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coupsalchemy · 3 days ago

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Hothouse Flower [Part 1]

Summary - Your five year relationship with him ended two years ago. You need to move on, have to, since you are the only one stuck in the past. Jeonghan moved on, happy, gallivanting away. When you finally agree to meet up a fellow heartbroken stranger set up by 'Get Love Quick', you didn't expect to see him there.

Tags: Jeonghan x f.reader, exes! au, second chance romance, angst, yearning, fluff, suggestive, SLOW BURN

Warnings: mdni, very suggestive (at least in the next part), fist fight, mentions of blood, just a very angry Jeonghan, swearing, and a lot of grammatical mistakes as English isn't my first language.

Word Count: 21k (this part, total 40k)

A's Note: I've been working on this for like four months. Please get ready for the angst and yearning. The birth of this story took place from Don't Wanna Cry Jeonghan falling onto his knees in yearning, and the song 'no one noticed by the marias'.

I wanted to write a story where reader gets to forget everything and be in the world of the fiction, enjoy momentary bliss instead of the bitter taste of life, at least for some time. So by the time you complete reading this part, next part would have already been uploaded. If I succeeded in making you forget everything and you enjoyed the fic please let me know so I can stare at your message for eternity in happiness.

Also I want to thank my two friends who have been patiently answering my questions, and kept on encouraging me all the time. If not for you two this wouldn't have happened. Thank you!!

divider credits to the rightful owner.

⌜ If anyone else were to kiss me, all they would taste is your name.⌟

— Clementine von Radics

“You should try this,” Seungkwan places the folded worn out newspaper on your work desk, looming over you like a dark cloud before rain. Nothing good is going to come out of this.

With a sigh you minimize the word document you have been working on, and focus on the headline of the advertisement, Get Love Quick. “If you have time to find crap then you have time to prepare the deck.”

Seungkwan tsks. “I have time till this Friday.” He drags the chair from the next cubicle, making a home for himself. “Send in an application.” He shoves the paper back to you, sending your notebook flying. “It’s high time for you to move on.”

You reopen the word document glaring at the words and hit random letters on the keyboard with more force, “I have work unlike someone. If you leave me alone.”

“Come on,” he insists, locking your system and turning your chair in his direction. “You have to get out of that four walls of darkness you call a room,” his gaze is firm, the frown line between his eyebrows makes you think. He isn’t going to back away like the other times, this time he is serious.

You fall back into your chair, gnawing on your lower lip. The words on the newspaper glares at you, in mockery or a challenge, you couldn’t say.

Find your other broken hearted half..

It’s been more than a year since you went on a date. You are sure that even the process of dating has changed by now. Fresh after the break up you were relentless, swiping right on guy after guy to rile up your ex, only to end up canceling most of the dates.

The two men you met were good, considerate and even attentive, something you begged from your previous relationship. Their questions and interest in your work, hobbies and daily life solidified their points in gaining the second date.

If not for the constant comparison to a certain long black haired man, who would be cracking jokes on the other two for their pretentiousness. It’s safe to say that you didn’t get a second date with anyone. Eventually the fire to make your ex jealous and show him what he is missing has died down.

“Are you still here?” Seungkwan shakes your arm.

You faze out from your thoughts, “I'm not sure. It’s a lot of work.” You pull your hair to one side, playing with the ends. “I have to dress up, put on makeup and,” you suck in a breath dreading the worst of all, “I have to make stimulating conversations.”

You click your pen, chewing on your lip, losing yourself in thoughts. What you don’t voice out is the fear of losing someone again and losing yourself in the process of clinging onto him to make him stay. You have done it once, and not sure you could do it again. Especially if it’s someone who is not your Jeonghan.

Seungkwan holds your hands in his, he says, “you don’t need to put up an act this time.”

“Hey.” A coworker greets you, crossing the office floor to the elevator.

Seungkwan presses his lips in a thin line, nodding back at the intruder who is already out of earshot. “Anyway, as I am saying,” he goes back to the topic, “no need for an act. Be yourself and the right one will come.”

The strong belief in his words sways your stubborn heart a little, a faint hope flickering in your chest.

“Remember there’s no one you need to get back at this time.” He reemphasizes, “I don’t want to see you pulling that old shit.”

You nod without a second thought, a little scared of his authoritative tone.

“Good.” He presses your hand, eyes softening, studying you. “I have a gut feeling that this is going to be your turning point.” He adds, “a good one. You’ll find someone who understands you as you are.”

The love in his words and caring gestures were what made you you till now. He always dragged you back whenever you were spiraling down the rabbit hole. He doesn’t have a reason to look after you, especially when even your mom has given up on you after a few tries.

“Oh,” his soft voice makes your eyes moist, “I didn’t want to make you cry.”

“I know.”

He ruffles your hair, “straighten up and fight back, my warrior. You can do this.”

You laugh, wiping the corner of your eyes. “Warrior?”

“Frontline army?”

You push him away, “go back, Seungkwan. Our boss is already glaring.” You backspace the crap you have written on the report. “We are one call away from the HR office.”

“Ugh,” he fixes his tie, “that old retard should find someone else to stalk.” He slowly rolls away to the next cubicle leaving the chair in its rightful place. “Think about it. Okay?”

“Thank you, Seungkwan.”

“Anything for you.”

—

You wake up with a start, your mind in a haze. The rotating ceiling fan spins your head making your dizziness worse. You fight with the comforter rolled around you to free your hand, the movements worsen the pounding in your head.

“Ugh, Hannie.” You search for the other side of the bed, your fingers tracing the cold bed sheet. “Huh?”

You open your eyes forcefully, the bright sunshine falling directly on you. You forgot to draw curtains again. The empty space beside you cracks your heart again, the unused pillow still in bright yellow cover mocks you. He is not in your life anymore. You pluck the pillow, hugging it to your chest and inhaling its scent. It doesn’t smell like him anymore.

The warmth of this pillow doesn’t suffice the warmth of him, his midnight cuddles, kisses all over your face when he thinks you are in deep sleep. Your fingers grasp the edges of the pillow, legs curling into your stomach from the ache echoing your entire body.

Longing for Jeonghan has become one with breathing. Each moment and thing is closely intricated with his existence, the reminder of him throwing you back into the pits of suffering. You eye your phone resting beside you, the temptation to check his whereabouts is gripping your chest. Your fingers hover over it succumbing to your desires, but no, not this time, not when he never cared about you. Does he even think about you?

—

Jeonghan smiles at his date reassuringly, “it’s fine. It’s fine. Don’t panic.” He stands up from his seat, approaching her side of the table, “let’s go get you cleaned up.” He holds out his palm, interlacing their fingers.

His confident stride leads them across linen covered tables, wafts of delicious food surrounding them. Familiarity with this restaurant propels his sense of direction, he took this path countless times. He grips her hand, almost crushing, anchoring himself to the present moment.

She squeezes back, peering at him through his shoulder. He runs his fingers through his long hair strands, curling the strays behind his ear. She reaches out, tenderly running her fingertips at the back of his head. He ducks his head down, straightening his suit pants. Her steps stumble into one another, her cheeks blushing with embarrassment.

The kitchen is bustling with waiters coming in and out with orders. A waiter carrying an order is craning his neck, waving his hand to gain Jeonghan’s attention.

Jeonghan frowns at the unprofessional etiquette of the staff, and the waiter’s relentless efforts only irks him further. It strikes him, the reason behind the enthusiasm of the boy. Jeonghan exhales through his mouth. He knew it was a bad idea to dine in this restaurant, but two years is enough time for people to forget.

Oh. How he never learns.

The boy stops in his tracks confused at the lady hiding behind Jeonghan, and the rosary blush on her cheeks complimented with the shy glances at Jeonghan. He drops his hand, unimpressed.

Jeonghan is annoyed, reading the judgemental stare he is receiving. He presses his lips in a thin line, not sparing another glance he leads his date to the washroom. “Go ahead. I’ll be here.” He leans on the wall opposite to the women’s restroom, pocketing his hands.

She hurries in with a blush creeping up her cheeks, matching the red of her dress. He would have found it cute once upon a time, and would have even teased a little. But now, Jeonghan throws his head back a sigh escaping his lips, he can’t even bring to crack a joke or worse lead the conversation from topics other than weather or work.

Silver lining out of all is, this is their second date. Maybe it can lead to something prominent one day. And he can go back to his old ways, find it in himself to laugh and joke around. His gaze flickers to the women’s restroom door, a memory creeping into his mind.

You spilled wine on yourself on a date with him. He tsks, teased you for a klutz while leading you to the washroom. You expected him to stop outside but you should have known how crazy he was. He checked either side before following you in with a false pretense to help you wipe the stain near your chest.

You rolled your eyes at him when his thumb caressed a little longer, understanding his actions. You pinch his arm and he bites his lower lip, suppressing a smile. He looks at you in mockery before squeezing your breast, eliciting a moan, he crashes his lips on you.

“Been a long time,” the waiter reappears before him disturbing him from the memory of his ex. “I hope you remember me.”

Jeonghan’s jaw ticks. The boy, his name tag reads, Dino, is oblivious to Jeonghan's bubbling irritation. He continues, “well, if it was her,” he whispers, checking around for Jeonghan’s date, “she would have recognized me. I can’t believe you let her go.” He shakes his head in disappointment, sneaking glances at Jeonghan.

Jeonghan stands up straight, looming over the younger boy. Darkness exuding from him, now he doesn’t need some little boy to preach what he missed out.

Dino, bad with reading cues continues, “well,” he presses, drawing random figures on the serving tray, “can I… get her number?”

Red flashes in Jeonghan’s eyes, “what?”

Dino takes a step back, eyes shaking, “I-I-I me-mean..” he shields himself with the tray, “yo-you moved on, so, I thought–”

“Thought what?” Jeonghan spits.

“Th-that I sh-should shoot my shot,” Dino musters up courage, squaring his shoulders, head held high, “she is worth the–”

Jeonghan grabs Dino’s collar, “Fuck off you little—”

“Jeonghan? Jeonghan?”

His date grabs his arm off the waiter, “are you crazy? Let him go.”

His date looks at him in worry, her hand still holding onto his arm. Jeonghan snaps at her, “what?” She reels back from him, dropping her hand. Jeonghan closes his eyes, regaining his senses. “Sorry.”

She nods, not meeting his eyes. He scoffs at Dino scurrying away without looking back. “Let’s go.” He leads the way back to their table. This time he doesn’t hold her hand. She jogs to keep up with his pace, reaching out to his hand only to fail. If she is upset she doesn’t show it when he slips his hands into his pockets.

—

“I had fun tonight, Hannie.” She unbuckles her seatbelt, leaning into him, kissing his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispers in his ear.

Jeonghan taps his forefinger against the leather of the steering wheel, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “Yeah.”

She holds his chin, gently nudging him towards her. Her thumb traces his bottom lip, her brown eyes focusing on the slight cracks and splits. “I don’t wanna ask what you are not gonna tell,” she taps on his lip twice, “but I can’t tolerate it happening again.” She holds his gaze, “if I am gonna have you I want all of you.”

He nods.

She presses a kiss on his lips, her soft ones moving against his static ones. He closes his eyes, shutting down the images of someone who is not his date. He sucks on her bottom lip, the cherry flavour of her lip balm on his tongue.

He unbuckles the seatbelt, slips his hand around her nape pulling her in. Their lips move in fervent need, tongues clashing, biting and nipping. Soft whimpers fill in the car, her hands roaming across his chest. “So hot.” She runs her hand through his long hairstrands, tugging at their ends, “You look—” she breathes as he nips her bottom lip “—fucking hot.”

He holds her roaming hand, intertwining their fingers, his eyes still closed, kissing her now swollen lips.

Images of her clouds him, her cheeky smile when he catches her causing ruckus, her droopy eyes yet a blissful look of satisfaction, her kisses in the middle of the night, her taste, her, her, her everywhere.

Her name slips past his lips in a shaky whisper. He backs away from his date, running a hand through his ruffled hair, “fuck.” He holds the hand slipping away from his grasp, “I am sorry. Sorry, it's just the,” he blinks at her teary face, “the..” he falters.

“Goodbye, Jeonghan.” She exits the car. Her flowery scent lingering in his car, a constant reminder of what he fucked up just because he couldn’t forget his ex.

He hits the steering wheel repeatedly. The ghost of his ex is still haunting him, in the corners of his apartment, the track sounds of her favorite sitcom, in his office, and fuck even in his car fiddling with the playlist.

Does he miss you? He doesn’t (it’s killing him).

Jeonghan ignites the car, clicking some random playlist on his phone. He reverses the car, driving through the silent empty streets, humming to the songs to clear his mind off the awkward date.

The community he resides in is a mile away, small stalls and restaurants around the area are bustling. Familiar neighborhood eases his uneasiness. Few more minutes and he can go home to his whiskey and drown himself in sleep. He rolls the car to a stop at a red light. He keeps clicking on the next song.

Her laughter plays on the speakers. Jeonghan drops his phone in a shock, startled to hear the voice he didn’t hear for months. Her giggles fill in his car, “Hannie, Hannie, baby,” cut off with a moan.

Next song starts playing and Jeonghan stares at the screen with a frown. What just happened? He clicks on the previous song, the voice note replaying. A car honks behind him, he drops the phone checking the rear view, he accelerates through the green light, and pulls up to the side.

The voice note replays again and again. The blinkers on his car keep flicking till a police car pulls up to check on him.

—

You fiddle with the silver band on your ring finger, staring at the blank application opened up on your laptop. It has been an hour, and not even one question has been answered. You let out a long sigh, still confused, still hesitant whether you are truly ready to give love a chance again. The questions are simple, What’s your heartbreaking story? The answer to them isn’t, you are not sure you can rehash your heartbreak in words, without getting the need to find him and see how life has been treating him.

You close the laptop and throw it aside on the bed, burying yourself in the comforter, staring at the unoccupied side of the bed and bright yellow pillow. A stray tear wets your pillow, your hand tracing the empty bedside.

—

Jeonghan punches in the words on his keyboard with force since he can’t punch the person in the face. He sits back cross-checking the draft email just in case his thoughts are translated into words subconsciously. Another visit to the HR will for sure land him in trouble.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” His senior, Soobin, raps his knuckles on the table.

Great, Jeonghan can feel the universe breathing down his neck today. He folds the laptop screen, reclining in his seat listening to the rant.

“I can’t believe you messed up man.” Soobin rakes his hand through his hair, plopping on the empty chair, rolling the paper weights around the table. “She is the hottest one dude.” A sleazy grin on his lips, “a goddess in that red dress.” He mimics the shape of her waist line with his hands. Jeonghan raises his eyebrow at the detail. Soobin smiles sheepishly, adding, “She posted a picture on her account.”

Jeonghan wants to throw up at the vulgarity. “If you find her attractive then why don’t you date her?” He opens his laptop back, sending the mail.

“Have to wait till I break up with my current one.” He says with remorse.

Jeonghan grits his teeth, irritation bubbling up in his chest. He tries to tone it down before it escalates into something like throwing him out of his room or worse, throwing a punch. He doesn’t have it in him to sort through another mess and complicate his already stressful life.

Soobin, not heeding to any hints radiating from Jeonghan, dips his fingers into forbidden waters. “But, come on, man.” He leans in with a wicked expression, “admit it she is the hottest one out of all of your exes. And waaaay better than that sorry shit of your ex. I can’t believe you were stuck up on her. She was boring as hell, and I bet the sex was as dull as—”

Jeonghan isn’t sure of his movements, how and when the things ended up in the way they did. Soobin is on the floor, spitting blood. Jeonghan holds the floor, helping himself to stand up from his senior’s body. Grabbing the opportunity, Soobin throws a punch.

Jeonghan falls back on his ass, his ears ringing and knuckles ache like fuck. He clutches his head, watching Soobin scramble on the floor, sliding away from him. Their CEO is standing at the door barking at them.

He stands up, flicking his hand and stretching his fingers. He grabs Soobin before he can go hide behind their head and puts his all into one last punch.

The CEO drags bloody Jeonghan to his cabin while Soobin is taken to the hospital. “You were up for promotion next month,” the CEO scolds, “a director can’t hit a coworker in broad daylight.”

This followed a two hour long lecture mixed with threats of termination. All the while Jeonghan stares outside the window, two birds coddling. Strangely, he is jealous of two birds for having something he once had.

“Yoon Jeonghan!” The head of the company snaps, “do you feel any remorse for bruising one of our most important employees?”

Jeonghan massages the ache in his hand, did he break his bones? He did keep punching Soobin’s jaw until he saw red.

“He had it coming.” He stands up, buttoning up his suit. “I’m quitting. You can write it up as terminated or whatever makes your ass happy.”

—

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!”

You wake up with a jerk, disoriented. Light floods your room, blinding you for a second, and someone is singing happy birthday. A cake with a burning candle is shoved in your face, and were those cats on the cake.

“Blow it,” a high-pitch voice screams in your ears.

You blow the candle, still lost in the happenings in the middle of the night. Cheers and claps snaps you out of your drowsiness, awakening your brain.

Seungkwan is busy squashing the remnants of cake on his girlfriend’s face, and your roommate is standing awkwardly near your bed end. You search for your phone, finding it under your pillow, you read the date. Ah, birthday.

Messages from your friends and family flood your phone, a hope births inside you, maybe, maybe he remembered and wished you this time. You scroll through the notifications slowly in case you miss it. None. Tears brim your eyes, stupid heart, why does it still hope?

“Come on, come on.” Seungkwan drags you out of your bed and into the living room, blasting music and orchestrating a sudden dance battle. You laugh at their antics, momentarily forgetting about the heartache.

—

“We should go for drinks,” Seungkwan announces in the middle of you enjoying each bite of cold noodles. “Enjoy the fact you become a year older and wiser.” He stirs his chopsticks around the noodles.

“Overnight?” You raise an eyebrow, slurping in the noodles.

The waiter refills the water jug, sets it on the wooden table with a clang. You grab Seungkwan’s glass, filling it to the brim before the waiter has an opportunity to do it. “Thank you,” you smile at the younger male, assuming a college student working for extra pocket money, “we got it. Go and take a breather.” You shoo him away.

He bows in gratitude, scurries away grabbing the opportunity of a five minute break. You chuckle reminiscing about your days of waiting tables.

“Too kind,” Seungkwan berates, sipping on the water. “It’s gonna bite your ass someday.”

“I can’t drink.” You go back to the main topic, “it’s weekday. I have an early meeting tomorrow,” you set the chopsticks down at the soar reminder, “a round of drinks sounds good tho.” You sigh wistfully, “but what can one do? I’m not young anymore to bound back after a night of drinking.”

Seungkwan chews at his food a little louder for your taste. “This must be what they mean by growing pains. And you can’t handle drinks. It’s better to not have you drunk since we have an important meeting tomorrow.” He grabs the menu from the holder, skimming through the noodles section again. “Their noodles are tasty.” He murmurs, “ah,” he taps on a ramyeon picture.

He flags down the waiter from before who approaches your table with merriment. Seungkwan narrows his eyes at the wandering gaze of the waiter towards you.

“One ramyeon,” Seungkwan orders, “and a drink please.”

“Anything else for the beautiful lady over here?” His dimple pops out waiting for you to swallow your food.

“No, thank you.” You twirl the noodles around the chopsticks, you slurp the cold noodles enjoying the flavours bursting in your mouth.

Seungkwan chuckles, “poor boy. Look at him walk away like a sad puppy.”

“Huh?”

He shakes his head, “nothing.” He sets his chopsticks down, “did you hear that there’s restructuring happening? I just hope I won’t be transferred again,” he huffs, folding his hands, “I don’t want to leave Nari.”

“And you,” he adds, after a beat.

The meat floats in the broth, you dunk it deeper into the liquid. You prefer to not be mentioned at all rather than being added as an afterthought. Being someone’s priority is a luxury you realized, not after the break up, but rather when you were in a five year long relationship with your ex.

The nights you laid on the bed waiting for your lover to join you were countless, his disinterest in your enthusiasm, and his laid back answers were the slow killers. Labeled as needy and clingy when asked for attention was the threshold point. And yet, you begged him to stay.

A green feeling bubbles in your chest, stabbing the meat piece you nod to Seungkwan’s rant absentmindedly. You catch bits and pieces of how his girlfriend suffered from the long distance during his last transfer, and how he was helpless to pacify her. If only you got a transfer and Jeonghan was desperate for you back then, would he have realized your value? Does he realize your value now?

The answer was glaring back at you. You have seen, stalked, his dates and flings profile, how happy he is, smiling at the pictures, posing intimately and sharing something that was yours first with strangers. How can he be happy after ruining you for anyone else? Making you incapable of loving someone else? Why, only you, can’t replace him where he is mingling as if you never existed?

—

You peek from your computer at the manager’s cabin. He is in a meeting with a team, and it doesn’t end for another thirty minutes. You click the third link of the web results for Get Love Quick. The cursor at the name field blinks, waiting for your input.

It requires a lot more than momentary courage, you realized, your fingers hover over the keyboard hesitant. Are you really ready for this new step in life? The silver band ring glimmers under the fluorescent lights, you take it off and throw it in the drawer. You are going to fill in the form and submit it. If you are matched then it is a future you’s problem.

Filling in the basic information was a breeze, you crack your knuckles preparing yourself for the big ones.

What’s your heartbreaking story?

The keys click-clacks under your fingers, momentary pauses, a tear rolling down your cheek. You hover over the exit button unable to articulate it in words, but you don't want to give up. Not this time.

By the time you press submit, the office is half empty. You check for your friend, he is clutching his head and looking close to breakdown. You clock out of the system for the day, grabbing your things and sauntering towards your distressed friend.

“What’s wrong?” You grab an empty chair and settle next to him.

Seungkwan looks up at you with red eyes, softly whispering your name.

“Hey,” you panic, “tell me what happened?” You hold his hands bracing yourself.

“My name is on the list for transfer,” his voice quivers, “I have to fill in an empty position at this new branch.”

Your heart aches watching your friend breakdown. “Is there no other way?”

He pulls his blue tie free, “I am not sure. God, I didn’t inform her yet. I just,” he exhales loudly, “I wanna try requesting the manager or the higher ups.”

You nod slowly, gears turning in your mind. Seungkwan has been a steady pillar in your life even during the times of crisis. He didn’t walk away when you pushed him off your life.

“By when you have to transfer?”

“Soon, there’s an urgent requirement in Yangsan.” he answers, “I hate it so much. Why always me?”

You pat his shoulders, “I know. But I think it will work out in your favor this time.”

He scoffs, shutting down the computer, and packs his stuff into his bag. “It never works out. One suffering after another is the theme of my life.”

“Believe me, Seungkwan.” You smile.

He pauses in his track, narrowing his eyes, “I know that smile. Don’t do anything stupid, please.”

You smile wider.

—

Jeonghan cradles nearly empty whisky glass to his chest, spreading his legs wide on the couch, reclining back. He sips from the bottle watching six friends lounging in the flat yapping on the TV screen, the laugh track accompanying the show irks him. How can one find comfort from this show? He can never understand it, but he never stops watching it again and again.

He sips on the last drops of the drink, shaking it in hopes to get more out of it. He discards it on the floor, and grabs his phone.

His thumb brushes over the date displayed on the phone. He used to be busy on this day in previous years, planning the day to its perfection, wooing his girl with carefully crafted plans and in the last two years buried in work.

He misses his home being filled with delicious scents of his cooking her favourites, her laughter at some stupid reruns of sitcoms. It’s been so long since his home and his life has seen some daylight.

His thumb hovers over her chat, uncertainty brimming up in his chest. He shouldn’t text her, he reiterates to himself. He scrolls through her unanswered texts right after their break up.

Please. I’ll be better.

-baby, May

Hannie… how can you do this to me?

-baby, May

Don’t leave me, Jeonghan. Please, I can’t live without you. It can’t be that easy to leave me. I beg you. I’ll do whatever you want. I will text you less, call you less, and we can live separately and only visit once a day. Don’t leave me Jeonghan.

-baby, May

[Voicenote 1:43 mins]

-baby, May

Jeonghan quickly scrolls past the voice note, he doesn’t have enough guts to hear you breaking down. If he does he will be standing outside your home, asking you to come back to this toxic union. Somewhere his mind nags, was it always toxic or were you scared to admit your wrongdoings?

Ridiculous

-baby, June

For my sake? For my sake you broke up?????

-baby, June

Be honest there’s someone else right?

-baby, June

You wanted to get rid of me to be with her

-baby, June

Explains the late nights and unanswered calls

-baby, June

YOON JEONGHAN YOU FUCKING BASTARD ASSHOLE AND AND I love you Jeonghan please… please reply I beg you

-baby, July

I’ll change myself the way you want Jeonghan I won’t be needy please I will give you your space I would be one with the wall in your life as long as I can see you everyday I am okay with anything

-baby, July

Did you loathe me that bad? I heard you already moved on. Is she prettier? Is she self-sufficient? Is she better than me?

-baby, August

[photo of your date holding your hand]

-baby, August

Ah so you really don’t care about me anymore.

-baby, August

I gave you five years of my life. You could have ended it in the first year. Could have spared me the heartache.

-baby, September

It feels like dying. Is this how people feel in their last moments? How can you be so happy while I’m scraping myself off the floor?

-baby, October

Happy birthday

-baby, October

Good luck with your life.

-baby, December

Jeonghan notices the unsent message sitting in the type bar.

Should we try again

He contemplates on sending it, but decides otherwise. He backspaces the message, he scrolls deeper into their conversation when things are rainbows and sunshine.

Hannie Hannie my dear Hannie saw you again in the sky shining brighter than ever… my sun 🌞

-baby

😒

-Jeonghan

Get back to work

-Jeonghan

He remembers smiling ear to ear in the office, rereading her message in the singsong tone of hers. He was fluid like water throughout his work that day, acing every meeting and task, humming all along.

Saw a baby playing with a baby chick 🐤

[photo]

-baby

Sooooooooooo CUTE

-baby

I JUST WANT TO GO AND BITE HIS CHEEKS

-baby

Can I do that 🥺

-baby

Didn’t know our date is at jail tonight

-Jeonghan

Jeonghan laughs at their conversation. Rolling onto his side he scrolls deeper. He sniffles, tears falling onto the cushion. He wipes his blurry eyes, reading the conversation from another day.

