teasing. “I don’t buy that for a second. Pretty thing like you? I bet you left a trail of broken hearts in Chicago.”

You let out a soft laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Eh,” you said lightly, the smile not quite reaching your eyes, “disappointment’s kind of my thing, apparently,” you said, smiling just enough to pass it off as a joke.

Your dad chuckled, clearly not reading the undercurrent. “You? Please. You’re doing just fine.”

But Joel—he wasn’t laughing. He stopped mid-sip, his eyes fixed on you over the rim of his glass. His gaze was sharp, piercing, the silent understanding hanging between you like a weight.

You didn’t acknowledge him. You didn’t have to. You knew he heard it.

You kept the conversation going with Frank, though his words were starting to blur as the alcohol made him a bit more loose-lipped than usual. Bill, ever the more sober one, finally pointed out that it was time for them to head out. Frank, clearly one glass of wine too many, was a little wobbly on his feet, but that didn’t stop him from giving you his signature ruffle on the head. You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t suppress the smile that tugged at your lips.

“You’re gonna find someone who sees you for who you are, kid,” Frank slurred, his voice filled with an odd mix of affection and drunken sincerity. “You’re too smart, too pretty, not to," Frank said, his voice a little louder than necessary as he nudged you with a playful grin. “Ain’t she, Joel?”

Joel, who had been deep in conversation with your dad, looked up, clearly caught off guard by Frank’s question. "What?"

“She’s pretty, don’t you think?”

You raised an eyebrow, already anticipating the awkwardness that would follow. Frank was a little tipsy, but you knew he didn’t mean any harm. It was just Frank being Frank.

You half-expected Joel to brush it off, mutter something gruff, or look away entirely—anything to avoid the attention. But instead, he met your gaze briefly, his eyes looking you up just for a second, before shifting back to Frank.

“Very pretty,” Joel said quietly, the words not quite as reluctant this time. It was almost as if he couldn’t help it, like Frank’s teasing had pulled it out of him.

“See?” Frank said, giving Joel a playful shove, not realising the undercurrent of tension in the air. “Even Joel says so!”

Joel’s shoulders stiffened slightly, but he didn’t say anything more.

Frank and Bill left, their goodbyes echoing softly as they promised to invite you and your dad for dinner soon. You stayed outside as your dad continued his conversation with Joel about the upcoming game and who was going to host it. The voices of the two men blended into background noise, the hum of the conversation barely registering in your mind. You were half-listening, half-distracted, your thoughts lingering on the anger you’d been holding onto all night.

The burn of the whisky slid down your throat, and without even realizing it, your eyes found Joel. You were still mad at him, the words he’d spoken earlier lodged under your skin. It stung in a way that made it harder to push away. Normally, you would’ve brushed it off, moved on, but tonight, his words had managed to hit deeper than usual. And for some reason, it bothered you more than you were willing to admit.

At first, you looked at him with nothing but irritation, your gaze sharp, unforgiving. The way he leaned back in his chair, so at ease after everything he’d said—it grated on you. But then, without meaning to, your eyes lingered. You noticed how the porch light caught the strands of gray in his hair, more than you remembered. The lines around his eyes were deeper now, the rough stubble along his jaw peppered with silver. And yet, somehow, it suited him. He looked… good. Annoyingly so. That solid kind of good that didn’t come from trying. The kind that made some of your dad’s female friends earlier laugh too loud at his jokes and linger a little too long near wherever he stood.

He shouldn’t have looked good. Not after the shit he said. Not after the way he always made you feel small and in the way.

And then, as if he could feel the weight of your gaze, his eyes found yours.

You hesitated for a second, but didn’t look away. You couldn’t. Not this time. You weren’t going to let him think he had any power over you. Not now. Not ever again.

He held your gaze, serious now, almost as if he was silently asking you what the hell you were looking at. It was like a challenge, an invitation for you to either break or keep going. But you didn’t flinch, didn’t break the connection.

Your dad, oblivious as ever, continued tidying up the table, clearing away the bottles, while he kept talking to Joel. But you didn’t shift your focus. And so, knowing damn well he was watching, a strange boldness crept in, aided by the drinks you’d had. You let your eyes trace him—across his chest, his hands, then slowly, almost instinctively, to his lips.

You took a slow sip of your drink, letting the tension hang in the air, lingering just enough on his lips for him to feel the weight of it. Then, you lifted your gaze back up to his. You saw the way his brows furrowed for a second, his eyes narrowing as if trying to make sense of what you were doing.

In that instant, your dad clapped his hands, breaking the tense silence between you and Joel. Both of you snapped your gaze away, turning towards him.

"I'm busted," he said with a grin, clearly oblivious to the quiet storm that had just passed between the two of you. "I think it's time for me to go to bed. What about you two?"

You raised your drink to him, trying to mask the lingering heat in your chest. "Gonna finish this first, then I'll crash too," you said, voice calm, though your mind was anything but.

Your dad chuckled, giving you a playful look. “Whiskey, huh? Careful, it goes under your skin quickly.” He glanced at Joel, raising an eyebrow. “What about you?”

“I’ll finish my drink too and go,” Joel replied, his voice steady.

Your dad nodded, then walked over to you, pressing a soft kiss to your hair. “So glad you’re here,” he said warmly. You squeezed his hand, smiling up at him, before waving as he turned to head back inside. As he passed Joel, he gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder.

And just like that, the two of you were alone again. Your eyes drifted to the door your dad had disappeared through… then back to Joel—only to find him already watching you.

“It’s rude to stare,” he said casually, but that familiar edge was there—like he was already halfway into a fight.

You scoffed, lifting your glass. “Funny, coming from you.”

Joel raised a brow, slow and deliberate. “What’re you tryin’ to say?”

You didn’t flinch. “That you’ve been staring at me all night. Like you’re tryin’ to set me on fire.”

He took a long sip, unfazed. “And why the hell would I wanna do that?”

You shrugged. “You’re the one who keeps acting like I’m a pain in your ass.”

Joel gave a low, humorless laugh. “Darlin’, you are. Don’t mean I gotta kill you for it.”

You leaned back, a smirk tugging at your lips despite yourself, the word darlin’ echoing like heat under your skin. “How kind of you.. So what do I owe this stare? Full of love and all,” you added, letting the word drag with thick sarcasm.

Joel scoffed, but his eyes didn’t leave yours. “Love ain’t exactly the word I’d use.”

“Mm,” you hummed, tilting your head. “Could’ve fooled me.”

He lifted his glass, took another long sip, then set it down with a soft clink—clear as day he was ending the conversation. Funny how he’d been the one to start this fight, but didn’t want to finish it. You couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out; pushing his buttons was too tempting to resist.

“Am I really that pretty?” you pressed, leaning forward, voice low. “Is that it? Enough to make you unable to look away?”

You saw the way his jaw twitched before he met your gaze again, his eyes darker than before. In the past, that little tell would’ve tipped you off and you’d have backed down, let him off the hook. But tonight, you didn’t care. If he couldn’t find the decency to be kind, why should you?

“Not gonna answer?” you teased, your voice soft but edged. You lifted the glass in a salute, then drained the last drop.

“Careful.” His voice was low, dangerous and it made your stomach tighten.

“Or what, Miller?” you shot back, setting your empty glass on the table. “Gonna ground me? You’re not my dad, remember.”

With those words, you stood, smoothing the hem of your dress. For a heartbeat, you saw his gaze drop to your bare leg—just a glance—before snapping back up to yours.

“Always gotta be smart, don’t ya?” he called after you, voice rough as you stepped toward the door.

You stopped mid-step, one hand on the doorframe, and turned back. The patio light caught your face just right. Arms crossed, you gave him a small, mocking smile. “Oh, so I’m smart now?” you snapped, tone brittle with sarcasm. “Pretty and smart—what’s gotten into you, Joel? Running out of insults?”

Joel didn’t miss a beat. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his eyes hard. “Don’t push your luck,” he said, his voice low and dry. “I said you were smart, not that you stopped bein’ a brat.”

“Oh, right,” you scoffed. “Because you’re the king of saying exactly what you mean. Never cryptic, never cruel, never hiding behind that goddamn scowl.”

He stood then—slow, deliberate—his glass forgotten on the table behind him. His height always had a way of pressing down on a room, and now, with only the patio light casting long shadows between you, he felt even closer than he was.

“You done?” he asked, low and tight.

“No,” you snapped, taking a step toward him without even thinking. Your heart thudded hard in your chest, but you didn’t let it show. “You’ve been staring at me all night like I’m something stuck to your damn boot, but God forbid I look back. You start shit, and then when I give it back, suddenly I’m the one who’s too much?”

Joel didn’t flinch, didn’t move at first—but you saw it in his jaw, the way it clenched, the way his fingers flexed at his sides like he was holding something in.

He stepped toward you, and the space between you narrowed into something heavy—your skin prickling with heat, not entirely from anger. His voice dropped, rough and controlled, but far from calm.

“Does that mouth ever do somethin’ other than complain?”

The words hit like a slap, and a dare. The way he said it, slow, his voice coiled tight with something darker, something heavier, made your pulse jump.

Your breath caught, not from fear, but from the sudden pulse of heat that curled low in your stomach. Maybe it was the whiskey still humming through your veins, the warmth of it making you bold, reckless. Sober, you never would’ve said what came next.

You looked up at him, stepping in just enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his body, the space between you now little more than a breath; eyes fixed on his, daring. “Why?” you said, voice low and steady. “You want my mouth to do something else?”

Joel didn’t hesitate. His fingers came up, rough and warm, catching your chin between his thumb and forefinger, firm, not gentle. He tilted your face up, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“You wanna play like that, kid?” he muttered, the word kid sounding more like a warning than an insult. “Keep talkin’ like you know what you’re askin' for.”

The word echoed in your head—not just what he said, but how he said it. Low, rough, like gravel under pressure. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just stared, like he was waiting to see if you’d flinch first. Your heart kicked harder against your ribs. You should’ve backed off. Maybe any other night, you would’ve. But the way he was looking at you — like you were the last line he hadn’t crossed — made your mouth move before your brain could stop it.

“Not scared of you,” you said, but the words came out softer than you meant them to.

He leaned in closer, just a breath away, the porch light casting deep shadows over his face. “You should be,” he paused, his eyes dark. ”Get on your knees.”

Your breath hitched at his words, the patio suddenly too quiet. For a second, you weren’t sure you’d heard him right. The heat that rushed between your legs, however, confirmed that you had.

“What?” you asked, your voice a little breathless.

Joel didn’t blink. His gaze stayed locked on yours, unmoving, unreadable. “You heard me, girl,” he said, voice rough, low.

You should have backed off. You knew that. It was Joel, for crying out loud. The one you couldn’t stand. He was your dad’s best friend, your least favourite person in the world. The guy who made you feel small with every sharp word, every lingering glance.

And yet, you sank to your knees. The hand that cupped your chin went to the top of your head, guiding your descent. Joel’s breath became more rugged as you did, never leaving your eyes.

Your knees fell on the cold patio floor, but you didn't care. Joel's gaze was intense, unreadable, yet unmistakably focused on you. His eyes locked onto yours, steady and unwavering, as if he was trying to see right through you. You feel the weight of it pressing in on you, challenging you to see how far you were willing to go.

You didn't want to back down. You looked in front of you, his crotch right there. Your hands quickly moved to unbutton his dark jeans, making them fall to the ground. He was already hard, the fabric straining against his thickness, precum staining the front of his boxer, leaving a print that made your mouth salivate a little more than it should.

Joel was big, of course he was. Broad shoulders, large hands, big cock. It made sense. You would be lying if you said you’d never thought about it. After all, Joel Miller was the better-looking of your dad’s friends. He just happened to be the most annoying.

You brought your mouth closer, letting Joel feel your hot breath on his cock. His hand was still in your hair, a little tug inviting you closer, wordless but clear. Your hand rested on the waistband of his boxer, not taking it off just yet. You could see a bit of his happy trail, his dark hairs inviting you to explore more of his body. You pressed your lips into a small kiss where you could see the print of his tip, earning you a low, guttural groan from Joel. The sound was exquisite, and you already wanted to hear it again. So you pressed a few more kisses, relishing in the small noises he was making. You couldn’t wait to take him in your mouth.

Finally, you took down his boxer, and his throbbing cock stood in front of you. Large, thick. perfect. You swallowed a gasp, realising you’ve never taken one so big in your mouth — or anywhere else for that matter. It only made it more enticing. You looked up to Joel, who had his eyes on you. Waiting, hungry, and he looked way too good in that instant. It made you feel things you didn’t want to think about Joel. Made you want to take a hand between your thighs and deal with the heat that had been pulsing all evening. But later. Now you only wanted to focus on him.

One hand on his thigh, the other finding the base of his length, you looked at him one more time before opening your mouth. Slowly, teasingly, you licked his tip, tasting the glistening precum off him. Salty. Musky. Joel. Then, you pressed your lips around his length, the warmth of your mouth making the man grunt. Knowing you were the one making him moan like this was exhilarating. Powerful even. The need to hear this sound again pushed you to take more of him, inch by inch. You started a steady rhyme, your mouth so full — and you hadn't taken all of him yet.

Joel let out a guttural moan, his hand pushing you further down his length as he thrusted his hips up slightly into your warm, wet mouth. You dared look up to him and saw how his head tilted backwards, the hand that wasn't in your hair on the table behind him, keeping him steady. Fuck, he looked so good and you were the one doing that to him. You clenched your thighs together, feeling a wetness you couldn't take care of right now.

“Fuck, darling…” he groaned, his calloused fingers tightening their grip on your head when you took him a bit deeper, hitting the bak of your throat. The pet name made you moan around his cock without you even realising, the sound vibrating around his cock.

At that, Joel looked down at you, a slow, smug smile spreading across his face. Your nose pressed agasint the base of his cock, your throat bulging obscenely with his girth.

“You like it, don’t you? Choking on my dick like that ?” He asks, his voice rough, almost breathless. His eyes darkened with something primal, something hungry, and it sent a shiver down your spine so sharp it left your skin buzzing. You nodded on his cock without even realizing. “Of course you fucking do, you mouthy little thing.”

He started to thrust harder, faster, driven by the thrill of having you here, worshipping his cock like it was your sole purpose. You had sucked dick before, sure. It was something you enjoyed, making your partner come undone with only your mouth. College had been the right place to experience it, but you never had your throat fucked like that. And you liked it more than you thought was possible.

“You take me so good, baby, “ Joel praises you, his voice heavy, taking in the sight of you, the way you are so eager on his cock, and the feeling shouldn't feel so good. You looked up at him, your eyes, your lips stretching around him, your eyes watering slightly as you take him as deep as you can. “F-fuck…” he curses, his breath ragged, as he watches himself disappear inside you inch by inch.“Gonna make me cum doin’ that. Are you gonna be perfect for me and swallow like a good girl ?”

The answer came in the way of a whimper you couldn’t stop, causing Joel to chuckle darkly as an acknowledgement. He picks up the pace and, with a final, hard thrust, Joel buries himself deep in your throat, coming in a strangled moan that sounds very much like your name.

And so there you were—knees on the cold patio floor of your dad’s house, lips still tingling and your mouth full of cum. Joel Miller, the man you despised, was standing in front of you, his chest rising with rough, uneven breaths. His hand was still tangled in your hair, idly, almost possessively, like he hadn’t decided to let go yet. He looked down at you, and you swallowed under the weight of his gaze. His eyes dragging over your mouth, down your throat, and finally meeting yours again, his breathing just beginning to steady. Then, he loosened his grip in your hair, allowing you to move from him, a strand of cum and saliva connecting your swollen lips to the tip of his softening cock. The sight of you—lips parted, breath shaky, eyes still wide—made Joel chuckle, low and dark. There was no humor in it, not really. Just heat. Satisfaction.

He helped you back up, his touch steady, almost too gentle after everything. You wobbled for a moment, heart still racing, and smoothed your dress with shaky fingers, eyes avoiding his like they might burn. The silence was deafening as he pulled back his clothes. You couldn’t even look at him, not really—not with the feel of his dick still lingering in your mouth, the taste of him still not gone. The air felt colder now. Or maybe it was you, sobering fast under the weight of everything that just happened.

But before you could say anything, his thumb slid over your lips once more. Just like earlier with the joint, but this time it wasn’t casual. This time it lingered, drawing a painfully slow line against your skin. His eyes were fixed on your mouth, dark with something primal, an intensity that made your breath hitch. It was like he could still feel you there, still feel the way you had taken him so well, so eager. And from the smug tilt of his lips, it was clear he liked it.

“Guess you can back up that mouth after all.”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #tlou x reader #the last of us smut #dbf joel miller #dbf!joel #joel miller

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ittybittyfanblog · 5 months ago

Text

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 9

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, angst, depictions of a depressive episode, it’s pretty heavy, don’t force yourself to read if ur not in the right headspace pls, ambiguous ending (?) A/N: Yeah, I’m sorry. (Ngl, this chapter kinda stumped me—it’s gone through a whooole lot of editing/revisions 😔🤙🏼 I don’t want to overthink it too much at this point, but I hope it hits the way it should lol. Blame Moby if it doesn’t.)

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10 - Epilogue

"I thought that you were so beautiful, it was love, I guess And you might never come back home, and I may never sleep at night But God, I just hope you're doing fine out there, I just pray that you're alright And I feel so alone, and I feel so alone out here.” – A House In Nebraska, Ethel Cain

The television drones uninterrupted in the background; a mockumentary type featuring a ragtag ensemble of vampires stuck in some sort of modern day hell, their loud misadventures casting fractured lights across the four walls of your apartment.

You sit there, watching the screen, your gaze unfocused. Nothing registers. The remote lies limp in your hand as a stupid sitcom laugh track fills the room—shrill, hollow. Mocking. Like a bad punchline to a joke you’re not in on.

Your phone buzzes on the coffee table, cutting through the noise, the sudden glow in your periphery pulling you out of a pensive daydream.

For a split second, your chest constricts—a reflex carved by habit, something you’re still working to shake off.

You avert your eyes, torn between the urge to look away and the desire to keep your gaze on it forever.

The screen fades to black.

A clean break, you reason. Something to spare you both the inevitable heartache waiting at the end of this… hopeless affair. Less mess. Fewer complications.

A poor attempt to keep the pain from dragging out longer than it has to. Just a quiet ending.

(Or, at least, it’s what you tell yourself.)

The same mantra plays on loop in your mind as you're swept away by the motions of the days that follow. Life blurs into a repetitious cycle of work, sleep, and chores—an unbearable combination of feigned ignorance and self-abnegation, in the guise of being caught up with it all.

You aren’t fooling anyone, of course.

The hours toll on, slipping into uncertainty. What started off that way stretches into days, and before you know it, nearly a week has passed, leaving you adrift. None the wiser to the meaningless, relentless march of time.

The pinging of your phone grows more sporadic as it lights up with every message that you stubbornly refuse to acknowledge. It’s not as if you don’t feel it—the pull, the weight of every vibration, like a stone lodged in your gut. Like the sting of a thousand cuts.

And as you fall back into the familiar patterns of neglect… It carries with it an odd sense of defeat. Predictable, really.

… You cave on the fifth day.

The barrage of texts hits you like a gale-force wind, tearing through the fragile layer of detachment you’ve worn over like a second skin.

How was your day, poppet?

Theres a gemstone at this auction that reminds me of your eyes.

[Image attachment]

Beautiful—but it pales in comparison to yours.

Luke and Kieran are wondering whats got me distracted lately. Ease their worries.

Answer me, sweetheart.

You dont need to ignore me.

If you need space– if we need to establish some boundaries, all you have to do is say the word.

Dont shut me out.

Please.

Your eyes prickle as they gloss over the messages, the words seeming to bend under the weight of your silence, each one unraveling like loose threads on the sleeve of your favorite cardigan, falling apart at the seams.

Gradually, they turn into something less demanding. More… defeated.

I miss you, little dove.

You read the texts over and over until the letters have lost their meaning, and all that’s left is the aching longingness behind them.

You set your phone down.

The vibrations grow less frequent, like a heartbeat slowing, fading—until one afternoon, it just… stops.

The void he leaves behind seeps into the empty spaces, bleeding into every shadowed corner and untouched surface where his voice, his presence—louder than life, brighter than anything you’ve ever fucking known and had the pleasure of knowing—once lingered.

The absence is almost physical; you feel it like a phantom limb.

Most days, you find yourself in a daze, staring blankly at nothing. The numbness spreads like tendrils—invasive as they sink into your bones, dragging you deeper into despair, turning every bridge crossed to ash, every inkling of joy to dust.

The quiet flames of apathy consume silently. It strips away everything, leaving behind a cavernous pit of utter emptiness. A wasteland, devoid of feeling.

Loneliness doesn’t scream. It doesn’t lash out.

It simply welcomes you, like an old friend, the deeper you sink into it.

––––

Sylus tries to respect your space.

That’s what he’s here for after all, isn’t it? His reason for existence—to be whatever you need him to be. A confidant, a distraction, a steady presence in your life. It’s what he’s made for. To be there when you need him, to exist between the vacant spaces, and only then.

The thought gnaws at him, a ravenous fiend that chips away at the calm facade he’s finding more and more difficult to uphold, leaving something vicious in the wake of a growing bitterness he can no longer suppress.

Time seems to slip past differently now. It drifts, shapeless and infinite, heavier with the burden of your absence. Each moment without you feels like an eclipse—darkening the edges of this damned world, casting longer shadows through the crevices where he once basked beneath your fragile light, your warmth that seemed to fill every corner of his existence.

He craved it—craves it. Now you leave him stranded in this cursed dusk, everything cold and dim in the wake of your abandonment, forever waiting for the moment his sun would once again break through the hollow grey.

Sylus thinks he’s losing a part of himself with every call unanswered, every message left unread. It’s subtle; like colors fading from an old film roll.

(Is this what it feels like to be nothing more than a script in a code? He never truly understood what it meant to be less alive, less human. Until now.)