Rant incoming

-baby

Uh oh

-Jeonghan

That freaking bastard retard good for nothing asshole and the worlds most dumbest high paid person. How the fuck he got a job. Mr.know it all knows nothing. NOTHING EXCEPT MAKING MY LIFE HELL

-baby

HAVE TO WORK OVERTIME AGAIN!!!!!!!!!!!

-baby

I MISS MY MAN!!!

-baby

(I miss you too)

-Jeonghan

BUT DUE TO THAT FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT.. OH HANNIE MY PRECIOUS BABY MY LITTLE MUNCHKIN

-baby

[Incoming call from baby]

Jeonghan wishes he can go back to the time when you called him all the sweet things in the world. If the universe or whoever is out there, is willing to give them one more chance will he take it up? Maybe or maybe not.

When will you be back? I miss you

-baby

…

-Jeonghan

Come on. It’s been like thirty minutes

-Jeonghan

What can I do?

-baby

Your cum is still running down my thighs reminding me of you 🤷‍♀️

-baby

FUCK

-Jeonghan

YOU CANT PULL THAT CARD

-Jeonghan

☹️ okayyyy don’t worry I pushed it all back in.

-baby

Happy golfing Hannie!!! Win and come home 🥰😘

-baby

You DEVIL

-Jeonghan

I’m coming home

-Jeonghan

😇😇😇

-baby

Jeonghan locks his phone, closing his eyes, tears rushing out. A ripping pain in his chest makes him curl up into a ball, he holds himself, all the pain inside of him bursting out. The silence of his apartment is now broken with whimpers and cries for help. It's been so long since he felt something, he doesn’t want to continue to live in this pain. He doesn’t have the will or fighting spirit left in him.

He messed with his career for the sake of his ex, he stopped going out with his friends, and it's been so long since he talked with his parents. Another sob escapes him remembering how you used to hold him whenever he felt low. Despite the thousand fights they had, you were always there to catch him. You are his sun, not the other way around. He is stupid, stupid, stupid.

He ended things for their own good. He realised that no matter how much you love someone, sometimes you just end up hurting each other. He couldn’t bear seeing you standing in the middle of the apartment everyday mid fight with tears spilling out.

He knows he is the problem, he wasn’t mature enough to handle his love with care, love and affection, the only thing you wanted out of him. He only gave you pain, sadness and a reason to cry. He was the source of your unhappiness. He tried to be a source of happiness, but things slipped right through his fingers.

If only he could be more like how you wanted him, maybe today he would have been curled up in your warmth instead of the coldness of his apartment.

—

The office is swarming, phones ringing, and hellos echoing around. You keep checking the manager’s cabin, eyeing the expressions of the director, manager and Seungkwan through the glass doors. It is hard to catch their words, or read their lips, as it is a few cubicles down from yours. You send a document to print, slipping on your heels, you march towards the printer next to the cabin.

Seungkwan catches you, shaking his head subtly before answering to the director. The printer spits out the papers slowly with a wheezing sound, you adjust your hair straining your ears to catch at least a few words.

“... branch needs you,” the director’s firm tone makes you wince, “or…” you lose some words as the printer whirs loudly, and you swear you heard your name, “..can go in your place.”

“I am not sure,” Seungkwan replies, “I can’t..”

A colleague of yours watches you in suspicion, his eyes darting from you to the cabin you are eavesdropping. Fuck, he is HR. You bow in greeting, laughing, pointing at the old printer dying to print out some documents. He nods, mumbling a feeble, keep up the good work.

You collect the papers just in time the director walks out of the cabin, noticing you, he smiles warmly in greeting before walking to his cabin. Seungkwan closes the manager’s cabin behind him, his lower lip wobbly at the sight of you. You step in with him to his cubicle, “what happened?”

Seungkwan lets out a big groan, “I have to start relocating by the end of the month.” He rubs his temples, “I have to tell her tonight.” He checks the time on his watch, “and she was looking forward to our date,” his voice shakes a little, “only for me to pour water over all her excitement.”

He plops down on his seat, keying in his password. You lean against his desk, thumbing the pages, “you know,” you muster up the courage, “I want to ask for this transfer.” You quickly add before he can jump in, “I really want this transfer, Seungkwan. I think..” you trail off, your voice dropping an octave, “I am done with this city.”

You blink back the tears with a laugh, you set the papers on his desk, turning away from him. “I am planning to talk it out with the manager, and,” you look at him from the corner of your eyes, “ask to get off your back.”

He smiles, tapping his fingers on the armrest, “I don't want you to force yourself for my sake.” He raises his hand, stopping you from defending yourself, “someone going away in my place will loosen my burden but I don’t want that to be you. Got my point?”

“I understand, but,” you meet his eyes head on, “I really want to get out of this place, Seungkwan. I don’t have any fond memories left–” Seungkwan scoffs “–apart from our hangouts, of course.”

With a deep inhale, you blurt out, “everywhere I go, I see us. I search for him everywhere,” you wipe away the stray tear, “I don’t want to live this way. Not when he is happy somewhere, in someone’s arms.”

Seungkwan evades your gaze, clicking on some email, “about that..”

“I don’t wanna hear anything else.” You square up your shoulders, “I am going in now and ask for the transfer.”

Seungkwan calls out your name but you are already at the manager’s cabin.

—

“Cheers,” you clink the glasses with Seungkwan’s and Nari’s. You dunk the contents in a single gulp, a bitter sigh escaping your lips.

“Congrats on the new role,” she congratulates, with a beaming smile, “I am very happy for you.”

Seungkwan sips on his soju, not joining in the party of your transfer and beginning of new life. His girlfriend, not knowing the reason behind his silence, chats away about her new boss and the funny antics of his.

Seungkwan grills the meat, the sizzling sounds of the meat grabs your attention more often than you let on. He places the cooked meat on Nari’s plate, your eyes fall on your empty plate, and the growling of your stomach. You pour yourself another glass of soju, laughing at the reenactment of the fall of her new boss.

“I couldn’t not laugh!” she fans herself, “but I was the only one with a loud laugh. He saw me, I just hope he won’t get his revenge.”

You grab the cooked meat from the grill, and blow on it, “he wouldn’t. You are one hard working person. He is lucky to have you on his team.”

She blushes, fumbling with her thumbs. Seungkwan drops the tongs, brushing her pink cheeks. You excuse yourself to the washroom, grabbing your phone. Few messages from your colleagues congratulating on the promotion, and also sad for the transfer. Your heels halt when the email from the Get Love Quick sits on your notifications.

You open the washroom stall, and lock yourself in, calming your nerves. You open the mail.

Dear Heartbroken soul,

Thank you for choosing us to direct you to true love. We are sad to hear your pain, and with all the shit life threw at you, we just want to apologize on behalf of life. Along with the apology we also want to throw in some delight by informing you that, *drum roll*, your date has been fixed for this Sunday. Please find the venue details below.

Ps. As a tradition of Get Love Quick the details of your date is a surprise. Builds the anticipation *wink wink*.

With love,

Get Love Quick

It’s already Friday today, one more day and then you have a date. Your clammy fingers don't help in clicking the venue details in the maps. You rub your sweaty palms onto your skirt, and try again typing the details. This cafe is forty minutes drive away from your apartment.

Is it worth it? You are about to move away from this place in a couple of weeks. You have to start packing away, look for a house in the new city, and break the news to your family and friends. Who would be interested in someone who isn’t available after the first date? Highly unlikely to convert this date into a long distance relationship. A part of you believes that there’s no aspect of you that will be appealing to the other person to make him leave everything too.

For now you put the date on the back burner. You have one more day, and it's Sunday you to decide.

Completing your business in the washroom, you saunter back to the table, slowing down, giving space to the couple kissing. You fiddle with the promotion mails on your phone, coughing into your fist before sliding onto your stool. Seungkwan hangs his hand around his girl, color coming back in his face. Ah, she does hold the key to his heart, no wonder he was desperate to stay.

No matter how happy you are for them, to have each other through ebbs and flows, watching them, or spending time with a couple opens a part inside you that you aren’t proud of. It reminds you of what you don’t have in your life, or what you once had.

“I’m done for the day,” you fake yawn, “my uber is on the way, I will meet you on Monday.” You sling your handbag, walking away before he can understand the urgency in your exit.

“You didn’t even eat anything.” He points the tongs to your full plate, “why are you leaving so soon?”

“I’m tired from all those meetings, and I am not feeling good. Need some rest.”

If he has doubts about your poor acting, he doesn’t comment on it. You greet them good night, exiting the restaurant.

—

The cafe is in a run down building, the ivy creeps all over the creaks, and the light illuminating the cafe name flickers. Sweet Life. No soul is seen around the empty street, a cat mewls from the garbage can, and rustling of covers echoes. The sun is already setting with an orange hue across the sky. You share your location with Seungkwan just in case, tugging the neckline of your dress up, you open the rusty door.

“Welcome!” A woman greets from the whirring coffee machine. “Please find a seat.”

You bow in a greeting, and turn to the almost empty cafe except for, your breath catches in your throat, one person. Your feet stay rooted, your gaze not moving from him, and him staring back at you with his lips parted. The exit door is two steps away, you can run away and sleep it off like it's a bad dream.

The door rattles open, two sleazy men brush past you, stinking of alcohol. You grab the half open door, quickly slipping past the door, your vision blurry making your ankle twist a few times. You sit on your feet, leaning against the wall, rubbing your eyes and the runny nose with the back of your hand, your breathing becomes irregular. Seungkwan. You need him to tell you what to do. You search for your phone in your wallet, dropping the papers, lip balm and keys on the road.

You gasp for air, breathing in through your mouth, hitting your chest. Five things. List down five things, you see a crumpled tin on the pavement, you smell stinky garbage, and you hear the crack of the door opening. Two black shoes step beside you, and you smell of him.

Jeonghan separates a tissue from the stack, and holds the back of your head, wiping your tears. You push his hand away, shaking your head trying to get out of his grasp. He grips onto your neck, pulling you closer to him, his teary eyes glaring back at you. He cleans your wet cheeks. “Breathe in,” he commands, “one..two..do it,” he pleads.

You turn away from his touch. He sighs, kneeling on one foot, “I get it,” his voice wavers, “I know you don’t want me here.” He wipes the corner of your eyes, and below your eyes, “but let's get you calm down.” He whispers, “please, ba–” he clears his throat “–not for me but for you, okay?”

“I-It’s be-because,” you gasp for air, “of y-you.”

Jeonghan sits next to you, on the dirty pavement, “I know.” He holds a fresh tissue to your nose, “I am sorry.” His eyes run across your face, “I didn’t know, or else,” he trails off.

You grab the tissue from him, and blow your nose, sitting on your bum next to him. “Or else you wouldn’t have come.” You hiccup, folding the tissue, “like always.”

He grabs the used tissue from you, stacking all of them next to him. He hands you a new one. Both of you sit in silence, his shoulder leaning against yours, while you catch your breath.

He picks up your discarded items and puts them back in your wallet, “are you good now?”

You pick on the ends of the tissue, sniffling, why is he my date out of all? Jeonghan clasps your wallet shut, drumming his fingers on the black surface of it, his long messy strands obscuring his face.

He is here, next to you, after almost two years, breathing and you can feel his warmth unlike the Jeonghan in your dreams. But why now? When you were all set to move on with someone, anyone new. Leaving everything and him behind in a couple of weeks. What kind of cruel joke is the universe playing now?

“Better than when you left me,” you reply. The bitterness in your words flinches him, he drops his head to his lap, fiddling with his thumbs. You scoff, “are you nervous now?” How dare you feel nervous?

Jeonghan sighs, “I get it you hate me.”

“Hate, Jeonghan? Hate? You ruined me. You left me to tend to myself. I..” your voice wavers, remembering standing outside his apartment, begging him to open up, “what is the point anyway. Reiterating everything won’t change anything.” You grab your wallet from him, you hold onto his thigh helping yourself stand, “you will still be that bastard and I will still be.. me.”

Jeonghan stands up, falling in step with you as you walk without any direction and your anger being the only navigator. “I’m sorry,” he holds your wrist, turning you to him, “I’m really sorry.”

“Sorry?” You hit his chest, he stumbles back, “do you think saying sorry will heal me? All those nights,” you are crying again, “all…” you hit him, “those..” another hit “nights..” he accepts all your hits.

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that!” You shout. “You don’t even mean it.” You grab his shirt, his familiar warm woody scent cracks your semblance. “You don’t even.. mean it.” You inch closer, nuzzling into his chest, inhaling his scent.

God, no!

You push him away, “no, no, no.” You turn around, running away from him and the dead feelings sprouting back.

Few more steps and you will reach the road. Some taxis should be there for you to go back home. Before you can come into proper light, he tugs you back.

“Please,” he begs, “one chance. One dinner,” he holds your hands, squeezing them.

The streetlight falls on him, you forget your anger for a moment, reaching to his brown bruise on his chin and split lips. “What happened to you?”

He leans into your palm, closing his eyes, tears falling onto your arm. He grips onto your other hand, “please, one more chance.”

“What makes you think you deserve it?”

Jeonghan slowly opens his eyes, his brown eyes flicking across your face, “you still carry my picture.” He holds up your left hand, tracing the print of the ring that used to be on your ring finger.

You shove his hand away, “I’m not meeting you anytime soon. Or anymore.”

You sink in the new details of him one last time, he lost weight, and the dark circles under his eyes are prominent. The bruise on his cheek is dark, and the split on his lip is red with blood. What on earth is he doing with himself? You don’t have it in you to know the reason, scared you will crumble here and now, taking him back into your life in a beat.

“Have a good life, Jeonghan.”

Jeonghan speaks up, halting you from moving away. “When you are not wanted or needed by anyone then you cease to exist.” You look in his eyes, the dark ones hold yours, “The moment,” he is towering over you, clad in black long coat, “you walked away, my existence went away with you.” He silences you, pressing his finger onto your lips, “I am an idiot who didn’t realize your worth and,” he brushes your cheek with his thumb, “took you for granted.

“I tried everything, baby,” he rests his head over yours, bending to your height, “nothing is you. I was searching for you in everyone,” his breath hits your forehead, “and no one is you. I am not asking you to take me back,” you look in his eyes, “yet. One dinner, one chance is all I ask.”

When he meets your silence, he calls out your name in a soft whisper. “Baby,” he pulls your chin up, “one dinner.”

And you crumble like a historic building holding years of past, falling apart. You are nodding to his request even before you know.

—

The day’s heaviness settles on your shoulder, the entire ride back home has been a blur. Pushing past the door, you enter your apartment, leaving your high heels and keys. Seungkwan is already at your flat, lounging on the couch, eating your snacks. He springs to his feet, rushing towards you, “what happened? Why are you crying?”

You throw your wallet onto the coffee table, the potato chip bag crunching under your feet as you make your way to the couch. Seungkwan sits next to you, questioning you. Your phone vibrates on the coffee table, he grabs it at a lightning speed, opening it and his eyes going wide, dropping the phone on the carpet.

“Fuck.”

He pulls you into a bear hug. You sob into his shoulder, incoherent words leaving your lips in an attempt to explain what happened. He pats your head, cooing comforting words.

“He is there, Seungkwan.” You rub your eyes, “he is my date. How can this happen?”

“I am sorry,” he holds your arms, tears in his eyes, “I am so sorry. It’s all because of me, I shouldn’t have forced you to–”

“No,” you pick your phone from the carpet, unlocking it. “It would have happened sooner or later.”

Did you reach home safely?

-Hannie

“Block him.”

Locking your phone, you hide it behind you. “Can’t.”

He frowns, “why?”

You drop your gaze to your lap, “we are meeting on Tuesday for dinner.”

The expletives leaving from Seungkwan’s mouth makes you shut your ears. “Hand me over your phone now.” He extends his palm, waiting. Your bottom lip quivers, you give a slow shake of your head. “For fuck’s sake.” He reaches for it, and you hold it with your entire being.

“Listen to me, listen to me,” you plead, Seungkwan reclines back in his seat. “He just wanted one dinner,” you raise your arm when Seungkwan opens his mouth, “only one dinner. And with my schedule, I won’t be able to meet him more than that.” You reason. “I will be away, and he won’t be there. I think this will be the end.”

“End my foot.” Seungkwan snatches the phone from you, and hits the block button. “He is back at it again. Getting into fights, summoned by po—”

“Fights?”

Seungkwan bites his tongue in grimace. “Nothing.”

“Seungkwan.” Your voice is firm, thinking about the bruises on his face. What on earth is he up to? Fights? You knew he had some issues managing his tongue but he never hit someone out of anger. “What are you hiding?”

Seungkwan clutches his head in a groan, leaning back on the couch. “I’ll tell you if you promise me you won’t meet him.”

You gape at him, your lips opening and closing without a single word escaping. Anger seeps into your thoughts, hating the way Seungkwan is interfering in your life. “I am telling you that it's going to be only one dinner!”

He flinches at your sharp voice, glaring back at you. “And I know you!” He fights back, “I saw you. It's not gonna be a single dinner.”

He holds your arm, handing you your phone back. “I am not against you,” he stands up, “I was with you, am with you and will always be.”

Guilt crawls into your heart, god, it’s happening again. How can you lash out at Seungkwan? This is exactly why Jeonghan re-entering your life is catastrophic. The chaos he left took you long enough to calm it down. And now with your behavior you aren’t sure Seungkwan is going to stay with you this time.

“I’m sorry.” You apologize, staring at the blocked contact on your phone, tracing his message. You lock the phone, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have,” you gesture between you two, “I’m sorry. I won’t meet him.”

Seungkwan takes your hands in his, sitting next to you, “you have to believe me.” You nod, not meeting his gaze. “I know it seems tempting and you want to have him back but,” he tilts to the side, wanting you to look at him, “he is not worth it. Not worthy of your love.”

Flashes of Jeonghan holding you, calming you and wiping your tears and snort crosses your mind. The tenderness in his gestures, regularizing you out of the anxiety attack, and the desperation to meet you one more time. If this ain’t love then what is?

But you don’t say this to Seungkwan, he wouldn’t understand you or Jeonghan. Your relationship with Jeonghan wasn't smooth sailing like Seungkwan’s is. You had your high tides, heavy rains and darkest sails but he was your port, your anchor, and the morning always came.

“Yeah,” you pull your arms out of his hold. “Go home, Seungkwan, it’s late.”

He is silent for a few seconds, but stands up ready to leave.

“Should I know why Jeonghan is involved in fights?” You ask from the couch.

Seungkwan holds the door open, turning to you, “it's better if you don’t.”

So it is because of you.

—

Packing your entire life and moving away isn’t as easy as you thought it would be. The boxes around you are overwhelming, and yet the packing is the only thing that’s keeping you sane.

It’s been a week since your meeting with Jeonghan. Work has been hectic leaving you little time to think about the notifications of the blocked contact. It feels like a drink is placed before a recovering alcoholic, tempting yet restraining yourself.

Your phone lights up again with another notification of the blocked caller. You flip the phone, tackling the old clothes into a box. Why did you buy all of these? Folding an old sweater your attention drifts to your phone. One call or text wouldn’t hurt, right? Or unblocking him is not going to hurt you. He is your Jeonghan after all.

Shaking yourself out of it you shove the sweater into the box. You kneel down on the floor, bending to grab the clothes shoved inside of your cupboard. Jeonghan’s. Hoodies and oversized T-shirts of his you loved to wear.

You pluck the blue oversized tee, running your hand over the softness, a laugh tumbling out of you at the memory.

He spent an entire week searching for the tee only to find you wearing it one night. He stood near the kitchen counter, hands folded across his chest, pissed.

You didn’t dare to acknowledge him knowing he is waiting for you to give in. Or some explanation on why you searched for the tee along with him when you are very well aware where it is hiding.

You chop the carrots into thin slices and pretend he isn’t standing near you. He scoffs, his slippers hitting against the wooden floors as he approaches you. You slithered to the side slowly, peeking over your shoulders.

Anger is replaced with a lopsided grin on his face, he drags you to him by the shirt. He locks your wrists behind your back and grabs your face, leaving stinging kisses. Hearing your grumbles, and chasing lips for his’ in need of a proper kiss, he spanks your ass muttering, “punishment.”

You stuff his clothes into an empty moving box before it can pull you into the darkness of his memories. Wiping your tears with your shirt sleeve. The phone lights up yet with another notification. Another call from the blocked contact.

A sob leaves your lips, why is he so insistent now? After all these months why is he adamant on talking to you. The urge to unblock him and text him is uncontrollable, but Seungkwan’s words run through your mind. You imagine his disappointed face once he knows that you didn’t listen to him, and honestly you are a little scared that he will stop talking to you. You are scared that the only person who cares about you will leave you, just like everyone else.

Clearing the notifications you shoot a text to Seungkwan.

Need to drop these off at Jeonghan’s.

-sent

I’ll drop by and do that.

-Seungkwan

One last glance at the box containing his clothes you are overcome by the need, and pluck one of his black hoodies. You pull over the hoodie, hugging yourself as you curl up on the floor next to a half filled trolley and dozens of boxes.

—

Jeonghan is pacing around his living room, chewing on the unlit cigarette. He dials your number again and again. Blocked? How can you block him? You didn’t delete him away after the break up, but you did it now? Not when you agreed to meet him for dinner, and he can tell a lie, especially when it's coming from you.

He drops the cigarette on the couch rustling through his drawers for the unused phone. It should have another sim, if he can contact you with it he can end this torture. Going to your house is also an option that he considered dearly, he didn’t want to cross that last boundary. Not especially when you are putting up a wall for some reason. Oh, how he so wants to fuck the rules.

The knock on his door garners his attention from throwing the notebooks and mail from the drawer like a raccoon sifting through trash. He runs his hand through his unkempt hair watching Seungkwan standing outside his door. He leaves the door open, massaging the space between his eyebrows. Seungkwan visiting him will never end in peace.

“Here.” Seungkwan throws a bag onto the couch. The bag bounces off the couch and falls on the floor. “Your clothes.”

Jeonghan turns around at those words, frowning. His clothes? Why would Seungkwan have–ah. He pads over the strewn notebooks and papers on the floor, reaching for a new cigarette, his fingers shaky. The bits and pieces aligning themself, the abandoned dinner, blocked contact, and now—his clothes. He glares over his shoulder at the man who is ruining his life, along with yours. You would never ever even dare to discard a single message from him.

“Don’t ever contact her.” Seungkwan warns, completing surveying Jeonghan’s dumpster called home. “She finally moved on.”

Jeonghan rests his hand on the wooden surface, the cigarette crushing between his fingers. He tilts his head to the side, giving a once-over at the friend of his ex. “Did she, now?”

Seungkwan takes a threatening step forward, “Don’t you dare, Yoon Jeonghan.” He fists his hand, “you are a bastard, and have you seen yourself,” he spits, “do you think she needs someone like you?”

Images of you laughing at his mess and swatting his shoulder before dragging him to clean up crosses his mind. He loved those moments.

“You don’t deserve a second of her attention.” Seungkwan continues, “Go back to your devious ways and party life. And leave her alone.”

He storms out of the apartment, leaving behind a seething Jeonghan.

Fuck rules.

—

You rustle under your blanket, the faint knock on your door stirring you out of your slumber. The night is up outside your window, the cool spring air blowing in, curtains flying in tune with it. Another knock. No one visits you at ten in the night, peeling off the thin blanket you step in the empty spots between trolleys and card boxes. Did Seungkwan need something from you?

Your roommate winces at your sleepy state once you open the door. She looks over to her left scowling. “I tried.”

What? Your eyebrows pull in at the confusion, what’s going on?

Jeonghan steps in, hovering over your roommate. The sleep goes away from your body, nervous system kicking in for the fight or flight response. What is he doing here? His blood red eyes doesn’t move away from you, drinking in your bed head, and the—shit, fuck, his hoodie. Your knuckles turn white from the deadly grip on the door handle, shut it.

“Call me if you need me.” Your roommate steps away, giving space for him to come closer.

He crowds over you, his cozy scent mixed with cigarette smell messing with your senses. You push the door to a close on his face, his hand holds the door, his strength threatening over yours, he pushes it open with ease. If he was angry earlier, now he is pissed. His chest brushes your face, his hand coming over your shoulders, bringing you both inside your room, and shuts the door behind him, turning the lock in.

“Why?”

Desperateness clings to your voice. The grip on your shoulder causes you to jerk back, pushing his chest away from you. He backs away to the door, hands behind him. Your fingers hover over the light switch, wondering whether to turn it on or not. Seeing him might make it harder for you to handle all the emotions. The memories of him you have in this room, the ones that kept you going and also pulled you back, drove you crazy and now with him in the space won’t help you hold back anymore.

The light stays off, the street light falling from your window is the only illumination outlining the shadow of him. You are standing next to the window a few feet away from him, your hands clasped behind your back.

Jeonghan shuffles across the room, his hand tracing the edge of the table placed near the window, a few steps away from you but closer than before. He leans on the table with one hand, another stuffed in his jean pocket. A car headlights flashes across your room, he is wearing the blue t-shirt. He got his clothes back.

“You aren’t picking my calls.”

“Didn’t feel like it,” you answer after a beat.

“You or Seungkwan?”

You snap your head from your fingers to him, “What?”

Another step forward. “You have so many protecting you,” he pauses, and adds with a slight shake in his voice, “from your villain.” He dips his head to the floor, his hair cascading his face.

You prick on your fingers, locking them behind you. No, you can’t touch him.

A chuckle escapes from him, he flips his head back, running his crooked fingers through the hair. “I earned the title.” He shrugs. “But,” he singled out his focus on you, “I would’ve stopped calling if,” another step, “you didn’t want me.” He tilts his head, the light from the window directly falling on him, his frown, “but for Seungkwan?”

“I didn’t want to see you.” A half lie.

His lip curls into a smirk, “you couldn’t lie then.” He nods to himself, “and you can’t lie now. So, don’t.”

“Why are you here, Yoon Jeonghan?”

He is toying with the bobble head on your desk. “Why do you think so?”

The words rattles the last wall you are holding up. Tears prick your eyes, exhaustion creeps up your bones. “Stop,” your voice wavers, he looks up with confused eyes, “please.”

The frown line between his eyes is prominent, he lets go of the bobble head and is standing next to you. His scent engulfs you, clouding all your thoughts. “Don’t cry,” his hand reaches for your cheek but stops, not touching. “Please.” The crack in his voice is too much.

You step away from him, stumbling on the trolley. He stabilises you by your arm. You push away his grip, backing away to the bed. Pulling up the blanket you hide beneath it. A sob escaping. The bed dips, he holds your knee over the blanket.

“Let me see you,” he pleads, “one last time, and I’ll leave. But don’t cry.”

You shake your head. “You are the worst.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yo-you ca-can’t come-comeb-ack and.. and,” you hiccup, sobbing uncontrollably. “Ex-expect me-me to be ok.”

He pulls you into a hug, the blanket slips off your face. He pats your head, “please, don’t cry.” His cheek presses into yours, nuzzling his nose into your hair. “I don’t want you to cry. If being with me makes you cry then,” he grips onto your shoulder, pressing himself tightly, “then I’ll leave.”

“You always leave.” You free yourself from him. Breathing in and out to regulate yourself. “Always.”

Jeonghan holds you down, “if you want me to stay, I’ll stay.” He brushes the stray strands off your face, “but if I’m going to be the reason for you to cry then I won’t. I don’t want you to cry, not again.

“I realise my mistakes. I shouldn’t have been the asshole, and ran away from our problems that day. I’m sorry. Hate me, hit me and slap me all you want till your anger subsides. But don’t cry. You and I, we both want each other,” he holds the drawstrings of your hoodie, “we are for each other. I’ll wait till you can accept me.”

“Lies.” You turn away from his pleading face. “I have seen you. And your fuck buddies.”

Jeonghan groans, rubbing his face in frustration. “I didn’t sleep with anyone. There was no one after you.” He clings onto you, “I did go out but it never worked.”

You scoff, not believing his words. The pictures looked pretty chummy for you to believe that nothing happened afterwards, especially knowing how handsy Jeonghan can be.

“I can dial all my dates and let them speak to you,” he pulls out his phone, opening the messaging app and scrolling through dozens of unanswered chats.

You hold his hand before he hits the dial button. “No need.” Like Jeonghan, you can tell when he is lying or not. “But you moved on pretty quickly.”

“I had to.” He answers quickly, “or else I would have sorted you back. And it wouldn’t have been a good choice.”

“Why?”

“You weren’t happy,” his voice drops, barely a whisper, “and I wasn’t too. And it really gutted me to see you cry,” he sounds distant, like lost in a memory, “I hate to see you cry, whether we were fighting or not. It didn’t matter that I was angry at you. And when it became clear that I was the reason for you crying every night, I couldn’t do it any longer.

“I wondered maybe if I stepped away from–” his voice breaks “–your life then you would finally be happy. You don’t know how much my chest hurt when you were crying outside my door. Baby,” the nickname slips his mouth before he can hold it back, “I really thought you would be happy, and if I had known,” he wipes your tears tenderly, “it would break you this bad, I would not have done it.”

“It’s for good.” You say, “we needed space. I was too much, too greedy for you and your attention.”

“No–”

You cut him off, “let me talk. I realized how it tortured you, I occupied your entire life. I restrained you, what not. I did later on hear from your friends on how.. how you cancelled all your plans and didn’t meet them.” You chuckle, fumbling with your fingers, “and that’s just the tip of the iceberg. I am sorry. Truly.”

“I don’t want–”

“And as much as we want to rework on our relationship,” you cut in again, “I don’t think it’ll work again. Not only because of our pre-existing issues, but there are few others.”

He shifts uncomfortably, “like?”

“Like, I am moving away in a week.” You gesture around the trolleys and moving boxes. “I was that needy when you were next to me, imagine us doing long distance.” You chuckle imagining the disaster it will be, the tears shining on the edge of your eyes. “I might even kill you.”

“You are moving?”

The smile vanishes noticing the hurt laced in his words. “Yeah. That should explain the mess in my room. You know how much–”

“You hate messy room. I know.”

“Yeah..”

Silence cascades between you two. He is ruffling his hair, a tic whenever he is in distress. You pick on your finger not knowing what to say or how to.. end things again. It shouldn’t hurt as much as it did the first time, right? Maybe this time you may walk out unharmed as long as you don’t remember that Jeonghan wants to try things again. If only it was as easy as telling yourself to just forget.

Jeonghan wouldn’t move from Seoul or quit his job where he put in his blood, sweat and tears. The long nights and weekends he invested, the ranks he climbed are too dear to him to lose now. You aren’t that special anymore for him to resign and find you. Bidding your goodbyes now is the right thing to do.

“I–”

“Where are you moving to?” He asks. “What about your job? The lease? Your parents?”

You hear the unasked question. What about me?

“I am being transferred to another branch. Seungkwan was supposed to go but his girlfriend–”

Jeonghan snorts. “Explains. You are lifting your entire life just for a friend?”

“He is my brother.” You snap. “If not for my father he will be the one to walk me down the aisle. Don’t downplay our friendship.”

“How can I not? He is the reason you weren’t talking to me. Me! He is ruining whatever we are having or would have.”

“Because he saw me. He helped me put myself back when you were galavanting with your dates and what not!”

“This is too much to do for someone else. It isn’t right. If he is chosen he has to go no matter what.”

You stare at Jeonghan in the dark, “this is nothing compared for people we love. If you loved someone then you would have understood.”

Nodding to yourself at his silence, you pull your hoodie sleeves over your fingers. “I am not going to tell you where I am moving to, Jeonghan. It wouldn’t help either of us. I would be too stuck up in hopes that you would come, and you wouldn’t even bother to..” you shake your head, “what’s the point. We are running in circles.

“We had a good five years, maybe four before it all went down. But it's something I cherish for the rest of my life.” You cup his cheek, “have a good life, Jeonghan. Don’t drink too much, or smoke. Clean up after yourself, and,” you feel wetness crawling on your hand, “and, you are a good person. If we had met in different timelines where you weren’t distant and I wasn’t desperate, we would have ended up in an ocean side house with a little family like you always wanted.”

He rests his head on your forehead, his tears falling on your cheeks. “Bye, Jeonghan.”

—

Yangsan is a breath of fresh air. It’s more of a town than a city, reminding you a little of your hometown. Neighbors were friendly helping you lug your furniture up the stairs to the first floor. Your ears strained from listening to them go off about the highlights this city has to offer. Sparkly, full of life.

Their words blend with the sounds of the ocean. You saunter to the balcony attached to the living room, sliding the glass doors. Salty air hits you in the face, a little treat for your sweaty self. The summer sun sits in the middle of the sky, shining brighter than ever you have seen, blinding you for a few seconds. Adjusting to the light, the blueness of the ocean pulls you further.

The sounds of the waves rattles the serene feeling, an overwhelming emotion consuming your entire being. You gamble with the risk of staying near to the ocean, the stench and cyclones, but if you are going to live here for a year you want it to be somewhere you love.

You got a feeling— a hunch, that you are going to love Yangsan. It’s about time.

—

Work at the new branch turns out to be better than your previous office—minus not having Seungkwan. The new role is full of heavy responsibilities as you have to carry a team of six. Growing closer to them was a task, and it took you three months to reach this point.

“Thank you for all your hard work.” You beam at your small team cooped up in the meeting room. Tired smiles thrown back at you. “Should we grab dinner and have some—”

The team is already up, closing their laptops and hurrying out of the meeting room. You have never seen an enthusiastic team for a team dinner. Seungkwan and you had to drag yourselves to the dreadful and boring dinner which was borderline a self-boasting manager session.

Hansol, one of your juniors, is closing his notes and capping his pen. Neatly coiling his charger cable, he sets everything on top of his laptop.

“Hansol,” you approach him slowly, like getting near to a stray kitten afraid you might make it run away, “are you coming for dinner?”

He straightens, rubbing his neck. “Ah..”

“I mean no big deal but the team would be happy to have you with us. Afterall you were the key player to lock in the client. You need to celebrate.” You persuade, or more like try to.

Hansol is known for skipping the team dinners, happy hours and laying low until it’s crucial work. One month into the office, you heard the rumours floating around, Hansol moved back from Seoul. His childhood sweetheart and love of his life cheated on him. It’s his third year in this branch, and he still eats alone most of the time. You didn’t dig deeper, if time comes then he will be ready to talk about it.

You would be lying if you say you don’t have a soft spot for him. You saw a part of you in him, in his absent stares, hunched back, and disassociated nature. Coming out of love can be heart wrenching, imagining a betrayal from the most trusted person is just dying. The dark cloud is always over his head, a smile as rare as a comet. All you could do is hope that he will find his happiness again.

He traces his finger along the coiled charger. “I mean it's fine if you don’t want to,” you jump in scared that you are acting as your previous manager. “But I really appreciate all your help.” You smile when he finally looks at you. “Keep up the good work! See you on Monday.”

Sunhee, your other junior is standing by the door, her handbag on her arm. Anxious eyes on the man trailing behind you. Turning off the lights you cross check the meeting room before closing it.

“Are you going to your cats again?” Sunhee asks Hansol.

“Ah..” he rubs the back of his neck, looking at her for a second before staring at the floor. After a brief moment he adds, “nah, coming for dinner.”

The girl’s cheeks tint pink, jaw slack open. You shake your head, walking to your desk and packing away your day.

—

The dinner turns rowdier than you anticipated. One by one of your co-workers are being sent home, leaving you with slightly buzzed Sunhee, Hansol, and two more of your co-workers waiting on their ride home.

“I’ll pour you a drink,” Sunhee grabs the soju bottle, giggling at the swirling liquid, “round, round,” she mimics the movement with her head, “ah, dizzy.”

You slap her hand away from the bottle, “no more drinks. You are going home next.”

“Whaaaaaaaaaaaat??!?!??” She cups her mouth, tears springing in her eyes. “You can’t do this to me!!” Coyly she flits her gaze to the man sitting across her, “Chwe Hansol!”

The man, already tipsy with overly bobbing his head, said, “that’s me.”

“Why??” She screeches, “for the love of the god—”

“Amen.” He bows.

You throw your head back laughing at the ridiculous scene unfolding before you.

Sunhee hits him with a crumpled up tissue. “CHWE HANSOL!”

He straightens up, “yes, ma’am.”

“For the love of the god,” she repeats, he mutters another amen, “why? Why won’t you understand?” She continues over his giggles.

His giggles die down. She slumps over the table, her long hair all over the place. You awkwardly look across the two, scratching your forehead wondering whether you should stay or give them the private space.

The team has already gone home except for you three. Sending them home is also your responsibility as the sober one and as a senior. One look at the distressed girl next to you makes you slouch back giving them the time they needed.

It’s no secret that Sunhee loves Hansol. From bringing in his favorite coffee to staying back overtime just so she could leave with him. Countless conversation starters only to end with a nod from him.

“Look at me,” she pleads, “please look at me.” Her voice quivers, “I’m standing here waiting for you to look at me.”

Hansol twirls the liquid in his glass, her words going over him. He doesn’t reply or even acknowledge her words, all her efforts and love are one-sided.

You attempt to stand up and leave them to talk, maybe without you between them Hansol might talk.

Sunhee grabs your hand, tear stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes, “if you leave he isn’t gonna stay. Please.”

You concede, patting her back in quiet encouragement.

“I answered you.” He replies after a prolonged silence. “It’s not gonna change.”

Your heart breaks watching tears spill from Sunhee’s eyes onto her lap. Her attention is not wavering from the one boy who is actively avoiding her. You slip your hand into hers, pressing it in a reassuring way.

She squeezes back, a wavering smile and she picks her bag. “See you on Monday, senior.” She salutes, laughing with tears. “Bye, Hansol.”

“Can I drop you home?” You ask.

“I sobered up. Thank you.” She walks out of the table, and her wobbly steps towards the exit.

Hansol refills his empty glass, sipping on it in silence. You check for the notifications on your phone, another missed call from Seungkwan. You sigh, you have to answer him one day.

“I’m a villain in your eyes right?” Hansol’s question cuts through the awkward silence. “A bastard who broke the sweetest girl on the earth.”

You set your phone down, shaking your head vehemently. “No, Hansol.”

He chuckles to himself, pouring another glass of drink. “The funny part is my sweetest girl on the earth broke me beyond repair.” He looks at you, but distant, lost in thought. “I feel something after so long,” his hand is over his heart. “I feel bad for breaking her. But she deserves more than what I could offer.”

You frown.

“It’s for her best.”

His words trigger the angrier side of you. You shouldn’t mix your past with their future. Before you can restrain yourself a scoff slips past your lips.

His eyes widen, “what?”

“If you don’t have guts to change yourself, then don’t say stuff like ‘it’s for her’,” you say, “if you want her then pick your ass up and get your life together.”

Hansol blinks.

“I mean,” you run a hand through your hair, “thinking about it, if you are letting her go because she deserves more, then you should have at least a little bit of interest in her right?”

He doesn’t agree nor deny.

“Do you doubt Sunhee’s capability of decision making?”

“No.” His answer is quick. “Her decisions led us to achieve the highest returns.”

“See.” You refill his empty glass, “she knows you for years, she likes you, and she has an idea of what she will get out of this relationship. So don’t bullshit yourself saying she deserves more.”

Hansol is lost in thought. His gaze on the exit where Sunhee disappeared.

“She isn’t your ex. I can’t say she won’t break your heart,” your voice lowers, “you never know what life makes you do but you can’t deny something beautiful just so you are scared.

“And that’s where I’ll stop. I have already butt in where I shouldn’t have. Do you have a ride home?”

Hansol checks his phone, “yeah. My neighbor is around and he said he’ll pick me up.”

“That’s kind of him.” You comment. “People around here are more hospitable than the ones in Seoul.”

“He is from Seoul.” Hansol clarifies, “he came here,” he ponders, “one or two months back? But he is always travelling back and forth.”

“Ah. Seoul has good people too then.”

“You are from Seoul.” He frowns, “you are a good person.”

You turn pink from his compliment. “Th-thank you. I’ll be right back.”

You take a much needed washroom break. The day has been tiring, and very long. Did you overstep in counselling Hansol? Who are you to lecture him on what he should or shouldn’t think? You couldn’t help yourself listening to him say the same words once you heard from your ex.

Washing your hands you wipe them off with a paper towel. Yoon Jeonghan. It's been six months since your last conversation with him. How is he doing? You are actively trying to not think about your life from Seoul, pushing everything away that reminded you of that time. Sadly, Seungkwan also falls into that category hence screening his calls too.

Jeonghan must be living his dream. He isn’t the one to fall back in life. The grit and passion he has shown is enough testament. He must have moved on by now. Found a girl who is of his ideal type, not someone needy and clingy.

You rush out of the washroom before you submerge yourself in self-pity. This is Yangsan. And this is new you. No more Yoon Jeonghan. No more…

A man in a long black coat catches your attention for having a similar build as your ex lover. You search for his hair to make sure if he is your Jeonghan. Sadly he is wearing a cap. Your steps pick up its pace, following the stranger amidst the drunken men going towards washroom.

The stranger whispers something to Hansol and exits. Hansol’s neighbour?

“Senior!” Hansol waves to you, “caught you in the right moment. My ride's here, see you on Monday.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You crane your neck to get a sight of the stranger but he is already out of the restaurant. “Did your neighbour come?”

He nods. “I have to go. I’m sorry. He’s a bit short tempered.” He winces. “But thank you for all your help. Thank you.”

“No problem.” You pick your own bag ready to leave. “Have a great weekend, Hansol. Remember to get some sun.”

He smiles before leaving.

You pay the bill at the counter, berating yourself. What were you thinking? Yoon Jeonghan here? In a nameless city? He didn’t put his feet anywhere remotely as close to a town. Even your trips while dating were to some exotic places.

Why are you following some stranger? Why are you still looking for him when you ended things with him? When will you learn?

—

You are at a restaurant again. This time Hansol chooses a seat next to Sunhee. During the one month since the team dinner, there have been little changes in Hansol. He has been starting conversations—not every single time but once or twice in a couple of weeks. He tries to attend the happy hours every Thursday.

Biggest change of all is he doesn’t shut down Sunhee completely. He sits in his chair when she comes around and doesn’t leave like previous times. Talks in sentences instead of one or two word answers. All in all you are proud to see the change.

“You are drinking tonight?” Sunhee holds the soju bottle, suspicious of your sudden need for alcohol. “Are you really sure you can hold your liquor?”

You roll your eyes, “I should be asking you that. Do you even remember what you do once you are drunk? Should I remind you of the countless times I have to drag your screaming ass?”

Hansol snickers.

“You too. You were the worst. How can you sleep in the middle of the road?!”

Hansol plucks the soju from Sunhee and pours you a drink. “Enjoy your night, senior.”

He is shutting you up with alcohol but you don’t complain, drowning it in one gulp. Ah, the bitterness. You missed the feeling.

“Pour me one too.” Sunhee shoves her glass into his face. “Why are you hiding it? I need a drink too.”

“Another!” You slam your empty glass on the table.

Hansol fulfills your request. You drain down the contents.

“Slow down.” Sunhee attempts to steal your glass. You slap her hand away. “What’s gotten into you today?”

“The rain doesn’t look like it’s gonna stop soon.” Hansol sighs, “I can’t believe we are in October already.”

Sunhee nods, momentarily forgetting about you stealing the bottle and pouring yourself another drink. “It’s getting chilly. I have to take out my scarves and cardigans.”

“October,” you sigh, dragging all of your hair to one side, “I hate octobers.”

“And that’s because?”

“Just hate it.” You shake your head, pouting. The table starts to spin, “hate it hate it.”

“She’s gone.” Hansol concludes.

“Not even half a bottle? You are drunk only from four glasses?” Sunhee throws her arms in the air, “I can’t believe you.”

You giggle into your palms. “Hehe.”

Sunhee and Hansol sit in silence, dropping everything to watch you, the ever uptight senior, always in control of every moment, giggling to yourself.

“Did you see what I saw?” Sunhee nudges Hansol’s ribs.

He gives an affirmative nod.

“What I’m saying is!!” You stand up holding the soju bottle as your mic, “hello! Everyone!”

The elder men all hooted back. Sunhee grabs your arm from across the table, whisper-yelling you to sit down.

The overhead lights are brighter than your future, blinding you for a second. “Hehe,” you snicker at the futile attempts of Sunhee to make you shut up, “I love youuuuu guysss.”

“Love you back, princess.” One of the drinkers calls back.

Few other voices overlap your muzzled brain can’t decipher. You turn to the audience, “what?”

A hand clamps your mouth shut, another hand dragging you out of the restaurant. “Touch alcohol one more time and you’ll see my—”

You fumble over your heel at an unseen step, falling onto your knees and hands. You giggle remembering something similar happened to you. You sit down on the wet floor wondering when you fell on the floor.

It was related to someone you love. “Loved.” You mutter to yourself, sadness washing all over you, “loved.” You toy with the sleeves of your shirt. “Is he celebrating now?”

Sunhee picks you up by your shoulder, “I can’t with you and this city. I am fed up. Stand up please. I can’t carry you all on my own. Where the fuck is Hansol?”

You lean on her shoulder, wrapping your arms around her. “Why do you hate this city so much? I love it!”

“Are you being serious now? What’s there to love about this city? No one loves this city except you.”

“That’s not true.” You watch a car approaching you two. “Hannie will love it.”

“Hannie?” She steals a glance at you. “Hansol? Since when did you two become nickname basis?”

Hansol gets down from the parked car, grabs you from Sunhee helping you into the car. He drops you on the seat, you plop down from the sudden release hitting the roof of the car. Your mind blanks out a second, pain vibrating throughout your skull.

“Careful.” Sunhee chides from behind, helps you sit up in the seat before buckling you up. “Are you okay? Should we go to the hospital?”

You smile, shaking your head.

“Are you sure?”

You nod.

Hansol drives you home. The rain hits the window harshly, the water sliding down in a hurry. Your eyes droop, blinking slowly at the blurry window. It’s October 4th. The day you dread, his birthday.

You honestly thought you were doing great. Going out, talking with new people, actively not pushing away people who show interest in you and even went on a date. It ended on a friendly note but the point is you moved on.

Until a memory or a food or a tv show reminds you of him. In the middle of the day when you hear someone hum a song he used to sing, you have to spend thirty minutes in the restroom consoling yourself, or overwork yourself to death.

Then you realised you can’t tear him away from your life. He is going to cross your mind, strangle your heart, and it will always leave a bitter taste of what could have been if you weren’t scared. If you were a little brave to accept him again, brave to loose Seungkwan over Jeonghan, and brave to face another heartbreak, you would have been celebrating his birthday.

Sunhee tugs you to your flat, holding your arm and keeping you from rain. The umbrella pokes your shoulder now and then, you stretch your arm enjoying the rain drops on your hand.

“Rain is pretty,” you mumble. A little sad that you are already under the roof. “Pretty, just like Hannie.”

“Hannie?” Hansol asks, confused.

“Hannie, Hansol.” Sunhee doesn’t spare him a glance, helping you up the stairs. “I didn’t know you were close.”

Hansol frowns, trying to squeeze between you two to face her. “I’m not close with her.”

“Keys?” She searches for the pocket you pointed in your bag. “Are you hungry? I can whip something up in a minute.”

You saunter into your home going straight to your bedroom. Opening your closet you grab the yellow pillow and fall on your comfortable bed. You nuzzle deeper into the pillow, mumbling his name.

“I don’t think she is calling for me.” Hansol stands at the door watching you cry into the pillow.

“Unrequited love?”

“Or an ex.”

—

The first time you have seen Jeonghan is at a party you weren’t invited to. The infamous yet rowdy party happening at one of the houses near your campus is always the talk of the town—a whisper shared between two, and then three. Next you were hoping you could at least get a glimpse of the dancing crowd and games.

Seungkwan, your almost knight in shining armour, dragged you along with him in hopes of shaking off the semester end exams. You were going back home tomorrow for the winter break, and he is staying back to work to save money.

Girls dressed in the shortest possible skirts, and moderately covering their assets you realized how outdated you are living. The long skirt you are donning is a hazard from the number of times you tripped, and almost dragged a stranger along with you to the floor if not for the wall.

Meandering the long halls, and along the locked rooms, you rest against the railing of the veranda. In spite of the chaoticness there was no one accompanying you, Seungkwan took a detour when he saw his crush from the statistics class. The full moon is shining in the sky, shining tranquility upon the drunk hazed people, and from the clouds eclipsing the moon your gaze falls on him.

He has neck length hair, mostly black, wavy at the ends. Bobbing his head to the chants from his group, “Yoon Jeonghan! Yoon Jeonghan!” He gestures his hand for them to chant louder, cupping his ear with a smirk. They comply, his name louder than the music blasting from a huge speaker.

A beer bottle is passed to him. He chugs its contents in a single lift, his Adam's apple moving along with his each gulp. He throws the bottle to the side, brushing his wet lips with the back of his hand. People burst out in cheers. He ducks down his hair hiding his face, shaking his head once before he flips his head back, his hair forming a perfect arc.

The clouds move away from the moon. His eyes fall on you.

—

Yoon Jeonghan is a final year student you got to know at the beginning of the spring season. Another hushed whisper among your classmates about his scandalizing break up happened at the cafeteria.

“He was drenched!” the girl beside you shrieks as slowly as she can without garnering attention from the professor but loud enough for you to hear.

“I wouldn’t have done that.” her friend chimes in. “not gonna lie he looked hot.”

“And embarrassing! Who gets dumped near a trash can with chocolate milk dripping down their face.”

“Yoon Jeonghan.”

—

Next time you hear about Yoon Jeonghan is from your best friend, Seungkwan. He is going off about his day, your daily ritual before sleep, when he comes to the part where his car has been crashed into (more like scratched but you weren’t going into details and spark another fire).

“That bastard,” Seungkwan eyes flit to you, “pardon my words but that scumbag deserves it.”

“Mmhmm.”

“He was so clearly in wrong, and he has fucking guts to say, ‘how much?’” Seungkwan’s face is as red as your pyjama pants. Should you be scared? “How much?! Where is the sorry and remorse? What happened to having decency?”

You nod. You swear you are trying your best to be empathetic to the victims of Yoon Jeonghan— the girl who got stood up in the rain, Seungkwan who got his car scratched, another girl who got dumped on the first date within ten minutes, another girl who you forgot about.

“If you can’t drive then you should stay home tending your ego.” Seungkwan rants on. And you keep nodding.

He is a menace. You know this, if you didn’t then you would be the dumbest person. But god isn’t he hot. That night still haunts your dreams, his eyes still on the back of your mind.

You hear your name. “Are you listening?”

“Of course.”

Would he kill you if you confess you are developing a crush on his enemy?

—

In a blink of an eye you were about to sit through your semester end exams. Library is bustling with drained and lifeless students, the smell of coffee lingers around you as you search for the row containing the textbook you are looking for.

“History… literature.. AH!” You step on something, losing your balance. You fall on your hands, minimising the fall trying not to scrape your knees. “Fuck.”

A male howls in pain.

“Shhh.”

Several shhs hit your face.

You sit on your bum, brushing off your scraped hands. A head peeks out of the rows of the bookshelves. His frowning eyes soften landing on you, revealing more of him. Yoon Jeonghan.

You tripped over his fucking feet.

“Who sleeps on the library floor?” You scoff, picking up your textbooks.

“Me?” He scoffs back. He crawls out of his hiding space, sitting in front of you. “Don’t you know to keep your eyes on the road?”

Now you understand why Seungkwan hates Jeonghan.

Jeonghan’s lips curl into a smile, as he clutches his ankle, “I think I hurt my ankle. What if I can’t walk?” He gasps, holding his chest.

You roll your eyes at his antics. Yet with little apprehension you near him, crawling to him, peering over his outstretched leg. You poke a finger at his ankle with a frown.

“Does it hurt?”

You look up at him meeting his silence, curling your hair behind your ear so you can see him clearly. His eyes follow your hand as you do it, lingering at the side of your face before snapping to your eyes.

“Ah, ah, it hurts.” He grins cheekily when you pinch his leg. “What? It takes time for your body to send signals to your brain.”

“I can’t believe you.” You stand up, dusting your ass off. You walk away from him, your heart clogged in your throat.

Fuck that was Yoon Jeonghan and you had a conversation with him.

“Hey,” he calls you. You turn around, hair obscuring your vision before you tuck it back, his head tilted to the side, “did we meet before?”