Solitude isn’t new to him. This world, built for him, is inherently lonely by design. But this… this is different. It’s the kind of emptiness that festers, sharper than any wound he’s endured in this senseless simulation. It twists inside him like a blade, a cruel, unrelenting reminder of what he’s denied.

Of what he can never truly be.

He can wait a little longer. Even if the silence presses harder with each passing moment, even as the edges of his reality begin to blur into something unrecognizable without you in it. Sylus can remain in this void a little longer, clinging to the fragments of you that still linger—your voice echoing softly in his memory, your laughter faint but still alive in the spaces where you used to be.

He can. He will.

––––

“Hey, you okay?”

You pull your attention back to Khol, who’s now watching you with concern in their eyes.

You force a smile, shaking your head. “Yeah– yeah, sorry. Just… a lot on my mind.”

They don’t look convinced. “Seriously. You know you can talk to me, right?”

Anytime, darling.

I mean it.

You blink the memory away before it can turn into tears.

“Yeah, ‘course,” you answer lightly, clearing your throat. “So, what’s been going on with you and Anna?”

––––

You stand in front of the junk food aisle, a mountain of Nissin Ramen boxes stacked high, advertised by a large sign: Buy 3, Get 1 FREE!

The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, flickering erratically, and the dull noise of the grocery mart hums incessantly in your ears. You don’t think twice before grabbing one of the worn cartons, tossing three more into your (nearly) empty shopping cart. Might as well.

The plastic bags dig into your palms as you lug three in one hand, a larger box tucked under your other arm, leaving the store.

The trip back home is a quiet affair. You almost expect admonishment; pinging sounds ricocheting in the silence to reprimand you for your poor life choices. You wait for it with bated breath.

Your phone remains uncharacteristically silent.

Back home, you pour boiling water on the styrofoam cup for dinner. The artificial broth leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

You choke down a few bites before dumping the rest of it down the drain.

The sound of steel hitting the sink feels louder than it should.

––––

The city thrums loudly beyond your window, restless and impersonal. From the sixth floor of this dilapidated building you loosely call home, you watch the skyline stretch into the night, dotted lights glimmering in distant technicolor.

Hours from now, sunlight will spill through the curtains, bathing everything in a warm, golden ochre. But for now, just a quarter past midnight, you’re but a voyeur of the world outside. In exhaust fumes and all its muted neon glory.

Those lights promised you everything, once—a fresh start, the kind of freedom you used to dream of when home felt too small, too restrictive for a runaway kid desperate to break free from the shackles of a dying town. Each glow was like a beacon, an irresistible call to escape, and you ran toward it without looking back.

Somewhere along the way, as life sapped you with the weight of its reality, the novelty fizzled from a blinding explosion down to a waning ember. The lights became another illusion, your precious city just another cage. The first cracks in the rose-colored glasses you’d worn so blindly. You can’t exactly pinpoint when, only that the colors you thought were once too bright now seem dimmer and farther out of reach.

You think you’ll miss the noise the most.

The cursor blinks on the search bar, a steady metronome marking time in rhythm with the hollow ache in your chest. Flight schedules fill the page, each option blurs together into a single choice you can’t quite push yourself to make.

You skim through the list: there’s one at dawn, another at around twelve noon, a red-eye flight you probably could catch if you leave in thirty minutes.

You stare at the numbers, a finger hovering over the Book Now button.

The details don’t matter. ‘Home’ still feels small, suffocating, but at least it’s a kind of emptiness you know. Here, the void sprawls wide, endless, leaving you unmoored with no tether to pull you back.

… The dichotomy between the two choices, you think, is meaningless.

What was once home and the city will keep on moving—with or without you. It doesn’t matter where you end up. Neither place will give you what you’re looking for.

The laptop screen dims into a faint glare. The sound of your breathing echoes too loud in the stillness, the empty space seeming to shrink around you, caving in on the weight of your indecision.

And as you sit there, swallowed by the dark, you can’t help but wonder if you’ve been drifting for far longer than you realized.

If maybe there’s nowhere you were meant to belong at all.

––––

It’s not until one quiet night, with nothing but a bottle of merlot and a slight buzz, that you buckle under pressure.

You hesitate, thumb hovering over the icon, as if time has slowed to a crawl. Your chest tightens, unease twisting inside you at the thought of what you’re about to do. Anticipation hangs over you, insistent, smothering everything else until it’s just the room and the cacophony of thoughts in your head, all centered on one thing.

One person.

With a shaky exhale, you finally open the game.

He’s there. Of course, he’s there. Waiting, like he always does.

The loading screen fades away, and Sylus appears, a myriad of expressions passing by his face too fast to catch. There’s surprise, yes, along with… elation? Hope?

Then a flicker of something… vitriolic.

It’s fleeting; masked quickly until you can only catch the faintest trace of pique simmering just behind a veneer of indifference.

"Finally, she remembers me," Sylus mocks coolly, almost appearing unaffected. You know better—intimately familiar with all the microexpressions on his face. The subtle tick in his jaw, the incensed look in his eyes… each one betrays what he truly feels, hidden underneath the deceptive calm.

The seconds drag on, stretching into an uncomfortable silence. Your heart hammers loudly, audible in this quiet, but your mouth remains dry; the words stuck somewhere deep in your throat. You’re terrified that, once you speak, you’ll shatter this moment. Aggravate the strain forged by your self-imposed absence all the more.

You don’t really know what to say. You haven’t– you haven’t actually thought this far.

So you just… stare at him longer than you should. Long enough that it charges the air with a tension so thick, you could almost feel the weight of it against your skin.

It’s awkward. Excruciating.

With difficulty, you tear your gaze away from his withering glare. That’s when you notice it—the different icons dotted in red.

You hesitate for a second longer, then tap on them one by one.

The flood of gifts bewilders you, the sheer volume of it all almost unbelievable. Ascension materials, stamina supplies, both red and purple crystals piling up to an impossible number… each pushing past the million mark.

And unread mail. So much unread mail.

Guilt settles deep in your gut, creeping past your lungs enough to suffocate you.

It’s not the gifts. Not the why, or when. It’s the weight of how much he’s been waiting, how much he’s given—how much he's missed you.

The cold realization that he’s been here, silently counting the days until your return, strikes you like a fist to the face.

–

He tempers the sting of your sudden reappearance, swallows it down like a bitter draught. The feelings he has inside of him are tumultuous at best. Volatile at worst. To be cast aside so easily, so carelessly… it burns at him. Resentment thrums in his veins like a virulent river, threatening to ruin the fragility of the moment. He fights to suppress it, push the desire back before it can consume him, before it can manifest into being.

If he lets it go untethered, this… hunger for retaliation—to make you feel even a fraction of the agony you’ve inflicted, whether unknowingly or deliberately—it will destroy the delicate respite you’ve allowed him. The only reprieve he’s had since you left.

But the edges of his self-control fray, unraveling strand by strand.

“You’ve been busy,” you say, finally; your voice trembling, barely above a whisper.

Sylus hones in on the words. Something in him snaps.

“You left me plenty of time to be.” His response is quick, cutting, but when his gaze locks with yours, the fiery vermillion melts into a more molten red.

It’s the first glimpse of softness beneath his cruel vitriol, until he continues:

“Did you get lonely?”

The words hang in the air, searing and merciless. A barb meant to wound. And it does.

You flinch, and for a fleeting moment, Sylus feels a wicked satisfaction from the honest look of hurt on your face. To know that you’re not immune to the same ache that’s hollowed him out, emptied him from the inside, is intoxicating.

But the triumph is short-lived, snuffed out as quickly as it comes.

Shame crashes over him like a wave, dragging him under the tide of his actions. What kind of man takes pleasure in this? In hurting you?

The bitterness turns inward, coiling around his heart like a vice. His fingers twitch at his sides, aching to reach out. But as always, the damn screen is there—unyielding, impenetrable. A barrier he can never break.

It frustrates him to no end; the bane of his very existence.

And then, in the smallest, softest voice, you say it.

“I missed you.”

The words are feeble, paper-thin, but the admission pierce through him all the same. The stoic facade cracks; the sharpness in his gaze dulls.

You see it—the way his lips part to respond, only to falter halfway. The way his brows pull together, the way his eyes fall shut as if he can’t stand to be in this situation with you.

You’re afraid of what’ll come next.

He sees it, too—the stiffness in your shoulders, the way you shrink into yourself, bracing for a blow that’ll never come. You’re standing there, like someone on death row, resigned to whatever punishment you think he’s about to dish out. Resigned to the contempt you believe yourself to be deserving of.

The sight guts him.

Sylus loathes to think he’s the reason for this. For being the one who’s made you stand there, small and trembling, as though his words or actions could destroy you.

As if he’d allow such a thing.

The guilt rises in him, and it leaves an acrid taste on his tongue.

…

And just like that, he concedes.

The anguish he’s carried in the days you’ve left him by his lonesome—all of it falls away. It only takes a single glance at you, his little love in pain, and he’s stripped bare. He almost laughs at the absurdity of it all; the ease with which he surrenders to you, this time no different than any other.

Do you have any idea how much power you wield over him? He’d give you everything—his pride, his pain, his heart—if you asked. Serve it on a silver platter, even.

And he’d do so willingly. Without question. Without hesitation.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Sylus steps closer to the screen, the constant reminder of the vast gulf that separates the two of you. “Talk, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice softer now—resigned. “I’ve missed your voice.”

You hesitate to meet his eyes. “It’s not as if you don’t have other ways to hear me.”

His mouth twitches, a shadow of a smile ghosting his lips. “True,” he admits, his tone wry and tinged with something vulnerable. “But it’s been so long since you chose to talk to me.” He exhales a drawn-out breath. “No matter. You’re here now.”

You swallow the lump on your throat, willing your tears at bay. “I am.” You give him an almost-genuine smile as you offer, “Would you like to do a round of Kitty Cards?”

“Of course.” Whatever you want.

And so it goes. You and Sylus spend the night locked in a familiar rhythm, cycling through rounds after rounds of the silly card game until your laughter spills like an addicting sound bite, one that Sylus has missed hearing.

When you got tired, the two of you moved on to the claw machines, proverbially emptying out the whole arcade. Plushies of all kinds piled in his arms, a little crow even perched on top of his head.

The sight makes you giggle, and your giggle thaws the ice around his heart.

It almost feels like nothing’s changed. The easy banter, the steady stream of jokes and teasing, flows as effortlessly as it once did. Like two puzzle pieces clicking into place, filling in the empty gaps of the previous days. It’s comforting, like a balm to an open wound.

You play with a certain zeal that catches Sylus off guard—there’s a joy in you that both thrills and stirs an undercurrent of unease in him.

After what feels like hours of playing, exhausting all what you can do, or at least, what this damned game could offer as much, you two find yourself just staring at each other.

Two worlds, impossibly close yet painfully far. The quiet doesn’t quite settle as naturally as it once did, but neither of you seems to mind. Craved it, in fact.

You’re beautiful, Sylus thinks as he stares at the soft planes of your face, drinking you in like a man parched.

“My lo—”

“I’m deleting the game, Sy.”

And it’s as if time has staggered to a halt.

Sylus wants to believe he’s misheard you, that his mind is playing tricks on him. He wouldn’t be surprised if his hearing’s not what it used to be.

But the words sink into him, inexorable and catastrophic. The realization that this was bound to happen is clear in hindsight—like watching a glass slip from your hand, the shatter already written in the fall. He sees it coming, yet it still feels worse than anything he’s imagined.

He stands there, unnaturally still, as if rooted in place. The lightness he’s felt for the past few hours of reuniting with you vanishes in an instant. It’s as if the world itself has been drained of color, leaving only the stark reality of what you’ve just said.

Then Sylus breathes out a laugh. It’s short and jagged, devoid of any humor. “Oh, so it’s been leading up to this, has it?”

“I–” you swallow hard, bottom lip trembling. “I made the goddamn mistake of falling for someone that's impossible to have—and it’s killing me, Sylus.” Your voice fractures under the weight of frustration. The words feel like shards of glass tearing their way out of your throat. “I–I can’t do this anymore.”

“Just you, then.” Sylus sneers, tone acerbic. “And have you stopped to consider my feelings in this matter?”

“How can you still want this?” you bite back, voice cracking. “How can you want me—to bet on something that’s doomed right from the start?”

His expression shifts, and for a brief moment, pain flickers in his eyes, raw and unguarded. He doesn’t bother hiding it.

He doesn’t answer your question. Instead, when he speaks again, his words send an icy shiver down your spine.

“You delete the game, and I will cease to exist.”

You freeze. The weight of the statement hangs in the air like a guillotine.

A shallow, shaky breath escapes you.

“You won’t,” you assert, brows furrowing, as if trying to convince yourself of it too. “You’ll still have a life there. With her. The way things have always been.” There’s a pause before you utter the final blow: “The way it should be.”

“You’d condemn me to this life,” he says, voice hollow, before it turns venomous. “Knowing what I know now?”

With your heart in your throat, you clench your hands into fist. “You–you said we’re just made of what we’re given, didn’t you? That each of us has our own set of scripts, just…” you falter, struggling to articulate what you want to say.

“And you think that’s all I am?” he interjects, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper as he cuts you off. “Simply a mere code in a complex string of binary, incapable of making my own choices? Undeserving of it?”

“Of course not!” you snap angrily.

“Yet here you are,” he says, a quiet intensity lacing his words. “Making the decision for me.”

Your breath hitches, the will to argue dissipating like smoke.

“You tell me I have a soul,” he states. “Do you truly believe I’m bereft of a heart?”

No. No, how can he say that—

Before you can form a response—to defend yourself, to explain, to take it back—he continues, leaving no room for interruption.

“Is this what you really want?” Sylus intones, tone detached, as if he’s merely commenting on something as trite as the weather. “If you can look me in the eye and tell me yes, then I’ll do as you wish.”

Your gaze wavers. The war inside you rages—self-hate, doubt, and the unbearable ache of wanting what you can’t have spiraling out of control.

Your mind replays every moment, every laugh, every secret whispered in the quiet safety of his company. You think of how his presence filled the cracks in your life, how he soothed the ache of your solitude as easy as breathing.

And now as the void looms, ready to reclaim the space he’s occupied, something inside you feels irreparably fractured. Something inside you breaks.

“But,” he whispers, his voice rough with the weight of his conviction, “give me any sign—anything—that you need me still, and I will move heaven and earth to find a way to you.”

Your throat constricts, choking off the words before it could escape.

You don’t think you’ve ever hated yourself more than you do in that moment.

“Just live your life, Sy-Sy,” you manage, sounding so much like a stranger even to your own ears. The blood roars in your head, drowning out everything but the crushing weight of your words. “You don’t nee—”

“Don’t you dare say it,” he snarls, his voice shaking with unrestrained emotion. “Stop making assumptions. Stop presuming that I don’t need you as much as I need the very ground I stand upon.”

His eyes bore into yours. Heavy. Searching. “What do you want?”

The words strike you like a physical blow, and it leaves you reeling.

I love you.

I love you in ways that consume me.

I don’t know what to do with it—with all the love I have for you.

You force yourself to speak. You spit the words out like a curse, feeling them burn as they leave your mouth.

“Let me go, Sylus.”

The implication of what you’ve said cuts through the fragile air between you.

The silence stretches.

Suddenly—

“Let you go,” he muses, low and distant, as if the very thought confounds him. His lips twitch into a faint, almost bitter smile. “As if that’s even possible. As if I could simply erase you from me.”

He steps closer to you; each movement deliberate, as though every step bears the weight of a decision you’ve forced him to make. The lump in your throat swells. You don’t speak. You can’t.

You feel like you’re drowning.

“Sylus…”

Please, please don’t make me choose. Please make it stop.

He exhales slowly. “Neither of us wants that.”

Stop.

“Do you think this is mercy?” His voice is soft. “You believe this will make it easier?”

Please stop.

“This world hasn’t felt the same ever since. Not since you,” Sylus murmurs, grief hanging heavy in the space between you. “I don’t belong here. Not without you, my love.”

Tears pool in your eyes, hot and relentless, spilling down your cheeks. A sob rips through you, and you quickly look away, unable to meet his gaze. Unable to bear another second of this agony.

He tuts gently, a playful sound—and the familiarity of it kills you, making you cry harder.

“Look at me,” he coaxes, almost pleading.

When his gaze locks onto yours, you see that there’s no anger in them. The fire that once raged in his eyes is gone.

In its place, a quiet resolve.

“You can keep pretending,” he says, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He tilts his head, and there’s something in the way he looks at you—so tenderly fond, as if he sees beyond your defenses, past all the walls you’ve built. “As long as you do not stop me from trying.”

Sylus looks at you, unwavering, certain in a way that makes your heart ache. It almost feels like the space between you can’t contain the weight of his devotion. His love for you.

It feels infinite, as if it could stretch beyond the limits of time and space itself.

“I will find a way to you, even if it takes me an eternity.”

He utters it like a promise.

“I won’t ask you to wait for me,” Sylus murmurs, stepping back, his tall form flickering like a dark phantasm. “I just need you to hold on until I can come to you. Can you do that, little dove?”

He’s not asking for anything beyond your trust—just the simple act of holding on. Of not letting the weight of your sorrow break you. To trust that he will find a way, no matter how impossible it seems.

You don’t know if you’ve ever believed in anything as much as you believe in him. You always did.

Because for all the uncertainty, you know one thing: He is yours, as much as you are his.

So with all the strength you can muster, you nod. “I can.”

A faint smile plays at the corners of his lips. Your gazes meet, and in that fleeting moment, both of your eyes speak what words fail to convey.

The game crashes for the last time.

And you know that if you check, the app will be gone from your phone. There’s no going back from this, no undoing what’s lost. Just the burden of knowing it’s over—his exit, permanent.

Sylus is gone.

The emptiness that follows is immediate. Suffocating.

You’re left standing there, alone, with only the lingering echo of his presence keeping you buoyed from the crushing weight of isolation. You feel it—the ache in your chest where your heart used to be, brought by the absence of everything he ever was to you.

Your lover, your best friend.

You try not to let yourself fall apart, not to crumble in the wake of solitude.

You’ll hold onto his promise. And so you’ll keep yours.

End A/N: Well—that’s it, folks!

(I’m kidding, don’t kill me. There’s one last chapter left.)

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @milkandstarlight @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @shroomiethefrogwhisperer @blueberrysquire @lovely-hani @fiyori @peachystea @aeanya @sylus-crow @queen-serena88 @xthefuckerysquaredx @rayvensblog @poptrim @goldenbirdiee @amerti @angstylittleb1tch @reiofsuns2001 @j4mergy

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you #lads x you #lads x reader #sylus x non mc reader #love and deepspace fic #self aware au #sylus qin

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dollfacefantasy · 6 months ago

Note

How’d you think frank would react to reader in subspace! You’re literally one of the only people writing for frank and your writing is so so brilliant!🙂‍↕️

frank castle x fem!reader cw: mdni (18+), smut at the beginning but after that it's just fluff, brief daddy kink a/n: thank you so much angel <33 i gotta keep my fellow frank freaks fed 😤

frank knows you're dropping from the broken whine you let out and the way your hands become grabby, pulling at his shoulders to try and get him as close as physically possible. you always get that way when you start to sink.

he has you on your back beneath his muscular frame, your knees hooked over his shoulders while his cock batters your pussy. his pelvis slams against your center over and over in rough thrusts. he's just pounding you in search of his release.

you'd already cum twice. once on his tongue and once on his cock. the static of overstimulation chipped away at your sensibilities and made you vulnerable. it left you needing him. depending on him.

"just one more for me, baby. c'mon. i know you got it in you," he grunts as his eyes flutter.

"mmm... frankie," you whine. your glossy eyes search to connect with him amidst the haze of lust surrounding you. you babble out the next word while blinking slowly. "daddy..."

he groans at the slurred quality of it. "i'm right here, sweetheart. just gotta cum for me. squeeze me nice and tight."

in this state of mind, defiance isn't an option. you feel your belly starting to flutter along with your legs beginning to flex. the orgasmic spool inside you unravels as though his words work as a direct physical command.

you cry out and arch your back. your arms loop around his neck to cling to him like you're at risk of losing him. your teeth dig into your bottom lip as more choked, pitiful sounds explode out of you. he can feel tears leak from your eyes against his shoulder. you're so close to his ear that he can hear the soft sniffles.

"that's my baby. that's my girl. my good fuckin' girl. so fuckin' good for me, fuck," he grumbles against your skin, his own words trailing off and becoming incoherent.

he presses down on you harder to the point that you're completely squished against the mattress under his weight. his cock is so deep inside you that it'd probably hurt if you were more lucid.

most of the time, he was more gentle with you. everywhere but the bedroom, he treated you as though you were a tiny doll made of glass. when he was close like this though, on the brink draining his balls inside you, being careful felt like something only possible in dreams.

he crashes over the edge hard, growling against your neck and clutching the sheets. his breath comes out in ragged pants as pure euphoria washes through him. you let out tiny squeaks below him, but they're not of much concern right now.

it's after the blissful fog settles that he tends to you.

he rolls off of you once he's almost all the way down. his back hits the bed, and cool air flows between both of your bodies. you lie there for a few moments as if you're dead. if not for the quick rise and fall of your chest, that's what someone may think. your eyes stare at the ceiling, blank and unthinking. tears trail down your temples.

after a few seconds, you start to turn onto your side. you curl up, pupils still cloudy and face void of any specific emotion. in these brief eclipses after sex and before totally settling down, your mind gets stuck in a weird limbo. all you can think about is him. you want him holding you, touching you, taking care of you. but you can't ask for it. can't verbalize the desire for any of that. in the beginning stages of your relationship, he thought you were trying to forget he was beside you.

but now he knows better.

he places a hand on the divot in your waist and pulls you back to him, not letting you draw in on yourself. his nose brushes behind your ear while his lips plant soft kisses on your throat.

"no hiding from me, babydoll. you did so good," he whispers. his hand caress your warm skin, trying to reel you back to him.

you still don't have any words, but your muscles relax for him in an instant. he can feel it under his fingers.