—

The semester came to an end. You heard about the biggest party of the year from your best friend as you are stuck at home.

Grad party of the century, and you are depressed that you missed your last chance of seeing Yoon Jeonghan.

Life works that way.

—

You aren’t sure whether to be happy as you are past the tumultuous student life or sad that you have finally become an adult.

Adulting came with responsibilities, body aches, and magic ability to fall asleep anywhere and anytime. Tiredness is your second nature at twenty two.

“I could have been sleeping but no. You fucking have to attend this fucking ridiculous reunion.” You exasperatedly throw your hands in the air.

Seungkwan feigns a hurt expression. “That hurts right here,” he pokes at his heart. “It’s been a year since we last met and here you are nagging.”

“Gah!” You march into the restaurant, throwing the door open, only on someone’s face. “Ah,” you cup your mouth with wide eyes.

Seungkwan slips past you pretending to not know you while the man you just hit is bent in half groaning in pain.

“Is that blood!?!?” You gasp again. Seungkwan is now running to the others. He is so going to die tonight for leaving you at times of crisis.

The man in the question stands up licking his thumb, “nah, that’s ketchup.”

“You!” You gasp yet again not believing your eyes.

“Yeah, me.” Jeonghan sniffles, touching his nose tenderly. “Why do you always inflict pain on me whenever we meet?”

“What pain?” You frown.

“You forgot?” He holds his left leg, “I still limp from the pain. And you forgot.” He clicks his tongue in annoyance, his eyes glimmering with mischief. “You wound me.” He later on adds touching his black nose, “literally.”

You step away from the entrance to let the customers flow in and out. Jeonghan trails behind you, limping when you look over your shoulder and walking perfectly fine when you look at him in the glass reflection ahead of you. This man—

“But from what I remember I think I stepped on your,” you flit your eyes down his pants, “didn’t I?” You lie.

His tongue pokes his cheek, interest blooming in his eyes as he watches you. “Well played.” He leads you to the boisterous table out of all, “remembering properly, didn’t you palm my—”

You hit his back with your wallet. “Fine! You win.”

He throws you a boyish grin over his shoulder, snagging two empty seats and patting one to you. You comply, accepting it and settling yourself for the long night. The fatigue from work disappears at the sight of Jeonghan’s teasing smiles and intrusive questions.

“We live ten minutes away!” He beams at the google maps displaying the route between his and your apartments. “So when are you bringing me homemade lunch?”

He props his elbow on the table, resting his chin on his palm watching you suffocate under his scrutiny. You nibble on the chicken leg, suddenly shy.

“Why would I ever do that?” You throw him a heated look.

He grins, finally having your attention on him. “Why not? Korea is known for its hospitality. Are you denying it by not bringing me food?”

This man’s audacity. A flicker in your heart. You toy the chicken between your fingers hundreds of thoughts running at a million speed. Is he insinuating what your overworking brain is thinking?

“Why don’t you bring me food? You can tend to me to,” you pick up the chicken again, taking a big bite. You are starving for fuck’s sake.

“Is this your way of roping me into your service?” He grabs a tissue, wiping your mouth as you chew. “Not only looks like a baby but is a baby.”

He flicks his eyes to yours, cunningness apparent in them. His face glows watching the pinkness spread across your cheeks.

“Should have opened the door harder,” you grumble under your breath.

Yoon Jeonghan throws his head back, laughing. And man doesn’t his laughter tickle your insides, ending with a smile on your lips too.

—

You aren’t sure how you ended up here. It’s been two months since the reunion dinner. Suddenly there are two adult sized kids bickering in the middle of your flat.

“That’s a lame movie.” Seungkwan points the TV remote at the Godzilla paused in the middle of roaring. Not a pretty sight and you are hundred percent sure those canines are gonna chase you in the dreams tonight.

Jeonghan dramatically clasps his chest, bunching his eyebrows together. “You are saying that to an animal?” He searches for his phone, “should report you to animal protection authorities. Cruel cruel human.”

Seungkwan grabs Jeonghan by the collar who just raises his eyebrow. “What are you saying?”

And cue. Another WWE fight breaks out in your home. You pick up your delicate vase and move your coffee table away from them. Picking up the discarded remote from the floor, you plop on the couch exiting the movie and playing a recently released rom-com.

Twenty minutes into the movie with you actively trying to catch the dialogues over two grown ups bickering, suddenly silence fills in. Did they finally kill each other?

Two men loom over you. You gulp, setting your feet down ready to run. Seungkwan makes a grabby hand for the remote only to be blocked by Jeonghan’s body. He rests his knee on the couch next to you, the other leg between your feet, trapping you.

You hide the remote behind you, not letting go of the chance to watch your most anticipated film. It’s Friday night, it's supposed to be your unwinding time from the week’s stress. And you haven’t tasted peace since Jeonghan started crashing in your spare bedroom regularly—despite having his own huge flat all to himself.

He is a wall taking in Seungkwan’s hits. His fingers trail down your arm with a tickling touch. His fingers grazing your waist before slipping his hand between you and the couch. Seungkwan pushes him and Jeonghan crashes into you. His chest landing on your face. Your grip loosens on the remote momentarily as you try to push him off of you.

He steals the remote from you, walking away in a second. Seungkwan berates you while you catch your breath, still feeling the softness of his shirt.

Jeonghan resumes Godzilla sitting in the middle of the couch. The smirk never leaves his lips.

—

Jeonghan is your unofficial roommate at this point. He is on your mind while grocery shopping and planning the dinners for the coming weeks. He hates greens and you can’t sit through another lecture on how we are stealing animals’ food. Ridiculous, yet you couldn’t help but nod along with his points.

After getting used to his antics’ and finding him sprawled on your couch by the time you are home from the office, it is odd to not see him some days.

You will find yourself sitting on the couch where he should have been and lay there for a few minutes wondering. Asking him will make it easier and can put your overthinking brain to rest. But there’s this meaningless fear of him finding out your crush.

He is not home today, and the TV isn’t playing in the background. It is friday and usually he is at home, waiting for you. A sigh escapes your lips as you drop the keys in the bowl and neatly line up your shoes. You pause by the couch staring at the empty couch, what is he up to?

Your shoulders snag realizing there is no movie night today. You can’t slowly find yourself resting against him, some days on his lap falling asleep as he runs his fingers across your hair. Is he on a date? Did he find someone? Is that why he is not with you now?

Sadness engulfs you, the thought alone rattling your peace. What will you do if you see him with someone else? This whatever that is between you two is doomed to begin with. Seungkwan has been relentless about his hatred for your crush, throwing warnings everytime possible.

“He is not right for you. I never saw him with the same girl.” Seungkwan’s words are an echo in your mind. “You deserve more than him.”

But you want Yoon Jeonghan. Whatever or however he is. You like him as he is.

He doesn't reciprocate the same, apparently. You never find him looking at you twice or bringing up dating or anything he usually does. You heard stories of him but not one of them playing out in reality. Does he not see you as a girl? Are you his bro?

Before you can spiral into your downfall you rush into the shower to clean yourself of the miseries.

—

One hour into a refreshing bath and re-energized version of you, you step out of the shower only to find you forgot to bring in change of clothes. Wrapping a towel around your wet body you open the bathroom door to rush into your bedroom.

Watching over your steps trying not to slip and meet the floor, your eyes are rooted on the floor. A rustle of a bag of chips falling on the ground startles you.

Yoon Jeonghan is standing across the hallway still clad in his work suit, his lips parted and gaze scanning over you slowly, lingering. You grab onto the knot holding your towel tightly, the sound of your heart too loud even to your ears. With a shriek you rush into your room slamming the door behind you.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck.” You pull your hair in frustration.

Did he see you?

Of course he did. He couldn’t move his eyes off of you.

“Ugh.” You groan into void. How to face him again?

You are prancing around your room—clothed, you learnt your lesson now. Wasting time inside so that magically the night will deepen and he falls asleep. You will go out once everything is clear to grab some food. Your stomach growls, not agreeing to the timeline.

Jeonghan knocks on your door, “come out.”

“No.” The answer is swift, surprising yourself.

“I ordered chicken and beer.”

He can’t know the cheat code to your weakness. How does he know it’s your favorite? You didn’t mention it to him. Did you?

He raps his knuckles again on the door. “Come on.”

You trace the doorknob pondering. Your stomach growls yet again. You turn the knob opening the door, Jeonghan is leaning against the door frame, his suit jacket missing and the top three buttons of his dress shirt undone.

You avoid his eyes, tucking your wet hair behind your ear. He inches towards you, lingering for a second before walking back into the living room.

The dinner passes in silence, the usual chatterbox Jeonghan is concentrating more on his chicken. You frown when he lets you pick the movie without a fight or random game. Not wanting to let go of the golden chance you choose the cheesiest chick flick to rile him up. Only for him to watch it without a comment.

In the middle of the movie, amidst the hero and heroine yelling their love for each other, Jeonghan’s hands rest over yours. When the couple on screen is kissing, he interlocks his fingers with yours.

—

“I can’t believe you!” Yoon Jeonghan is pacing around your living room. “Why didn’t you say anything to me?”

“Why are you yelling?” You shout back and shrink back into the corner of the couch receiving a glare from him.

“Why? Why?!” He marches towards you, gripping your cheeks. “You exactly know why. Don’t play dumb.”

A storm is brewing in his black eyes, but still pretty, and still lovely. This is the exact reason you did what you did. Went on a date arranged by Seungkwan.

It was okay. Your date was plain, boring. Ending the date quickly, you came home only to find a fuming Jeonghan.

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” You push his chest, he doesn’t budge. “Let go, Jeonghan.”

“She doesn’t know,” his voice is low, threatening. “Sneaking into my bed middle of night thinking I don’t know, and leaving before I wake up, what does that mean?”

He curls the stray strand behind your ear, “stealing looks, clothes. What is my hoodie doing in your closet, baby?”

“I’m not sure.” You fluster, gripping onto the couch, pushing yourself back into it as much as you can, away from him.

“How was he?” He pushes your chin up, “look at me.”

“Why do you care?” You snap. “You don’t even care. I am going crazy because you don’t even care—mmmph.”

He shuts you up, crashing his lips on yours. You imagined this moment countless nights, on your bed restless and desperate. He would do it slowly, sweetly just how he is with you. But you were wrong. His kisses are feral, biting and, and, so, so Jeonghan.

He bites on your lower lip, soothing the sting with his tongue. You gasp, your tongues clashing for dominance. Slowly you follow his dance, letting him lead. You are sprawled on the couch, Jeonghan hovering over you, his knee nuzzled just right between your legs.

He breaks the kiss, a wet string of saliva trailing behind his lips. The storms in his black eyes shifted into starry eyes, ethereal, luring you right into him.

“Pretty boy.” You cup his cheek. He leans into your touch, closing his eyes, inhaling big gulps of air. “Mine.”

His eyes snap open, a glimmer, possessiveness shining in them. He shifts, his knee pressing into your core. A moan spills from your lips before you can stop it, eyes fluttering shut from the bliss. He presses further extracting moan after moan.

His name, a prayer, chanting the entire night as he makes sure you know just how much he cares.

—

“Don’t panic,” Jeonghan chuckles at your panicky self, rummaging through the first aid kit. “It’s just blood.”

You slam the cotton on the coffee table, glaring at him. The smile drops off his face seeing the unshed tears. A sour taste spreads across his mouth, he doesn’t like it. He hates seeing you cry, he realized.

You weren’t a crybaby, even during the fights and silent treatment you didn’t cry. His heart softens, grasping the meaning, oh, you love him. If you asked Jeonghan later on which moment solidified his love for you, he would point out this exact moment.

You tenderly tend his bruised hands and legs, wiping your eyes with your sleeves. Once neatly bandaged you put back everything in the kit not meeting his eyes.

He calls your name. You shake your head. He sighs, pulling you onto his lap not heeding your warnings. He circles his arms around your waist, resting his face in your chest.

“Home.”

—

You wake up with a jerk, heart beating against your chest like you were running a marathon. Squeezing yourself out of the tangled blanket, you wipe the wetness off your face, eyes.

Jeonghan. You dreamt of him. It’s been so long since you have seen his smile, the dream Jeonghan was your Jeonghan, the one you fell in love with.

It’s the day after his birthday, you want, need, to check who he celebrated it with. Who took your place in his life. You trudge to the living room searching for the phone, a dull pound in your temples slowing your body. Why did you have to drink?

The phone is lying on the kitchen counter next to your bag, and you see notifications from Seungkwan. Twenty messages and three calls. You swipe off his ‘don’t do anything stupid’ messages and open your fake account.

You sit on your knees, pushing your hair away from your eyes. It would be a lie to say you aren’t scared. If he has a girl again you don’t know how you would stomach it. Your thumb shivers before clicking on his profile.

No update. No story. Or any post. You sit back on your butt staring at the dry profile. Did he finally choose to go private? Or did he figure out that bloom_234 is you?

Or what if he didn’t have any girl last night.

You click on his contact, still blocked. Should you unblock him? He doesn’t even know if you unblocked him, it’s been more than a half year. You unblock him before nerves get you. Or Seungkwan.

—

“He is still sulking,” Seungkwan’s girlfriend rolls her eyes, “you know how he is.” She says with an exasperated sigh, summing up the childish acts of her boyfriend.

It’s Sunday, and it’s been a week since you unblocked Jeonghan. He didn’t realise it just as you expected. You weren’t going to push it, or beg him this time. At least you leveled up one bit from being a pathetic loser to a loser.

Call with Seungkwan has become inevitable as he threatened to revoke your right to be one of his groomsmen. He proposed to his long time girlfriend last weekend.

“You would have known if you picked up my calls.” He berates when you pout about missing out on a precious moment.

His girlfriend who was already brighter than the sun is shining like a thousand suns combined in her. The green feeling births inside your chest and you snuff it out before it can blazes over.

“I’m so happy for you.” Your eyes prick from the overflowing emotions. “So so happy.”

You really are. Seungkwan and you have been attached to each other since high school, seen every phase, every embarrassing moment and every key event of each other’s lives. And now marriage.

They both smile endearingly at each other, Seungkwan kisses her ring clad finger before turning to you with a serious expression. Uh-oh.

“What were you doing all these months? Why are you avoiding me?”

You flip the pancake, pressing on it with spatula. “I didn’t avoid you.” You hold the phone away from your face, “I was busy getting used to a new place and settling in. Mind you of the fact I have to set up everything on my own.”

Seungkwan barks into the phone, his voice loud to your quiet apartment. “You are avoiding me now. Show me your face.”

You wince, setting the spatula down and picking up your phone. “Happy?”

“This is exactly how a guilty person looks.” He sits up from the bed, rubbing his swollen face, “spill.”

“Spill what?” You sweat, despite the cold autumn breeze flowing in through your balcony. “Ah, there’s new love blooming in my office. Cute I have to say. Didn’t confess yet, but they are on their way.

“Can you believe Hansol also tried ‘Get Love Quick’ only to be paired with a man?” You continue not giving a second for Seungkwan to budge in. If he knows you have opened the gate to Jeonghan again, he will manifest himself next to you in mere seconds. “Well, that’s that. Anyway, Sunhee is excited that they are going out this friday. She said some place but I don’t remember where it is.”

Seungkwan calls your name in a warning.

“What?” You whine, turning off the stove, leaning on the kitchen counter. “What else do you want me to do? I made new friends, I am not wallowing in self-pity, and I am not saying no to blind dates. What else do you want Boo Seungkwan? Should I write off my life now?”

“Did you talk with Yoon Jeonghan? Again?” Seungkwan discards your rant like removing a cherry from a cake.

“I didn’t!”

“Guys. Guys.” Seungkwan’s girlfriend snatches the phone from him. “You have to chill,” she chides her boyfriend. “And you,” she gets down the bed and walks out of the room, away from Seungkwan. “He is just worried about you. You literally ghosted us for months. You know how he gets.”

You hold the bridge of your nose, letting out a long exhale. “Yeah, I am sorry.” You pick your breakfast to your couch. “It’s just.. Its too much. I mean I am human, what if I did text him,” you quickly add, noticing her alarmed expression, “I didn’t. Hypothetically, I am saying. He isn’t a bad person, you know.”

“If he was so bad, why would I,” you trail off, not seeing the point in explaining yourself again and again to someone who just couldn’t get you. “Enough about me. How’s the celebrations going on? How did your family react to the engagement?”

She lets the topic change with a side glance. “They knew about it. He met my family and asked for their permission.” She huffs in disbelief, a smile on her face, “I can’t believe my family knows how to shut up. Usually, we kims are very bad at keeping secrets.”

“I had to prepone the date a week,” Seungkwan joins in, resting his chin on her shoulder, “her sister almost spilled the beans and I was pissing in pants the entire time. You had to be there to see it.”

You chuckle, taking a bite of the pancake. “I missed it all, didn’t I? I am sorry, I wasn’t there to help you with your big moment.”

“That’s okay,” Seungkwan brushes it off, his girl bobbing her head. “My big moment will be in six months, and I am gonna kill you if you miss it.”

You screech, dropping your fork to the carpet. You promise him to be there with him for planning and executing everything, letting him verbally bind you to a contract having you to be a slave for him as long as he wants if you miss even a small event.

You should’ve stopped yourself, should’ve seen the red light glaring but you concede away blind in happiness.

—

Universe is plotting against you. The series of misfortunate events should speak for itself. It started with a client imposing an urgent task, throwing you off your work schedule. Your heater at home crashed forcing you to experience a free simulation of how raw chill autumn nights work. The repairman is out of town, ranaway to marry the love of his life. Administration is on look out for a replacement. And, you had to catch the new love birds making out at the staircase.

Awkward is just another word as you currently sit at your desk avoiding your juniors. You weren’t mad per say seeing them break rules it's more of a shock, like seeing your sister make out. Sunhee has grown close to you over the days, especially after the disastrous night of her taking care of you.

“Come on,” she swivels her chair next to you, “till when are you going to run away. I am sorry!”

“What? Who?” You blink at her feigning innocence after almost reaching for the bleach to clean your eyes. “Did something happen that I should know of?”

Hansol stretches his body, walking away from you guys with his hands in pockets and whistling his way out. Sunhee grumbles under her breath, “scaredy-cat.” She turns to you, eye-to-eye. You push your chair away from her slowly, scared for your life. “You are almost 30, and you act like you haven’t seen a kiss or kissed someone.”

That hurts your pride. “What?!”

She has a teasing lilt, “but that couldn’t be true.” Her eyes shine, mimicking you, “‘Hannie, Hannie, my Hannie will like Yangsan’.”

You shove her face off of you. “Shut up. We are in the office. And I am your senior. I can easily report you—”

“Who is he?”

“I have a deadline. And you have one too.” You roll her away to her desk. “If you could go back to working I’ll be happy that I won’t need to pull another all-nighter.”

She is back at your side in a beat. “Who is he? Tell me. It’s only fair since you know all of my love story—”

“Only because you shove it in my face even when I don’t want to—”

“—I won’t stop pestering you until you go on a date.”

“Don’t you have a boyfriend? I’m flattered that you find me attractive but I like men.”

“Ha. Ha. Funny.” She folds her arms, “on a blind date. With a man. That’s the only requirement for you right?”

“Excuse me!” You are offended yet again. “My bar isn’t as low as you think. I’m one sophisticated woman.”

“This Sunday at 6. Be ready.” She rolls away humming a song.

Did you just get blackmailed into a date?

—

The restaurant is bustling. You check the message from Hansol again to confirm your date is at the expensive restaurant of Yangsan. Checking up on the details of the restaurant, you had to recheck the city and pin code to make sure it’s in the city.

People in their fifties, pepper hair and classy suits, a woman on their arm, file in and out of the wooden doors. You press the black velvet dress, smoothing down your jitters. It’s been so long since you dined in a fine restaurant. Three years to be exact.

How bad does your date want to impress you to choose this place? Can you back out now? Is it too late?

He’s waiting.

-Hansol

You groan reading the text. There’s no way out of it now. You put the phone back in your purse clicking it shut. Rounding your shoulders you get ready for the date, it’s going to be alright. You flick your hair back, pulling your dress a little higher and you climb the steps to the door. A sweet valet parker beats you in opening the door for you. Mumbling a thank you, you wait for the attendee to finish up talking with an elderly couple.

“Welcome!” The lady dressed in a red jacket and red lipstick beams at you.

With a small smile, you check the message from Hansol again. “Hey. My reservation is for table 17?”

She checks her iPad scrolling through her list before leading you through the oak tables, servers tending to customers, different scents of food hitting your nostrils, awakening your dead hunger. All the anxiety numbed you from the usual munching of your snacks, and the dread of the date now settled in your stomach. You may throw up if food hits your stomach but you may faint if you don’t eat anything in the next hour. Workings of your body never leaves you amazed.

“Here you are,” she points to the empty chair, her red lips still stretched wide in a smile.

You look up from your phone reading the sender’s name. Seungkwan. “Thank you,” you bow to the lady. Your phone vibrates in your hand, your life tilted on the axis seeing the man sitting at your table, supposed to be your date.

Yoon Jeonghan is occupying the other chair watching you with his hooded eyes, hard to read, hard to decipher his feelings. You hold the woman’s shoulder before she can leave you two. “Are you sure this is table 17?”

Her perfect grin slips, a frown dancing on her face, checking the iPad yet again. “I am sure. This is the table. Is there any problem?”

Jeonghan shifts in his chair uncomfortably. You made the mistake of meeting his eyes, the darkness in them pulled you in, his eyebrows pulled in, and a breath escaping his parted lips. You can't believe that you are again here, in the same situation as few months ago, set up with Jeonghan coincidentally. He anticipates your decision, not saying a word or asking you to join him. Should you go along with this dinner or take a turn and make a run?

Your comments, reblogs and likes are very much appreciated as they encourage me to write more! Here is the like to part 2

#jeonghan x reader #jeonghan #yoon jeonghan #seventeen #seventeen fic #svt x reader #angst #fluff #exes au #jeonghan fic #jeonghan x you

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y2kstarr · 3 days ago

Text

— ᥫ᭡ cyber sex . . . matt sturniolo

where . . . matt just cant help needing you even when he's away, but he's got a way to work it out

contains . . . pure smut, phone sex (facetime), masturbation (handjob, fingering), dirty talk, switch!matt.

credits to @delilahsturniolo for the marathon concept

HOT PINK WRITING MARATHON . . . fic #1

You giggled at your phone as you stepped into your room, scrolling through the multiple borderline sexting texts you and Matt had been sending each other throughout the whole day, leading up to now, where you were finally alone to actually indulge.

You plopped down onto your soft, cushioned bed, your room dimly lit from the purple LED lights that were strung along where your walls met your ceiling, your pillows holding the weight of your head as you lie down.

Just then, you saw a new text from him come through:

𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊��𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚢𝚎𝚝, 𝚖𝚊?

You hardly even waste a second before texting back a simple "yes", watching at the receipt turned from delivered to read, a moment of nothing filling you with anticipation before your phone started ringing, Matt's contact card now on your screen along with the options to accept or decline.

Excited chills went through your body before you collected yourself, the pad of your thumb pressing against the accept button and watching as his face came onto your screen. You felt your body practically melt as his lips curled into a warm smile at the sight of you.

"Hi baby," He cooed through the phone, making you already giggle as you greeted him back. "Been missin' you like crazy over here, I swear, it's like I'm addicted to you." He chuckled low, but you heard as he let a soft groan slip from his lips, his teeth subtly bitting at his bottom lip.

"Matt," You spoke his name in that soft, warm tone that always had his skin prickling with goosebumps, his teeth biting a bit harder into his lip now as he withheld a moan.

You giggled as you rolled your eyes. "Can't believe you've already been touching yourself. Thought you promised to wait till we got on call," You teased him, hearing as he let out a huffed chuckle in response.

"I know, ma, I just– fuck, just thinkin' about you gets me all worked up, I couldn't help myself," He admitted, your eyes noticing through the camera that his arm was trying to discreetly move, a smirk coming to your lips.

"C'mon, baby. Show me," You cooed, loving the way he huffed out a soft scoff before moving his phone back a bit, tilting it down to reveal his fingers wrapped around his gorgeous cock. His tip was a deep, flushed pink, pre-cum already starting to leak from his slit as he was clearly rock hard.

"That's how you me got me these past few days, ma," He groaned softly, though his grip on his phone unsteady, a muttered curse leaving his lips before he lifted his phone and brought it back, propping it up on something and checking what was all in view before he sat back.

You bit your lip as you watched his hand slowly stroke his cock, his head lolling back against whatever was behind his head as his chest rose and fell in deep breaths.

Your eyes stayed glued onto him through the screen a bit more before he let out a small noise that nearly sounded like a whimper or a whine, your eyes flicking his face as he glanced away from the camera, blush tinting his cheeks with his free hand covering his mouth.

"I.. wanna see you too, baby... please?"

You practically threw all inhibitions out the window the moment you heard him practically beg, your head nodding quick with a smile on your lips. You heard him chuckle softly through the phone as you took a moment to prop your phone up just right on your bed, a pillow backing it, before it finally worked.

You moved back a little, your knees up as you tugged off your sleep shorts and panties, looking back to see Matt watching you with desire filled eyes that sent a shiver through your spine. You sat up comfortably on your knees and feet, legs closed together before you slowly spread them for Matt, revealing your already glistening pussy to him.

"Fuck, baby..." Matt breathed out, your eyes noticing just how his dick twitched at the sight, a smirk on your lips even as you blushed, still a little embarrassed on being like this on call with him. "Can you touch yourself too..? Please, you got me lookin' pathetic here.." He huffed out a chuckle as you giggled.

You reached your hand down to grasp the hem of your shirt, tugging it up before you bit into the fabric, holding it up to show off your tits and give yourself better access to your drooling cunt. The moment your fingers brushed through your soaked folds, you let out a soft moan, albeit muffled by your shirt.

"Jesus, ma– you're a goddamn wet dream, right now—" Matt groaned out, your eyes back on your phone as you watched him start stroking himself again, a bead of pre-cum visible through the camera, nearly making your mouth water.

As you circled your clit, your eyes stayed locked on him on screen, his shallow breaths, his flushed cock, his half-lidded eyes. You let your fingers slide down before slowly slipping into your needy cunt, your eyes fluttering at the feeling as you pumped your fingers slow, matching his strokes in time.