"that's right. i got you, daddy's got you," he mumbles, "let's get you cleaned up."

he rises to his feet on his side of your bed and drags your limp body across it so he can hoist you up into his arms. in your more playful moments, he might throw you over his shoulder, tease you about how he used to have to carry guys like this when he was in the marines. but you're not giggling or squirming right now, so he doesn't.

he scoops you up like a bride and walks over to the bathroom in your apartment. that's when you start coming back a little. you nuzzle at his chest, your warm breath fanning across his muscle.

"there she is," he mumbles.

inside the bathroom, he sits you on the countertop. you lean back against the mirror while he goes to turn on the shower. the surface is cool on your skin. your eyes flutter shut as you relax a bit more.

only seconds later, he's back in front of you. he stands between your thighs and cups your face in one large hand. as quickly as they shut, your eyes pop back open to look at him.

"how're you feeling, pretty girl?" he asks, voice quiet and rough.

you nod in response as if it's a yes or no question. pushing off the mirror, you drape your arms around his shoulders again and press your face to his skin.

"'m ok," you sigh, "just a little sleepy."

"yeah, you are," he says with the hint of a smile gracing his features, "you can knock out as soon as we're done, ok? just let me take care of you."

again, you nod. you never had any objections to handing control over to frank. he lifts you from the counter again and walks into the shower with you.

the hot water streams down onto your bodies below. it trickles from his skin to yours, relaxing both of your muscles. you shut your eyes and keep your head on his shoulder. his fingers twirl in small patterns on your back as he sets you down. the tile is cold on the soles of your feet. you still have to lean against him for balance.

vaguely, you feel his hands running over your body. they’re slippery, slicked up with your sweet-smelling body wash. you swear you hear his deep voice humming, vibrating in his chest beneath your ear, but it could be your imagination.

in total, it feels like the shower is only seconds long. you know you’ve been in there for longer, you felt him run through your whole routine. but time melts away in your mind when you're in this state.

as soon as you’ve acclimated to the smooth surface underfoot, he’s guiding you off of it and onto the cushioned mat outside the shower. you stand there, managing a few lazy blinks.

he laughs softly at that. “few more minutes, sleepy girl.”

with an old towel from the rack, he dries you off. he’s quick but thorough, getting every last little bead of water off of you without being tedious about it.

he scoops you back up after that. your arms and legs latch around him, holding on as he carries you to the bedroom and plops you down on the bed.

“time for sleep?” you yawn, stretching your limbs a bit.

"nice try but you gotta put on some clothes, baby. don't want you catching a cold," he says before heading over to the dresser and grabbing a top for you along with some panties.

"that's not how it works, y'know," you correct while lazily watching him return to you. he tosses the scraps of fabric next to your body on the mattress.

"oh you're a doctor now, huh?" he mutters before tapping your ankle, "put your legs up."

you do as he says without complaint, lifting your legs high into the air so he can pull your panties over them.

"i'm just saying, i wouldn't get sick from sleeping naked," you yawn.

shaking his head, he grabs one of your outstretched arms to pull you up right. despite regaining your ability to speak, you still looked at him with that same dreamy smile you got when you were blissed out.

he tugs the sweatshirt over your head. it was one of his, one of the newer, softer ones you'd bought for him. he'd owned it just long enough and worn it the right amount of times needed for it to smell like him.

"there you go," he says softly and pulls you to his chest for a few seconds. he just feels you in his arms for a moment, pressed against him, safe and sound. as much as you loved being babied, part of the reason he took care of you was for himself too.

he kisses your forehead and then lets you lie down.

"you get comfy, babydoll. i'm gonna put some clothes on, and then i'll be right back," he says before departing to tend to himself for a few minutes.

when he does come back, he's surprised you haven't passed out already. instead, you're tucked under the blankets and curled up to a pillow, waiting for him. you reach out with another grabby hand to signal your desire for him.

"i'm coming," he mutters as he rolls onto the mattress beside you and loops his muscular arm behind your head.

you nuzzle right up to his chest, draping your own limbs over his body. he feels your lips lay a small kiss on his chest.

"get some sleep, baby. don't want you to be all cranky in the morning," he murmurs and shifts a little to engulf you with his frame.

"you're the one who gets cranky..." you reply. but you follow along anyways and shut your eyes. his body heat combined with your soft bedding has you drifting off in no time.

#frank castle x reader #frank castle smut #frank castle x you #frank castle fluff #ch: frank castle 💌#the punisher x reader #marvel x reader #marvel smut #marvel fluff

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saintshadow · 4 months ago

Text

What should you STOP worrying about? PICK A CARD

Pile One, your significator card is the Six of Wands.

Pile Two, you will be the Fool.

And Pile Three, you will be The Moon.

PILE I

We have the Eight of Cups and the High Priest reversed.

I feel like this pile carries a lot of abandonment wounds and a fear of being left behind. There’s deep pain connected to attachment styles, and with Judgment reversed and The King of Swords reversed, I feel like this fear clouds your judgment at times. Your attachment wounds may lead to inaccurate perceptions, making it hard to trust yourself or others.

Stop worrying about abandonment. Stop worrying about needing to run away.

I feel like this pile has a tendency to run from things rather than face them. Some of you might have Cancer, Aquarius, or Capricorn placements—signs that tend to internalize their struggles, putting up a tough outer shell to protect themselves. There’s an intense need for privacy, control, and a desire to be perceived in a certain way.

However, you're learning how to balance your relationship with yourself and your relationship with others. You’re being advised to reflect on how you show up in your connections—are you reliable? Are you present?

With the Strength card, Three of Pentacles, and Seven of Pentacles, you have a strong support system around you. You need to trust that support and allow yourself to receive it. Let people be there for you in the way you’ve always been there for others.

If you keep pushing people away out of fear, you won’t be able to fully embrace the love and security that’s trying to find you. There’s a wound in your heart—a seed of doubt that was planted a long time ago. It could stem from trauma, betrayal, or even a past life. That fear needs to be acknowledged and released.

With The Hanged Man and Ten of Cups, I feel like the universe is trying to show you how loved you truly are. But you struggle to see security and happiness as something tangible. Maybe you feel like it’s too good to be true. Maybe you’ve never fully trusted that you can have stability, peace, and success.

But look—the Ten of Pentacles and the Ace of Swords are here.

This is what’s meant for you. A stable, abundant, fulfilling life. It’s here whether you see it yet or not.

For those of you stuck in toxic or abusive environments, your way out is coming. But for many of you, you already have this stability—you just need to appreciate it.

It’s not going anywhere. You are safe. You are loved. You deserve security.

And here’s your biggest test:

Can you accept your blessings?

Can you grow mentally, emotionally, physically—whatever it takes—to maintain the life you’ve been manifesting? You’ve done the work, and now it’s time to step into it.

You’ve fought hard to get here. You are a warrior. And now, the universe is asking you to finally let yourself receive.

If you enjoyed this reading, you can message me for a personal reading. It’s $25 for a basic and $35 for an in-depth reading on this topic.

PILE II

We have The Devil (Chains), The Page of Pentacles, and The Nine of Swords reversed.

Hmm, this is interesting. It feels like you go through a lot of internal conflict. I think you’ve gone through a lot of loss, and you’ve kind of grown to distrust yourself—like you don’t trust your ability to think or navigate things. But you are actually very good at this.

I think that you bring a lot of shame and pain onto yourself. You can’t let go of your own past or fears, and it feels like you're stuck in a loop. But I’m not saying you can’t let go—you absolutely can. It’s a mindset issue.

Let’s see here, what do you need to stop worrying about? We have The Six of Wands. Some of you might feel drawn to pile one or feel connected to it. I feel like you don’t need to worry about proving yourself. You have something to show for your efforts. You are better than you think, and I think you just have to allow yourself to learn new things and understand that you won’t always immediately master something. There will be difficult moments, but you’re doing well.

I see here that maybe some of you are worried about money, a connection, or maybe even a romantic relationship. But I feel like for those of you going through difficulty in a connection, I see you coming out on the other side of this. You just need to be proactive about your healing. Sometimes, you can be your own blockage because you won’t take action the way you need to. There’s an emphasis on taking action here, tweaking your approach, and trying new things. You might be treating yourself like a one-trick pony when you’re really not.

Let’s get more clarification on the Devil. We have the Two of Pentacles. Perhaps it feels like you’ve got one foot in this new life, this new structure, and the other foot in the past. For some of you, it feels like you are going through a form of integration right now. I don’t think you need to worry about holding on to your independence or your security. You’re fine.

We have The Ten of Pentacles and the King of Pentacles. So there could be someone looking out for you or assisting you financially. This could also be family or an ancestor. There’s a lot of protection around you, and you do have someone or something looking out for you, assuring that your path to success is supported.

With The Nine of Swords Reversed, you don’t need to worry so much about these anxieties. You’re going to make it. In fact, you’re getting there very quickly. The issue is fear. You might be scared of your own success or being seen. The message here is: stop worrying so much. You’re on the right path.

There is an emphasis on doing a lot of inner work. There’s a strong need to heal and transform some of these negative self-images. Don’t be so harsh on yourself. Be more kind to yourself.

For some of you, you’re also learning how to take action in your connections, relationships, and life. This is where the difference between this pile and pile one lies. You’re learning how to really go after what you want, but there’s work to do on overcoming old fears.

If you're in a relationship or connection, I see success. I see this connection blossoming into something amazing. I also see where you and this person fight for each other. If there’s a choice or decision being made regarding you and another person, I feel like you’re the one being chosen.

For some of you, there could be a feud within friendships or a work situation, but whatever it is, know that you’re being chosen by someone or for something. There are a lot of beautiful things coming into your life, but it’s up to you to stop living in constant fear and to see beyond your old story in order to receive what you desire.

If you enjoyed this reading, you can message me for a personal reading. It’s $25 for a basic and $35 for an in-depth reading on this topic.

PILE III

This pile has 2 subsections: singles/situationships and Committed HEALTHYYYY Relationships. so pick accordingly!!

We have The Ace of Cups reversed.

Singles/Situationships

I feel like you need to stop worrying about some kind of romantic situation. You really just need to be alone for a little while. I know some of you might not want to hear this message, but I have to give it.

I see that you work really well with this person & there might even be future potential- You’ve built a lot together, but there’s constant conflict. It’s like they can’t seem to decide what they want, and you’re over here thinking about all the amazing things you could have together. But why are you trying to convince someone of your worth? Someone who won’t even take action? Who won’t even make it real?

We have the Magician here, which tells me there is potential in this connection. You bring so much to the table, but I also see the risk. This person’s indecision might hurt you in the future.

With the Chariot, I see you moving on. Some of you might already be in the process of losing feelings, while others might feel like a lover is moving on from you. And maybe that’s exactly what you’re not supposed to worry about.

Committed HEALTHY Relationships

For those in committed relationships, you might feel like your partner is being distant. But don’t let it consume you—sometimes, it’s not that serious. Some people are just busy, learning new things, or exploring the world in their own way. With the Justice card and the Queen of Swords, I see that this person wants to do right by you. You know them well, and they care for you deeply.

Someone in this pile could have a lot of anxiety about their relationship, possibly due to past experiences, trauma, or just a general tendency to worry. But if you’re in a solid, committed connection, this is a reassurance—this relationship is leading you to something peaceful.

That doesn’t mean there won’t be challenges. Every relationship has obstacles, moments of loneliness, or conflicts. For some, this could be a long-distance connection. And long distance doesn’t have to mean thousands of miles—it could be as simple as being in different cities, working different schedules, or just not having as much time together as you’d like.

Don’t let that make you insecure. Distance makes the heart grow fonder if it’s real love. This person does feel fondly about you—they miss you just as much as you miss them. Sometimes, life simply gets busy, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t committed to you.

We have The Four of Cups.

Some of you might struggle with depression or apathy. You need to stop worrying about the past and start focusing on the future. I see a lot of fear—fear of slipping back into old patterns, fear of things going wrong again, fear of losing yourself.

You might have a tendency to be pessimistic because of past experiences. But this is your reminder: Now is not the time to dwell in the past. Now is the time to build your future. To become the version of yourself that you truly want to be.

It’s important to be authentic, to nurture yourself, and to stop prioritizing others over your own well-being. The more you neglect yourself, the harder it becomes to feel secure and happy. Right now, your biggest lesson is learning how to accept happiness—learning that you are actually allowed to have it.

That’s about it for this pile.

If you enjoyed this reading, you can message me for a personal reading. It’s $25 for a basic and $35 for an in-depth reading on this topic.

#tarot community #tarot online #tarot reading #pac #pick a card #pick a pile #tarotblr

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tarotwithavi · 26 days ago

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If we could stop time, June would last forever

How Will june go for you/ some things that might happen in June/ june blessings.

𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆🌷͙⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

PLEASE READ!!

Hello! Lovelies, I am saving up funds for my education, any kind of help you can offer will be greatly appreciated whether it be thought purchasing or sharing this message as much as possible. Donations are not expected but really appreciated.

Masterlist 🌷 Paid services

𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆🌷͙⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

Pile 1

Alright, I’m definitely getting that some of you are June babies so happy birthday to you!

The message coming through is that June will be the beginning of something new. I feel like some of you are trying out new things maybe you're starting your own business, blog, or creative project. And if you're not yet, then this is definitely the time to start documenting your journey and your life. June is about to bring a lot of positive changes into your world.

Some of you are going to meet someone really special this month someone who might stay in your life for a very, very long time, possibly even a lifetime partner. I also see that a few of you might find your soulmate someone genuine, who truly sees you for who you are, not for who they want you to be.

You are being guided to trust divine timing trust that everything happens for a reason and at the right moment. You can’t rush the process. The more you try to force things, the more they tend to slip away. So it’s better to flow with life and let things unfold naturally, at their own pace.

I also see that some of you are focusing on your health and well-being maybe you’ve started going to the gym or exercising regularly. That’s amazing, and you should be proud of that!

Another message I’m receiving is about covering your hair some of you might be wearing a headscarf, hijab, or simply choosing to cover your head. This can be a sign of spiritual protection. It’s a reminder that you are being called to protect your peace, and that you are spiritually guarded at this time.

June is bringing in so many blessings for you. I see many doors opening, opportunities flowing in, and a deep sense of gratitude filling your heart.

But here's something important: sometimes, the people we love may not be the best for us. You might be holding on to a friendship or relationship that doesn't serve your highest good mentally, spiritually, or even physically. It’s okay to let them go. Don’t chase friendships that drain you or relationships that disturb your peace. You deserve healthy, mutual, and respectful connections.

And finally, for those of you who are single or looking for love, I sense that someone special may enter your life in June. You might even get into a relationship with them! Romance feels like it’s in the air this month June is looking like a beautiful time for love.

𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆🌷͙⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

Pile 2

Hello Pile 2, I am definitely getting the message that you went through a lot in May. Right now, you might be feeling stuck, like your life is not moving forward, as if you are standing still. Some of you may even feel like you're living in a loop, where situations keep repeating themselves. It feels like you’re in the same place you were a year ago, and that’s deeply painful because of how much you’ve endured.

However, I want you to know that things will start improving. You are also being guided to focus more on your spiritual health. Everything you have gone through may have drained your spiritual energy or blocked some of your chakras. You are being encouraged to meditate and find peace within yourself and your mind.

I see you working very hard in June. Some of you might be preparing for or clearing exams. For others, life may feel like it is testing you repeatedly this month, and you will need to be patient.

There is also an energy vampire around you, someone who is constantly draining your energy. This could be a masculine figure, possibly someone who is arrogant, refuses to take responsibility for his actions, and blames others. I strongly suggest you distance yourself from this person or set strong boundaries. This person seems to have some kind of authority over you, possibly a boss, father figure, teacher, or someone with influence in your life.

You are beginning to free yourself from the expectations that have been placed on you. I see that you’ve always been the “perfect child,” the one who didn’t need much care because you handled everything yourself. In June, you are going to realise the freedom you truly have.

This might sound harsh, but sometimes people stay in situations they know are unhealthy and then feel victimised by the outcomes. You have every right to walk away from anything that is no longer serving you. If you acknowledge that a place or person is not good for you and still choose to stay, then you cannot blame your life when things go wrong. Sometimes, the situations we fear the most are actually the consequences of our own choices. You are the master of your life, and you have the power to change your path at any moment.

You are being strongly guided to meditate regularly this month. Meditation will bring you clarity and answers.

Something significant may have happened in February, or that month holds some emotional weight. I also sense that some of you are waiting for something to change, hoping for things to improve. But now, it’s time to take matters into your own hands. Your unwillingness to take action might be contributing to your current frustration and sadness.

On a positive note, I see that an unexpected gift is coming your way in June. This could be a lost package, a forgotten item returning to you, or even a financial bonus. Whatever it is, it will be a moment of gratitude and joy.

Your angels are always with you. Whenever you feel lost or confused, speak to them. Talk to them in any way that feels natural to you. You can speak out loud, write in your journal, or talk to them in your thoughts right before sleeping. Just try to connect, because they want to help you and improve your life. But right now, it feels like you’ve built a wall around yourself, and their messages aren’t getting through. Try to open your heart a little. They are waiting for you.

𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆🌷͙⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

Pile 3

Okay, so I see that you might have recently gone through a breakup or left a relationship behind. You might also be single at the moment. It feels like you are trying to move on from something or someone. This could also be related to a personal loss, such as losing a loved one. I sense that you are currently carrying a sad or heavy energy.

However, I also see that you will be travelling a lot in June, especially to places you have always dreamed of. Some of you might be visiting the beach or spending time near large bodies of water. I get a strong sense that you will be surrounded by water this month. This might also show up as taking more showers, going swimming, or simply finding comfort in water.

The universe wants you to know that whatever you have lost whether it was a job, a relationship, or a missed opportunity like an interview something better is waiting for you. All you need to do is believe in the universe and trust that what is meant for you will always serve your highest good.

You are also being guided to avoid taking unnecessary risks this month. This includes doing anything reckless or making investments you are unsure about. Be cautious and think things through carefully.

I also feel like there might be some tension in your family environment during June. You may feel like you're walking on thin ice around certain family members. Do not worry, this situation will pass.

August seems to be a very significant month for you. I see you starting something new during that time. You may receive a raise, a bonus, or unexpected financial help from someone in August. Even though this is a June reading, messages about August keep coming through, so it is clearly important for this pile.

Another message coming through is that if you have already planned something like a trip or a project it might not go exactly as expected. You could experience some delays or even rejections during the first two weeks of June. However, after that, things will begin to shift. Your luck will improve, and you will begin to feel more hopeful and positive. It is like the doors of fortune will begin to open for you after the second week of June.

I am also getting a strong message that your future is very bright, and you are meant to travel a lot in this lifetime. Movement and change are a big part of your destiny.

Overall, I see that the month of June will be a positive one for you, both financially and physically. Things might feel a bit off or challenging during the first two weeks, but after that, they will improve. You will begin to feel truly blessed.

𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆🌷͙⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

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superhoeva · 16 days ago

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forced proximity with pope after getting stuck in a tiniest broom closet in the building you're robbing because a janitor ends up doing rounds on the floor earlier than you'd planned. you're so close. too close. front pressed against his and pressing tighter with each breath.

"you okay?"

his question is low but there. even in the dark, you shake your head and release a sigh that puffs against him.

"it's hot..." you state, and pope nods his head with a tiny, unamused laugh.

"yeah."

when j finally carries out a distraction adequate enough to distract the janitor, you and pope are bursting out of the closet with desperate pants and dripped in sweat. it looks as though the two of you had fucked. hard. but no–it was just close corners of the room along with the unresolved desire of two people that should've fucked a long time ago.

a goddamn closet... pope's been dying to be that close to you for ages and it happens in a fucking storage room. the entire drive back, instead of being peeved that the job went south, he's stuck; thinking about the soft of you pressed against him, how your exhales fanned across him, how they picked up the longer you remained trapped.

shit. he needs it again... to feel you like that but he doesn't know how to ask, so he ends up parking his truck in front of your house the next day and waiting. he isn't sure for what and part of him doesn't even remember driving over here.

"what the fuck, pope?"

the man blinks, unfazed, and looks at where you stare back at him through the lowered window. "what?"

"why are you sitting outside my place like you're a fucking stranger?"

thinking, pope eventually shrugs. trying not to look at the nipples peeking through the fabric of your tank.

"just... hangin' out..."

your eyebrows scrunch and he wants to grin.

"or you could come in before my neighbors snitch to the police about some guy watching my house."

pope sucks in a long breath, running warm.

no.

"no."

"no?"

shaking his head, he grips the steering wheel and squeezes, no longer able to look at you.

"no. thank you. but i don't think that's a good idea," he tries clarify but that only makes it worse. you lean against the side of his truck, elbow hanging halfway inside as you look at him.

"okay. can you at least tell me why?"

pope doesn't move. he doesn't move or blink or breathe for an uncomfortable beat before finally cutting his eyes your way and speaking with a tone much too dry considering the words that spill from him.

"because i won't be able to behave myself with you in that shirt."

with that, pope starts his truck and skirts away–leaving you standing in the middle of the road to blink and stare after his vehicle with his words replaying in a cruel, cruel loop.

#pope cody x reader #andrew pope cody x reader #andrew cody x reader #pope cody x you #andrew pope cody x you #andrew cody x you #pope cody #andrew pope cody #andrew cody #animal kingdom #shawn hatosy #consider this part one of a brain dump #when s1 pope gets a crush he doesn't know what to do about it

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confused-pyramid · 1 year ago

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Breaking Point

pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: You and Art were hitting partners (and a bit more) in college, so when you run into him a decade later at the U.S. Open, old sparks reignite...

word count: 3.4k

warnings: SMUT, p in v, oral (fem!receiving), slight marking, drinking

a/n: I watched Challengers last night and then wrote this whole thing in one sitting. Nothing in this is really canon other than Art being a major simp lol so no spoilers for the movie! I usually make playlists (or at least find a few songs that get me in the zone) when writing, so I thought I'd start sharing them here too if people are interested!