"Wish I was there with you, touchin' you. God, I need you so fuckin' bad right now—" He groaned out, breathlessly chuckling at how needy he was getting for you, his hand starting to move faster on his cock as he watched you match his speed, a thill going through him as it let his imagination run wild, pretending like he was there, fucking you so good.

Soft squelches emitted from your sopping cunt as you fingered yourself to match his pace, whimpers and moans leaving you as your free hand lifted to grip your shirt from your mouth, a gasped breath leaving you. "Matt– fuck– need you here—" You breathlessly babbled out, whining as you rocked against your palm, stimulating your clit.

"Yeah baby? You thinkin' about me being there with you?" You nodded your head at his words, eyes fluttered shut as you bit your lip, just letting the pleasure wash over your greedy body. "Thinkin' about how much you want my dick in that sweet pussy, huh? Mmm– fillin' you up so nice— fuck— just like you deserve?"

"Matt—" You gasped out, feeling a warmth burn within your tummy, growing hotter and hotter by the second as your fingers worked your pussy perfectly, your mind trying to pretend like it was his fingers instead, or even his cock, just like he'd said. "You're gonna make me cum—" You whined, your hand gripping tighter at your held up shirt.

"You close, ma?" He cooed, groaning as he could hear the sloppy mess that was you fingering yourself, the sound so melodic to his ears as his hand stroked his throbbing cock, his hips twitching up to practically fuck into his fist. "S-Shit.. c'mon ma, cum f'me. Cum all over this dick–" He panted out, making your imagination build at the thought of getting to gush all over his thick cock.

Pants built up between the both of you, whimpered grunts leaving Matt's mouth as sweet whined moans fell from yours, your thighs starting to shake as you felt that tingly feeling grow and grow, your panting quick and skipping. "'M gonna– g-gonna—!"

You gasped before could hardly get your words out as your eyes rolled back and your thighs trembled nearly close, your pussy spasming and gushing all over your fingers, hips rocking to ride out your high against your palm, a sweet, loud moan of Matt's name leaving your soft, bitten lips, ecstasy washing over you in glorious waves.

Matt watched in awe with his lips parted, fucking up into his fist almost desperately as he felt his own orgasm finally hit him like a tidal wave, a gasp leaving him as white spurts of cum shot from his cock. His hand quickly lifted his shirt in time, his hips stuttering as his hand quickly stroked himself through his orgasm, his eyes lidded with pure pleasure.

"Fffuckkk–" He moaned out, his voice a little whiny from his breaths before his eyes rolled back, his hand slowing a bit as he slowly descended from his high. "Oh my— fucking god, baby..." He huffed out, a weak chuckle leaving him at the mess he'd made all over his abdomen, just like how you'd gotten your sheets all messy too.

You panted out in bliss as you took your fingers out with a weak whimper leaving you, cleaning as much as you could up before grabbing your phone and lying back down, your blissed out expression visible through the camera as you watched Matt clean himself up.

"I love you so much, Matt." You murmured, and he couldn't help but grin, all lovestruck and equally blissed out as he blew you a little kiss.

"Love you too, ma."

☆ : ok, a bit much, but i feel like i actually popped off with the first fic of the marathon EEEE!! hope you all enjoy!! <33

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bitters-n-sweets · 15 hours ago

Text

take a break pt. 2 — michael "robby" robinavitch x fem!reader Months after Bali, you're finally back in the US, staying with your sister in Pittsburgh. You just have no idea who lives there, too. take a break pt. 1

warnings: age gap, cursing, inaccuracies of how the ER works, angst, misunderstanding trope, reader has a sister named Jenna—who gets mildly hurt, not proofread, mentions of miscarriage (not the reader), minors go away, 5.2K words masterlist I am overwhelmed with joy at how the first part of this got so much love, thank you all, I'm so glad you liked it ❤️

"You’re telling me," your sister says, blinking like she’s trying to process it while trying not to get angry, "you spent an entire week with a guy who's decades older than you??"

You sigh. Of course she’s only focusing on that part.

"Just one decade and a half—"

"What were you thinking???" She’s pacing now.

You roll your eyes. "Look, I know how it sounds, okay? But it wasn’t like that."

She stops, arms crossed, and gives you a pointed look.

"I’m serious. What happened in Bali… it was different. I’ve never met anyone like him."

Jenna takes a deep breath a few times and sits beside you. The sharp voice softens. "I just don’t want you to get hurt again."

"Too late," you murmur with a bitter smile.

She sighs and pulls you into a hug. "Of course it is."

For a moment, neither of you say anything. Your phone sits on the table, still open from showing her a photo of you and Robby, sun-kissed and smiling. Jenna squints at it.

"Well," she says, "he is stupid handsome. Those sad-boy eyes? Come on."

You let out a laugh, some of the tension slipping from your shoulders.

"And he’s a doctor?" she adds, scoffing. "Girl."

You roll your eyes, but your smile betrays you. She’s trying.

After months of traveling, your lease ended, so you're staying at her place in Pittsburgh for now, just until you find a new apartment. Your sister's been your rock since you were kids. If anyone bullied you, or if you needed any help with friends, math, you name it, and she'll be there for you. She's the most reliable big sister you could ever have, so you don't blame her for trying to protect you.

She's also trying to balance being the protective sister, and the fun one. It doesn't always work.

"So what’s stopping you from looking him up?" Jenna asks suddenly.

You hesitate.

"He’s one Google search away," she nudges. "Don’t even lie."

You suck in a breath. "I know. I just… what if I find out he’s moved on? What if it really was just a vacation fling for him? And what if he lives in New York or something? I mean, we didn't reveal our hometowns for a reason. We could've easily shared our phone numbers, but we didn't."

Jenna frowns. "Okay, first of all? If everything you told me is true—and judging by those photos and the way you talk about him—it wasn’t just a fling. And second, so what if he’s in New York? That’s like a 90-minute flight. You work remotely. Things could actually work out."

You don’t say anything right away. You just look down at your hands and bite your cheek, the way you do when you’re unsure. Jenna bumps your shoulder gently.

She adds, "Look, I’m not saying go camp outside his hospital with huge cards, Love Actually style. But you should at least give yourself the chance to find out. What if he’s been thinking the same thing all this time?"

You barely say anything before Jenna snatches your phone off the coffee table.

"Wait—Jenna, no!"

She's already typing.

"Just a little digging," she says, her fingers working fast on your phone.

You lunge for the phone, but she twists away, standing up. "Give it back!"

"Nope, you had your chance and you blew it. Plus, you know you won't actually do this. I'm doing you a favor."

"Jenna, I’m serious—"

"Aha!" She exclaims, stopping in her tracks. "Michael Robinavitch, MD. Trauma Attending at—"

Your eyes are wide as you stare at Jenna. Her face shifts. Something unreadable—then disbelief. She scoffs and meets your eyes. "You're not gonna believe me."

Robby sighs as he slides through the ER doors once again. Like yesterday, like the day before, like how it will be for the rest of his life, probably. Dana's already at the nurse's station, looking at the board, phone in hand.

"You know, every day you walk in here, and you look even more like shit." Dana frowns. "I thought you just had a vacation, you’re supposed to look refreshed, not like you got dumped in the ocean and left for dead."

Robby huffs. "Well, good morning to you, too, Dana."

And then something in Dana clicks. "Oh my God. You got dumped in Bali."

He lets out a dry laugh. "I didn't get dumped in Bali. I just…"

"Wait, did you dump someone in Bali?"

"Can we not do this here?"

"I mean… I just expected you to come back tanned and smug, not pining like some sad indie drama lead." Dana lets out a little laugh at her own joke.

Robby exhales slowly, a tight smile on his lips. "It was a vacation. Nothing more."

Oh but it was so so much more. He hasn’t stopped thinking about you. Let’s just get that out of the way. Your laugh, your perfume, the way you fell asleep on his chest like you were meant to be there. He swears he still smells you sometimes, and it’s driving him insane. He’s off his game at work, can’t sleep at home, can’t eat without thinking of the dinners you shared by candlelight and crashing waves. So yeah—he looks like shit. Forgive the middle-aged man for wearing his heartbreak on his face.

"What's her full name?"

Robby pauses. "What?"

Jack shrugs like it’s the most casual thing in the world. "I know you keep checking the board for any new incoming traumas to see if it could be her." Jack continues, "You feel guilty for it, but you're still doing it. So tell me her name—I’ll keep an eye out on nights."

Jack knows it's a way to ease Robby, even just for a little bit.

Robby presses his palms to his eyes, just for a second. Long enough to see your face behind his lids, then mutters your name. He doesn’t want to see you on a stretcher. God, no. He doesn’t want to see you bleeding, unconscious, coding. He hopes you never have a reason to come through those ER injured, ever.

But the truth is, the ER is where estranged people meet. And though he hates himself for it, a small part of him still hopes one day you’ll walk through that door again—alive, healthy, maybe even smiling.

"Okay." Jack nods, then smirks. "How about a picture?"

"Jack." Robby warns.

"Backing down, backing down," Jack raises his hands in surrender, "Just testing the waters."

"She must've been something, huh?" He adds, "You haven't stopped thinking about her, and it's been months. You might be really screwed, brother."

Robby doesn't say anything. He knows.

[flashback]

You're both soaked.

It started with a walk along the beach. Then a splash. Then a challenge. Now you're standing in the shallows, dripping wet, and Robby is grinning like an idiot because he 'won'.

"You cheated! You said you wouldn’t grab me!"

He shrugs. "I said I wouldn’t splash you. Technically, dragging you into the water doesn’t count."

"You’re impossible."

"You're slow."

You gasp and lunge toward him, but he takes off running down the beach like a damn teenager. You chase after him, heart pounding, laughing so hard it burns. Eventually, he slows just enough for you to catch him, and you both tumble into the sand.

"I should’ve let the jellyfish have you," You pant.

"I think you'd miss me too much."

You roll your eyes. "You’re so full of yourself."

His voice drops just enough to make your pulse skip. "Am I wrong?"

Then he leans in and kisses you, slow and smiling, like he knows he’s already won. When you finally pull away, you rest your forehead against his.

"You're the worst."

"Then you've got terrible taste."

[present day]

You linger outside the sliding glass doors for longer than you’d like to admit.

You'd gotten the same rosé you both shared in Bali, with a nice bow wrapped around the neck, and a letter you'd hand-written. It's very cliché, but it felt necessary. And now you feel stupid.

Fuck it.

Part of you is excited to see him, see his reaction, would he run to you? Hold you in his arms? Kiss you right there in front of everyone?

You're smiling nervously now as you walk past the doors. The emergency room at PTMC is busier than you expected, the front desk doesn’t pay you much attention, which is good, they're probably thinking you're visiting with what you have in hand. You’re not sure what you would’ve said anyway.

You ask quietly where to find him. They point you toward the consult rooms, and you murmur a quick thank-you, the gift bag tucked at your side.

You spot him almost immediately through the narrow strip of glass in the door to Consult Room A.

Your heart stops.

Robby is inside. He’s really here. Still tall, still impossibly handsome, and especially in his scrubs, exhaustion clinging to the curve of his shoulders. You almost burst through the door—when you realize he's not alone.

Another doctor is sitting on the exam bed, bent slightly forward, elbows on her knees, one hand cradling her stomach. Her eyes are red. Robby kneels beside her, not quite touching her at first—then gently, cautiously, he places his hand on her knee. She covers it with her own.

He says something you can’t hear. She nods. And then, quietly, she leans forward and presses her forehead to his, smiling, tears in her eyes.

You freeze.

All the warmth in your limbs rushes away. You feel like someone's just completely taken your lungs away and you can't breathe.

You recognize her—Dr. Collins. You’ve seen her on the PTMC staff page, probably one of the first names you found when you searched for Robby.

You take a step back, slowly, like you might disturb the moment if you're not careful. Then another.

It seems like Robby has moved on.

You're not sure what to do. You feel fucking stupid. Of course, he has moved on. It was just a fling, nothing more. Tears blur your vision as you take short breaths, the rosé now clutched tightly to your chest, and you hurrily walk back down the hall. You don't want him to see you. Not now. Maybe not ever.

Collins exhales shakily, then squeezes his hand one last time before standing.

"I'll be fine." she says, voice hoarse but steady.

"You sure?"

She gives him a small smile. "Yeah. Go save someone who’s actually dying."

He watches her walk out, her back straight even though her world just cracked in half. They’ve been through a lot, he and Collins. It was never romantic—not really—but there were late nights and shared griefs. A handful of near-misses. People who endure together sometimes blur lines. But whatever they were, that part’s long behind them.

A nurse knocks gently on the doorframe. "Dr. Robby?"

"Yeah?"

"There was someone here asking for you," she says, "I told her you'd be out in a minute but I think she left. She didn't leave a name, she had a gift bag with her though."

Robby blinks. "Okay, thanks."

People drop off things sometimes. A patient’s family, a resident trying to get on his good side, a pharmaceutical rep hoping to buy his time. He doesn’t think too hard about it. He heads back out into the chaos of the ER, unaware of the gift that nearly reached him—or the woman who had.

[flashback]

"So what happens after you leave?"

Robby doesn't answer right away. He drags a finger through the sand. "Get on a plane, go home, back to work."

"You know that's not what I mean."

He sighs. "I know."

You wait and Robby finally meets your eyes. "I don't want to ruin this."

"This." You repeat. "This… fantasy? Or us?"

His jaw shifts slightly, he’s trying to choose his words carefully. "I mean the part where I don’t have to think about how complicated this would get if we tried to keep it going."

You nod, lips tight. "Right." Complicated.

"I'm not saying I don't want this. Us." He says quickly, "I just... I don’t know how."

You know he's right. It just hurts to hear it. "Yeah… me neither."

You glance up, and there’s a long, quiet look between you. "So, let’s not make promises we can’t keep?"

Robby nods, but his hand finds yours in the sand. And he doesn't let go.

[present day]

You've been sitting in your parked car for ten minutes after leaving the entrance.

Your hands still tremble a little.

You’d come here with hope burning in your chest, you ignored all of the doubts because you wanted to believe what you had with Robby was real. Because maybe despite not sharing phone numbers, there was something there. You hoped he also regretted not continuing what you had. But seeing Robby with her, the way he touched her, the softness in his expression… it had knocked the wind out of you.

Still, you can’t bring yourself to throw the gift away—or bring it home. Or the letter. So you decide to rewrite the letter. As a goodbye. You slip it inside the gift bag and get out of the car.

This time, you don’t go to the front entrance. You spot a woman smoking near the ambulance bay, leaning against the wall like she’s on break.

You approach her quietly.

"Hi. Sorry to bother you—do you work in the ER?"

She squints through the smoke, "Yeah, why?"

"I, uh, could you give this to Dr. Robby? I…have an errand to run, so, I can't give it to him myself." You offer her the gift bag.

She eyes the gift bag warily. "You trying to sell him something?"

"No, no, nothing like that. I just want to thank him. For everything he's done for me." You hesitate. "You can tell him it's from Ove."

She hesitates, then shrugs, taking the gift bag. "Yeah, sure."

You just offer a small, grateful smile. "Thanks."

Robby's sitting on his desk, busy charting, when Dana drops a gift bag in front of him.

"And this is…?"

"Rosé delivery, apparently." Dana chuckles. "Someone wanted to thank you, so she told me to give you this. Said it's from 'Ove'."

His heart stops. He snatches the bag like it might vanish, scanning the pink-gold bottle, the smooth ribbon, the familiar handwriting he could recognize anywhere.

You were here.

He bolts.

"Wait—" Dana calls behind him, "There's—!"

But Robby’s already sprinting down the hallway, dodging a gurney, ignoring the startled nurse who calls his name.

He jogs a little down the street, scanning every face. A couple arguing near the bus stop. A woman in scrubs checking her phone. But not you. His breath fogs in the cold air, and something in his chest twists painfully.

He missed you.

"Fuck." He keeps repeating, "FUCK!"

"Robby!"

He turns at Dana’s voice.

She’s outside now, waving something in her hand. "She left a letter."

Hi Robby, I'm sorry I didn't give you this letter and gift myself. I know it probably seems cowardly to leave a letter like this instead of talking to you face to face, but honestly… I don’t think I could’ve done that without crying. Or jumping into your arms. Or kissing you… Or all of it. There’s so much I wanted to say, but maybe this will have to be enough. I’m happy you’ve found someone who makes you happy. I really am. I hope she’s good to you. I hope she sees what I see in you—your terrible jokes, your gentleness, the way you care too much and try to hide it. I hope she knows how lucky she is. Take care of yourself, doc. And thank you for all the memories. You deserve someone who makes coming home feel like peace. – Ove

Robby reads the letter once. Then again.

He’s standing in the hallway outside the break room, half-shielded by the open door, fingers curling around the page like it might explain itself differently on the third read.

You were here. At the hospital. He missed you.

His eyes skim the line again—the one about how you couldn’t face him without crying, or kissing him. Jumping into his arms. His heart clenches. It’s so you. Honest. Brave and terrified at once.

Then he hits the sentence that makes him stop cold.

I’m happy that you’ve found someone who can make you happy.

His brow furrows. Found someone?

He glances up like the hallway might have an answer. What are you talking about? There’s no one. There hasn’t been anyone. Not really. Just that moment with Collins—but even that... that wasn’t what you think.

His chest tightens. You thought he was with someone. That he moved on.

You thought he was happy.

He leans back against the wall, one hand dragging down his face. A deep exhale pushes from his lungs, but it doesn’t take the ache with it.

"Ove," he says aloud, the name barely a breath.

He lets out a quiet laugh, one that almost breaks halfway through. Of course you'd sign it like that.

Now you're leaving him rosé and a goodbye that read like a love letter sealed in regret.

His chest tightens. There's a stinging behind his eyes he doesn't want to name.

Dana watches him from the nurses’ station, saying nothing. She doesn’t need to. Robby just shakes his head, pressing his lips together.

"She was here," he says again, like he still doesn’t believe it.

"Yeah," Dana replies softly, looking at him sympathetically. "She was."

The letter is still in his hand. He folds it carefully, like it's something sacred. Then he tucks it into his jacket pocket and takes a breath.

He should have been faster.

He should have found you.

But now… now all he can do is stand here, holding the words you couldn't say out loud.

A few days after that, you're back to apartment hunting. Somewhere outside of Pittsburgh. You haven't told your sister, but you have a feeling she knows. She's been quiet in that careful way, watching you drift through nights of old movies and whiskey. Not rosé—never rosé. That would taste too much like him.

You're on the couch, laptop warming your thighs, when you suddenly hear a scream from the kitchen.

"Jenna!" You scramble.

Jenna had bought one of those aesthetic looking pots made of glass, and of course it shattered. Another sound—glass crunching, followed by a strangled yelp. You race in to find her on the floor, clutching her arm, shards of her new glass pot glittering across the tile. She must’ve slipped. Her forearm is red, swelling fast.

"I'm okay—" She groans and winces, "Okay, OW OW OW—No, I'm not okay."

You turn off the stove, moving quickly to help her up, careful not to step on the glass. "Let's get you to the hospital. I'll get a cab."

She’s quiet in the ride over, cradling her arm, the towel now damp from melted ice.

"I'm so stupid." She hisses. "It's not even that bad, it just hurts."

"You're not stupid," You say, "But it looks pretty bad. The glass shattered everywhere. You're lucky it didn't cut you anywhere else."

She lets out a breath that sounds more like a groan, then presses her head back against the seat.

"Are you sure you want to come?" She asks after a beat, always worrying about you first. "We're going to that ER. After everything that happened…"

You glance out the window, swallowing down the familiar ache that tightens in your chest at just the mention of it.

"Jenna." You cut her off gently. "None of that matters right now. You’re hurt. We’re going."

She bites her cheek, clearly reading more in your silence than you want her to. But she just nods. "Okay."

It's not that late yet, and the ER is still as busy as ever. Due to the level of Jenna's injury, you get in fast. You push through the double doors with Jenna leaning on your side, her towel-wrapped arm clutched to her chest. You follow the nurse down the familiar hall, heart tightening with every step, and help Jenna settle into a curtained bay. She gives you a strained smile, trying to act tough, but she looks worried.

"I'll go get a doctor for you, it'll be quick." the nurse says.

You sit on the edge of the plastic chair, elbows on your knees, trying not to breathe too deep.

Then the curtain rustles. "Okay, let's see who we have here."

You look up and freeze—just for a second—until you realize it’s not Robby. You exhale quietly, chest unclenching. "You're Jenna?" the doctor asks, flipping through the chart.

Your sister nods.

The doctor nods back, "I'm Dr. Abbot, and this is…" He motions to you.

"My sister," Jenna says, giving your name.

That’s when you see it—Dr. Abbot's face changes. He repeats your full name under his breath, eyes narrowing like he’s connecting dots in real time.

Something clicks in his head. Then, without another word, he steps back. "I'll be right back." He’s gone before either of you can ask anything.

"What the fuck was that?"

"Robby!"

Jack whisper-screams down the hall, catching Robby just as he’s about to exit through the staff doors. Robby slows, eyebrows raised in surprise as Jack jogs up to him.

"Jack, I really just—"

"She's here."

Robby stops mid-step.

"She was," he corrects slowly, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "a few days ago. I couldn't catch her—"

"No, Robby." Jack cuts in, breathless. "She's here now. With her sister. Bay 5."

Robby's eyes go wide. "…A-are you sure? Wait, is she okay??"

"Well I mean you wouldn't show me a picture of her so—"

"Jack—"

"Right." Jack says, "She’s fine, she’s accompanying her sister. Just stay in the consult room. I'll bring her over, tell her she can wait there."

Robby feels like his world is spinning again. He doesn't want to get his hopes up. He still has your letter tucked in his jacket pocket.

He nods nervously. "Okay."

You’re still staring at the curtain, blinking like maybe it’ll open again and explain whatever just happened. But it stays closed. Jenna glances at you, then at her arm, and mutters, "Well, that was weird."

"Yeah." You frown.

You’re still thinking about the way the doctor said your name like he recognized it—like it meant something. Before you can say anything else, the curtain swishes again. Dr. Abbot reappears, breathless, like he’s jogged half the ER to get back. "Um, do you mind waiting in the consult room? There's… not a lot of space here, so…"

It's an odd request, but Jenna says she's okay, so you reluctantly go with the nurse who'll show you where the consult room is.

As soon as you’re gone, Jenna raises an eyebrow at Dr. Abbot. He’s still standing there, watching the curtain fall closed behind you like it just told him a secret.

"…Do you know something?" She asks. Vague, suggesting.

Dr. Abbot turns slowly and squints at her. "I don't know. Do you know something?"

Jenna tilts her head. "I might."

He tilts his head back at her. "Then I might too."

The nurse doesn’t say much. Just a polite smile and a gentle hand on your back as she guides you down the hallway.

You pass a few curtain bays, a trauma room, and then she stops at a door with Consult Room B printed in small white letters.

"Just wait in here," she says gently.

"Wait for—"

"—OK." But the door closes before you can finish the question. You blink. Turn. And that’s when you see him.

Robby.

He’s standing at the far end of the room, one hand braced on the counter like he might be holding himself up. He's still in his scrubs, navy jacket with his sleeves rolled up, and he looks like he’s seen a ghost.

You freeze. He sees you.

For a second, neither of you speak. Neither of you even breathe.

Robby braves himself to step closer to you.

"Robby," you finally say, voice barely more than a whisper. You swallow, shifting your weight, arms folded like a shield. "I didn't know—the nurse just told me to—"

You break eye contact and step back as he steps closer. You can't look in his eyes, because you know you'll break. You're already fighting the tears that are about to fall.

He watches you for a moment, trying to find his voice. "You okay?"

You nod. "Jenna—my sister—she burned her arm. Slipped on glass. I just… went into autopilot."

He steps closer again, slower this time. "Is she alright?"

"Yeah. She’ll be fine." You bite your lip, still not looking at him.

"You left me a bottle of rosé," he says, gently, still stepping closer. "And a name."

You try to smile. "I thought you’d figure it out."

"I did," he says, now only inches away from you, "and then I read the letter."

Your breath hitches, just slightly. There’s a pause as you nod, your hands tighten over your elbows, fingers pressing into your sleeves. "Right."

"Are you ever going to look at me?"

You try to hide the sob escaping you and back away a little, but Robby reaches out, placing both hands gently to cup your face, brushing away your tears. You finally meet his eyes, and the sight wrecks you.

Why is he crying?

He steps closer, trapping you within his frame, and leans in. His lips press gently to yours, careful—as if asking permission, checking if you still want this, if you still want him. Your hands clutch his scrubs, holding on like a lifeline.

You pull away first. "This is wrong." You whisper.

Robby’s brows knit together in confusion until he sees the guilt in your eyes. You think he's with Collins.

"You…" You sniff, "You're happy, Robby. You—You can't ruin it."

"Look at me," His voice is firm, "Do I look happy to you?"

"I—"

"I'm not with Collins."

You look at him. "What?"

"The woman you saw with me a few days go," Robby says carefully, "she had a miscarriage. I was just… trying to be there for her."

You stare at him, breath caught. Your lips part, but nothing comes out. Then, quietly, "Oh."

You look down, heart thudding, face hot with shame. You want to disappear into the floor, you feel even more stupid now.

He asks, a little broken. "You really thought I'd move on that fast?"

You shake your head, blinking fast. "I didn't know what to think. I thought maybe it wasn’t as real for you as it was for me."

"And what? Were you just going to leave?" He frowns. "You weren't even gonna let me say goodbye. Not even one last look at you."

You shake your head, eyes glossy. "I thought it would be easier on you," you whisper. "Like Bali."

Robby's expression shatters. "That was not easy on me."

"You left before I woke up."

"I thought you wanted me to." His voice catches. "You were quiet that whole last day. I figured you didn’t want me to make it harder."

"Because I didn't want to say goodbye!" You cry out, "I didn't want it to end. But I got scared, because what if you don't like the version of me outside of Bali? Because Bali was good, so good, and back here—" you sob, "—back here I'm not as confident. I'm nobody. I'm a mess."

Robby's heart breaks a little. He sees you, truly sees you, and realizes the irony: that’s exactly how he feels.

"You think I don’t get that? You think Bali wasn’t the first time in years I felt like myself again?" He swallows hard. "I was afraid, too. Afraid I’d already messed it up. Afraid if I said goodbye, it would feel real. Final."