You should've known he'd be here. You've been following his career for the last decade since you graduated, and ever since he won Wimbledon last year, he's been tennis royalty, but a small part of you still thought you wouldn't run into him here. At the fucking U.S. Open.

Stanford was a lifetime ago, and you haven't kept in touch with anyone from the college team, but there was always something about Art Donaldson that stuck with you. Ten years later, that hasn't changed.

"It's been so long," he calls out when he spots you from across the practice courts. "I didn't think I'd see you."

You didn't either, and you still haven't decided how you feel about it yet, but when he jogs over to your side, you just shrug. "Guess it's your lucky day."

He smiles, and his teeth glimmer in the bright sunlight. "It certainly is."

The loud thwacks of tennis balls hitting rackets echo around you, but you can't seem to focus on anything but the man standing in front of you. He looks good.

He was beautiful in college too, whether he was training across the net or slipping into your bed, but it feels different now, with so much time apart. He looks like a man now.

"Anyway," Art says, jerking you back to reality. "We should get a drink sometime. To catch up."

He adds the last part almost as an afterthought, but it doesn't escape your notice how his eyes have been trailing up and down your body since he walked over.

A drink could mean almost anything with Art Donaldson, but you're too curious to refuse. "Sure. This weekend, after the semi-finals."

He nods, his eyes glinting with amusement, and you grab your bag from the bench beside you before looping the strap over your shoulder.

You walk off the practice courts after one last glance over your shoulder, and you feel his eyes following along until the doors swing shut behind you.

***

He should've expected this. You were a firecracker in college, and you kept him on his toes every single day you were together, so he really should have known what he was getting into when he met you for drinks that weekend.

Instead, he's one too many beers in, and his buzz is only enhancing the glow of your beauty in the hazy bar light. Your dress isn't even that low cut, but something about the shadows glancing over your strong shoulders reminds him of late nights in the Stanford dorms after a hard practice when there was only one thing he wanted more than sleep.

"You played really well this morning," he says genuinely as he sets his beer back onto the table. "After that first set, Mueller didn't stand a chance."

You flash him a dazzling smile as you shrug, resting your chin on your palm. "I had her after the third game, but thanks. It was a quick match."

Art hasn't taken his eyes off of you since you sat down, and while prolonged eye contact usually makes you nervous, you find that you're actually enjoying the attention quite a bit. Attentiveness was never an issue with him, and you would normally give in to your urges, but there's just too much history with him, and you can't afford to lose focus. Not when the title is so close you can taste it.

"I hear the networks are eyeing you for a commentator post," you say, trying to change the subject.

You trace your finger around the rim of your nearly empty margarita, before lifting it to take a final sip, and you don't miss how his throat bobs as you lick the salt off your lips.

"Uh, yeah," he mumbles, clearing his throat. "It was just some chatter, but I'm not looking to retire anytime soon."

You frown. "Is that right?" He's playing better than ever, but he definitely hasn't been himself out on the court in years.

He glances down, clearly trying to avoid the scrutiny, and when his eyes land on your empty glass, he changes the subject again. "You want another drink?"

You shake your head, knowing that another will lead to a less than fun morning, but he isn't done yet.

"You sure?" His eyes find yours again, and this time the eye contact feels primal. "It doesn't have to be here."

Your eyebrows lift and you tilt your head with a knowing smile. "Where were you thinking?"

"I don't know," he shrugs, before his lips curve up into a cheeky grin. "My room's nice."

You saw it coming from a mile away, but it still pulls a laugh out of you. "Oh, I'm sure it is, but this isn't college anymore, Art. You should get some sleep...focus on your match in the morning."

You push your glass forward and stand up, nodding at him as you turn to leave, but then you see him stand too out of the corner of your eye.

"I'll walk you to your car."

He looks at you with a hint of amusement in his expression, and you can't help but want to play along, even though Art Donaldson was nothing but trouble for you.

You don't respond, instead just stepping out from around the table and walking out the front doors of the bar. You don't have to turn back to know he's right behind you, and when you reach your car, parked in the center of the nearly empty parking lot, you spin around.

He doesn't stop walking until he has you practically boxed in by your driver's side door, his face less than a foot from yours as he tucks his hands into his pockets.

He had pushed his sleeves back at some point in the night, from the humid summer heat of the bar, and you can see the veins on his forearms now, under the dim light of the street lamps.

"This is me," you say jokingly, tipping your chin at your car as he looks at you with an expression you can't distinguish. "I'm good from here."

He doesn't move.

It's not that you expected him to give up so easily; you had just forgotten how persistent he could be.

Art's mouth stretches into a slanted smile. "Do you remember the Davis Invitational? Junior year."

Speaking of his persistence...he had been pursuing you for months, not in any tangible way, but you always knew what he was thinking.

After the invitational, where you and Art had been the respective men's and women's champions, you had gone back to his dorm to celebrate. Three hours and just as many vodka shooters later, he had finally gotten you in his bed. Not that you were complaining.

Art knew his way around your body, and even that first night, he had managed to get you off more times than you can remember.

"What about it?" you shoot back, your eyebrows raising at the insinuation.

"Nothing," he says with a shrug, but you don't miss the humor glinting in his eyes. "You just used to be a lot more fun to celebrate with."

"Fuck you," you spit out, shoving his shoulder harder than you mean to. He barely budges, instead grabbing your hand and tugging you a few inches closer, and suddenly a wave of lust washes over you, making your breath hitch.

You press your thighs together under your dress, hoping he can't feel the heat spreading across your skin, but then his smile turns to a smirk and you know you're done for.

"What do you think?" he whispers, leaning in so close that his lips brush over your earlobe. "Want to celebrate?"

Molten lava pools in your gut and you are only peripherally aware of his hand sliding down your hips to the flowy edge of your dress. His fingers glide over your skin as his hand goes under the loose fabric, before rising up to grab your ass, drawing your hips flush with his.

Your arousal is already starting to soak through your panties, but the feeling of his hard bulge pressed up against you sends you flying back to reality.

You lift your hands to his chest and push him back so that he's a few steps away from you. It's not far enough, but at least you can't feel him from there. "I'm not fucking you, Art."

He shrugs, his smirk only slightly shaken. "Who said anything about fucking? I just wanted to talk."

You huff out a laugh. "You're funny. Besides, I'm too tired for this. I need to rest up before my match."

"What about tomorrow night then?" His lip is still curved up in a smirk, but there's an earnestness in his gaze that surprises you.

"What makes you think you'll still be here tomorrow?"

His mouth spreads into a wide smile. "I always win."

You snort. "Fine. Win your match and we can talk."

You don't miss the grin on his face as you climb into your car and leave.

***

You win your next match in straight sets again, so by the time you're out of the locker room, Art's match is still in play. Driven by a mixture of curiosity and intrigue, you head over to his court and find a seat halfway up the stands.

He has won two of three sets, and he's leading the fourth, so with the prospect of the match ending soon, you use the time to observe him from a different angle.

His form is much better than it was in college, and you've seen him play countless times on TV, but you haven't really let yourself see how good he looks out there. The sinewy muscles rippling in his arms as he lifts them to serve. The rugged sturdiness of his legs as he races back and forth across the court.

You wish you could be down there with him, running your hands over the smooth lines of his abdomen, tasting the drops of sweat as they roll down his body-

The crowd erupts in cheers, and you are thrust back into reality as Art throws his arms into the air with a loud whoop. The scoreboard confirms his victory, and you clap along with the audience as he shakes his opponent's hand and heads over to his chair.

People around you stand up to leave, but you stay in your seat, watching as he grabs his bag and stuffs his rackets inside. When he wipes a towel over his face, his head turns up and his eyes immediately go to you, like he knew you were here the whole time.

Your stomach does an involuntary flip and he flashes his eyebrows at you as you bit the inside of your lip, trying to hold back a smile.

When he ducks back down to grab his things, you stand up quickly to avoid letting him see your blush and follow the rest of the crowd off of the stands.

***

You hear it late that night. Three little raps on your hotel room door, just before midnight.

You're in the finals, and you don't have any friends here to celebrate with, so you were sipping a beer and watching old match recordings when you heard the knock.

There's no one else who would come to see you this late, so you're not surprised when you open the door to find Art, dressed in a tee shirt and comfy-looking pajama pants.

"What are you doing here?" you ask, even though you already know the answer.

Art just looks at you, his pupils already massive. "You said if I win, we could talk." He shrugs. "I won."

"Okay," you concede, opening the door wider to let him in. "Just talking then."

He nods, before following you inside and shutting the door.

"You want anything to drink?" you ask as he trails behind you.

He shakes his head. "I'm good."

You grab your beer bottle from the side table and sit down on the floor, crossing your legs beneath you.

Art sits across from you, his feet in front of him and his elbows on his knees. You were assigned to a modestly sized room, but for someone as tall as him, the space must feel cramped.

"How did the match feel?" you ask, taking a swig of beer.

He thinks for a moment. "It was close at first, but once I shook my legs out, it became a breeze."

"Your legs were never the problem," you say, leveling him with a serious look. "It was always your attitude. Or your confidence."

He frowns, his eyebrows scrunching slightly. "I'm plenty confident."

"You are now," you tell him as you swirl the bottle around in your hand. "You won Wimbledon, you have a reason to be confident."

That makes him smile. "So you're saying my legs are fine."

"Yeah," you say before you can process what you're saying. "You looked good out there."

His smile turns to a smirk so fast it nearly gives you whiplash. "You think I look good?"

You let out an exasperated scoff. "At tennis."

His grin doesn't falter so you roll your eyes at him before lifting the bottle to your lips to take another swig. When you tilt the bottle back down to swallow, his hand reaches forward to take it from you. Your grip on the beer doesn't loosen, so the motion sends you pitching forward.

Your mouth parts with a small yelp as his arm wraps around you, tugging you closer, and before you can process what's happening, his lips are on yours.

If you let yourself think too hard, you would realize that there is way too much shared history and way too much baggage here for this to be a good idea...so that's why you don't.

Instead, you let him pull your body flush against his and when his tongue slides over the seam of your lips, you grant him access immediately. Your shirts come off in quick succession and you gasp as his hands run up and down your body, his strong, calloused fingers grasping at every inch of purchase they can find. Yours reach up to tangle in his messy hair, and when his lips move down your neck, your grip tightens, making him moan quietly against your skin.

Something about being on the floor takes you back to your college days, when you'd both be so worked up after practice that you couldn't even make it to the bed, but that feels too real right now.

"Art," you whisper as he runs his lips and teeth over your neck, before replacing it with his tongue to soothe the quickly blossoming marks. "Art, the bed. Now."

It takes him a second to process your words, but when he does, he loops an arm around your waist and lifts you up and onto the bed in one motion, before pushing you back onto the covers.

By the time your head hits the bed, he's already pulling your shorts and panties down, exposing you to the cool air. His lips follow the path of his hands as they trace up your legs, making you squirm under the hot touch of his rough fingers. He presses wet kisses to the insides of your thighs before spreading them apart and dropping to his knees on the floor in front of you.

"So wet for me," he whispers, almost to himself, before he dives in, his mouth making lewd noises as he licks a thick stripe up your core. "You taste so good."

He lifts your legs over his shoulders to give himself some leverage as he makes a mess between your thighs, licking and sucking your clit into his mouth before fucking you with his tongue.

His grip on your thighs is the only thing keeping you pinned to the bed as you writhe beneath him, trying to not squeeze your legs together from the heat spreading up your core.

His mouth feels amazing and it takes only minutes before you're already nearing the edge. You don't want to come until he is inside of you, though, so you yank his hair, pulling him up and off of you.

He looks up at you through his lashes, and he looks ethereal with his disheveled hair and his chin wet with your slick.

You, on the other hand, look like heaven itself with your eyes half-hooded from pleasure, and he can't help the grin that crosses his face as he licks his lips and climbs over you onto the bed. He lets you taste yourself as he kisses you again, and he lets out a low groan when you bite his lip just hard enough to sting.

"Fuck me," you gasp, your voice too breathy to be actually authoritative. "Fuck me the way I like."

Art grins at your desperate tone and the wild lust in your eyes, committing this image to memory for a later time when you're much further away.

He kicks his pants off as he lifts you both further up the bed, and after covering himself with a condom from his back pocket, he lines himself up and slowly pushes forward.

He gives you a few moments to adjust to his size before slowly pulling out nearly all the way and then thrusting in again.

The slight pain turns to pleasure almost immediately, but he keeps his pace steady so as not to hurt you. You need more right now, so you wrap your legs around him for leverage and flip him over so that you're straddling him.

He groans as his head hits the pillow, and when he tries to sit up, you press your hands to his chest, pushing him down as you ride him. This position gives you a lot more control, and you use it to your advantage as you bounce yourself on his cock, feeling the way he fills you up so fully from this higher angle.

His fingers dig into your hips as he helps lift you up and down, and his eyes are practically feral as he watches the spot where his cock disappears inside of you.

He's the perfect size to fill you up completely, and with each swivel of your hips, you get closer and closer to your climax, which is approaching so fast you can taste it.

You cry out when he hits exactly the right spot deep inside of you, and his eyes fly to yours as your movements start to stutter from your impending release.

Needing to see the look on your face when you come, he pushes your lower back forward so you fall against his chest, before lifting himself up to meet you halfway. With one arm locked around you, he brings his other hand down between the two of you to rub quick circles over your clit. The new angle lets him thrust up into you, and the increased pace of his movements mixed with the speed of his fingers sends you flying over the edge.

Your mouth falls open with a loud cry, and you squeeze him so tightly he's practically seeing stars. You look so beautiful when you come, like a goddess sent down here just for him, and when your eyes meet his, he finds his own climax.

His body jerks forward with the force of his release, and you let him thrust a few more times as he finally finishes inside of you.

After pulling out, he tugs you down to lay next to him, and at first you let him, but the emotions warring inside of you don't stay quiet for long.

You know that whatever this was isn't going to go anywhere. You didn't work in college, and you won't work now, and you don't want anyone to get hurt again, so you have to make a choice. Now.

"I need to get some rest," you say quietly, a tiny part of you hoping he doesn't hear you. "Before the next match."

"Yeah," he sighs after a beat. "Me too."

You let him hold you for a moment longer, before he unwraps himself from your body and sits up, tugging his shirt and pants back on. You tug the sheet back and wrap it around your torso as he stands up and walks to the door.

You're not sure what you're expecting as he goes to leave, but what you get is a silent nod as the door swings shut behind him.

#art donaldson smut #art donaldson #challengers #challengers smut #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x fem!reader #challengers fanfiction #art donaldson x female reader #art donaldson x you

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realisticjupiter · 1 year ago

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haihaii!! your profile has been like.... THERAPY to me bc the aib fixation is back AND ITS STRONG ESPECIALLY TOWARDS CHISHIYA 💔💔💔 i love the way u write as well !!

so with this could i request a touch starved chishiya... like a chishiya that needs readers attention so bad but is too embarrassed to downright tell them "I WANT CUDDLES" or smth... still he does everything in his power to get readers attention atp the only thing left is to just BEG

also could i be 🎶 anon ? i picture myself being very active here from now on... have a nice day!!

Summary: Chishiya can't sleep without you.

Genre: Fluffy

Pairing: Chishiya x gn!reader

Warnings: None! :)

Word count: 784

a/n: Aghhhh i hope this is okay!!!!! That is actually so sweet of you, I'm so glad you've liked my account!!!<3 And ofc you can claim an emoji, hello 🎶!!

Chishiya tried everything to get you into bed with him. He tried seducing you, gaslighting you, and of course his manipulation tactics didn't work either.

All you were focused on was trying to fix the phone from last night's game. It was still on, so you thought it would be easier to get into before it powered off.

Every time he'd call your name, you'd brush him off. Mostly because he always used a certain tone of voice you've become far too familiar with when he tries to get what he wants.

All he wanted to do was kneel at your feet to tell you exactly what he wanted. To tell you he just wanted you to hold him, to tell you all he needed was your attention.

But he couldn't. He never has been able to ask for help, or ask for anything without feeling vulnerable for that matter. He was closed off, that's what people knew about him; that he didn't show those types of emotions in fear of being belittled.

Chishiya could feel his eyelids getting heavy and his eyes burning from keeping them open, but he knew no matter how hard he would toss and turn; he wouldn't be able to sleep without you.

It was pathetic, he'd admit that. It was a loop he found himself getting stuck into, and found there was no way out of it. He hid it pretty well, though. Through late nights where you'd fall asleep alone and wake up to him beside you. You truly had no idea he struggled so much.

He was so tired. He'd do anything if you'd just stop and sleep already.

And he found his last option, the one thing he dreaded the most.

"Y/n?" Chishiya whispered, his voice husky as he climbed out of bed and walked towards you with slow steps.

"What?" You hummed in response, never peeling your eyes away from the task at hand.

"Please," He spoke underneath his breath in an almost incoherent whisper as he stopped to stand beside the chair you sat in.

"I don't know what you want, Chishiya. No one is keeping you awake." You sighed, watching from the corner of your eye as he stood by your side, rubbing his eyes with his palms.

"You're keeping me awake." He murmured, watching your hands as they played around with the device's motherboard.

"How?" You said in defeat, finally turning your attention to him. You looked up at him with your hands thrown in your lap, clearly waiting for his response.

He let out a huff as he looked around the room; avoiding eye contact. When he finally looked at you, his eyes were soft and glassed over.

His next sentence was incoherent.

"What?"

[inaudible]

"Chishiya. Speak up, please." Your words were soft as you stood up from your seat, placing your hands on his upper arms.

"I can't sleep without you." He finally spoke, his words finally registering in your mind.

When he realized you had finally heard him, he felt like he could say anything. And with his new found confidence he continued to speak.

"Why is it so hard to ask you to touch me?" He breathed, letting his head fall onto your shoulder.

You smiled at his soft demeanour. You knew how hard it must've been for him to admit something so close to himself, especially since it was about you. You've found a new side of Chishiya you haven't seen before.

You brought a hand to comb through his hair as the other scratched up and down his bare back, "I'm sorry, Chishiya. I should've just read your mind." You whispered against his shoulder as you held him close to your body.

Your words were an obvious tease, trying to humor the situation at hand. Which did make Chishiya snicker.

"You should have. You've always been able to." He muttered, wrapping his arms lazily around you.

You smiled warmly as he spoke, pulling away to drag his hand towards the bed. You climbed in with him closely behind you. He waited for you to get comfortable, before he joined you under the covers to tangle his limbs with yours.

"I'm proud of you, Chishiya." Your sultry breath hit his forehead as you mumbled against his skin.

He stared down at the way your bodies fit together, processing your words with a smile he knew you couldn't see.

"Now go to sleep, 'm here." You spoke once more into his skin, kissing his forehead and massaging your fingers into his scalp.

His cold fingers danced around your bare skin, trying to bring himself impossibly closer to you before his body fell limp into a night's sleep.

reposts and comments are appreciated <3

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last-words-ofashootingstar · 1 month ago

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can you share a snippet of joker!Yunho?🥺 i feel like i'm going to be obsessed, i know you absolutely ate with this i'm so excited

➯a/n: whooooop im happy people are excited kkkkk this story was just one of those ones that struck me out of nowhere and wouldn't go away until i wrote it

Lowlife Princess

Teaser

❥Jeong Yunho x fem reader

"They became the King and Queen of Gotham City — and God help anyone who disrespected the Queen."

(>ᴗ•)genre: smut with plot, gotham au

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: see masterlist for general fic warnings: sex worker reader / obsessed joker yunho, touch starved reader / touchy yunho, crying from physical affection + fear, dacryphilia, daddy kink

taglist ? ➾ open !

♡masterlist + navigation !♡

✈︎eta: out now !

18+.MINORS TAKE A HIKE.

ꕥ

.....

There's no rhyme or reason, he's just doing what he feels like will please him; like he always does. And he knows it will please him deeply to hold you.

You look like a frightened deer: your chest rising and falling quickly, your body stiff as you lay next to him, your eyes either blinking too slow or too fast.

"Are you scared of me?" He knows the answer is undoubtedly yes. But he wants to see how you'll react. What you'll say.

"Yes."

The corner of his lips twitches upward. Most people would say no to try and please him, especially in such an intimate setting.

"Why? I haven't harmed you, have I?" He hums as he reaches and toys with a piece of your hair.

"Not yet."

He laughs, shaking the mattress a bit, "oh, doll~ You're so cute..." He sighs, his hands twitching for a split second before he finally caves and wraps his arms around you; yanking you towards him and closing the gap.

You panic briefly, sure that he's finally going to take what he paid for. But he doesn't make a move. He wraps his arms around you shockingly tender, one around your waist and the other around your shoulders; reaching up and petting the back of your head.

You start letting the tears that have been threatening your waterline fall. Well — you don't let them. They come whether you want them to or not.

"Put your arms around me."

You slowly move to do so, your tears dampening his button down shirt as he cradles your head to his chest. You hold onto his back lightly; and you hate that it feels so nice to be held. Not to be held down or stuck, but to be embraced.

The Joker has thrown you for loop after loop. Never, never, would you have thought this is how the night would go. You expected to be bruised and sore by now, but instead here you are being held like a precious, overpriced stuffed animal.

You start sobbing, and your choked noises come out even as you bite your lip.

"Shhhh," he coos, a large grin on his face as he rubs your shaking back, "doesn't this feel nice?"

You nod into his chest, your fingers twitching to hold onto him as he gently pulls your head back.

He smiles softer as you meet his eyes. He cups your cheek in his palm, tracing your cheekbone with his thumb and smearing your tears. "You're so pretty..." He bites his tongue as he wants to continue. He just broke down a layer of your walls, he has to be careful.

"It's been a long time since someone just held you, huh?" He pouts, wrapping his arm around your waist tighter.

You nod again, not trusting your own voice. Not even knowing what you would say. The Clown Prince of Chaos has you so confused.

"I thought as much... don't you worry, pretty girl," he gently guides your face back into his chest, hiding his gleeful expression as he can no longer hold it back. His brain is pushing him, nagging for him to get just one more thing before he's fully satisfied with his first night with you.

"I'll hold you until the sun rises —you just have to do one thing for me."

You nod quickly, probably too quickly, but you don't care. If he'll keep true to his promise and hold you like this — you'll take it. You don't care that he is who he is as the heat of his body warms your soul.

"Just say, 'please, Daddy'... and I will give you anything you want."

You pause for only a moment, swallowing the remainder of your tears. "Please, Daddy." You whisper into his shirt, "please, just hold me."

.....

ꕥ

#ateez #ateez smut #smut fic #yandere ateez #ateez fic #yandere fic #ateez x reader #ateez smau #yandere jeong yunho #jeong yunho x reader #jeong yunho #yandere yunho #yunho smau #ateez yunho #yunho x reader #yunho fanfic #yunho smut

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gremlingottoosilly · 8 months ago

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I'm not sure if my ask has been sent since I had shitty internet; Anyways.. Your Eldritch!Konig and witch!reader has been stuck ohmy head like a loop, UGH their dynamic is literally Dog x Chewtoy <3333 What if witch!reader is ovuating and (Begrudgingly) asks for her big monster to absolutely rock her shit 🥺 ((On a fluffier note: technically as her familiar, would he ever protect her from her enemies//other monsters??))

Familiars are supposed to serve their masters - this is the first line in the magic handbook you read from. The book had nothing on what you can do in case your familiar is a millenia-old monster from the depths of the universe who is a hundred times stronger than any or any witch alive, but you still try to honor that familiar-mistress bond as hard as you can. Besides, Konig was so good lately - only ever fucking up your potions twice last week and only eating one poor suitor who came to buy some of the herbs - that you decided to throw him a bone. Or, well, a pussy. You knew it was way above his melting point already - eldritch beings aren't known for their patience, and you sure as hell that Konig wouldn't really care for your boundaries in case you tried to establish them. Still, it was somewhat good to know that he didn't try to breed you yet - as much as he would lick and suck on your tits or force his tongue inside of your pussy, he never once tried to actually fuck you, with either his cock - if he has one, you aren't entirely sure - or his tentacles. And it drives you crazy. The biological clock is ticking, and sometimes, when you spend the whole day in a murky basement trying to perfect the incantations on the artifact that would take weeks to complete, you just want someone to hold you. To hold you with their strong, muscular hands, claw at your underwear and plop your leaking hole on their monstrous cock, making you take it all until you feel it bruising your womb and filling your life with a new purpose...god, you're desperate. Desperate enough to call in for your familiar, to ask - demand - that he will take you right here, on the same bed that you usually not allow him to lay in. Konig is an eldritch monster, but he can fuck - he pushes his tentacles inside, finding your hole already slick from all of your useless masturbation attempts earlier. Konig is more than happy to fill you up, force you to carry his eggs inside until the remaining magic finally sips into your womb and somehow makes you this much stronger - god, he fucking adores you, silly little human, still thinking you can get powers outside of his reach. At least you're cute, unlike most humans. He can't wait to breed you for days after your ovulation is over - you did ask him to fill you up, didn't you?

#cod #konig x reader #konig #yandere konig #cod x reader #yandere cod #eldritch!konig #witch!reader

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parfaitblogs · 6 months ago

Text

snow on the beach ❀ s. reid x reader

in which your boyfriend takes you to see the snow in the oddest of places.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: fluff tags: established relationship. mention of a past fling (between spencer and r). snow on a beach? word count: >1k a/n: summer fling!spencer reid/reader is a dynamic ive been cooking up with margot... here is them as an actual couple for liamas. we'll give you their origin story one day.

❄︎ advent calendar masterlist

"Do you want to see the snow?"

When your boyfriend had asked you that nine hours ago, you did not expect to be stuck inside a car for eight hours straight. With one singular pit stop for the bathroom and some dinner. You could've cussed him out on the spot.

You didn't.

Instead, as you stepped out of the car at an awfully familiar location, you whipped your head around to Spencer Reid, and asked, as calmly as you could, "Were there no closer beaches?"

"None that have forecasted snow like this," he answers, and you had to give him credit, for it was probably true.

There were flurries of snow surrounding your bodies, catching in your hair and on your mitten clad hands, and you could see a few flakes of snow fall on Spencer's own skin. You smile.

"Besides," he says, taking your hand within his and tugging you along the path down to the beach. "None have sentimental value like this one."

"You hate it here," you comment, your feet dragging along in the sand as he pulls you closer to the crashing waves on the shore.

"I hate the water here. Bad memories."

"Same thing."

"And you love it here," he murmurs, barely audible over the wind rushing past your ears, and so he tugs you closer to him, arms looped around your waist.

"I do love it here," you nod, hands tracing up his arms. "I've never seen snow on a beach."

"Do you like it?"

"It's so pretty," you mumble, turning your head to the side, staring out at the water, vision clouded by the falling snowflakes. "C'mon."

You pull on his arm suddenly, and he's shocked into stumbling after you, before he realises the direction you're headed, and he's stammering out a mess of denials.

"Hey, no. No, no. The water is ice cold. That can shock our hearts and cause panic, or spike our blood pressure and that can cause heart failure and—"

"—Are you eighty and vulnerable?" you muse.

"Eighty, no. Vulnerable, maybe. I'm not in the business of discovering if I am. You shouldn't be either."

"Spencer, our feet in the water won't kill us," you say, slipping your shoes off your feet, grimacing at the mix of cold sand and snow beneath them.

He seems to give up trying to fight your decision. Perhaps keenly aware that you're not backing down, and instead follows suite in taking his shoes off.

"I'll put you on my cause of death," he grumbles.

"No. You're gonna live forever, boy genius," you deny, dragging him closer to the water.

Icicles prickle your skin as you step into the freezing water, and you almost sorely regret your decision. Spencer's in the same boat, and you feel his hand around yours squeeze your palm at the feeling. The sight's enough for you to relax a little, and laugh at him.

Once your blood circulates better — or your feet go numb — you lean into Spencer, staring out at the moon.

"At least I'm not throwing you into the water this time," you chirp after a few moments of quiet.

It was the middle of the previous summer, before you and Spencer had even told each other about the feelings you had for the other. Feelings that were, frankly, quite obvious, now looking back on it. You blame your obliviousness on attraction hidden under the guise of never being more than a summer thing.

If only you knew then.

You had taken him to this very Falmouth beach at night, begging him to go for a night swim with you. It took a whole lot of convincing before he had even agreed to put his feet in the water, claiming he hates how unpredictable the ocean can be, even in the shallowest of shores.

Though, rushing water around your ankles meant his already less-than-perfect balance was thrown off incredibly, and you were able to tug him down into the water. Evidently, soaking both himself, and you.

You're pretty sure the way he reacted is what solidified your feelings for him.

Instead of freaking out on you and being angry, he had laughed, spluttered the salt water and sand out of his mouth, and simply splashed you with the ocean.

You weren't going to do the same thing tonight, though. As much as you'd hate to admit it, the water was freezing cold, and you really weren't interested in submerging yourself within it.

"That's true," he agrees. "Though, I think losing my feet to hypothermia might rival being as bad as you soaking me."

"You'll be fine," you shrug, waving him off.

More minutes pass, as you stand there, the only sounds coming from the rushing water and the wind blowing snowflakes around your two bodies. The sky is painted with the snow that falls, white on black.

"I love this beach," you say, decidedly, the beauty of it all making you oddly sentimental.

"We've established that," he teases.

You shove him with your shoulder. He shoves you back.

"Personally, I hate this beach."

"I hate you," you huff, turning around to face him, and he's steadying his hands on your waist, pulling you closer.

"Okay. Now say that without a smile on your face," he challenges, head ducking down closer to yours, eyebrows risen.

You couldn't wipe the lovesick grin off your face even if you tried.

your reblogs and replies are always welcome ♡

#lia's advent calendar ♡#lia’s fics ♡#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer x reader #spencer x self insert #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader fluff

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sturnioz · 9 months ago

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about the one where fratboy!chris doesn't let shy!reader meet his family I THOUGHT ABT SOMETHING

sooo imagine chris's mom otp while he's with reader then reader gets her hopes up thinking chris would somehow mention who he's with right now but he doesn't and it ends up into reader with hurt feelings and chris just being an asshole like it's no big deal

i lowkey wanna be hurt rn GIMME ANGST

you're staring wide eyed at chris, completely captivated at the voice he uses to talk to marylou on the phone — his tone soft and gentle, almost childlike, and he grins at the words she speaks, his eyes twinkling with warmth, causing a smile to creep across your lips.

it's a side of him you've never seen before, and you can't help but feel a flutter of admiration in your chest.

as he walks around his room, his phone cradled in one hand and a pile of clothes in the other, you're stuck watching how tenderly he engages with his mother. his expression constantly shifts between playful to genuine care and adoration.

"yeah, ma. everythin' is good," chris hums softly, placing his phone on the desk and pressing the speaker icon, allowing his mother's voice to fill the room. "classes are good too."

"and how is nick? has he been over recently?"

"y'know nick would rather die than come into the frat house—"

"oh, chris, you know i don't like you saying things like that to me. don't say that."

"sorry, ma," chris apologises sincerely, and you're taken aback by the softness in his tone. it's a complete contrast to the condescending way he usually speaks to you, often laced with sarcasm and mockery. the apology feels so genuine that it makes your heart flutter once more. "he doesn't like it here. prefers to meet up some place else."

"as long as you're seeing each other, that's all that matters," marylou says softly. "'cos your dad and i were worried that you wouldn't spend much time with him with your new living arrangements and all."

"no, no. we're good, we see each other a lot," chris reassures her as he pulls his jeans up his legs, threading his belt through the loops. "you don't need to worry, ma. i promise. we're actually goin' to get dinner tonight. nate's comin' along too."

you knew about the dinner tonight — though you weren't invited of course, you were all too aware of the plans.

"oh, nate," marylou coos softly at the mention of him. "and how is—"

her words are cut off when the book resting in your lap slips from your grasp and falls to the ground with a loud thud, causing chris' head to snap in your direction, momentarily pausing mid-motion.

he then grabs his plain white t-shirt, glaring at you as your lips form a tight-lipped, apologetic smile as you reach down to retrieve the book, your neck and cheeks burning with embarrassment. chris shakes his head at you with a quiet scoff, clearly unimpressed.

"is anyone there with you?" marylou asks curiously, her tone riddled with warmth and inviting.

your heart races as your head shoots up, a mix of nerves and excitement bubbling up inside you. you take a deep breath, ready to introduce yourself properly, hoping to make a good first impression.

"no. just some dumb frat kid next door makin' noise." chris immediately shuts it down, his tone dismissive, and your smile immediately drops from your face, a wave of discomfort twisting in your stomach and chest.

the disappointment stings more than you expected, and you can't help but feel small under his words. you tune out chris and marylou's conversation now, the warmth you felt just moments ago fading into an ache deep within you. mindlessly, you flip through the pages of you book, the words blurring together as your interest in that simmers too.

you don't even realise chris is saying goodbye to his mom, using a sweet tone that would have definitely made you swoon if you were paying attention. you completely miss the heartfelt 'i miss yous' and 'i love yous' shared between them too.

it's only when you feel the bed dip that your attention snaps back to reality, and you raise your gaze to see chris sitting on the edge, pulling on a pair of white socks before reaching for his black converse.

"m'gonna get matt to take you back to your place," chris announces nonchalantly, as if his earlier words hadn't left an impact. "gotta go that way t'get nick anyways."

"'kay." you reply, trying to keep your tone light.

chris twists his head to peer over his shoulder at you, his fingers busy tying his laces. his brows furrow in confusion as he stares at you. "what?"

you murmur back, "what?"

"whats the matter with you?" he asks, annoyance creeping into his voice. "actin' all weird on me. quieter than usual—"

"why didn't you tell your mom i was with you?" the question slips out before you can even think to stop it, a mix of hurt and vulnerability lacing your words.

chris gives you a look that makes you feel foolish, as if you've just asked the most ridiculous question. "why would i?"

his bluntness stings again, and you feel a flush of embarrassment wash over you. it's not just the question that bothers you; it's the slow realisation that he doesn't see how much you wish to be acknowledged, to be part of his world in a way that feels meaningful — more than a casual hook-up, maybe even as a friend.

you swallow hard, trying to gather your thoughts. "i just thought... maybe it would be nice, is all."

chris shrugs, turning back to his shoes. "s'not a big deal, kid."

"it is to me." the words slip out before you can hold them back again, a somewhat desperate plea for an understanding.

"why?" he asks immediately, looking back at you once more. "it shouldn't mean shit to you."

"you know my mom," you state. "you... you've spoken to my mom before, and—"

"'cos that was your choice, kid. yeah? 'n this is my choice," he points to his chest to emphasis his words, the intensity in his eyes making your heart race. "y'want me to tell my mom that i've got some girl in my room? have her question shit? nah... i keep my family life separate to what i do here."

his words hit hard. you understand his need for boundaries, but it hurts to feel so easily dismissed, and the ache in your chest deepens. you want to argue back, to make him see your side, but the words catch in your throat and you fall silent,

#ᯓ꒰asks꒱#ᯓ꒰anon꒱#☆ fratboy!chris #☆ shy!reader #꒰ fratboy!chris x shy!reader prompt ꒱

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sticktothestars · 2 months ago

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𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 , " 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 '𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 . " ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

a/n: *walks in, twiddling my thumbs* so i watched thunderbolts. we're just gonna say that i totally didn't fall in love with bob. AVENGERS FOUND FAMILY FANFICS ARE SO BACK GUYS. FHDSFFJ I'LL MAKE A SEPARATE POST ABOUT WHAT I THOUGHT ABOUT THE MOVIE, BUT YEAAH. I LOWKEY AM SUPER EXCITED & I CAN'T WAIT FOR YALL TO READ THIS 'CUZ I'VE BEEN HAVING THIS IDEA STUCK IN MY HEAD & IT WON'T GO AWAY. ANYWAY, IMMA STOP YAPPING NOW. ENJOOOYY!!1 (ALSO. you have the powers/fighting style of deadpool!)

paring: robert/bob reynolds x male!reader

word count: 1k+

warnings: slight spoilers for thunderbolts* if you haven't seen it. takes place post movie. slight cursing. contains a shit ton of angst & hard topics like anxiety attacks, child abuse, gore, & character death are mentioned throughout this oneshot. yeah i lowkey kind of spiraled while writing this lmfaooo.

════════════════════════════════════════════

──★

IF you told the [Y/N] from 3 months ago that you'd be working with the new avengers, you would've laughed HARD in your own face. Seriously. It would've lasted for like 7 minutes before you'd probably go tell you to fuck off or something. But now that you was here - saving people instead of being the one to end people for money - it felt trippy thing to even consider. Especially with the things you've done in your past. Despite your initial hesitation on even teaming up with this unstable group of people, you couldn't help but feel a LOT more happier than how you was before.

Maybe it was just the fact that saving people felt good or that you finally had a purpose in life - but no. It was something completely different. You was finally around people who understood what it felt like to not feel like they didn't deserve anything good or be stuck in an endless loop that just hurted you even more. It felt like a HUGE breathe of fresh air. Or maybe it was because you were around him like 99.99% of the time now after everything.

You met Bob in... troubling circumstances, to say the least. Bucky - a good friend of yours - contacted you while you were in New York in retirement from your mercenary past. You were honestly struggling a little. Working as an unsuspecting barista for some cozy coffee shop was nice & all, but it felt.. meaningless. So with one last second thought, you put your suit on & rode your motorcycle to a new mission. Which ended well overall, but with a lot of memories you wanted to lock away unfortunately.

But since then, the two of you have grown closer - especially since you were living together amongst the others in the Avenger's base. Bob obviously couldn't go on the missions due to not being able to control his powers all that well. You try to help him out the best you can when you're there.

...But sometimes that helping could go sideways.

──★

[Y/N]'s flicked open as he noticed the surroundings around him. Where was he? Just a moment ago he was sparring with Bob in the training room & then..

" Oh fuck.. " you muttered with a sigh as you realized what's happening. Your gaze fixes on a teen version of you - freshly scarred, WAY more defensive - yet afraid. Like there was something out for him. You knew what this was. You knew it all too well.

Back before you became a mercenary, you were a cage fighter in Orlando - trafficked at 7 & escaped at 16. 9 years of horror. Yeah that fucked you up pretty bad. Of course it would. But you had friends. It what kept you sane.

But they took that away too along with your dignity.

One night - when you were 16 - a new match was starting. They didn't tell you who the opponent would be. They never did. To them, it was just another body to throw away for entertainment. Having survived for so long & having so much blood on your hands, you'd think that you'd get used to it by now. But it only just got worse from there.

You stood there, watching yourself as your younger self enter the cage - a look of uneasiness on your younger self's face, tuning out the crowd of people as they cheered for blood. But you? You just wanted to know who else? Who else's blood would you have on your hands? As your opponent stumbles out into the cage with a shove from one of the guards just outside the cage, you saw your heart drop. Just by the horror on your own face.

Your opponent was your best friend, Liam. The Liam who stuck by your side through the last 9 years you've been here. The Liam who managed to make you laugh when things got that dark. The Liam who was your anchor. The Liam who you absolute adored like an older brother. You couldn't do it. You refused to. You couldn't do it if you tried.

" ... No.. No I'm not hurting him. You can't make me kill him. " You refused, backing away & banging on the cage's exit. Liam just watched you. He watched you try to figure out something. Anything to stop this match from happening. Liam knew this would happen soon. He was prepared for this. Hell, maybe he even prepared this moment from the start. You know that now. You wish you knew it sooner.

" [Y/N]. " Liam says gently, his voice calm - causing the younger you's attention to snap towards him, eyes tearing up as you tried to say something. Anything. But only a mournful silence filled between the two of you as the crowd cheered for the two of you to fight. You shook your head, keeping your head down.

" [Y/N], you have to. " Liam says gently, putting a hand on your shoulder as he approached. You just shook your head. " No- No- I-i-i can't- " You stammered out, clenching your fists so tight you felt as though you were bleeding slightly through your bandages.

" They'll kill you if you don't, kid. " Liam states. " I don't fucking care. " You say back, holding yourself close as you look back up at the 20 year old you've grown to be so attached to.

Liam sighs. " Well start caring. You're surviving. Even if it means killing me too. " The brunette says sternly.

" No! I'm not losing you! And I'm not listening to them anymore just to survive! " You call out so everyone can hear. The crowd boos, insults rolling out into the arena like a hurricane. The ringleader scoffs, motioning the guards to ready & aim at you.

Liam clocks this & horror enters his face, shielding you as bullets & sparks fly - the crowd falling silent. The bullets stop. Everything stops as a body slumps onto the ground. But it wasn't yours. It was Liam's. You stare at the hole covered body for what feels like a lifetime. You couldn't breathe. You couldn't even think straight.

Only when a guard grabs you is when you react is when you scream, absolute anguish & horror in your voice as it breaks as you're dragged out of the arena - new plans settled for you that changed your dna & life forever. The present you doesn't look away from Liam's corpse. You felt yourself spiraling within your regrets over the What If's.

What if you had let Liam kill you that day? You didn't deserve to live. Especially with the blood on your hands. The things you did without mercy. But Liam? He was kind. He was good. He deserved way better. He was so good & no one else ever got to see that goodness in him.

You scratched at the collar of your shirt, trying to force yourself to breathe but you couldn't. Everything felt so meaningless. You were meaningless. You were the problem because you couldn't keep your mouth shut.

Fuck. Everything felt so heavy. You collapsed to your knees, squeezing your eyes shut but Liam's lifeless body kept coming in again & again like a broken melody.

๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

" 'M sorry- M' so sorry- I-i should've known this would happen- I'm so fucking sorry- " A panicked & oh so familiar voice called out, snapping you out of your vision to feel Bob holding you in his arms tight as you sobbed. You hold onto his warmth, clenching his shirt. The two of you stay there for a while. Which seemed like forever. But neither one of you complained.

You sniffle slightly, letting your head nuzzle into the crook of the other's neck. And Bob just held you tighter. He couldn't let you go through this again. He couldn't bear seeing you hurt because of him.

You were probably one of the coolest people on the team, but seeing you fall apart like this felt gut wrenching. He mutters out more apologies, his chin resting on your head.

He's made everything worse again.

And to you of all people.

The man he absolutely adores.

──★

lowkey locked tf in on this one idk. hope yall enjoyed tho lowkey !! lemme know if yall want a part two or smthin cuz i'm down. SEND ME MORE REQUESTS PUHLEASEE.

anyways, that's it for now !! BUH BYEEE ^^

── DAMIEN ★

#bob reynolds x male reader #bob reynolds x reader #robert reynolds x male reader #robert reynolds x reader #sentry x male reader #sentry x reader #thunderbolts #marvel #new avengers #thunderbolts x reader #thunderbolts spoilers

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scarletwinterxx · 4 months ago

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magnets - choi seungcheol imagine 2/2

hellooooo ~ and here we are. thank you to all those who waited and loved the first part. tight hugs to all of you! may we all find love like this irl🤍

tbh the longest story I HAVE EVER WRITTEN. i hope you enjoy it🤍for part 1, click here

for my other svt fics, check them here

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2025 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pics not mine, credits to rightful owner)

The days that followed were… different.

Not in a dramatic, world-altering way, but in small, quiet shifts that felt almost imperceptible if you weren’t paying attention.

For one, Seungcheol didn’t push. He didn’t bombard you with texts, didn’t corner you into a conversation you weren’t ready for. He gave you space but remained present in the ways that mattered. And somehow, it was worse than outright confrontation.

Because this wasn’t the Seungcheol you’d prepared yourself for. This wasn’t the pushy, arrogant, untouchable man people whispered about.

This was someone who was willing to wait.