You close your eyes, a tear slipping down your cheek.

"You’re not nobody," he says, softer now. "You're the person who saw me when I was at my lowest. Who laughed so hard on that motorbike I thought I'd crash us into a rice field. Who made me believe I could want more than just work and sleep and going through the motions. Whose letter I still keep in my pocket. You're the person who lent me your book."

You chuckle at that, still sniffing.

He cups your cheek again, thumb brushing away the tears you’ve stopped trying to hide.

"And you don’t have to be confident all the time," he murmurs. "You don’t have to be the Bali version of you. I want you. All versions of you."

You try not to cry again, nodding your head. "…I want you, too."

He exhales—like he’s been holding his breath for days—and his forehead presses to yours, gentle and grounding. "I'm no picnic, either. I overthink everything. I push people away when I should let them in. I’ve spent most of my life trying to act like nothing gets to me."

"But you do." His thumb brushes under your eye. "You got to me."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"The worst." He smiles a little.

"Then you've got horrible taste."

He chuckles. "I believe what I said was 'terrible' not 'horrible'."

You share a laugh and there's a long, quiet pause. You’re both holding your breath, holding each other like the other person could disappear, like this might be a dream.

"Robby…" you murmur.

"Yeah?"

"Do you want to make promises this time?" You ask, hopeful once again. "Ones we'll try our best to keep?"

He smiles. "Yeah. I do."

He leans in again, brushing his lips over yours. Your fingers tangle in the navy fabric of his hoodie, like you're scared he’ll vanish. But he doesn’t. He just holds you tighter, steadier. And it’s everything you’ve been aching for. No longer a memory of Bali. No longer a what-if. Just you and him.

You take Robby’s hand gently and guide him towards where Jenna is to introduce them. You thought she'd be asleep, but you hear chatter from behind the curtain. When you swing it open—you see her and Jack, gossiping like two teenagers, her wounds wrapped up long ago.

"Oh hey~ We were just talking about you two," Jenna smirks, "So, Dr. Abbot, how long did you say Dr. Robby here has been broody?"

"Well, I think since birth, really, but he became worse after leaving Bali."

You roll your eyes and glance at Robby, who's blushing like a tomato now. You try to soothe him, while Jack and Jenna share a subtle fist bump, quietly whispering to each other.

"We did that."

"Hell yeah we did."

hope you guys like it! side note, lowkey loving Jack and Jenna's interaction and thank you to all of you in the taglist for being so excited for this 🥰 ily, and im so sorry if i missed anyone, it is really not on purpose. I hope you enjoyed!

taglist: @biggestsimponhere @thesnugglingduck @qardasngan @lol-im-done @daisydark @onlyrealjoy @sabrinaselina55 @borbalalikesdocs @livingavilaloca @evans-dejong @thinemineours @marvelousmissmaggie @maiamore @hagarsays @evermoresivy @capj-1437 @beebeechaos @obfuscateyummy @omgbrianab @honestlystop @jazzimac1967 @msdariaknight @cozyfanficnook @wowitsafemale @princessjayll @heyysolsister @mcuwhore7 @1mverstappen @aryacoulson @the-one-with-the-grey-color @ravenouswild @littlezee80 @gardeniarose13 @bitchy-bi-trash @breemary05-blog @arrowswithwifi

#michael robby robinavitch x you #michael robinavitch x female reader #michael robby robinavitch #michael robinavitch x reader #robby x reader #robby x female reader #robby robinavitch #dr robby x reader #robby robinavitch angst #michael robinavitch x you #dr robby angst #robby robinavitch x fem reader

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jocelynellie · 3 days ago

Text

Lover Boy -KA¹²

Kimi Antonelli x girlfriend!reader

Summary: Kimi being completely in love with his girlfriend Contains: fluff

Kimi stared at his phone, screen still glowing. His hand dropped slowly to his side. He didn’t speak.

She sat up from the couch. “Well?”

He looked at her. Eyes wide. Breath caught. And then—“I’m in.”

Her face split into the brightest, most heart-squeezing smile. “You’re—Kimi!”

Before he could finish breathing, she was in his arms. He wrapped her up, lifting her off the floor in a blur of laughing, breathless joy. She buried her face in his neck. He spun once, not even aware he was crying until her thumbs brushed his cheeks.

“You’re in Formula 1,” she whispered, grinning through her own tears. “You did it.”

“I only wanted to tell you,” he whispered back. “You’re the first person I thought of.”

“You’re the only one I’ll ever cheer for,” she said.

And in that tiny apartment, with his future finally unlocked, Kimi held the girl who had believed in him long before the world ever would—and realized this was what dreams really felt like.

It didn’t matter where Kimi was, on the starting grid under a sweltering sun or curled up on his couch with the lights off—his mind, without fail, found its way back to her.

Sometimes it was an involuntary reflex. A word, a smell, the way someone tied their hair or laughed too hard at a bad joke. Other times it was more deliberate, like now, in the paddock, where she walked three steps behind him, pretending like they weren’t about to melt into each other the second the cameras were gone.

He could hear her sandals slap against the concrete. Somehow, even her footsteps made him smile.

“Your zipper’s crooked,” she whispered, close enough that the back of his neck prickled.

Kimi paused mid-stride, grinning as he turned slightly. “Is it? Come fix it, then.”

She rolled her eyes but stepped forward without hesitation, fingers brushing his back as she tugged at the fireproof suit.

"Better?"

“Not really,” he said, teasing. “But you touching me helps.”

Her laugh was like a guitar string plucked inside his chest—sharp, warm, and unforgettable.

That night, back in the hotel room they shared, she sat cross-legged on the bed, wearing one of his oversized team shirts, face glowing from the post-shower warmth. She was watching something dumb on TV—some dating show with absurd challenges—but Kimi couldn’t focus on anything except the way she bit her thumb when she was trying not to laugh.

He sprawled beside her, head in her lap, pretending to be interested in the screen.

“Do you ever think about how this is it?” he asked softly, fingers drawing lazy circles on her thigh.

“This?” she tilted her head.

“You. Me. I mean this version of life. Like, I’m eighteen and driving in Formula 1, and I’ve got this, this perfect thing in my life.”

She leaned down to kiss his forehead, her hair falling over his face like a curtain.

“You’re being cheesy.”

“I’m being honest,” he murmured, nuzzling into her stomach.

She ran her fingers through his curls. “Well, I like your cheesy honesty. Even if you still snore.”

“I do not.”

“You do. Like a small, overworked tractor.”

Kimi groaned, but he smiled into her skin. Everything felt more real when it was her saying it, even insults sounded like lullabies.

Some mornings when they stayed together, Kimi would wake up before her just to watch her sleep. Her hair tangled on the pillow, face turned toward him, mouth slightly open. She drooled sometimes, but he thought it was the cutest thing in the world. He’d kiss her nose lightly and whisper things like “I love you” and “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” just in case dreams could hear.

One morning, she caught him.

“Are you watching me sleep again?”

“I’m admiring,” he defended, smirking.

She stretched like a cat, pulling the blanket tighter around her. “That’s creepy.”

“You say that,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek, “but you’re blushing.”

“I’m not.”

He leaned down, kissed her pink cheeks. “You so are.

After a particularly grueling race in Singapore, Kimi stumbled off the podium half-drenched in champagne and sweat, body aching, eyes stinging. It wasn’t even about the win—he’d placed third—but he needed her.

They barely made it to the motorhome before he collapsed onto the couch, and she was already beside him, pulling his boots off with a little wince.

“You’re too quiet,” she said gently. “Are you okay?”

He looked at her, eyes tired but so full of love it almost hurt to hold it all.

“I just wanted you.”

“You have me.”

“No, I mean—on that last lap, everything was so loud, I couldn’t even hear my engineer, but I kept thinking… If I mess up, I don’t see her tonight. I don’t get this.”

She climbed into his lap like she’d done it a hundred times—because she had—and wrapped her arms around him.

“You’d see me no matter what,” she whispered. “Even if you crashed, even if you came in last, I’d still be here.”

Kimi buried his face in her shoulder. “Don’t say crash.”

“Fine. Slow pit stop. Mechanical failure. Rain delay.”

“That’s better.”

The night before his home Grand Prix, Kimi stood at the balcony with her by his side, watching the city lights flicker like camera flashes.

“Do you get nervous?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah,” he said. “But not about racing. I get nervous about how lucky I am. That I get to do this—and then come home to you.”

She leaned into him, and he wrapped his arms around her, forehead resting on her temple.

“Promise me something?” he murmured.

“Anything.”

“When we’re eighty and grumpy, and I’ve retired with like twenty world titles—”

“Oh please.”

“—promise me we’ll still do this. Just… stand together and look at the lights.”

“Only if you promise to always let me wear your shirts.”

“Deal.”

He tried not to let it show in the paddock, but everyone saw it. Every mechanic, every engineer, every journalist.

They knew Kimi’s gaze always scanned the garage until it found her. Sometimes she wore sunglasses to avoid being too conspicuous, but Kimi could spot her from anywhere—like a lighthouse in the fog. He smiled wider when she was around. He was sharper in meetings, more focused on track. Someone once joked that she was his good luck charm.

“No,” Kimi had said, without a trace of humour. “She’s just my everything.”

Back in private, they had these quiet moments of electricity—those pauses between brushing teeth and turning off the lights, or while folding laundry on the rare Sunday afternoon they had off. Kimi would reach for her hand mid-conversation, or kiss her shoulder while passing behind her.

Sometimes they slow-danced in the kitchen. No music. Just the rhythm of dishwater dripping and the hum of the refrigerator.

“Why are we dancing?” she whispered once, arms around his neck.

“Because you’re in my arms, and there’s nothing else I’d rather do.”

“You’re such a sap.”

“But I’m your sap.”

She kissed his collarbone and laughed into his shirt. “Forever?”

“Forever.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Word count: 1.2k

#f1 x reader #f1 #formula 1 #f1 fanfic #kimi antonelli #kimi antonelli fluff #kimi antonelli x reader #ka12 #ka12 x reader

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hearts4hughes · 1 day ago

Note

Hello!!! I'm so sorry to bother you but when you do get the time could you do a more detailed fanfic of the last request I sent, no rush at all I was just wondering!!

ೃ࿔:･ three things rafe did to get you back, and the one that worked

he doesn’t sleep in his house for three nights.

not since your perfume curdled in the walls, not since your toothbrush disappeared and your favorite hoodie ended up folded in the laundry room like it didn’t mean anything.

he takes the truck and sleeps on the beach instead. driver’s seat reclined, cigarette burns on the floor mat, your voice echoing through his phone from some video you filmed months ago—shaky footage of him making you laugh in the cereal aisle at 3 am. you called him stupid in that video, grinning like you didn’t mean it. he keeps replaying that part.

he’s angry. not at you—never really at you—but at himself, for letting it get that far. for saying the kinds of things you don’t come back from, the kind that sit heavy in your chest when you’re trying to fall asleep. he doesn’t even remember how the fight started, just that it ended with the door slamming so hard a picture fell off the wall. just that you didn’t look back.

and god, he’s been trying to get you back everyday since.

1. he left flowers every day.

not store-bought roses, not the kind you see in glossy instagram proposals, no, they were wildflowers, hand-picked, stems crooked, petals bruised, sometimes tied with ribbon, sometimes with a handwritten note.

every morning, they showed up on your doorstep like clockwork—lilies, bluebells, dandelions stuffed in mason jars or beer bottles. he never knocked, never rang the bell, just left them. he figured you’d know who they were from anyway.

you left them outside until they filled your porch. the day you brought them all in was the day he stopped leaving them. figured you got the message. figured you’d call him, maybe send him a heartfelt text.

but he never got one.

2. he sent videos…too many.

they were always old ones. the ones you filmed when you were still his. the ones that you two were happiest in.

you in the passenger seat singing off-key, wind in your hair. you chasing him down the beach, laughing so hard you couldn’t breathe. his favorite—shaky footage of you asleep on his chest, his hand brushing your back like it was instinct.

he sent one every night. he watched your read receipt every night. he did that until the texts turned green and couldn’t go through.

3. he crashed your friend’s party.

it wasn’t subtle. he showed up in a backwards hat with low intentions, smirking like he didn’t already know the second he crossed the threshold, the room would turn against him. it didn’t matter. not when he saw you across the kitchen in that sundress, smiling at someone who wasn’t him.

“you invited him?” your best friend hissed when she saw him.

“wasn’t invited,” he replied, unbothered. “just came to see her.”

he didn’t fight, didn’t yell, didn’t try to make a scene. he just tried to talk. his voice was low, eyes glassy, and lip red with bite marks. but you didn’t budge, didn’t flinch, didn’t let him twist this into something that could be forgiven on a front lawn at 1:00 am.

you only told him to leave, and this time—for once—he did.

4. he annotated your favorite books.

he showed up at your house. it was late. your porch light was off, blinds closed, similar to the rest of the neighborhood.

he knocked a few times, hoping you were still awake, praying there wasn’t another guy over. you finally opened the door and he was just…standing there. hoodie pulled over his head, eyes red, not from weed this time—just from not sleeping. not eating, not knowing how to live in a world where you don’t love him anymore.

he didn’t say anything at first. just held out a stack of your favorite books. they were dog-eared, spine-bent, underlined in black ink.

“i read them,” he said, voice hoarse. “all of them. so i’d know what you meant when you said things. so i’d understand you better next time. if there’s a next time.” your breath caught. he looked down, added, quieter, “i even liked the sad ones.”

you took the books and he took one step back like he was ready for you to shut the door, but you didn’t. you opened it wider, allowing him to step inside.

“rafe, i-”

“don’t, don’t say anything.” he whispered, tears pooling at his waterline. he let out a shaky breath, fingers curling at his sides like he was holding himself back. “not yet.”

you placed the books down onto your coffee table and he looked around. his shoes were still in your mudroom, his rings still in your bowl, and his bouquets on your counter.

when his gaze fell back to you, you were walking towards him with open arms. he melted into your embrace. it was like water during a restless night, like a warm blanket on a cool winter day, like home.

he nuzzled his face into your neck, lip quivering as he tried to compose himself. “never leave me again, baby. i was ruined without you.” he whispered, pressing kisses to your neck.

“that makes two of us,” you chuckled through broken sobs.

and it wasn’t forgiveness. not yet, but he hugged you like he’d just been told the world wasn’t ending after all.

taglist ~ @ren-ni @bungurus @kayperrysinging @cupids-diner @mojitrvo @babygirlboeser @makiplan @ladyatwalmart @qversazex @favbrnette @nothingtosee333her @soft-starr @f10werfae @bibissparkles @brennanyay @grungefck @kravinoffswife

#nora’s writings 💐#rafe cameron #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron obx

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halfadiamond · 2 days ago

Text

You Think It’s Love- Part 1

Poly TF141 x Reader

Based off this <- *edit: the angst scenario*

Masterlist

You think it’s a simple acquaintance when you meet him at the grocery store. He was kind enough to grab something off the top shelf for you. You thank him and he introduces himself as Kyle.

You couldn’t deny that Kyle wasn’t a good looking man. He looked handsome even when he was just wearing casual clothing, but you choose not to acknowledge this to him and you both go on your way.

It becomes a simple friendship when you meet Kyle again at the grocery store even at the same aisle that you guys first met, you notice that his cart seems quite full in comparison to your cart that only has some food and other items that you needed to grab. You want to be nosy and ask why buy so much but you choose not to and give him a simple greeting. You notice how Kyle looks at his groceries with a slight annoyance, perhaps he’s calculating how much this is going to cost him, you can’t help but feel bad for him. Groceries aren’t cheap especially if they fill up a cart, so you offer a suggestion.

“There’s another store not far from here that sells produce cheaper.”

Kyle looks at you, and gives you a friendly smile as he admits that he’s new to town here so he’s not quite familiar with the places. You’re not sure how but you two end up conversing instead of shopping, you learn more about Kyle such as he’s in the military and that he chose to move here because the town seems small and quaint. You agree with him and before you know it, you guys exchange phone numbers and promise to keep in touch.

It becomes a simple crush when you and Kyle begin meeting up regularly. You show him around town and he seems to make a mental note of everything. You guys go to eat at a restaurant and you realize how it looks to be like a date, but you quickly brush those ideas away. You were still right that he’s incredibly good looking and he has a great personality to go along with it. He’s funny but kind. He definitely knows how to talk with people as you find yourself becoming increasingly comfortable with him.

It’s when you guys are about to go your separate ways that you decide to ask him a question.

“If you’re not seeing anyone… maybe we can go out on a date?”

You expect him to either accept or reject you. But you’re left standing there in confusion and hurt as he laughs, it’s time like this where you wish you were a witch so that you could turn him into a frog. You feel tears coming to eyes and as you turn away to leave, you feel Kyle grab your arm as he wipes the tears from his face.

“I’m sorry love. I’m not laughing at you. It’s just that I am taken.”

He takes a few seconds to think about what to say.

“I got a boyfriend well the correct term is… I got boyfriends.”

Excuse me? You stare at him confusion. Boyfriends? You could barely get one boyfriend but he’s got multiple. You want to say something but you don’t know what but Kyle continues on.

“Why don’t you come over to my place? You could meet them, they’ve been curious about you.”

“I don’t want to intrude.”

You admit meekly but Kyle chuckles and shakes his head.

“You won’t. Trust me. They don’t bite.”

So you agree and set up a time and date.

—

You think it’s different but sometimes different is good as you meet the men.

John is who you meet first, he seems to be the oldest of the men and to be the one who the men listen to the most. But John is a perfect gentlemen, he gives you water and offers snacks, he gives you a friendly smile as he asks questions about you and lets you ask him questions.

You meet Johnny next and he’s definitely the extrovert of the group. He’s chatty but knows how to listen. He manages to shake the nerves out of you by making you laugh as he talks about his days when he was younger.

Lastly, you meet Simon and you were, admittedly, intimidated by his size and how he seems to be more of an observer rather a talker. But he has his own way of worming himself into your heart as he’s the first one to offer to walk you back to your place.

They have their rhythm that works you notice. They each have their own way of showing affection to each other:

You see how Simon grazes his fingers softly on his lovers hands.

You see how John lovingly calls them, love, and looks at each of them as if they hung the moon.

You see how Johnny is always checking out his lovers, you’ve heard that they’ve been dating for a while, so you consider it sweet that Johnny still finds them attractive.

You see how Kyle is always giving his lovers affection. He holds hands with Simon, he gives Johnny a kiss on the forehead, and he stays close to John.

It’s awfully sweet and you find yourself returning often at their wishes and yours where you guys begin to form your own friendship.

—

You’re not sure what to think the day that they ask you if you’d like to be theirs.

You think it’s a joke but the men all seem serious. Kyle is quick to tell you that they’ll respect your decision and that if this isn’t something you’re comfortable with then that’s fine.

You see how hopeful Soap looks as if he’ll melt to the ground if you say no.

You see how John tries to seem confident but his eyes look nervous as he awaits your response.

You see how Simon tries to remain as neutral as possible as to not sway your decision.

You couldn’t deny that you definitely grew to like the men. Even if they never acted inappropriately towards you; they still showed you how much they grew to care for you. Through offerings of cooking your favorite foods, always walking you home, and making sure you’re as comfortable as can be you grew to like them romantically and now you were learning that they felt the same.

As much as you wanted to say yes, you were scared that you would be the outsider to their dynamic. All of you would have to learn what works for them and you and what doesn’t. You’re worried that these men have grown to be so comfortable with each other that they won’t know what to do with a new person joining their relationship.

The men can tell that you’re nervous and as much as they want to try and offer physical reassurance, they don’t want to intrude so Johnny takes the first step.

“What’s on your mind Bonnie?”

You think about lying, saying that you’re just caught off guard but lying does no good so you decide to be honest.

“I’m just worried that you guys are so comfortable with your relationship that you might not be able to fully accept me into your circle.”

You see the little breaths of relief come from them as they take in mind your worries. It’s a common worry amongst those in a poly relationship, so they want to reassure you.

“Love. It might seem awkward at first but we’ll find something that works for all of us. You can speak up whenever you want to and we’ll listen.”

John reassures you and he even offers you a comforting smile as he continues.

“It’s all up to you. We’ll respect your decision. We can give you some privacy to think, just come into the living room when you’ve made your choice.”

And with that, all of the men, except for Simon, leave for the living room. Simon stays for a bit, thinking, before patting your head in his own way to comfort you before he follows after his lovers.

You think for awhile. You’re not sure if this is the right thing to do. You’ve never dated multiple people at once, but you can’t deny that you’ve grew to become close to them. You enjoy their company and they enjoy yours. And if they’re adamant that they’ll listen to you, and work with you to make this work then what’s stopping you from trying it out?

You head into the living after a while and give them a small nod as you agree to be theirs.

Deleted scene: Graves standing there in annoyance because you and Gaz are talking in front of the item that he needs.

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cloudedangels · 2 days ago

Text

A TEST OF CONTROL ☆ PT 3 (18+)

Part 3/? ▪︎ 5,225 words. (still not for minors! go away!)

Part 1 -> here ~ Part 2 -> here •

After three weeks of silence, Caleb shows up unannounced with stubble, longer hair, and a desperate need to know if she still wants him. What begins as tension and emotional reconnection quickly spirals into steam, sweat, and surrender. She peels the Colonel off of him piece by piece—until there’s nothing left between them but truth, skin, and a promise not to hold back this time. cw and tags: f!mc/reader, established relationship, light dom/sub dynamics, emotional smut, makeup sex sorta, orgasm delay/denial, colonel!caleb, oral sex (f receiving), shower, pretty slow burn, soft dominance, worship kink, begging, light angst, overstimulation, smut with feelings, praise kink, fingering, emotional vulnerability, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, edging, piv, caleb is pent up and assertive but still soft for mc, creampie, big dick caleb >:), stupid sl*ts say anything but i love u, dirty talk, stretching

an: i cannot express how long and how much this took to write. but i love this n them so so much u have no idea. it's filthy but also very sweet and intimate. could be read w/out pts 1 + 2 but i reccomend reading them for context! they're a good bit shorter.

enjoy bb apples hope u like! :3 i'm off to finish my fluff fic now. (　＾ω＾)>>♡

She smells him before she sees him, that woody citrus cologne he wears, mixed with the smell of leather and machine oil, ozone.

As MC enters her apartment, late from work, she’s sweaty from fighting wanderers, tired enough to almost hear her bed calling her name. She turns her key and opens the door. The scent of him hits her before anything else. Her breath stutters in her throat and she’s stopped in her tracks. She hasn’t caught the smell of him in weeks, she almost thinks she’s imagined it. She shuts the door and locks it, barely getting her hand over the dish when she notices a second set of keys inside of it. Then boots. Tall, black and untied. Then the small duffel beside them. the hat on top of the duffel. Then… him.

Caleb is sitting upright, asleep on her couch with his uniform still on. He’s leaned back, legs spread, head lolled back against the backrest. ‘His hair never gets this long’ she thinks. It’s too long to still meet protocol, tousled and slightly damp at the ends, brushing the back of his neck and the side of his face in a way she’s never seen before. He has one glove off, the left one, held in his other, still gloved, hand. The vein in his neck pulses visibly, his jaw, dusted with stubble, is tight, eyebrows knitted together. He doesn’t look peaceful in any way. Even though he’s asleep, he looks like he’s still held at attention.

She’s slow to approach him, taking off her shoes and padding over to him in her socks. She doesn’t want to wake him—this version of him is so rare that it’s something she wants to savour selfishly. She sits next to him and he doesn’t wake. The rise and fall of his chest is deceptively calm, considering the rest of him is so tightly wound. He looks like he showed up, sat down, and passed out without his own consent.

After watching him sleep, she laces her fingers into his left hand squeezing it gently. His hand twitches before it grips her back instinctively, before relaxing again.

“Caleb.” she whispers his name softly.

Nothing. She squeezes his hand tighter a couple times, trying again.

“Hey. Caleb. Wake up, it’s me.”

He jerks slightly, his eyes flashing open, wide with sudden fear, pupils shrunken. He looks around with brief terror before he recognizes her hand in his.

“Caleb.” she practically whispers, wondering what he could have dreamt about to make him so afraid when he woke up. “It’s okay. You’re okay… You’re here with me.”

“Pipsqueak?”

He looks down at her hand but not her face yet.

“Mhmm, the one and only. You look tired.”

He exhales and steadies, his body relaxing if only a little.

“I’m sorry, pips, I didn’t mean to scare you, I don’t even know how I fell asleep… I–”

She squeezes his hand once again, a hand on his face, nudging him to face her.

“It’s okay, I wasn’t scared, just surprised,” her voice is eggshell careful as she makes eye contact with him, continuing. “Is everything okay? Why are you here?”

He breaks eye contact by looking off to the side. He looks like a puppy confessing that it did a bad thing.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you, pips,” his voice is quiet, hoarse, “I needed to know if you still were m–” He shakes his head. “...if you still wanted me. I didn’t want to assume but… I couldn’t keep giving you space.”

Their eyes meet again Caleb smiling weakly, hopeful.

“I have a week-long leave. Told them it was an emergency. Flew straight here from Skyhaven after debrief. Used the key you gave me. I didn’t even sleep on the flight. Didn’t have time to change.”

She exhales. “You came straight from the fleet?”

He nods.

“That’s why you’re still dressed like a regulation nightmare.”

He huffs a short, guilty laugh. “Didn’t even change. I was scared I’d lose my nerve if I stopped moving. I guess I could've shaved. Or cut my hair.”

Silence again. Tight as a drawn string.

Finally she asks, “Why didn��t you call?”

His hand lifts slowly, touches her cheek with the back of his glove. His right hand. The colder one. “You didn’t either.”

She closes her eyes and leans into the touch. “I thought I was too harsh last time.”

“You weren’t.”

“I was trying to be… dominant,” she says, whisper-soft. “But I didn’t want to hurt you. After… you left before I woke up.”

He flinches, as if slapped by her softness.

“I was scared,” he admits. “Scared I’d ruined it. Or looked pathetic. I just…” he looks up at her, eyes dark and full. “I wanted to serve you. I liked it. I loved it. I’ve never wanted to be good for anyone like I do for you. Making you feel like that made me feel on top of the world. More of a man than this uniform ever will.”

Her hand is still in his. He rubs a thumb along her palm and then lifts it to his lips. Kisses the center.

“You’ve still got the key to me,” he murmurs. “You say the word. Say anything. I’ll kneel or I’ll command. I’ll beg or I’ll hold you down. Strong or weak. Whatever you need. I want to be what you need.”

“…Then let me take care of you for once.”

He freezes. Blinks.

She places her hands on his chest, running them gently over the sharp lines of the jacket. The thick fabric. The polished belt. She kisses him, with hesitation first then all in. He kisses her back with both his hands on either side of her face. She pulls away, their eyes heavy, breath too.

“This thing looks stuffy.” patting his chest.

“Yeah.”

“Can I help you take it off?”

He nods, a slow blink his only reply at first. “Yeah. Please.”

She starts with running her fingers through his hair, working out knots. His hair is softer than she expected. Slightly damp still, disobedient waves resting over his forehead and ears. She touches his ears as she brushes the hair behind them.

“You’re not supposed to let it get this long.”

“I know.”

She swallows.

Next is the jacket. She unclasps the polished chest pin, fingers brushing along the rope chain detail that stretches from his shoulder across the lapel. The stiffness of the regulation fabric resists her at first, but she peels it back. His eyes never leave her.

“You still smell like metal, oil and the tunnels,” she whispers.

“Sorry.”

“No.” Her voice softens. “I missed it.”

She pulls the sleeves down slowly, his body shifting forward as he shrugs them off. He’s heavy from exhaustion. His white shirt underneath is wrinkled, the top button still tight at his throat. She’s gentle undoing it. Her fingers brush his skin, and she feels him inhale.

“I can do the belt,” he offers, lifting his gloved hand.

“No,” she says. “Let me.”

She takes off his remaining glove. Then, her fingers work through the weighty belt at his waist, undoing the metal catch, the fabric relaxing under her hands. She slides it out in one motion and sets it beside the hat. Her eyes fall to his boots.

“You want those off too?”

“Yeah.” A pause. “They hurt.”

She kneels on the floor, sliding her fingers over the laces. They’re loose, mostly untied from when he passed out, and one tug lets the first boot fall away. He doesn’t watch her. His head has tilted back again, eyes closed. Not in sleep, just in rest. Just letting her take him apart.

She works the second boot looser and gently pulls it off, setting it aside. He’s only in his undershirt and slacks now, his body caving slightly, hands resting slack beside him.

When she stands again, he reaches for her.

Pulls her into his lap. “Thank you, pips. I don't like being the Colonel around you.” He's kissing her face, arms strong wrapped all the way around her waist.

She feels him beneath her, his body solid, warm, grounding. Even now, wrapped in slouch and softness, rooted and wanting, he's impossibly strong. His thighs are tense under hers, arms locked behind her back like he’s never letting go again. Their mouths part and meet in slow, drugging kisses, lips brushing, tongues barely touching.

He smells like fleet metal, ozone, and the kind of sweat that only comes from long flights and longer tension. She presses her nose into the crook of his neck, breathes deep.

“I like you like this,” she murmurs, her hand finding the back of his head, fingers threading through the longer waves. “You should keep your hair like this.”

He laughs under his breath, voice husky. “Might have to take the court martial just so you can grab it like that again.”

“You serious?” she asks, brushing it back so she can see more of his face.

“I was already close to getting written up,” he admits with a small, almost shy smirk. “Told them I had an emergency going on. Softened the blow. Swore I’d cut it before leave ended.”

“Let me guess,” she whispers against his ear, “You wanted me to see it first.”

He hums, nods faintly. “I had a lot I wanted you to see.”

Her breath catches. She always misses him, always. That fact stays quiet between them, even when it hums through her fingertips.

She’s still in her hunter pants, still in the sweat and grime of the day, but Caleb doesn’t seem to care. If anything, it winds him tighter. His hands are slow but possessive, one on her waist, the other tracing up her spine beneath her shirt. She kisses him again, lets her hips shift, unintentionally grinding against the hardness pressing up between his legs.

He groans against her mouth, forehead against hers. “Pipsqueak…”

“What?”

“You feel that?”

“Mhm,” she hums with mischief, tilting her hips again.

He grips her tighter, exhales through his teeth. “That’s your fault. You come home smelling like sweat and gunfire in those pants, put your hands on me like that… Tell me, pips, what’d you expect to happen?”

She grins into his neck. “Guess I’ll have to clean us both up.”

His voice is a low murmur. “Say the word and I’ll follow.”

“I want to shower with you,” she says. “I want to wash the Colonel off of you.”

He stares at her, like he’s about to kiss her again but wants to say something first. Then he just nods and lifts her off his lap.

They make their way to the bedroom first. She undresses him like he’s a gift she’s waited too long to open. Her fingers trail from the hem of his undershirt to the waistband of his slacks. He lets her do it all. Silent. Patient. The tent in his briefs is undeniable now, straining and obvious, but neither of them says a word about it. It’s a fact. She kisses his thigh as she lowers herself to take the briefs off of him.

He undresses her too, with the same careful devotion. Her clothes peel off slowly, sweat sticking cotton to skin, her breath uneven. She feels shy for the first time in a long time.

Then they’re in the bathroom, bare, soft-lit, the shower starting behind glass. Steam begins to cloud the room, trailing down the mirror, wrapping them in a haze.

He reaches out and pulls her in with him, arms around her waist. They’re both warm and slick from the water almost instantly. His hair clings to his face, his chest rises and falls fast.

“I missed you so much,” he murmurs.

“I missed you more.”

He brushes her wet hair behind her ear. “Let me clean you off.”

“Not yet.” She lifts a bottle of soap, pours it into her hands, begins rubbing it into his chest. “My turn first.”

He groans quietly but allows it.

Her hands are gentle, but she doesn’t waste time. She runs her palms over the hard muscle of his chest, down his abs, watching the bubbles cling to the hair on his arms. She massages him, soapy and slow, standing close enough that her breasts slide against him with every stroke. Her fingers slip down his sides, curl around his back, working the tension out of his shoulder blades.

He’s hard and she can feel it pressing into her thigh, twitching every time she drags her hands lower. But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t act.

“You’re so tense,” she whispers.

“I’m trying to behave.”

She turns him gently, hands on his waist, starting on his back. Her fingers dig into the knots of his lower back, the long slope of his spine. “Relax for me.”

“I’m trying, pips. I swear.”

She’s too nervous to look at his face, glad he's turned away from her. She focuses on the way his muscles shift beneath her hands. The wide expanse of his back, the smooth skin marred with old scars, the way water curves around his waist.

Eventually, she turns him back to face her. “You’re clean now.”

He smiles down at her, soaked and flushed. “My turn.”

He doesn’t wait for permission. He turns her with careful but undeniable force, bringing her back to his chest. His arms wrap around her waist, and his lips find her shoulder. His hard cock rubs against her from behind. She whimpers a little without meaning to.

“I missed this,” he whispers, kissing her skin between words. “Missed your body. Missed touching you.”

His hands are all over her now. Shoulders, arms, chest, hips. He spreads his hands over her breasts, brushing over them again and again with wet fingers. He’s gentle but focused, teasing and precise.

“You’re already wet,” he says, tone dark and teasing, slipping his hand lower to her belly.

“That’s because you’re touching me,” she breathes.

She trembles in his arms, hands reaching up to hold his wrists, but he doesn’t let her guide them. Not yet.

He hums low in his throat. “Mm… no, no no, I have to return the favor, pips. Gotta get you clean first.”

He kisses her neck, then her collarbone, then the back of her shoulder again. Every kiss is wetter than the last, half water, half mouth. Her legs are already shaking.

“Caleb,” she whimpers as he drags a palm slowly down her thigh, cupping her ass.

“What?”

“You’re being mean.”

He chuckles into her skin, low and warm. “I’m being thorough.”

He keeps washing her, now with soap sudsing over her. His hands are moving with slow, full strokes that slide over her belly, between her thighs, around her hips. Her nipples are stiff, her stomach tight, her thighs involuntarily parting as his touch glides across every inch of her. He doesn’t go too low, but it’s a tease now. A claim on control.

Her back arches into him when he brushes under her breast again. “You’re making me crazy…”

“I know,” he whispers, voice low and full of promise, “and I’ve only just started.”

He lifts her by the armpits and puts her under the water to rinse, stepping out to dry off.

“Hey… where are you going?” She calls after him.

He peaks around the door of the shower. Towel around his neck another in his hands. “Shower's done, come on. Lemme dry you off. There are more ways to help me relax. I'm not going to until I get everything I need.”

Caleb stands just outside the shower door, towel wrapped loose around his hips. He watches her step out, steam trailing behind her like a second skin. Her eyes find him. Naked and flushed and damp. and for a moment, she forgets how to move. He holds the towel out for her like he’s offering her something sacred.

She lets him wrap it around her shoulders, his hands slow and gentle, attentive. He doesn’t speak, just presses a kiss to her temple, then to her cheek. His lips trail downward, wet warmth brushing her collarbone.

“I need you,” he says, finally, quietly.

Her breath hitches. He’s looking at her like he did the first time she gave him an order. Like he’s ready to obey again, if she asked.

“Bedroom,” she whispers.

He lifts her without a word. She clings to him, legs wrapping around his waist, arms over his shoulders. Their mouths never part as he carries her there. The towels fall. She doesn’t remember them being dropped, just remembers the feeling of his skin against hers, the weight of his body above her as he lays her down on the bed like she’s a prayer he’s about to answer.

He kisses her again. This time deeper. Slower. There’s urgency in the tremble of his hands, but not in his mouth. His tongue is languid. Exploring. Tasting. She moans softly, curling her fingers through his still-damp hair, pulling him closer.

When she parts her legs for him, he’s already between them. Thick and hard, brushing against her folds with aching deliberation.

She gasps. Her hips jerk. “Caleb…”

He groans, low and tight, forehead pressed against hers. “You feel that?” he whispers.

“Yes…”

“You’re so wet. That all for me?”

She nods, dazed. Her voice catches when he rocks against her again, not pushing in yet, just coating himself with her slick.

“I’ve thought about this every night since I left,” he says, voice cracked and warm. “Thought about what it would feel like. Being inside you. Watching you fall apart for me.”

“Then do it,” she breathes. “I want it too.”

He groans again, kissing her lips, her jaw, her throat. His hand trails down between her legs and when he touches her, they both inhale sharply. His fingers stroke her slowly, teasing her open, gathering slick.

“I’m gonna get you ready for me first,” he murmurs, sliding one finger inside. “You’re tight, pips. So fucking tight.”

She whimpers and lifts her hips to meet his hand. “Please…”

He doesn’t answer, just kisses her again. Adds a second finger. Works them in slow and careful. Curling them. Finding that spot inside her that makes her hips buck.

She moans, legs falling wider open. “Caleb. Caleb… Oh my god…”

“I know, baby. I know. Gotta stretch you out.”

His fingers move in a slow, lazy rhythm. He watches her face the entire time, memorizing how her eyes roll back, how her lips part, the way she gasps when his thumb finds her clit. He fucks her with just those two fingers until her thighs are trembling. Then he pauses, pulls them out, and she whines.

“Don’t stop…”

He kisses her stomach, then lower. “Not stopping.”

She feels the press of his mouth between her legs and her whole body jerks. He groans against her, hands on her thighs, spreading her wider. He licks her slow, lazy, like he’s got all night. His tongue moves with the same rhythm his fingers did. And then those fingers return. Two, then three.

She cries out.

“Shh,” he murmurs, kissing her clit before licking again. “Let me take care of you.”

His fingers curve just right. His mouth never stops. Her hips twitch and her breath breaks, pleasure crackling like fire up her spine.

He doesn’t stop even when she’s shaking. She clutches at his hair, moaning his name. When she finally tries to close her legs around his head, he holds her open and pushes his fingers deeper, tongue pressing harder.

“Please… Caleb… I…”

He pulls his mouth away just enough to speak, his voice wet and thick. “Yes, you can. Give it to me.”

And she does.

She breaks with a cry, hips jerking under him, mouth slack and gasping. He keeps going until she’s pushing at his shoulders, too sensitive.

He rises up over her, his mouth shining, eyes glassy with hunger.

“I’m not done,” he says, kissing her again, letting her taste herself on his tongue. “I need more.”

He positions himself between her thighs, stroking himself once before pressing the head against her entrance.

Her breath catches. She feels the blunt, hot press. He’s huge. Thicker than she imagined. He pushes in just barely, and her whole body clenches.

“Oh god….”

He groans, teeth grit, pulling back. “Fuck… You’re too tight still.”

“Don’t stop,” she whispers.

“I’ll hurt you.”

“No. You won’t. I want it. I want all of you.”

He kisses her again, then moves lower, kissing her thighs, her hips. He slips a finger inside her again, then two. Works her open more. She’s soaking wet. Her walls flutter around his fingers.

“You’re getting there,” he says. “You’re perfect.”

When he slides back into position, he lines himself up again and pushes in slowly. Just the tip. She gasps.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he says.

“It’s not. Don’t stop.”

He goes deeper. Just an inch. Then another. Then pulls back.

She moans, arms reaching up around his shoulders, holding on tight. Her nails dig into his skin.

“You’re killing me,” he breathes, holding himself back with shaking arms.

“You feel so good,” she says, voice broken. “You’re so big. I want it. I want all of you.”

He groans and sinks deeper. Halfway now. She cries out, legs tightening around his waist.

“Almost there,” he pants. “Almost… you’re taking me so good.”

He kisses her again, breathless and needy. When he finally bottoms out, they both freeze. His cock twitches inside her. She can feel every inch of him, stretching her full.

“You okay?” he whispers.

She nods, tears in her eyes from how full she feels. “Don’t move yet. I just want to feel it.”

He kisses her forehead, cheeks, lips. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

And when she’s ready, she rocks her hips. Just a little. And he starts to move.

Slow. Deep. Steady.

It’s not enough. But it’s too much.

She’s panting, begging, crying. “More. Caleb. Please.”

He groans and starts to fuck her in earnest. Every thrust is deliberate, firm, but held back. He’s pacing himself. Holding on by a thread.

He pulls out when he gets too close. Lets himself cool off. Then slides back in. She whines every time he leaves her empty.

“Why do you keep stopping?”

“Because I’m not done with you yet. I want to feel you cum again.”

He rubs her clit as he thrusts, murmuring in her ear. “You’re mine. All mine. You make me lose my mind, pips.”

She grabs his face, kisses him hard, rocking against him. “Then lose it. I want to see.”

He moans into her mouth, thrusts deeper, harder.

Still, he doesn’t finish.

She can feel him leaking inside her, warm and steady, his cock twitching with need. But he holds on. Like she’s the thing anchoring him to earth. Like she’s the only thing keeping him from flying apart.

And she adores him for it.

Loves the way he worships her body with every motion. The way he waits. The way he edges himself to give her everything.

And she’s not done adoring him yet.

She clutches him tighter, voice high and broken. “Caleb, God, don’t stop, please don’t stop…”

“I won’t,” he whispers, but it’s a promise he’s afraid of breaking. His arms shake. His thrusts stutter. Every time he sinks into her now, it’s with a groan like it hurts to hold back. Like he’s begging his own body to listen.

She moans louder, biting his shoulder, pulling at his hair. Her thighs twitch around him. Her hips lift greedily to meet every thrust.

“You feel too good. Too good… Shit, I can’t–” she cries, voice splintering.

His breath is ragged in her ear. “Yes you can. One more. Just one more for me.”

“I already… So much…” She tries to protest, but he’s already shifting his angle. Pulling her legs up, knees to her chest, cock so deep now it knocks the breath from her lungs.

She gasps. “Oh fuck! Caleb?”

He grits his teeth, eyes glassy. “I know, I know, it’s too much. I’m sorry, pips” He’s not sorry.

Her hands scramble for his arms, his back, anything to hold onto as he grinds deeper. His pelvis presses tight against her clit with every thrust, and it’s unbearable, blinding, exquisite.

“I can’t take it,” she sobs, voice caught in her throat, tears on her cheeks now. “You’re, oh my God…. you’re…”

“Caleb,” she sputters his name again.

He presses his forehead to hers. His body is slick with sweat. “Yes you can. You’re so close, I can feel it. You’re squeezing me so tight. Fuck, I need you to cum for me again, pretty girl. Please.”

She whimpers, body arching. “It’s too much! I’m gonna… Caleb… Caleb—”

Her voice shatters like glass as her body seizes, clenching hard around him. Her second orgasm rips through her with no warning, more violent than the first. She thrashes beneath him, sobbing, nails digging into his shoulders. Her mouth opens but no sound comes out—just pure feeling. Raw, overwhelming, wet.

He moans a deep, guttural groan, as she tightens around him. “That’s it, baby. That’s it. Good girl. You’re so fucking perfect like this.”

He doesn’t slow down.

She trembles under him, overstimulated and gasping, her thighs shaking as he keeps grinding into her, each thrust deliberate, controlled—but trembling at the edges.

Her words fall apart. “I-it’s too much… I can’t…”

He kisses her mouth, her cheeks, the corners of her eyes. “Shh. I’ve got you. I’ve got you. Just let it happen.”

She shakes her head but clings to him tighter. “You’re still so hard. Fuck, Caleb, how the hell are you still—?”

His eyes flutter shut. “I don’t know. I-I can’t finish until I know you’re done. Until I know you’ve had enough of me.”

“I have,” she whispers, voice raw and cracked. “I have.”

He lets out a broken sound. His pace slows, finally, just barely—deep, dragging strokes that make her twitch and sob into his neck.

She’s sensitive everywhere. Every thrust now is fire and sugar and pleasure and too much. And still, she doesn’t want him to stop.

“Say it again,” he begs against her ear.

“What?”

“Say you’ve had enough of me.”

She whimpers. “I haven’t. I never will.”

He groans like she’s just hit him. His hips falter. His jaw clenches.

“Fuck.”

“Please,” she breathes, eyes wet, “You can cum. I want you to. Please, Caleb. Cum inside me.”

“No,” he says, voice tight and hoarse, like he’s holding himself back from the edge of a cliff. “Not yet. Not till you say you’re mine.”

She gasps, body tensing. “I’m yours. You know I’m yours. You know that.”

He kisses her fiercely, like he’s drowning in her mouth. His thrusts speed up again, but still don’t lose control. He’s teetering. On the verge.

But he’s still hers. Still in control.

Just barely.

“Say the word,” Caleb breathes, voice low and strained against her cheek. “If you want me to stop, I will. I’ll pull out right now.”

She shakes her head, breath catching in her throat. “No. Don’t. I don’t want you anywhere else.”

His hips slow, just slightly. His forehead presses to hers. “You sure?”

“I’ve been sure,” she says, voice trembling. “I’ve thought about it for three weeks. Every night. Every morning. I want it. I want you to finish inside me.”

Caleb lets out a sound that isn’t quite a groan, something rawer. Like the last bit of his restraint just cracked in the middle.

“You’re killing me,” he whispers.

“Then let go,” she replies. “Let me feel it.”

He starts moving again. Slow, deep thrusts that drag along her walls. She gasps, trembling beneath him, body overstimulated, nerves fraying. But she doesn’t stop him. She never wants to.

“I’ll take off work,” she adds, voice breaking in a breathless laugh. “Fuck it. I’ll stay in this bed all week. You’ve got seven days, Caleb. Seven days to fuck me inside out. You can’t forget.”

He swears under his breath, mouth falling open. “Jesus.”

“I mean it. It’s safe. I’m on the pill. You don’t have to hold back anymore.”

He groans, thrusting deeper, rougher now. His control is still intact, but barely. Like he’s holding it in his teeth.

“I don’t know if I can cum again,” she admits, voice small, hoarse. “I really don’t. I feel… used up. In a good way. I feel so wrecked.”

But then his cock hits that spot again, and her body betrays her. It's arching, clenching. Another orgasm building low and hot in her gut, despite everything.

He watches her crumble. “There it is,” he murmurs. “You’re gonna give me one more, aren’t you?”

She moans, high and needy, cock-drunk. “Caleb…. C-Caleb…”

“I know, baby. I’ve got you.”

She grabs at him, his hips, shoulders, anything she can reach. Her fingers curl tight around his waist and pull. Hard. Dragging him in deeper, faster.

“Don’t stop. I need it. Please,” she gasps, breathily. “Please, I need all of it.”

His voice is soft again, with adoration and lust, a bit raspy. “You’re perfect. You’re taking me so well. I’m close, pips. I can’t keep this up much longer.”

She doesn’t let him slow. “Good. I want it. I want it so bad.”

He thrusts harder, faster, deeper, like her words set his rhythm on fire. Sweat drips from his chest onto hers, his arms trembling on either side of her face.

“I’m not sorry,” he growls, voice shaking. “I’m not gonna apologize for this. I’ve waited too fucking long.”

She whines, begging without words now, just sounds, soft and lewd, broken and full of him.

He slams into her again, all the way to the base, and stays there a second, cock pulsing.

“You want me to cum inside you?” he asks, voice wrecked.

She nods frantically, nails dragging down his back. “Please… yes please, Caleb, I need it. I’ve never had anyone else. I’ve never wanted anyone else.”

He moans, deep and shuddering. “Fuck. You don’t know what you do to me.”

“I do,” she whispers. “I feel it. Every time you move. I want you to ruin me.”

And he does.

His thrusts lose rhythm, grow erratic, brutal, beautiful. He chokes on a gasp, and then he’s slamming into her hard and fast, panting against her mouth.

“I’m gonna fill you,” he growls. “So deep you won’t remember what empty feels like.”

She cries out, pulling him deeper, wrapping her legs around him like she never wants to let him go.

“I need it. I need all of it. Please, Caleb, please. I want every drop…”

And then she cums. Again.

Impossible. Devastating.

Her whole body shatters around him, wrung out and crying, and the way she clenches, wet and trembling, breaks him open.

He groans, loud and wild, as he thrusts deep and stays there. His cock pulses, and she feels it: his cum spilling inside her in waves, hot and thick.

She moans like she’s being blessed.

He stays buried, panting against her shoulder, kissing whatever skin he can reach. Her cheek. Her jaw. Her throat.

Neither of them speak for a long time. They just breathe. Seven more days.

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lucy-literates · 2 days ago

Note

I was wondering if you could write something were reader has a secret tattoo that's that not visible to the eye and Arthur Leclerc doesn't know about it and he see it for the first time.

It could can smut or not it's up to you.

A/N: oooo ok. I had 2 ideas for this. 1 was a tattoo hidden in a spot that not many people see, like the hip. 2 was one of those tattoos that only show up under black light and he spotted it when they did an activity with that light. I ended up going with the first one but i would be happy to do the second if you like. Enjoy, inbox is open :)

Inked Into You

Arthur’s fingers skim your bare skin, slow and reverent, as the two of you lie tangled up on his bed. His breath is warm against your neck, lips brushing your jaw like a secret.

It had been a slow night—dinner, too much wine, flirtation humming between you like electricity waiting to arc. Now, you’re half-undressed, flushed, laughing in whispers under his sheets.

Until he freezes.

“What’s this?”

You blink. “What?”

His fingers trace your ribs, featherlight. “This. You have a tattoo?”

Your breath catches. “Oh. Yeah.”

You glance down at your side, where delicate ink sits inked just beneath your bra line—small script or a symbol (your choice), meaningful, hidden. Intimate.

“I’ve never seen it before,” he says, sounding a little breathless.

You smirk. “You’ve never had me shirtless before.”

His eyes meet yours—wide, a little stunned. “Fuck.”

He sits up on his elbow, gaze dropping to your ribs like he’s seeing you in an entirely new light. His fingers brush over the ink again, more purposeful this time.

“What does it mean?” he asks softly.

You tell him. Maybe it’s something from your past. Maybe it’s just for you. Maybe it’s the kind of thing you didn’t plan to explain to anyone.

But with Arthur looking at you like this—curious, reverent, hungry—you let him in.

And he loves it.

“You hid this from me,” he murmurs, eyes darkening.

You tease, “It’s not like I was gonna flash you in the paddock.”

He grins. “Maybe you should.”

Before you can respond, his mouth is there—pressing a kiss just beside the ink, then another. Then lower.

His voice drops. “Gonna leave my own marks around it.”

You laugh, breath hitching. “Possessive much?”

“Of you? Always.”

Then he’s between your legs—slow, teasing, tongue dragging where you need him most. One hand gripping your thigh, the other still brushing over your tattoo like he wants to memorize it with touch.

You come with his name on your lips—and when he finally pulls away, he whispers:

“Next time you get a tattoo… I want to be there when you choose it.”

You grin lazily, pulling him back on top of you.

“Only if you kiss that one too.”

#f1 x reader #f1 #f1 imagine #arthur leclerc #arthur leclerc x reader #arthur leclerc x y/n #arthur leclerc fluff

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holylulusworld · 1 day ago

Text

Loophole (2)

Summary: You are looking for a loophole to escape your arranged marriage.

Pairing: Mobster!Steve Rogers x Wife!Reader

Warnings: power imbalance, arranged marriage, mafia au, grey/dark Steve, manhandling, smut, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, held down, roughness

Catch up here: Loophole (1)

After the initial shock of his rough treatment, you laughed about the fear you felt for a second. Steve didn’t like that you didn’t cling to him tonight and tried to control the situation with a power move.

“Not tonight, Satan,” you scoff and look for a comfortable nightgown to sleep in, not a dress.

While Steve is waiting outside the bedroom for you to get ready, you drop the towel to the ground and kick it away.

“That’s much better,” you sigh when slipping into the silky nightgown. “Netflix and chill instead of keeping an eye on him all night. No more.”

“Y/N!” He barks from outside the room. “Tempus fugit. I won’t wait another minute. Ready or not, I’ll drag your ass out of the room and present you to my mother’s guests, even if you are butt naked.”

You snort. “Have a good night and have fun flirting with all the bitches you like so much. I won’t watch you humiliate me in front of some skanks anymore. I’m done!”

“Like hell!” Steve reenters the bedroom, murder in his eyes as he storms toward you. He shrugs his jacket off his shoulders while walking, a smirk on his lips as you instinctively press your legs together.

He’s a smug bastard and knows how his primal behavior fuels the heat between your legs. “I warned you, didn’t I?” Steve laughs when you can’t find your voice.

It doesn’t matter.