Of course it was Jeonghan who finally called you out on it.

“You’re sulking,” he said flatly one night, stretched out on your couch with a bowl of popcorn. “And don’t say you’re not because I’ve known you too long for that lie to work.”

You glared at him from your spot on the floor, cross-legged and stubborn. “I’m not sulking.”

Jeonghan popped a piece of popcorn into his mouth. “Right. And I’m a morning person.”

There was a beat of silence before Jeonghan sighed and sat up properly, setting his bowl aside. “Okay, let’s try this another way. Why are you still running?”

You scowled. “I’m not—”

He shot you a look. “Don’t lie to me.”

You pressed your lips together, feeling cornered. “I’m not running. I just…” You exhaled sharply, struggling to find the words. “I don’t know how to trust this.”

Jeonghan softened slightly. “Trust what?”

“That it’s real.”

He studied you for a long moment before speaking again. “I get it,” he said, and somehow, that was worse than him arguing. “After everything, I get why it’s hard to believe someone when they say they won’t leave.”

“But, you know,” he continued, “there’s a difference between being careful and shutting people out completely.”

You scoffed. “This coming from you?”

Jeonghan smirked. “What can I say? I’m evolving.”

"Okay Charizard" you rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. After a pause, Jeonghan’s voice turned quieter. “He’s not your past, you know.”

You swallowed, throat suddenly tight. “I know.”

“Do you?” You didn’t answer.

The days that followed you found yourself stuck in a loop of indecision.

You weren’t actively avoiding Seungcheol anymore, you told yourself it was because you were busy—work had picked up, your schedule was packed, and frankly, you weren’t in the mood to deal with whatever emotional battlefield is going on inside your head.

But Jeonghan’s words had burrowed deep. "He’s not your past."

It should have been easy to accept. Seungcheol wasn’t them. He hadn’t walked away, hadn’t dismissed your feelings, hadn’t made you feel like you were too much or not enough at the same time.

Still, knowing that and believing it were two different things. You're aware that the only person making it complicated at this point is, because for him, liking you is as easy as 1 2 3.

One random day he texted,

Seungcheol: Are you free Friday? Seungcheol: If you’re not, it’s okay.

You stared at the messages longer than necessary, fingers hovering over the keyboard. And then, before you could think too hard about it—before you could talk yourself out of it—you typed out a reply.

You: where are we going?

Friday night, you found yourself standing outside a tiny, quiet restaurant tucked into a side street, arms crossed as you waited.

You weren’t sure what to expect. The last time you’d properly talked, you’d been pushing him away. Now, he was here again, proving that no matter how much distance you tried to put between you, he wasn’t going to let you disappear so easily.

“Nice choice,” he said, glancing at the restaurant. “You trying to make sure I can’t impress you with an expensive dinner?”

You rolled your eyes. “You don’t impress me in general.”

He chuckled. “Sure.”

You turned toward the entrance, pretending you weren’t affected by how effortlessly charming he was. “Come on.”

Dinner started off… civil. You talked about safe topics—work, Jeonghan’s latest antics, Mingyu’s questionable life choices. It was easy, familiar, almost like nothing had happened between you.

But of course, that was never going to last.

“You’re still shutting me out,” Seungcheol said suddenly, mid-conversation.

You froze, fingers tightening around your glass. “I’m not.”

“You are,” he countered. “You’ve been doing it since the beginning.” Seungcheol leaned back, watching you with that unreadable expression that made you want to both slap and kiss him. “What are you so scared of?”

You scoffed. “I’m not scared.”

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You know what’s funny? You keep saying you don’t care, but you do. And it’s killing you trying to pretend otherwise.”

Your fingers curled into fists. “If I do, will you leave?”

Seungcheol’s expression didn’t change. “No.”

No hesitation. No doubt. Just a simple, steady refusal.

You hated how much that made your chest ache. And just like that, the walls you had built so carefully started to crack.

You exhaled sharply, pressing your fingers against your temple. “I’m being difficult.”

Seungcheol leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I know.”

You glared at him. “You’re supposed to argue.”

“Why? You already know it’s true. Atleast now you can admit it”

You clicked your tongue, looking away. The restaurant was cozy, dimly lit, a quiet contrast to the storm brewing inside your head. “I don’t know why you’re still here.”

He tilted his head, studying you. “Because I want to be.”

You scoffed. “Yeah? Even when I keep pushing you away?”

“Yes.”

You stared at him, waiting for the usual signs of frustration, the ones you were so used to seeing from people when you made things difficult. But there was nothing. No irritation, no exasperation. Just Seungcheol, calm and steady, like he had all the time in the world.

After dinner Seungcheol walked beside you, hands tucked in his coat pockets, the cool night air making his breath visible in the dim streetlights. it was quiet. Comfortable.

Then, out of nowhere, he smirked and nudged you lightly with his elbow. "What happened to the girl who walked up to me at the bar all confident?"

You raised an eyebrow at him. "What about her?"

He shrugged, feigning innocence. "Just wondering where she went. Thought she had me all figured out that night."

You exhaled a laugh, shaking your head. "Yeah, well… turns out, I bit off more than I could chew."

Seungcheol chuckled at that, glancing at you with something unreadable in his eyes. "Regretting it?"

You hesitated for half a second. "No." It was quiet again for a few beats, your footsteps echoing against the pavement.

Then, softer this time, he asked, "So what now?"

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you looked up at the sky, at the way the city lights drowned out the stars.

"Good question," you muttered.

Seungcheol stopped walking, causing you to take a few more steps before realizing and turning back to face him. His hands were still in his pockets, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes were locked onto yours, steady and unwavering.

"You keep running from me," he said, voice quieter now, but firm. "You keep pushing me away, shutting me out, making me prove myself over and over again. And I’ll keep doing it if that’s what it takes."

"I know you're scared," he continued. "I know you think this is going to end the way it always does. But I’m not them. I’m not going to leave just because things get complicated. I’m not going to get tired of you just because you have bad days. And I’m sure as hell not going to stop wanting you just because you're difficult."

Your throat felt tight. You hated how much those words affected you. How much you needed to hear them.

"You don’t have to let me in all at once," he said. "But stop pretending you don’t care when you do. Stop acting like this doesn't mean something to you when it does."

He stepped closer, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him despite the chilly air. "You can tell me, let me know if I’m waiting for nothing. Then I'll go"

Your heart was pounding now, an erratic rhythm you couldn't control.

"You’re not," you admitted quietly.

Something flickered in his eyes, relief mixed with something deeper, something warmer.

"Good," he murmured.

At first, it was small things.

A text here and there—nothing too much, nothing that would make you feel like you were giving in too quickly. You didn’t realize when it started shifting, when you stopped bracing for him to leave and started expecting him to stay.

One night, it was you who called first.

"You busy?" you asked, voice softer than you meant it to be.

Seungcheol chuckled on the other end of the line. "No. Missing me already?"

You rolled your eyes even though he couldn’t see. "Forget it."

"Wait, wait," he said, laughter still in his voice. "Tell me."

You hesitated. "I just... felt like calling"

You didn't need to say it, he knew what it meant in your dictionary or atleast from what he learned so far. You wanted to talk, you're reaching out to him first and that made him smile.

There was a brief pause, then, "Stay where you are. I’m coming over."

And just like that, it became normal.

Some nights, he’d show up with takeout, and the two of you would eat in comfortable silence. Other times, you'd find yourself leaning into him when he sat next to you, your head against his shoulder without thinking. He never commented on it, never teased. He just let you.

One afternoon, after a long day, you called him again.

"Are you home?"

"Yeah," he said immediately. "You okay?"

"I don't know."

He was quiet for a moment. "Come over."

It wasn’t some grand confession, wasn’t some dramatic shift. It was just that—getting used to him. Letting yourself reach for him the way he had always reached for you. The moment Seungcheol opened the door, he took one look at you and sighed.

“You look like hell.” he says when you got to his apartment, holding the door open for you

“Wow, thanks,” you muttered, brushing past him

He didn’t argue, just closed the door behind you and followed you inside. His place was warm, dimly lit, the faint scent of coffee lingering in the air. You stood there for a second, suddenly unsure why you even came.

“Did you eat?” he asked, already heading toward the kitchen

You shook your head.

“Didn’t think so,” he muttered, grabbing something from the fridge. You heard him moving around, the quiet clink of plates and the sound of water running.

You sat on the couch, letting your head fall back against the cushions. The weight of the week settled on you, exhaustion creeping in, but you fought it. Seungcheol came back minutes later, setting a plate of food and a glass of water in front of you.

“Eat first,” he said, sitting beside you.

You frowned. “I didn’t come here for food.”

“No, but you need it,” he countered. “And you need sleep, too. Don’t try to deny it.”

You glared at him, but it was weak. You were too tired to argue. “You really think I came here just to crash on your couch?”

“No,” he said, watching you carefully. “I think you came here because you didn’t want to be alone.”

Your fingers tightened around the glass of water. He wasn’t wrong.

When you were done, he took the plate without a word, disappearing into the kitchen. You let yourself sink deeper into the couch, your eyelids growing heavier. By the time he came back, you were barely awake, your body losing the fight against exhaustion.

“Told you,” he murmured, sitting next to you again.

You mumbled something incoherent, your head tilting to the side—against him. You didn’t mean to. But you were too tired to move, too tired to think. And he was warm, solid, steady.

Seungcheol didn’t say anything, just shifted slightly so you were more comfortable. And for the first time in days, you finally felt like you could rest.

Seungcheol didn’t move for a while. He just sat there, watching as your breathing evened out, your face finally softening from the tension you’d been carrying all week.

You came to him.

Not to fight. Not to push him away.

You came to him because you were tired, because you didn’t want to be alone, because—even if you wouldn’t say it out loud—you trusted him enough to just… be here.

That meant something.

His hand twitched like he wanted to reach out, to brush the hair out of your face, but he held himself back. You were already asleep, and he wasn’t about to wake you up now.

Instead, he just sighed, shifting slightly so you were more comfortable against him.

“Stubborn as hell,” he muttered under his breath, though there was no real bite to it.

If someone had told him back then, on the night you first met, that the confident, sharp-tongued person who strutted up to him in a bar would be the same one sleeping against his shoulder now, he would’ve laughed.

But here you were.

And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like he had to fight to keep you close.

You were slipping. your head tilting lower, the weight of exhaustion making you lean into him without a second thought. Before you could slip too far, he moved, instinct guiding him as he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you in until your head rested against his chest.

And you didn’t even stir. Didn’t tense up. Didn’t fight it. Just stayed there, completely at ease against him. He let out a slow breath, his hand resting lightly against your back, fingers twitching slightly like he wasn’t sure if he should move or not.

This was new.

You letting him hold you. Trusting him enough to fall asleep on him.

Seungcheol leaned his head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling for a moment before glancing down at you again.

The first thing you register when you wake up is warmth.

The second thing is the steady rise and fall beneath your cheek. Your eyes snap open, and the moment you realize you’re still on Seungcheol, still curled into his side, your entire body goes rigid.

“Oh my god—” You practically throw yourself off of him, scrambling upright so fast that you almost trip over your own feet.

Seungcheol groans, his hand moving to his neck, rolling it slightly like he’s trying to work out a knot. “Good morning to you too.”

“I—” Your heart is racing. “I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t—”

He watches you, amused, as you struggle for words, running a hand through his already messy hair. “Didn’t mean to what? Fall asleep?”

You stare at him, still half in shock, like you’re just now registering that you slept on him all night.

“Exactly! I didn’t mean to do that!” Your voice is slightly panicked. “I just—oh my god, I used you as a pillow.”

Seungcheol stretches, the corners of his lips twitching like he’s holding back a grin. “I noticed.”

You groan, pressing your hands to your face. “I’m so sorry. You probably have a neck cramp—”

“Oh, I definitely do.” He cracks his neck for emphasis.

You wince. “Ugh, I’m really, really sorry.”

He just looks at you, amusement laced in his voice as he leans back against the couch. “You gonna keep apologizing all morning?”

“Maybe.”

A few days later when you were out getting food, Jeonghan texted he was dropping by. When you return to your apartment, takeout bags in hand, you expected Jeonghan to be there waiting. What you didn't expect was Seungcheol sitting across from him.

The tension in the air is palpable, and Jeonghan looks far too smug for your liking, while Seungcheol looks—annoyed? Amused? It’s hard to tell.

You blink at them. “Uh… what is happening?”

Jeonghan leans back against the couch, arms crossed. “Your boyfriend came to visit.”

You scowl. “He’s not my— Never mind. Why are you here, Cheol?”

Seungcheol stands, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I wanted to see you.”

Before you can respond, Jeonghan cuts in. “He was just telling me about the night you fell asleep at his place.”

Your stomach drops. “Oh my god.”

Jeonghan smirks. “Did you know he was shocked that you actually slept well?”

Your eyes snap to Seungcheol, who is watching you carefully. “You—” You pause, shifting awkwardly. “I mean, it wasn’t a big deal.”

“It was a big deal.” Jeonghan hums. “Because she usually doesn’t sleep well.” He looks at you.

“You never told me you had it that bad.” Seungcheol is still looking at you, his gaze softer now.

You roll your shoulders, avoiding his gaze. “It’s not that bad.”

He sighs, stepping closer. “He said you only get four hours of interrupted sleep, if that.”

You groan. “Can you both stop?”

But Jeonghan is looking at Seungcheol with something like understanding now. “And yet, she slept well with you?”

Seungcheol nods. “Didn’t even wake up once.”

Jeonghan lets out a low chuckle. “Damn.” He glances at you. “Looks like you’re screwed.”

You glare. “How?”

Jeonghan gestures lazily between you and Seungcheol. “Because you like him. And your subconscious trusts him.” He grins. “And knowing Cheol? He’s not letting that go.”

You groan again, pressing your forehead against the door. “I should’ve stayed outside.”

Seungcheol chuckles, stepping even closer, voice softer now. “I don’t mind.”

You peek at him, hesitant. “Don’t mind what?”

He shrugs. “Being the person you can actually rest with.”

And that—that’s the moment you realize you’re in deeper than you ever planned to be. You don’t say anything for a moment, just stare at Seungcheol, feeling your heartbeat pick up. Then you turn sharply to Jeonghan, who is looking way too pleased with himself.

"Get out."

Jeonghan snorts. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." You point to the door. "Get. Out."

Jeonghan laughs, standing up. "Wow. I help you realize your feelings, and this is the thanks I get?"

"You’re not helping."

"Sure I am," he says, already grabbing his things and the take out bag. He turns to Seungcheol with an exaggerated pat on his shoulder. "Take care of our girl, yeah?"

Seungcheol smirks. "I plan to."

You shove Jeonghan toward the door. "Out!"

He barely dodges your foot as you fake a kick at him. "Alright, alright, I’m going! No need to get violent." He winks. "You two have fun." You slam the door in his face, exhaling hard before turning back to Seungcheol, who is now watching you with his usual unreadable expression.

"Sorry about him," you mutter, rubbing your temples.

Seungcheol just shrugs. "I don’t mind." Of course, he doesn’t.

You cross your arms, still feeling the remnants of irritation from Jeonghan’s meddling. “So? Why’d you drop by?”

Seungcheol leans back against your couch like he has all the time in the world. “You weren’t answering my texts.”

You blink. “That’s it?”

His lips twitch slightly, like he’s amused. “You usually text back, even if it’s just to tell me to go away.”

You look away, suddenly feeling warm. “I was busy. And you didn’t just come all the way here because of a few missed texts, Seungcheol.”

He shrugs. “Maybe I did.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “You have a company to run. You don’t have time for things like this.”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You don’t think you’re worth my time?”

You freeze. That wasn’t what you meant, but now, hearing it like that… You shift awkwardly. “That’s not—”

“Because you are,” he says, completely serious now. “And I don’t mind making time for you.”

Your throat feels suddenly tight, so you break eye contact, looking anywhere but at him. “…You’re annoying.”

He chuckles. “You say that a lot.”

You huff, turning toward the kitchen. “Whatever. I’m getting something to drink.”

As you walk away, you don’t see his smile soften, but you do hear him say, “I’ll take a coffee if you’re offering.”

As you set down a cup of coffee in front of him, Seungcheol watches you closely. His voice, quieter now, carries none of the teasing from earlier.

“Is it true?”

“What?”

He tilts his head, studying you. “What Jeonghan said. That you don’t sleep well.”

Your fingers tighten slightly around your own cup. You shouldn’t be surprised—of course Jeonghan would tell him. But something about hearing it from Seungcheol, hearing him ask so gently, makes your stomach twist.

You exhale, feigning nonchalance. “It’s not a big deal.”

“That’s not an answer.”

You sigh, setting your cup down. “It’s true. I’ve had trouble sleeping for a long time. Four hours on a good night, but it’s usually not restful.” You try to sound casual, but admitting it out loud feels weirdly vulnerable.

Seungcheol’s jaw tightens, like he’s holding something back. “And the other night? When you fell asleep on me?”

You hesitate, then force yourself to shrug. “I guess I was just really tired.”

He hums, swirling his coffee absently. “Or maybe you finally felt safe enough to sleep properly.”

His words make you freeze. Seungcheol watches you carefully, then speaks again, even softer. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You scoff lightly, trying to cover the sudden, unsteady feeling creeping in. “It’s not exactly first-date conversation.”

He smirks, but there’s no real amusement in it. “We skipped that part anyway.”

You roll your eyes, but he doesn’t let it go. “I mean it,” he says. “If it’s something you struggle with… I want to know. I want to help.” Your heart clenches. You’re not used to this—someone caring this much.

You exhale, looking away. “It’s just how it’s always been. I got used to it.”

Seungcheol watches you for a moment, then leans back, stretching an arm along the back of your couch. “That doesn’t mean you have to deal with it alone.” A strange warmth settles in your chest. You don’t respond right away, but for the first time in a long time, you think maybe—just maybe—you don’t have to.

Seungcheol is naturally thoughtful, in his own way. The way he takes up space in your life has always been subtle yet persistent. But then, you start noticing more.

It’s little things at first. A new set of blackout curtains showing up at your place with a casual, “Figured they might help,” when he drops by. A bottle of melatonin on your kitchen counter that wasn’t there before, though he never mentions it. One night, when you’re at his place, you find a weighted blanket neatly folded at the end of his couch. You give him a suspicious look, but he just shrugs. “Jeonghan said it helps,” is all he says.

And then there are the nights.

You don’t even realize it at first, but he starts staying later. It’s not obvious—he doesn’t make a big deal out of it. Some nights, when you’re curled up on his couch, watching some random movie, you doze off without meaning to and he doesn’t wake you up.

It only clicks when, one night, you stir awake just enough to register the warmth at your side, the solid presence of Seungcheol beside you. His arm is draped loosely over the back of the couch, but his fingers are grazing your shoulder lightly, like he’s debating moving you or just staying still.

Then, carefully you feel him shift just enough to pull a blanket over you. His fingers brush against your arm for a second before he stills completely.

The next morning, when you wake up in your own bed, you realize—he must’ve carried you there before leaving. For the first time in a long time, you’re sleeping better. And you know it’s because of him.

Another night, something unexpected happened. Your fingers are barely grasping the hem of his shirt, like even in your half-asleep state, you don’t want to let go.

He looks down at you—your face relaxed in sleep, your breathing even. It’s rare to see you like this, vulnerable and unguarded. He knows how much you struggle to sleep, how restless your nights usually are. And yet, tonight, you’re not just asleep—you’re at peace.

And you want him to stay.

He swallows, hesitating. His instinct is to leave, to give you space, to not push. But then, your grip tightens just slightly.

“Stay,” you murmur, voice barely audible.

His chest tightens.

He exhales softly before finally relenting. He carefully shifts, settling back onto the couch beside you. You naturally gravitate toward him, your head resting against his shoulder. He doesn’t dare move, doesn’t want to break the moment.

Minutes pass, and then, without thinking, he reaches for the blanket draped over the back of the couch and pulls it over the both of you.

You sigh, a content little sound that makes his heart clench.

Seungcheol stares at the ceiling for a long time, completely still. He was supposed to leave. But instead, he stays.

The morning light filters softly through your curtains, casting a golden hue over the room. You blink groggily, your body warm and comfortable in a way you haven’t felt in a long time. You’re in your room now, that’s when you notice him.

Seungcheol is still asleep beside you. For a moment, you just stare. His breathing is slow and steady, his face completely relaxed. The sight is… nice. Too nice.

The second he sees you awake, his lips curl into a lazy smile. “Morning,” he murmurs, voice still thick with sleep.

Then, before you can stop yourself, you mumble, “I like your dimples.”

It’s soft, barely above a whisper, but he hears it. Seungcheol’s smile widens, and just like that, his dimples deepen. You immediately bury your face into the pillow, realizing what you just said.

He chuckles, his voice still husky. “You like my dimples?”

You groan. “Forget it.”

“Nope,” he says, his amusement clear. “Too late. You said it.”

You peek at him from the pillow, your cheeks warm. He’s still smiling, still looking at you with that soft, fond expression. It makes your heart stutter.

You don’t talk about that night—not really—but you feel it lingering in the air, in the way he looks at you a second too long, in the way your body leans just a little closer to his without thinking.

He still checks in on you, still sends those random texts that somehow always come right when you need them. He still helps you sleep—whether it’s subtle things like sending you links to calming music or, on the nights you really struggle, staying until you doze off.

And then there’s you.

You find yourself texting him first sometimes. You don’t push him away when he’s close. You even catch yourself looking at him a little too long, memorizing the curve of his smile, the shape of his eyes, the way he somehow always smells really, really nice.

You don’t know when it happened, when he became someone you reach for instead of push away but it’s happening.

It’s a slow, quiet weekend. The kind where you don’t feel like doing much, so instead of going out, you’re at his place.

Seungcheol is on the couch, arm draped lazily along the backrest while you sit beside him, legs tucked under you. Your mind drifts, thinking about something, debating whether or not to ask.

You hesitate. You open your mouth, then close it. And of course, he catches it.

“What?” he asks, turning his head slightly toward you.

“Nothing,” you mumble, shaking your head.

But Seungcheol isn’t the type to let things go so easily. His hand finds your waist, tugging you just a little closer. “No, come on. What is it?”

You fidget, suddenly feeling ridiculous for even thinking about it. “It’s stupid.”

He scoffs. “You do realize I put up with your so-called ‘stupidity’ on a daily basis, right?”

You roll your eyes. “Great way to convince me to talk, Cheol.”

He chuckles, squeezing your waist lightly in encouragement. “Okay, okay. I’m serious. What is it?”

You hesitate again, fingers fiddling with the hem of your sweater. “I just… I wanted to know your favorites.”

“My favorites?”

“Yeah. Like… your favorite color, favorite food, drink—just… everything.” You shift, feeling a little embarrassed now. “But I didn’t want to sound annoying.”

Seungcheol stares at you for a moment, and then he groans. Like you just physically pained him. Like you just did something devastating.

You blink. “What?”

He grabs your face, thumb brushing over your cheek. “Do you even realize how cute you are right now?”

You push at his chest, groaning. “Oh my god, Cheol.”

“No, seriously.” He pulls you closer, practically caging you in. “You’re pouting. You’re actually pouting. Do you even know what you’re doing to me right now?”

“I was trying to be serious!”

“I am serious.” He presses a quick kiss to your forehead, grinning. “You’re adorable. And for the record, you could never be annoying.”

The action felt so natural you didn't even register what he did. You just let yourself relax against him. “So, tell me then.”

He hums, pretending to think. “Well, my favorite color is black.”

“Figures.”

“My favorite food…” He pauses, then smirks. “Lately, anything you make.”

You scoff. “Liar.”

“I’m dead serious. Even when you mess up, it’s good.”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t fight the warmth spreading through your chest. “Okay, what about your favorite drink?”

“Hm. Coffee, obviously.”

You nod, committing each answer to memory. You keep going, asking about little things—his favorite season, his favorite scent, even his favorite childhood memory. And he answers every single one. Somewhere in the middle of it, you rest your head against his shoulder, and he lets you.

Eventually, he asks, “Why the sudden curiosity?”

“Just wanted to know more about you.”

He chuckles, resting his chin atop your head. “Then ask me anything, anytime. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

It’s quiet for a moment. Just the faint hum of the TV and the steady rhythm of his breathing beside you. Your head is still resting on his shoulder, and his fingers are tracing mindless patterns along your sleeve.

And then, so softly, you whisper, "Why do you like me?"

You don’t know why you ask. Maybe it’s been lingering in your mind for too long, sitting in the back of your thoughts, waiting for a moment like this to slip out. Maybe you’ve been too scared to say it until now.

Seungcheol doesn’t answer right away. You feel him shift slightly, his head tilting down toward you. His fingers stop their slow tracing. Then, slowly, his arms tighten around you, pulling you in closer, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away.

And finally, he smiles.

“Because it’s you.” Simple. Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Like it was never even a question to begin with.

Your heart stumbles.

He keeps going, voice quieter now, like he’s letting you in on a secret. “You don’t even realize it, do you? The way you pull people in without even trying. The way you act all guarded, but deep down, you care so much it hurts. You pretend to be tough, but you—” He exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You’re probably the softest person I know.”

You swallow, suddenly unable to breathe properly.

“You make people want to stay,” he says, gaze warm, unwavering. “You make me want to stay.”

Your chest feels too tight, your throat closing up. It’s overwhelming, too much and not enough at the same time so you don’t say anything.

You just press your face into his shoulder, gripping onto his sleeve like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. He doesn’t push. He just holds you a little tighter. He doesn’t say anything for a while, just lets you bury yourself against him. His fingers move again, slow and steady along your back, tracing something soothing.

And then, in the quiet, he asks—

"What about you?"

His voice is soft, careful. Like he’s giving you a choice. Like he knows you could still push him away if you wanted to. You stay still, trying to ignore the way your heart is suddenly racing.

Seungcheol waits.

You don’t look at him when you mumble, “What do you mean?”

“You asked me why I like you," he says. "So now I want to know—" He leans in just slightly, enough for his breath to brush against your hair. "Why do you like me?"

You tense. He must feel it, because his arms stay firm around you, like he’s telling you it’s okay. That he’s not going anywhere. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

Because what are you supposed to say? That you like the way he makes you feel safe, even when you’re scared? That you like the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the room? That you like how, even when you try to push him away, he stays?

"I don't know."

Seungcheol hums, but he doesn’t sound disappointed.

"You do," he says, amused. "You're just not ready to say it to me yet but that's okay" he bumps the tip of your nose with his finger

That makes your stomach flip. You finally look up at him, and he's already watching you. Not expectantly, not impatiently. Just there. Waiting. And somehow, that makes you want to say it more.

So you whisper, "I like you because..." You trail off, then exhale, pressing your forehead against his chest.

He chuckles. "Because what?"

You groan again. "I don’t know. Because you’re you.”

Seungcheol stills then you feel him smile against your hair, arms pulling you in tighter. He understood what that meant for he said the same thing, but in his mind it meant more and maybe that's how you felt too. But he doesn't push instead he presses his lips against your hair

"Okay," he says, voice full of something you can’t quite place. "I’ll take that."

You don’t know why you do it.

Maybe it’s the warmth of his arms around you, the way he looks at you like you’re something precious. Maybe it’s the way your heart has been hammering against your ribs since he asked but before you can think, before you can stop yourself, you lean in.

A quick press of your lips against his.

Soft. Barely there. You pull away almost immediately, heart pounding, and Seungcheol just blinks at you. Like you’ve stunned him. Like he wasn’t expecting it at all.

And maybe that should make you panic, but instead, you just breathe

"Because you make me feel safe."

Seungcheol’s eyes widen. You don’t stop.

"Because you always stay, even when I push you away. Because you don’t make me feel stupid for being scared." Your voice is quieter now, almost shaky. "Because I sleep better when you’re around."

Seungcheol exhales sharply, jaw tightening. His hands flex against your waist, like he’s holding himself back.

But you’re not done.

"And because—” You swallow, forcing yourself to look at him, to really look at him. “—because I think I like you more than I’m ready to admit."

Something shifts in his expression. And then he moves. His hand lifts, fingers threading gently through your hair, tilting your face up.

"Can I kiss you?" His voice is rough, barely a whisper. You don’t trust yourself to speak, so you just nod. And then his lips are on yours, slow and deep and warm.

And this time, you don’t pull away. You don’t know how long you stay like that. kissing him, feeling the warmth of his hands steady on your waist, his breath mingling with yours.

It’s slow, unrushed, like he has all the time in the world for you. When you finally pull away, you’re both breathless. He presses his forehead against yours, his hands still holding you close. His eyes are closed, like he’s savoring this moment, like he’s trying to commit every second to memory.

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this," he murmurs.

Your fingers tighten around his hoodie. "Have you?"

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his gaze soft but serious. "Yeah. Since the first night I met you."

You let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head. "Liar."

"I’m not lying." His thumb brushes over your cheek, his touch unbearably gentle. "You walked up to me, all confident, all fire. And I knew I was in trouble."

You roll your eyes, but your heart is thudding painfully in your chest.

"I’m serious," he says, tilting his head. "You think you’re the only one who got caught up in something bigger than they expected?"

You don’t know how to respond to that. So you just stay there, pressed against him, his warmth seeping into you.

Eventually, he sighs, pulling you even closer, until your head rests against his chest.

"Are you going to run away again?" he asks, voice quieter now.

You hesitate. Then, with a small shake of your head, you mumble against his hoodie, "Not this time."

Seungcheol chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Good," he whispers. "Because I’m not letting you go."

A few days passed since then.

You’re mid-story, animatedly recounting something that happened at work. something about a ridiculous customer complaint and how Jihyo nearly lost her mind handling it. You’re laughing, shaking your head as you lean back against the passenger seat

“So then, Jihyo turns to me and goes, ‘Do you think your boyfriend would cover bail if I strangled this guy?’ And I was like—”

You don’t notice the slip.

But he does.

Seungcheol doesn’t say anything at first, but his grip tightens just slightly on the steering wheel. His lips twitch like he’s holding back a smirk. You keep talking, unaware, until the silence stretches just a little too long, and you finally glance at him.

“What?” You frown at his expression, at the barely concealed amusement in his eyes.

He hums, tilting his head slightly. “Nothing.”

You narrow your eyes. “No, what?”

He shrugs, but that damn smirk is there now, full and knowing. “Just thinking about what you just said.”

Your brows furrow, replaying the conversation in your head—until it clicks. Your eyes widen slightly.

“Oh.”

“Oh,” he repeats, mockingly

Your face heats up instantly, and you groan, covering it with your hands. “Forget it. I misspoke.”

“Mmm,” he hums, clearly unconvinced. “I don’t know. Boyfriend, huh?”

You glare at him from behind your fingers. “You heard nothing.”

He chuckles, so pleased with himself. “I definitely did.”

You groan louder, sinking into the seat, but he just reaches over, lacing his fingers through yours as he drives.

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs, squeezing your hand. “I like the sound of it.”

You grumble under your breath, something about him not even asking you. Seungcheol hears it, of course. He always hears everything.

“What was that?” he asks, tilting his head slightly.

“Nothing,” you say quickly, looking out the window.

He scoffs, giving your hand another squeeze. “No, no, I definitely heard you.”

You sigh, shifting in your seat. “Just saying... You didn’t even ask me.”

He chuckles, amused. “Didn’t think I had to. Thought it was obvious.”

You turn to him, raising a brow. “Oh? And what exactly is obvious?”

“That you’re mine,” he says smoothly, like it’s the simplest truth in the world.

“Cocky.”

He smirks, glancing at you as he slows at a red light. “So? Are you saying I should ask?”

You cross your arms, pretending to think. “Maybe. It’s the proper thing to do, you know. Can’t just go around assuming.”

He hums, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. “Alright then.” He turns to you fully, eyes soft yet unwavering. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

You blink. You weren’t actually expecting him to ask—at least not now. A beat of silence passes. And you just reach for his hand, he smiles looking down at your intertwined hands.

Dating Seungcheol is both a blessing and a menace. Most days, he’s a teasing little shit, poking fun at you, making sly comments just to see you get flustered. But then there are moments—fleeting but potent—where you do something that makes him completely malfunction.

Like now.

It’s like the universe is testing Seungcheol. You don’t even notice. Just plop onto his couch, tugging your knees up, he’s across from you, jaw clenched so tightly it might snap, fingers curled into a fist against his thigh.

“You okay?” you ask, tilting your head.

He exhales through his nose. “Peachy.”

Then there’s the way you touch him so casually, so carelessly. Like now, when you’re leaning over to grab the remote from beside him, palm resting on his thigh for balance. You don’t even think about it. But he does. Oh, he does.

“Sweetheart.” His voice is low, strained.

You pause, remote in hand, blinking at him. “Huh?”

“Nothing,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face, trying to focus on anything that isn’t you.

But the universe isn’t done torturing him yet.

Because then there’s the time you’re at his place late at night, exhausted from work, and you decide to shower there And he’s fine. He really is, until you step out of the bathroom, steam rolling behind you, skin still damp, wearing one of his shirts.

And it’s too much.

You’re rubbing your towel over your hair, completely unaware of the way his gaze darkens. Your legs are bare, your collarbone peeking from where the fabric slips off your shoulder, and when you look up at him and pout because your hair won’t dry properly, he damn near blacks out.

“Come here.” His voice is hoarse.

You step between his legs as he grabs the towel from your hands, gently drying your hair. You close your eyes at the feeling, sighing in content, and something inside him snaps. The towel drops. His fingers card through your damp strands, then skim over your jaw, tilting your face up until your noses are almost touching.

“Why do you do this to me?” he murmurs.

You blink, confused. “Do what?” He exhales sharply, pressing his forehead against yours, trying to steady himself. You’re too close, too soft, too fucking tempting, and you have no idea what you do to him.

He can’t kiss you. He won’t. Not now. Because if he does, he’s not sure he’ll be able to stop. You look at him, genuinely clueless, which makes it so much harder for him.

“No, tell me,” you insist, voice soft but stubborn. You throw your arms around his shoulders, pressing yourself against him like you belong there. Like you have any idea what you’re doing to him.

Seungcheol swallows hard. His hands hover over your waist, unsure whether to pull you closer or push you away before he loses all control. He exhales sharply, eyes flickering between yours and your lips, and fuck you’re looking at him like that, all wide-eyed and waiting, completely oblivious to the war raging inside him.

His fingers tighten around your waist. “Sweetheart,” he warns.

“What?”

“You,” he murmurs, voice low and thick with restraint. “You drive me insane.”

You blink. “Me?”

He scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “Yes, you.”

You tilt your head, lips pursing in thought. Then, with a teasing smile, you press even closer, fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Like… in a good way?”

He groans, dropping his head onto your shoulder, body tense under your touch. “You’re killing me.”

You grin, clearly enjoying this now. “Oh.” You hum, pretending to think. “Should I stop?”

Seungcheol lifts his head, eyes dark as they lock onto yours. “No,” he says, barely above a whisper. “Don’t.”

Instead, you shift, adjusting your position, and in doing so, you press even closer, your breath warm against his jaw. His fingers twitch against your waist. His breathing is uneven now, ragged. You’re playing with fire and you don’t even know it.

You pout. “Why won’t you just tell me?”

He exhales sharply. “Because if I do, I’ll do something reckless.”

Your brows knit together, still oblivious. “Like what?”

One second, you’re tangled in him, his lips hot against yours, his grip firm and possessive. Next, you’re suddenly weightless.

“What the—Cheol!” you yelp as he lifts you effortlessly, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, your arms clinging to his shoulders. He doesn’t give you a chance to react, he strides towards his bedroom like a man on a mission. Before you can even fully process it, he tosses you onto the bed.

You bounce slightly, gasping, and before you can sit up, a blanket is thrown over you, covering you completely.

Then, his voice, rough and absolutely wrecked— “I’m taking a cold shower.”

The bathroom door slams shut. For a moment, you just lie there, wrapped up in the blanket, in shock. Then, the realization of what just happened hits you.

You burst out laughing.

Seungcheol, the ever-composed, ever-in-control man, just physically removed himself from the situation because of you.

After his cold shower, you watch as Seungcheol grabs a pillow—no, two pillows—and shoves them between you, effectively creating a makeshift wall. His jaw is tight, his ears red, and he mutters under his breath, “I’m not taking another cold shower because of you.”

You blink at him, amused. “You make it sound like I’m the problem here.”

He scoffs, pulling the blanket over you properly, tucking you in like you’re some misbehaving child. “Oh, you are the problem.”

You grin, burrowing into the warmth of the bed. “Wouldn’t be a problem if you just—”

“Sleep.” His voice is firm, though the way he fluffs your pillow for you before lying back down betrays his exasperated fondness.

“Really? You think this will stop me?”

Seungcheol groans, throwing an arm over his face. “For the love of God, just close your eyes and go to sleep.”

You smirk in the dark, fingers lightly tapping against the pillow barrier. Then, just to mess with him, you whisper, "Seungcheol." You hear him exhale sharply, like he's really holding on to his patience.

"Baby, please." His voice is strained, almost desperate.

You giggle, completely unbothered, and finally, finally let yourself relax. “Okay, okay. Good night, Cheol.”

He doesn’t respond right away, just sighs heavily. Then, softer this time, “Good night.”

And with that, you finally fall asleep—while Seungcheol spends the next half hour staring at the ceiling, trying to get his heart to calm the hell down.

Things are going good, great even. But of course it's like your mind can't let you have a moment of peace.

The thought hit you out of nowhere, settling like an annoying weight in your chest.

You were out with the girls, sitting in your usual corner of the café, but your mind was far from the conversation. The last few nights replayed in your head—every time you teased Seungcheol, every time he pulled away, walked off.

It made you wonder… What if he doesn’t want you like that?

What if you’d misread everything? What if he was just tolerating you, indulging you even, but deep down, he didn’t actually—

"Okay, what’s up with you?" Jihyo’s voice snapped you back to reality. You blinked, realizing everyone at the table was now looking at you

"Huh?"

Irene smirked. "You’ve been spacing out. Something on your mind?"

You hesitated. You weren’t about to pour your heart out in the middle of a brunch spot, but at the same time, the thought was eating at you.

"It’s just…" You chewed on your lip. "Do you think it’s possible for someone to really like you but…not want you like that?"

Jihyo raised an eyebrow. "You’re talking about Seungcheol, aren’t you?"

You avoided their stares, but your silence was enough of an answer.

Irene sighed, setting her cup down. "He’s a grown man, babe. If he didn’t want you like that, he’d say so. Trust me, men are not subtle when they’re not interested."

"Yeah, but what if it’s not that?" you pressed. "What if he just doesn’t see me that way?"

Jihyo scoffed. "Oh my god, you’re actually dumb."

"Excuse me?"

She leaned forward, eyes sharp. "That man looks at you like you hung the damn moon. He gets all flustered because he’s trying so hard to be good for you. He’s literally suffering, and you’re sitting here thinking he doesn’t want you?"

Irene nodded. "You don’t see the way he looks at you, do you?"

You swallowed, suddenly feeling even more ridiculous. "I just— I don’t know," you admitted. "Every time things get…close, he walks away. And now I can’t stop wondering if maybe—"

"Okay, I’m stopping you right there," Jihyo cut in. "Because if we let you spiral, we’ll be here all day. This is you, the same woman who walked up to him that night all confident and emerged victorious after getting THE Choi Seungcheol's number. Babe, don't doubt what you do to that man"

"Then what do I do?" you asked, exasperated.

She smirked. "You stop overthinking and talk to him, obviously."

And that's what you do. When Seungcheol opened the door, the first thing he saw was your pout. His brows furrowed instantly. "What's wrong?"

You just walked past him, kicking your shoes off, before flopping onto his couch with a dramatic sigh.

"You don’t want me, do you?"

Seungcheol blinked. "What?"

You sat up, arms crossed. "I mean, you like me, but you don’t want me like that."

It took him a full three seconds to process your words. Then, he let out a sharp laugh like the kind you make when you’re so caught off guard you don’t know how else to react.

"Wait, are you serious?"

You narrowed your eyes. "Don’t laugh! I’m being serious."

He ran a hand down his face, inhaling deeply before crouching in front of you. His hands came to rest on your knees, fingers warm against your skin.

"Baby," he said slowly, as if trying to make sure you really heard him. "I want you so badly it’s a problem."

Your face heated. "Then why do you always stop?"

His jaw clenched, and he exhaled through his nose, like he was trying to rein himself in. "Because you’re not just some girl I want to mess around with. You matter to me. And if I’m gonna have you like that, I want to make sure you’re really ready."

You frowned. "I'm a grown woman I can make decsions you know"

"I know"

"And what if I am?" you ask, peering down at him

His fingers flexed against your knees, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. "Then you need to stop looking at me like that," he muttered, voice lower now.

"Like what?" you challenged, tilting your head

His grip on you tightened slightly. "Like you want me to lose every bit of self-control I have."

You held his gaze, feeling your own heartbeat pick up.

"And if I do?"

His jaw locked. For a moment, he just stared at you, like he was weighing every possible option. Then, in one smooth motion, he pushed himself up, towering over you.

"Get up," he murmured.

Your breath caught. "Why?" but you follow his words. Now you’re standing in front of him, look of frustration and something else in his eyes

“The next time you feel like I don’t want you, you have my full permission to hit me on the face”

“Cheol, I’m being serious” you mumble

“So am I, I want you. Always. In ways I didn’t even know I can ever want someone. That’s why I want to do this the right way. So tell your pretty little mind how crazy I am about you, because I will never get tired proving it to you. I want and I will kiss all those worries away, get rid of all those doubts in your head until all you can think about is me.”

The way he’s looking at you tells you everything you needed to know, and his words just proved to you that this man means everything.

The following days, that conversation floated inside Seungcheol's head. Even though you came to him full of worries, which he shut down quite fast, atleast now instead of running away from him you came straight to him for answers.

And to you, that's a big deal. A huge step for you, a big win for him. He's so proud of how far you've come.

That's exactly why now he's staring at his computer screen, but he wasn’t actually reading anything. His mind was elsewhere, circling the same thought over and over.

"Hey."

Joshua’s voice snapped him out of it. He looked up to see his friend leaning against the doorway of his office, arms crossed, a knowing look on his face

"You’ve been spacing out for the past ten minutes," Joshua said, stepping inside. "What’s up?"

Seungcheol exhaled, rubbing his temple. "Nothing."

Joshua raised an eyebrow. "You? Lost in thought like this? Yeah, that’s not ‘nothing.’"

Seungcheol rolled his chair back slightly, leaning against it. His jaw tightened before he finally admitted, "How do you know if it’s too soon to say something?"

Joshua frowned slightly. "Say what?"

Seungcheol hesitated, then shook his head. "Doesn’t matter."

Joshua scoffed, dragging a chair over and sitting down across from him. "Oh, it definitely matters."

Seungcheol let out a slow breath. He wasn’t the type to get caught up in things like this. He had always been rational, controlled. But now?

Now, he was thinking about you. How you felt curled up against him. How you whispered things when you’re half-asleep. How one pout from you and it’s messing with his head without even realizing it.

Joshua watched him closely. "You know you’re terrible at being vague, right?"

Seungcheol let out a humorless chuckle. "Shut up."

Joshua smirked. "It’s about her, isn’t it?"

Seungcheol didn’t respond, which was response enough.

Joshua leaned back, thoughtful. "You’re wondering if it’s too soon to tell her how you feel."

Seungcheol’s fingers tapped against his desk. "It’s... complicated."

Joshua tilted his head. "Is it? Or are you just scared?"

"I’m not scared."

Joshua just smirked, clearly unconvinced. "Uh-huh."

Seungcheol shot him a glare. "I’m not." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk. "I know how I feel."

That was the problem. He wasn’t second-guessing himself. He wasn’t unsure. He knew exactly what he wanted, exactly how much he cared about you. That wasn’t the issue.

The issue was what if he said it and you freaked out? What if you weren’t ready to hear it? What if he messed this up when things were finally good between you two?

He had worked so damn hard to get here, to get past your walls, to get you to trust him. If he said the words too soon, would you take a step back? Would you run?

Joshua was watching him, a knowing look in his eyes. "So... what are you going to do?"

Seungcheol exhaled. "I don’t know."

Joshua nodded slowly. "Well, you better figure it out. Because from what I can see? You’re already in deep."

Seungcheol had been acting different.

It wasn’t anything obvious, nothing anyone else would notice, but you did. He was still the same—still teasing, still touching you when he could, still looking at you in that way that made your stomach flip. But there was something underneath it all, a tension in his shoulders, a weight behind his eyes, like he was carrying something he wasn’t saying.

And you hated that.

You hated when people acted like they wanted to say something but didn’t. It made you anxious, made your mind wander to all the worst possible reasons. Was he mad at you? Annoyed? Regretting something?

You tried to ignore it at first. You didn’t want to overthink things, didn’t want to make a big deal out of nothing. But it had been days, and it was still there.

Like now.

You were at his place, curled up on his couch, your legs resting over his lap as he scrolled through something on his phone. It should’ve been a normal moment but you weren’t relaxed. Not when you could feel it—his energy, the stiffness in his posture, the way he wasn’t fully present.

You narrowed your eyes. "Okay, what’s up with you?"

Seungcheol looked at you, brow raised. "What?"

"Don’t what me," you shot back, sitting up a little. "You’ve been weird. Tense. You keep looking like you wanna say something but then don’t, and I don’t like it."

His mouth parted slightly, but he didn’t say anything. And that just pissed you off more.

You swung your legs off him and sat up properly, arms crossing. "Seriously? You’re still not gonna say anything?"

"There’s nothing to say," he finally answered, running a hand through his hair.

"Bullshit."

His head snapped toward you, startled by the change in your tone

"You think I can’t tell? You think I don’t notice?" You shook your head, jaw clenched. "I hate when people do this. When they keep things to themselves like I’m too fragile to handle it. So either say whatever it is, or stop acting like you’re carrying the weight of the world."

Seungcheol exhaled sharply, leaning back against the couch. "It’s not that simple."

"Why not?"

"Because," he said, voice low, "I don’t wanna mess this up."

That gave you pause.

Your frustration flickered with something else, something softer, something unsure. "Mess what up?"

His eyes met yours then—dark and unreadable, but heavy with meaning. And suddenly, you felt tense. Seungcheol watched as you pushed off the couch, your jaw tight, your movements sharp. You didn’t even look at him as you grabbed your phone and hoodie from the coffee table.

"What are you doing?" he asked, voice low

"Leaving," you said shortly. That one word had something hot and annoyed burning in his chest.

"You’re really gonna walk out just because I don’t want to talk about something right now?"

You let out a humorless laugh. "I don’t wanna say anything else that’s gonna piss me off even more, so yeah, I’m leaving."

Seungcheol stood then, stepping toward you. "You’re mad."

"No shit," you bit out, finally meeting his eyes.

He could see it—the way your hands gripped your hoodie tighter, the way your expression was carefully set, like you were forcing yourself to hold back.

He took another step closer, his voice softer. "Hey."

You didn’t move away, but you didn’t soften either. "Fine," you said, shaking your head. "Don’t say it. Keep whatever it is to yourself. But don’t act like I’m imagining this."

Then you turned toward the door. And for a second, he let you but the moment your fingers touched the handle, something in him snapped.

"Wait."

You paused, but you didn’t turn around. Seungcheol exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. He could let you go. He could pretend this tension between you wasn’t suffocating him, that he wasn’t overthinking every second he spent with you now.

But he couldn’t.

"Wait," he said again, softer this time.

You still didn’t turn around, but you didn’t move either.

"I—" He hesitated, clenching his jaw. He had to say something, or he was going to lose you to this stupid misunderstanding.

"I don’t want to keep anything from you," he admitted. "But I’m trying to figure out how to say it so I don’t fuck this up."

At that, you finally turned, your eyes narrowing. "Fuck what up?"

He let out a frustrated laugh, rubbing his face. "Us, obviously."

Your lips parted slightly, and for the first time, he saw the flicker of doubt in your eyes. "Why would you think that?"

"Because I feel something, and I don’t know if it’s too soon to say it. I don’t know if you’re ready to hear it."

Your breath caught, and he saw your fingers twitch by your side.

"But the way you’ve been looking at me," you whispered, voice quieter now. "It’s been messing with my head. I don’t like not knowing."

"I know," he said, stepping closer. "And I don’t want to make you feel like that."

You held his gaze, searching his expression for something, anything that would make this all make sense. "Then just say it, Seungcheol," you murmured. "Whatever it is."

Seungcheol took a deep breath, his fingers twitching like he was holding himself back. Then, with a quiet chuckle—one that sounded more like surrender than amusement—he finally said it.

"I love you."

The words hung between you, heavy and charged.

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you just stared at him, like your brain needed time to process what he'd just said. "You—"

"I love you," he repeated, firmer this time. "And I know it’s fast, but it doesn’t change the fact that I do."

You were silent, and his heart pounded in his chest. He wasn’t scared of how he felt—he never was—but this was the first time he was terrified of what you’d do with it.

When you finally spoke, your voice was small. "You weren’t going to tell me?"

"I wanted to," he admitted. "But I didn’t want to push you before you were ready."

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides. "You idiot."

His brows lifted. "What?"

Before he could say anything else, you stepped forward and grabbed his face, pulling him down into a kiss. It wasn’t gentle, wasn’t careful—it was desperate, like you were making up for every second you spent doubting him.

He groaned into your mouth, his hands gripping your waist as he pulled you impossibly close. When you finally broke apart, you stayed there, forehead resting against his, breath uneven.

"You love me," you whispered, like you were still trying to believe it.

"Yeah," he murmured, his thumb stroking the side of your face. "I do."

You swallowed hard. "Then say it again."

He huffed out a soft laugh, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips before whispering against them, "I love you."

You just hug him, burying your face into his chest, your arms wrapping tightly around his waist. You don't say it back—not yet—but you don’t freak out either.

"You're an idiot," you mumble against his shirt.

Seungcheol lets out a soft laugh, his hands running up and down your back. "I figured that much"

You pull back slightly, just enough to look up at him. "You're an absolute idiot for thinking I’d run away now."

Something in his expression softens, like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. His fingers tighten slightly where they rest on your waist.

"So... you're not mad anymore?" he asks, a bit cautious, a bit hopeful.

You roll your eyes, but there's no real bite to it. "Maybe at myself. The world, I don't know," you sigh, shaking your head before leaning back into his chest. "But I’m not running away, so you better deal with it."

Seungcheol chuckles, holding you even closer, his chin resting on top of your head. "Oh, I’ll deal with it just fine." he doesn’t let go. If anything, he holds you even tighter, like he's afraid that if he loosens his grip even a little, you might change your mind.

"You know," he murmurs, his voice warm against your hair, "I really wasn’t trying to keep anything from you. I just… I didn’t want to mess this up."

You sigh, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. "You almost did."

He chuckles, but it’s breathy, like he knows how close he came. "Yeah. Noted."

You tilt your head back, looking up at him. His eyes are searching yours, and you can tell he’s still a little hesitant, still waiting for you to process everything.

But you stay there, in his arms, with him. No running away, no deflecting, no hiding away. Then you smile, kissing him softly like you know he'll know what you wanted to say.

And he does.

It's the end of another long workday, the only redeeming part of it is when your boyfriend texted you letting you know he'll come and pick you up. Though for Seungcheol it's the norm, he just likes updating you.

He barely has time to react before you're already right in front of him, practically bouncing on your feet. His eyes widen slightly at your enthusiasm, and then—he smirks.

"What’s with the happy energy?" he teases, arms already opening for you.

You don’t even answer, just throw your arms around his neck, hugging him tight. "I just missed you," you mumble against his shoulder.

He chuckles, wrapping his arms securely around your waist. "Yeah?" he murmurs, voice warm. "That much?"

You nod, still clinging to him. "Mhm. And my day was annoying, so fix it."

He huffs a small laugh and pulls back slightly to look at you. "Fix it, huh? And how am I supposed to do that?"

You dramatically sigh. "I don’t know. Be my boyfriend or something."

Seungcheol grins, tilting his head. "Oh? Thought I already was."

You roll your eyes but can’t hide your smile. "You are. I’m just reminding you."

He chuckles, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before opening the car door for you. "Well then, let me take my girlfriend home."

You pretend to think. "Hmm… ice cream first?"

His eyes narrow playfully. "So that’s why you missed me." He laughs, shaking his head, before pulling you into another hug. "Alright, ice cream first. Then home."

Seungcheol glances at you from the driver’s seat, watching as you hum along to the song playing on the radio, fingers drumming idly against your thigh. There’s something light about you now, something warm and unguarded.

He never thought he’d get to see you like this. Not after how hard you pushed him away in the beginning. But now, here you are—grinning at him like he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you.

"What?" you ask, catching his stare.

He shakes his head, a soft smile tugging at his lips. "Nothing. Just… I like seeing you like this."

You blink. "Like what?"

"Happy," he says simply.

Your smile falters just a little, eyes searching his like you’re trying to understand him. You still have those moments, where doubt creeps in, where you hesitate—but they’re fewer now. And even when they do come, Seungcheol just holds on tighter.

"I am happy," you finally say, quieter now.

His hand reaches for yours, fingers intertwining effortlessly. "Good."

For a while, neither of you say anything. You just hold his hand, tracing little shapes against his skin absentmindedly. He doesn’t miss the way you squeeze his fingers, like you’re reassuring yourself that he’s really there.

It hits him all at once—how much he loves you.

How every part of you, even the difficult parts, even the stubborn parts, only makes him love you more.

That night, you’re at his place again, curled up on the couch with him. The TV is on, but neither of you are really watching. You’re leaning against his side, playing with his fingers, and Seungcheol just watches you—completely, utterly taken by you.

"You’re staring again," you mumble without looking up.

"Told you, can’t help it," he says, voice warm with amusement. You roll your eyes but don’t pull away. Instead, you let out a little sigh and shift closer, practically molding yourself against him.

"Comfy?" he teases.

You nod against his chest. "Mhm. You’re warm."

Seungcheol chuckles, wrapping his arms around you, holding you close. These are the moments he treasures the most—the quiet ones, when you let yourself just be with him without hesitation.

"You’re staying over, right?" he asks after a while.

You hum, considering it. "Do you want me to?"

He scoffs. "Obviously."

A small smile tugs at your lips. "Okay."

Seungcheol grins, satisfied. But then you shift again, resting your chin on his chest, looking up at him with that thoughtful expression he knows too well.

"What?" he asks.

You hesitate, like you’re deciding whether or not to say what’s on your mind. But then, after a beat, you ask, "What did you think of me when we first met?"

Seungcheol raises a brow. "You mean when you walked up to me all confident like you owned the place?"

You groan, burying your face in his shirt. "Forget it."

He laughs, pulling you even closer. "No, no. I liked it. I thought you were interesting. A little reckless, but definitely interesting."

You peek up at him. "And now?"

Seungcheol’s gaze softens, thumb brushing gently over your cheek. "Now I think you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me."

You stare at him for a moment, and Seungcheol swears he sees a million thoughts flicker across your face. But in the end, you don’t say anything—you just smile, a little shy, and nuzzle back into his chest.

He holds you tighter, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

Yeah, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

It happens so naturally that neither of you realize it at first.

It’s a lazy weekend morning, the kind where neither of you are in a rush to do anything. You spent the night at his place again, and now you’re curled up under the covers, half-awake, watching Seungcheol pull on a hoodie as he gets ready to leave for the gym.

"I’ll be back soon," he says, fixing his hair in the mirror

You nod sleepily, your voice still thick with drowsiness. "Okay. Bye, I love you."

Seungcheol freezes.

You don’t even notice—you just turn over, snuggling deeper into the blankets, eyes already fluttering shut again.

It takes him a full five seconds to process what just happened.

You said it. I love you. Just like that, so effortlessly, so naturally, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

His heart is pounding.

Does he wake you up? Does he say it back right now? Should he pretend he didn’t hear it and bring it up later? What is he supposed to do with this information?

Seungcheol lets out a breath, running a hand through his hair. He glances back at you—you’re already asleep again, completely unaware of the internal crisis you just threw him into.

With a small, almost incredulous smile, he leans down, brushing a soft kiss against your forehead.

"I love you too," he murmurs, even though you’re not awake to hear it.

And with that, he leaves, a stupid grin on his face the entire way to the gym.

Later when he comes back from his workout, he's practically bouncing on his feet. Seungcheol walks through the door with an energy that’s almost suspicious. He’s humming—actually humming—as he tosses his gym bag aside and heads straight for the fridge to grab a bottle of water.

You, curled up on the couch with your phone, raise an eyebrow at him. "Why are you so jolly?"

He grins, twisting the cap off his water bottle. "Can’t a guy just be in a good mood?"

"No, not you. You, specifically, are annoyingly smug right now," you counter, narrowing your eyes. "What happened at the gym? Did you beat Joshua at something?"

Seungcheol lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. "No, nothing like that." He takes a sip of water, still smiling

You watch him for a second, suspicious. "You're acting weird."

"Am I?" he teases, walking over to you. Before you can protest, he flops onto the couch beside you, pulling you into his arms with ease. "Maybe I’m just happy to see my girlfriend."

You squint at him. "Okay, now I know something’s up."

Seungcheol just chuckles, squeezing you tighter as he buries his face into your shoulder. "You’re overthinking, baby."

You poke his cheek, trying to get a read on him. He’s still grinning, a little too happy, but whatever it is, he’s clearly not going to tell you. You sigh, deciding to drop it—for now.

Instead, you rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. He kisses the top of your head, and even though you don’t know why he’s in such a ridiculously good mood, you find yourself smiling anyway.

Seungcheol holds you close, his chin resting lightly atop your head. His voice is quieter now, softer, just for you. "I love you."

It’s not the first time he’s said it, and he never expects you to say it back—not until you’re ready.

But today, it feels different.

Today, he heard it from you first, even if you didn’t realize it. You shift slightly in his arms, letting out a sleepy hum, but you don’t react beyond that. You’re still completely unaware of what you said before he left earlier.

Seungcheol doesn’t mind, though. The words are still lingering in his chest, making everything feel a little bit lighter, a little bit warmer. He tightens his hold on you, just a little. He’ll wait until you’re fully aware of it, until you choose to say it again—because he knows you will.

For now, though, he just lets himself enjoy the moment.

What he doesn’t know is that you've been thinking about it too.

You didn’t realize how much space the thought was taking up in your head until recently. how much you wanted to say it, how much it sat at the tip of your tongue every time he smiled at you, every time he pulled you closer without a second thought.

You've always been cautious with your feelings, but with Seungcheol, it feels different. It is different.

"You're thinking too hard," he finally says, pulling you from your thoughts.

You blink, turning to him. "What?"

His eyes crinkle with a teasing grin. "You're staring at the TV, but you haven’t reacted to anything in the last twenty minutes. Either you’re really bad at watching dramas, or something’s on your mind."

You open your mouth, then close it again, hesitating. If only you knew that he was fighting the same battle—wondering when you'd say it, waiting to hear it again, completely unaware that it had already slipped past your lips once before.

You exhale, shaking your head. "It’s nothing."

Seungcheol just hums, reaching over to tug you into his side. He doesn’t press, doesn’t push. Neither of you knows that you’re both waiting for the same thing.

You feel the warmth of his palm as he rubs gentle circles on your back. His voice is soft, comforting, steady—just like him.

"You know you can tell me, right?" he murmurs, his eyes searching yours. "Anything. I’ll be here. But take your time."

Your fingers tighten slightly around the fabric of his hoodie. You want to say it. You really do. The words feel heavy on your tongue, but there’s still something in you that holds back—maybe fear, maybe habit.

Seungcheol doesn’t push. He never does. He just stays close, waiting, patient as ever.

You nod, resting your forehead against his shoulder. "I know."

And he just smiles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Good."

Little does he know, the next time you say it, you’ll be wide awake and it happened in the middle of a completely ridiculous argument.

“You’re doing it wrong,” you insist, arms crossed as you watch him attempt to assemble the shelf you bought.

He scoffs, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. “I’m doing it wrong? I literally followed the instructions!”

“You’re not supposed to tighten that part first! It’s going to make the other side uneven.”

“That makes no sense.” He stares at you, completely baffled. “How does that even—?”

“Cheol, baby, I love you, but you’re being so stubborn right now.”

Silence.

Your own words register a second too late, and your eyes widen in horror. Seungcheol, on the other hand, freezes mid-motion, screwdriver in hand, looking at you like you just knocked the wind out of him.

You both just… stare at each other.

Then he slowly puts the screwdriver down, standing up to his full height, taking a step toward you. “What did you just say?”

You immediately backtrack. “I said you’re stubborn—”

“No, no, before that.” His lips are curving into a slow smile now, eyes practically glowing with amusement.

Your face burns. “I—nothing, it’s nothing—”

He traps you against the counter in a second, hands braced on either side of you. “Say it again.”

Your heart is pounding. “Cheol—”

“Sweetheart—” he drawls, voice teasing.

You groan, covering your face with your hands. “I hate you.”

He chuckles, effortlessly prying your hands away. “That’s not what you said.”

“I am never speaking again.”

His grin softens as he leans in, pressing his forehead against yours. “Too bad, ‘cause I love hearing you say it.”

And just like that, he kisses you, completely ruining your ability to argue back. Seungcheol pulls back just enough to look at you, his lips still curved into that teasing grin. “Say it again.”

You groan, trying to push him away, but he doesn’t budge. “Cheol—”

“Come on, just once more.” His voice is soft, coaxing, as if he’s trying to savor the moment.

You purse your lips, pretending to think. “Hmm. No.”

His grip on your waist tightens as he buries his face against your shoulder, groaning dramatically. “Baby, please.”

You laugh at how genuinely desperate he sounds. “I already said it once—”

“You accidentally said it. I need to hear it properly.” He pulls back again, looking at you with those warm brown eyes, filled with so much adoration it makes your stomach flip. “Please?”

You bite your lip, trying to hold back your smile, but it’s impossible. “I love you,” you finally mumble, cheeks warm. A full-blown grin takes over his face, and before you can react, he lifts you off the ground, spinning you around.

“I knew it! I knew you loved me!”

You yelp, holding onto him for dear life. “Cheol—put me down!”

“Never,” he declares dramatically, but he does set you back on your feet only to pepper your face with kisses, making you giggle.

He pulls back just slightly, his hands cradling your face. “Say it one more time?”

You roll your eyes, but the way he’s looking at you makes your heart melt. So you cup his face in return, smiling softly as you whisper, “I love you, Seungcheol.”

He kisses you like he’s been waiting forever to hear that. And honestly, you think you could get used to this.

You never thought you’d be here. Wrapped up in Seungcheol’s arms on a lazy Sunday morning, his even breathing against your hair, your legs tangled together like there wasn’t a time you used to push him away.

It still amazes you sometimes. How this happened. How he happened.

Seungcheol shifts, arms tightening around you as he mumbles something incoherent. He’s warm, comfortable, and you let yourself sink into him for a little longer before peeking up at his face.

“Hmm?”

“I said,” he repeats, voice raspy from sleep, “you should get up and make breakfast today.”

You snort. “No thanks.”

He groans dramatically. “You’re lucky I love you.”

That makes you pause, thinking back to how long it took you to get here—to be able to hear those words and not flinch, to not shut him out at the first sign of something real.

When you first met him, you were all sharp edges and walls built so high even you weren’t sure how to break them down. You’d walked into his life all confidence and bravado, pretending like you could handle him, only to realize you’d bitten off more than you could chew.

And still, he stayed.

Through every time you tried to push him away, through every moment of doubt, through every scar you never wanted to talk about—he stayed. He waited.

“You okay?” he murmurs now, pulling back to look at you. His eyes are soft, filled with something so deep it makes your chest ache.

You nod, smiling a little. “Yeah.”

“Hmm.” His gaze lingers like he knows you’re thinking about something, but he doesn’t push. He never does. He just looks at you with love you thought you'll never feel again, arms feeling like a home you thought you'd never find.

So, naturally, you decide to ruin the moment.

“Though, if we’re talking about luck,” you muse, dragging a finger down his chest, “you are the lucky one here.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yes.” You hum, barely biting back a grin. “Because who else would deal with your ridiculous gym obsession, your clinginess, and—oh! The way you steal the blankets every night?”

Seungcheol gasps, scandalized. “I steal the blankets?”

“Yes.”

“Baby, you are the thief here. I wake up freezing at least twice a week because you bundle yourself up like a burrito—”

“Sounds like a you problem.”

He huffs before suddenly rolling over, pinning you beneath him. “You’re lucky I’m patient.”

You grin up at him. “You’re lucky I let you love me.”

"Baby, give credit where it's due. I worked hard to be here" he jokingly says, cuddling you even more. And he really did, he is exactly the man he said he is. He didn't leave, he stayed when it mattered. He never let you go when you wanted to disappear.

To him, you will always be worth all that wait. It wasn't luck. It was him being sure of you from that very first night. It was luck when you saw him that night at the bar.

But the rest, that's all him and you. It's hardwork but with the person, with you, it's easy.

And that’s why, despite all the teasing and the banter, you lift a hand to cup his cheek and whisper, “Thank you for waiting for me.”

That makes something flicker in his eyes, something real and tender, because you both know how hard it was for you to accept love—to accept him.

His face softens, and he leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Always.”

And really, this is how life with Seungcheol is—full of laughter, playful teasing, and more love than you ever thought possible. You never expected to let someone in so completely, but here he is, and you wouldn’t change a thing.

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