He tackles you to the ground, careful not to hurt you, but to show you he will fuck you like a whore tonight. “Last chance. Apologize and get dressed. I won’t let you disrespect me or my mother.”

Smirking, you let your legs fall open to allow Steve to settle between them. “What are you going to do to make me obedient, huh? Do you want to beat me into submission?”

“I’d never hurt a woman,” he growls and claims your lips like he claims everything else. Fast, hard, and without hesitation. “So, last chance.”

“No. I won’t watch you flaunt around the ballroom, girls following your every step, hanging on your every word. I’m done being disrespected as your wife.”

“You’re fighting me,” he smirks against your lips. “Good. I was waiting for you to misbehave. I haven’t ruined you in some time. You’ve been so needy lately.”

“Smug. Bastard!” You growl, slapping his face, earning a smirk from your husband. “What’s so funny?”

“I love it when you’re all wet and tingly for me and still call me a bastard,” he grinds against your uncovered sex, making your toes curl. “Yeah, that’s a needy slut for her husband.”

“In your dreams.”

He laughs, but there’s something dark inside his blue eyes, telling you that you pushed him over the edge. “You’re playing a dangerous game, doll.”

He pins your wrists to the ground with one big hand, still that glimmer in his eyes. You gasp, feeling excitement replacing anger.

His free hand claws at your nightgown, ripping and tearing until your tits are bared to his predatory gaze. He growls, eyes glued to your stiff nipples.

Without warning, he flips you over, holding you down by your neck. You whimper, the vulnerability of the position sending shivers down your spine.

Steve leans in, his lips ghosting over the sensitive skin of your neck.

"You're my wife, and you do as I say," he snarls, the possessiveness in his voice making your core throb in need.

“I do as I please,” you bite back, but push your ass into his crotch, rubbing against the bulge in his pants. “You won’t tell me what to do.”

“You’ll beg me to tell you what to do after I’m done with your slutty cunt,” Steve shifts behind you, still holding you down with one hand while opening his pants with the other. “This is all mine.”

Steve grips your hips, guiding his throbbing length into you, stretching your walls out. He sinks into your slick, welcoming heat, cherishing the feeling of your walls fluttering around him.

Steve buries you under his heavy, dense body, keeping you immobile and at his mercy. He growls in your neck as he bottoms out, his pelvis flush against yours.

Steve doesn’t give you time to adjust; like most of the time, you are mad at each other.

“That’s my cunt,” Steve hisses with the first thrust. “Can you hear how wet you are?” His thrusts are measured, each one driving deeper than the last.

You moan but don’t talk to him. This is not about talk, but about getting off and, maybe, getting back at him for denying you release for a week.

“That's it, take it," he growls. “You’re the best whore, taking every inch of my cock. I don’t need another one. I only feed my cock to your hungry cunt.”

His teeth sink into your neck, leaving a mark as he starts pounding into you relentlessly. He curses your name and your feisty attitude but praises your cunt all the while using you like a ragdoll.

“I want this pussy to choke my cock. Come on, do it!” He snarls when you wiggle underneath him. You gasp and moan, unable to stop your body from giving in to a much-needed release.

“Fuck…shit…”

“Yeah, that’s my wife…” He laughs in your neck, rutting into you long after you clench tightly around him. “One more.” Steve orders, snapping his hips into your ass harder. “And another…and another.”

Your eyes round, hearing his words. “We…we don’t have time.” You try, but Steve is an expert at holding back. He moves faster, always pushing deeper until you fall apart again.

“I’ll take my time with you,” he grunts in your neck. “And later, you’ll apologize for making me wait to fill this cunt.”

Your inner walls don’t get a break. One orgasm blends into another. You don’t know for how long he’s been fucking you until you finally feel his cum fill your abused cunt.

“Now,” he snaps his hips into your ass one last time. “You’ll get up and wear the gown I got for you.” Steve nuzzles your neck. “And you won’t clean this cunt. I want my seed to run down your thighs while I parade you around the party like the slut you are.”

“Steve, please,” you hiss at your husband. He has his arm wrapped tightly around your middle while flaunting you around the ballroom like his most prized possession.

His cum sticks to your thighs, and you whine, remembering how he forced you to spread your legs to show him your well-fucked cunt more than once during the party.

“Smile, and be polite,” he whispers in your ear before kissing your cheek. “You wanted me to stay by your side during parties. You’ve got your will.”

“I hate you.”

“Your cunt has a different opinion.” He laughs when you try to wiggle out of his tight hold. “If you don’t behave, I’ll have you again, on top of the buffet. Maybe I let Bucky and Sam watch.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” you hiss. “You…beast!”

“Yeah, I’m a beast.” He dips his head to look at you. “But you are my beauty, and I won’t let you go. Never…”

#steve rogers #mafia au #mobster!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #x reader #steve rogers x y/n #Loophole (2)#smut

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jamesmcalover · 3 days ago

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worst plus one 8

Hálfdán Helgi Matthíasson (Væb) x Reader

Warnings: iceland not getting any jury points

Summary: Reader is Matti's best friend and is brought along to this whole Eurovision mess. His annoying brother is making this trip even messier.

2k words - not proofread

The morning of the final feels like standing on the edge of something. Everything is louder, brighter, more rushed. There’s energy in the hallways of the hotel, but also pressure. The kind that squeezes behind your ribs and makes even breakfast feel like too much.

You don’t see much of Hálfdán.

Or Matti, Úlla, Ola, or Baldwin, for that matter. The whole Væb team is gone before you’re even out of your pyjamas. Off to hair and makeup, rehearsals, camera checks, press. It’s the busiest day of the whole contest. And even if your own country is in the final too, your team is smaller, your role quieter.

Which is why you end up with Sirry. Not that that's a bad thing. She makes everything feel a bit calmer.

She knocks on your door sometime around ten, holding two to-go cups and a lopsided grin.

“Thought I’d steal you,” she says. “We both need distraction.”

You spend most of the day wandering around together, moving at an easy, unhurried pace that feels like exactly what you needed without even realizing it. Sirry is good at that. Making things feel simple. Light. Like there’s no rush to get anywhere or be anything other than yourselves.

You grab lunch in the old town, at a tiny outdoor café tucked between pastel buildings that look like they were painted by a daydream. Sirry insists on ordering too much food, plates full of fresh bread, salty cheeses, olives that taste like summer. She talks with her hands and bright eyes, telling you stories about her childhood in Reykjavik and how she met Matti at a sweaty summer concert. She makes you laugh so hard you nearly choke on your water, and she doesn’t stop until tears are streaming down your cheeks.

When her stomach gives up halfway through the meal, she pushes half of her plate at you with a grin and says, “You’re too thin to be wandering these cobblestones, eat up.” You don’t argue.

Afterwards, you stroll along the river. You find a low stone wall to sit on, your legs dangling over the edge as the city drifts by around you. A group of teenagers nearby is singing “Rim Tim Tagi Dim” at full volume, off-key and fearless, their laughter rolling down the riverbank like a second melody. You and Sirry join in when they hit the chorus, clapping and singing until your voices are hoarse.

Later, you duck into a tiny museum that Sirry swears is a “hidden gem,” a cramped space full of vintage postcards and Eurovision memorabilia. There’s a cracked glass case displaying ticket stubs from shows decades ago, and Sirry’s eyes go soft as she runs her finger over a faded 1981 program. She tells you about the first time she ever watched Eurovision with her grandma, and you tell her about your own family, how you never thought you’d actually be here, part of it all.

It feels like the kind of day that isn’t about winning or losing or how everything might end. It’s just about two girls who found each other in the middle of the chaos, sharing too much food and too many stories and not worrying about what happens tomorrow.

She keeps you laughing all afternoon. But in the quieter moments, she’s gentle too. She talks about Matti like he’s the sun, and she still can’t quite believe she ever got close enough to touch him. There’s something soft in her eyes when she says his name. Like she’s still in awe of the fact that he’s real and hers.

Being with her is like exhaling after holding your breath all week.

She never asks too directly about you and Hálfdán, but when you trail off mid-sentence or look out across the water too long, she gives your shoulder a little bump.

It helps.

By evening, the nerves creep in.

Matti and Hálfdán's family meets you in the lobby to head to the venue, and joins you when you slip into the back entrance for friends and crew. The arena is already packed when you step inside. The crowd is a living thing. Flags waving, glitter everywhere, camera lights flashing like tiny stars. You’re close enough to feel the rumble of the bass in your chest when the music starts. You follow the signs to the VIP seating area, and even from here, the stage looks massive.

It’s happening.

It’s all happening.

And as the first beats of the opening act echo through the hall, you hold tight to her hand and let yourself get swept away.

The show blurs by at first. Pyro, key changes, crowd roars, a dozen languages tumbling over each other in the green room and the crowd. You find yourself caught up in it all, the swirl of sequins and flag capes and the unstoppable tide of music and lights. Every time the camera cuts to a green room, you catch flashes of nervous smiles, fingers crossed, voices cracking with excitement or fear.

Iceland is announced.

The Icelandic flag bursts across the LED screens, a bright wash of blue, red, and white. And there they are, all silver and light and glitter. For a second, you forget how to breathe.

You clap until your palms sting, eyes fixed on the stage like nothing else matters. Hálfdán’s sunglasses glint under the spotlights, his grin wider than you’ve ever seen. He’s eating it up. The energy, the cheers, the absolute rush of it all. You swear he looks straight at the camera, straight at you, and your heart stutters.

The beat kicks in, and the whole arena seems to move with it. You and Sirry scream yourselves hoarse, arms around each other, singing along even though your voices vanish under the music, and for those three minutes, nothing else in the world exists. Just them, the lights, the sound, the way your chest feels too small for the rush of it all.

By the time the song ends, you’re both breathless, hands shaking. Sirry’s eyes are bright with tears, and yours probably are too.

And then the long wait begins.

The jury points are brutal.

Country after country calls out their top marks. Twelve points to Austria. Twelve to Switzerland. Italy. The arena is deafening, the camera swooping from green room to green room, excitement boiling over in cheers and confetti.

But Iceland isn’t called. Not once. Not a single point from the juries.

Your breath catches in your throat each time another country’s points flash on the screen and Iceland doesn’t appear. The camera cuts to the green room, and you see them. Hálfdán, Matti, Ola, Baldwin, Úlla. They’re still smiling. Still clapping for the others. Hálfdán’s grin never falters, even though you can see the tightness in his jaw. Matti throws an arm around his brother’s shoulders, shaking him like he’s congratulating him anyway.

The scoreboard glows, country after country stacking up their totals. But Iceland stays at zero, a bright, brutal zero. It feels like a punch to the chest every time.

Still, they cheer for every twelve points that aren’t theirs. Still, they wave at the cameras and the crowd like nothing in the world could break them. You’re not sure whether to cry or scream at how unfair it is, but all you can do is watch, your heart in your throat and your nails biting into your palms.

“God, they’re trying so hard to stay upbeat,” Sirry murmurs, squeezing your arm. “Matti’s gonna pretend he doesn’t care but he’ll be devastated.”

You nod. Your chest aches.

The televotes come next. The final chance. Your heart’s beating in your throat as Iceland is announced.

Thirty-three points.

The crowd gives a polite cheer, a polite applause. On the screen, Hálfdán and Matti explode like they’ve just won everything. They’re on their feet, fists in the air, screaming so loud you can almost hear them through the cameras. Ola wraps her arms around Úlla and tackles her sideways off the couch, both of them in hysterics.

It’s just 33 points, but to them, it’s everything. It’s something. And they’re still celebrating it like it’s gold.

You’re laughing and crying at the same time. Your throat burns from how hard you’re cheering, from how much your voice shakes with relief and pride and that raw, electric hope. In that moment, you swear they’re the winners anyway.

“They’re insane,” you whisper.

Sirry wipes her eyes. “They’re perfect.”

San Marino ends up last. Iceland second to last. Definitely not great but not terrible. Just not what they hoped. Not after everything they put in.

When the winner is announced – Austria, unsurprisingly – the arena explodes into cheers and confetti. It’s chaos, a thousand voices screaming at once.

Before you can even process it, Sirry’s already on her feet, hair flying. “Come on,” she shouts over the deafening roar. “Let’s go find them!”

You don’t hesitate. You just run.

Security barely glances at your lanyards, the staff corridors a blur of bright lights and echoes. You sprint past dressing rooms, catering tables stacked with half-empty champagne bottles, someone sobbing into their phone in Croatian. Sirry weaves ahead of you, driven and focused, and you follow her like she’s a lighthouse in the noise.

And then you’re there. Backstage, everything still buzzing. The Icelandic team is locked in a tight, laughing group hug. Silver and sweat and relief.

Matti sees you first. He lets out a whoop and launches himself forward, nearly bowling Sirry over. She clings to him, laughing breathlessly, both of them tumbling back into the wall.

You pause for a second, caught in the moment. Not sure what to do with all the joy and relief and wanting to be part of it.

Then Hálfdán turns.

For just a heartbeat, he freezes. Eyes wide, mouth open, like he’s not sure if he’s seeing you or just dreaming it.

And then he’s moving. Closing the space between you in three quick steps, pulling you in like the rest of the world doesn’t even exist.

You don’t even try to say anything. You just throw your arms around him, hold on tight, and let the noise of the crowd and the confetti and the bright stage lights fade away.

He pulls you in tighter. Like he’s afraid to let go. Like maybe if he holds on long enough, the disappointment, the pressure, the long, surreal blur of the night will finally lift.

You can feel his heart pounding against your chest.

His voice is quiet in your ear. “We didn’t win.”

“I know.”

“We didn’t even come close.”

You pull back just enough to look at him. His eyes are a little glassy, but he’s smiling through it, that stubborn Hálfdán way of refusing to let anything crack him completely. “Thirty-three points,” he says, like it’s a punchline.

“You made it to the final,” you say. “You performed your hearts out. Everyone in the hall was dancing.”

“And San Marino still did worse,” Matti pipes in from somewhere behind him, sounding more proud than mocking.

Hálfdán huffs a tired laugh, but his gaze is still on you. “Thanks for being here.”

“Wouldn’t have been anywhere else.”

For a second, it’s like everything fades again. The crowd, the cameras, the noise. It’s just the two of you. You can still hear Austria being announced as the winner somewhere in the background, but it barely registers. Hálfdán leans his forehead against yours, and for a heartbeat, nothing else matters.

Then someone yells their name. Úlla, maybe, and you both look up.

She's already dragging Sirry into a chaotic group hug. Matti’s hopping around like a kangaroo, yelling “we’re top thirty!” with so much enthusiasm it draws a few confused stares. The Austrian delegation is screaming in the background. Confetti’s falling from the ceiling.

Sirry tugs you into the madness with her, and you don’t resist. You just take Hálfdán’s hand, and this time, he doesn’t let go.

Even in the middle of everything, lights, music, cheers. You catch him watching you like he still can’t quite believe you’re real.

You squeeze his fingers. “You were amazing tonight.”

“So were you,” he says. “Watching. From a distance. Looking incredible.”

You laugh, leaning your shoulder against his. “Smooth.”

He grins. “I try.”

And maybe they didn’t win. Maybe the votes didn’t reflect the love the crowd gave or the hours of work behind the scenes. But right here, right now, surrounded by the people who mattered most, he doesn’t look like he’s lost anything at all.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

Part 9!!

#hálfdán #væb #vaeb #eurovision #esc #esc25 #eurovison 2025 #esc x reader #eurovision fanfiction

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scary-grace · 1 day ago

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SWIM AT YOUR OWN RISK - a shigaraki x f!reader fic

You're a hero who specializes in water rescue, and you've been captured by the League of Villains. It only gets worse when you find out why.

my first ever MerMay thing! Canon-ish, hero!reader, reader has a transformation quirk, mild mortal peril, etc. Part 1 of...more. Dividers by @saradika-graphics.

When you became a rescue hero, you knew what you were getting into. A rescue hero’s life isn’t glamorous. It doesn’t come with sponsorships and it doesn’t really come with product endorsements, and you only really matter when something’s already gone wrong. You don’t fight villains – you just save people, usually from themselves. You’re the last person any villain would be interested in kidnapping. There’s no reason for Japan’s most dangerous villains to take any notice of you.

At least that’s what you thought. But the last thing you remember from this morning is leaving your house and heading for work – and the next thing you know, you’re standing out on a sea arch with six members of the League of Villains staring at you.

They asked you a question, but you’ve already forgotten it. The shock of it all – kidnapped, villains – is making it hard to think. “Can you run that by me again?”

“What about it aren’t you getting?” Dabi sneers. “We need you to teach Shigaraki to swim.”

Maybe you do remember something about that. It doesn’t make any more sense the second time around. “Why?”

“Because,” Toga Himiko says, from behind a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses, “we’re having our beach episode. And we aren’t going to have fun if we’re worried about Tomura-kun.”

“Right!” Twice announces. He’s still wearing his mask, but the rest of him is decked out in swim trunks, flip-flops, and a floppy hat. “I can’t frolic in the waves with my best pals if I’m worried one of them is gonna wander off and drown, and Spinner said we can’t put Shigaraki on one of those retractable kid leashes –”

“For the record, none of this was my idea.” Spinner looks embarrassed, and not at all like the villain you’ve seen on TV – without his Stain mask, he just looks like a normal guy with a heteromorphic quirk. “I just said we shouldn’t do a beach day if not everybody can enjoy it.”

“And I said you all can do whatever the fuck you want.” Shigaraki is standing off to one side, his face hidden beneath a hand and the hood of his black coat. It’s barely nine and the temperature’s already cracked thirty degrees. He must be boiling alive. “I don’t give a shit.”

“Of course you do,” Dabi says. His sneer isn’t hero-specific, it looks like – Shigaraki gets the exact same one as you did. “None of us want to put up with your bitching and moping –”

“Or your drowning –” Twice chimes in.

“So we found you a swim instructor,” the fifth member of the group concludes. He’s tall, with brown hair and eyes, and you don’t have a clue who he is. “She can help you.”

Shigaraki glances your way briefly, then returns to staring out at the sea. “I don’t need fucking help. Go roll in the sand and leave me alone.”

Problem solved, not that it’s going to help you any. If Shigaraki doesn’t want swim lessons, then your purpose here is at an end, and they’re probably going to kill you. At the same time, though, you’re aware of your proximity to the edge of the cliff. If you can get over that edge and hit the water, you’re golden. None of them have the kind of quirks that would let them chase you down, and you can swim to the nearest guarded beach and sound the alarm. The fact that you didn’t show up for work this morning probably sounded the alarm already. This is doable. Maybe.

The League of Villains isn’t paying quite as much attention to you as they were a second ago. They’re focused on Shigaraki. “She’s an expert. She does this all the time,” Spinner is saying. “I looked her up. People pay big money for her to teach their kids to swim.”

The brown-haired man looks interested. “How much money are we talking about?”

Spinner names a figure that’s triple what you charge for private lessons, on the rare occasions when you offer them. He and Dabi both worship Stain. They’ll think you’re disgusting, and instead of escaping while their backs are partially turned, you open your mouth to defend yourself. “I don’t really do private lessons,” you say, and they look at you. “My swim classes are open to anybody. And the rest of the time I lifeguard. So, uh – if you think I make a lot of money doing this, I don’t. That’s not why I became a hero.”

Twice hoots with laughter. “Some hero. We grabbed you without breaking a sweat.”

“I’m a rescue hero,” you say, aware that it’s pointless. Instead of you using their distraction to escape, Shigaraki’s using your distraction to sidle away from the others. “My job isn’t to fight villains. It’s to help people.”

Dabi gives you an evaluative look. “A rescue hero,” he says. “I heard your type is always on duty. If you see somebody in trouble, and your quirk and training equip you better than the average person to help, you have to. Right?”

“That’s weird,” Toga says. She lowers her sunglasses for a better look at you. “Is it true? If you see someone who needs help, you have to save them?”

“Yeah.” The rules are different for rescue heroes than regular heroes. “If I can help someone in distress, I have a responsibility to do it.”

“Got it,” Dabi says. That thoughtful look on his face is fading fast into malice, and a jolt of terror shoots down your spine. “Hey, Shigaraki –”

Shigaraki takes a few steps away from Dabi without turning around, and before you can so much as call out a warning, Dabi plants his hand on Shigaraki’s back and shoves him over the edge of the cliff. “There’s someone in distress,” he says, as Shigaraki vanishes with a curse that abruptly breaks off in a scream. “Help him.”

You’re not the only one who’s horrified to see Shigaraki go over the edge, but you are the only one who can do something about it. While Twice and Toga berate Dabi, and Spinner runs to the edge of the cliff and comes damn close to giving you two people to rescue instead of one, you pause for the most crucial step in a successful rescue: Taking a second to evaluate the scene. You peer down at the water and realize instantly that Dabi couldn’t have picked a worse place to push Shigaraki off. You could jump from the same spot, but why make it harder on yourself? You move to the left instead.

The brown-haired man you don’t recognize spots you. “What are you doing? He fell in over here –”

You tune him out – and the others, too, when they remember why Dabi pushed Shigaraki off a cliff in the first place. You breathe deep, more for show than anything else, then break into a run. Ten steps puts you at the edge, and you launch yourself over, bracing for the long drop into the water. That part never gets easier.

But your jump has carried you clear of the rocks and heavy surf at the base of the cliff, and when you hit the water, there’s nothing but ocean beneath you. You jumped feet-first, and your water shoes – the only support item you carry – immediately begin to stretch, molding to the shape of your feet as your quirk fuses and elongates them into fins. Webbing spreads between your fingers, and when you open your eyes, they’re impervious to the sting of seawater. Full immersion in seawater is enough to activate your quirk in its entirety, but years of training allow you to hold the transformation where it is. You have someone to rescue.

You swim for the spot Shigaraki went in. He won’t have gone far, not with how ceaselessly the waves batter against that section of the cliff, and it doesn’t take you long to find him. He’s underwater, still moving but sluggish under the weight of his clothes, his hair drifting around his face. There’s blood in the water around him. You can taste it, and as you swim closer, you see that it’s emanating from somewhere around his head and shoulders. He hit something when he fell, and head and neck injuries are a disaster no matter who gets them or how they occur. Is he even conscious? Whether he is or not, you need to get him out of the water.

You let the current carry you close, and although you hate yourself for it, you hesitate a second before reaching for him. You know how his quirk works. All five fingers touch you, and you’re dead. Trying to help Shigaraki could be the last thing you ever do.

But ocean rescue is dangerous, even for someone with your quirk. Every rescue could be the last thing you ever do, and if you do nothing, Shigaraki will drown right before your eyes. You can’t let that happen. You dive down to him, slip your hands under his arms from behind, and haul him upward. He comes to life in your grip, thrashing while you kick for the surface. You’d be more frightened of the fact that he’s trying to turn and grab you if every other person you’ve rescued hasn’t done exactly the same thing.

The two of you break the surface, you doing your best to keep Shigaraki’s mouth above the waves so he won’t swallow any more water than he already has while he tries to breathe. Your lungs haven’t even started to burn yet. You give him a few seconds to gasp for air, then order him to keep his mouth shut and close his eyes. No time to check if he’s done it or not. The only way you’re getting through the surge to calmer water is if you go under it. The next wave crests and you dive beneath it, pulling Shigaraki after you.

Now he’s trying hard to grab you, to use you to push himself to the surface. You adjust your grip and switch to a dolphin kick, fighting your quirk and its attempts to help you. At the same time, you keep count in your head. Shigaraki will need to breathe soon. You need to be through the waves by then.

As soon as the turbulence begins to soften, you swim for the surface again. Once again, you make sure Shigaraki clears the surface first. He’s coughing and gasping for air, but his chin’s above water, which means you’re in good shape for now. “Take some deep breaths. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

“Fuck you.” Shigaraki coughs and spits out seawater. “This is your fault. I’m not safe. You dragged me out to the middle of the ocean instead of – that had better not be a fucking shark –”

“It’s a dolphin,” you say. The dolphin swims a little closer, decides you and Shigaraki aren’t interesting enough for further investigation, and turns swiftly away. “We’re headed to the beach now. I just needed to get us clear of the surge.”

You swim back for the beach, propelling yourself mainly with your legs. You need both arms to secure Shigaraki. He’s not fighting, which is a relief – and he’s not talking, which makes you nervous. He hit his head. You need him to talk so you can assess him. “Hey, Shigaraki? How are you holding up?”

He mumbles something. “I’m going to need you to repeat that,” you say. “How are you doing?”

“Do you put everybody you rescue in a headlock?”

“It’s not a headlock,” you say. “This is how I swim with anyone I rescue. It’s what’s safest.”

“Sure. And it’s not –” Shigaraki coughs as a wave splashes into his open mouth. “It’s definitely not because you’re scared of my quirk, right?”

You don’t see a point to answering that. Shigaraki keeps talking anyway, a sharp, irritated note in his voice. “How stupid do you think I am? I still can’t swim. If I Decay you out here, I’ll drown.”

So you’ll be in more danger on the beach than in the water. Good to know. You swim the rest of the way to shore, dragging yourself and Shigaraki onto the sand. Once you’re clear of the water, you start your actual assessment. “I saw blood in the water. Did you hit your head?”

Shigaraki nods, grimacing. “When?” you ask. He shrugs. “I need to know. Did you hit it when you fell, or once you were already in the water.”

“I came up for air. The fucking waves pushed me into the – what are you doing?” Shigaraki flinches as you move some strands of wet hair out of his face. “Don’t touch me.”

“I need to see the cut.” You keep looking, with a little more urgency this time. “Did you lose consciousness?”

“No,” Shigaraki says. You find the cut – a jagged gouge from his temple to his ear, just below his hairline – and make a skeptical sound before you can stop yourself. “Stop touching it.”

“Sorry. I know it hurts.”

“I didn’t say it hurt. I’m not some primary-school brat who cries about everything.” Shigaraki responds with a lot more venom than you’d expect given what you actually said to him. “It’s not like you can do anything, so don’t bother.”

The League grabbed you on your way to work, which meant you had all your supplies with you. Your first-aid kit is still hooked onto your belt. “I have what I need,” you say. “Are you going to let me help, or do you want to keep bleeding all over the sand?”

“You can’t help me if I don’t let you.”

“That’s right,” you say patiently. Sometimes people you’ve rescued get hostile with you – out of fear, or embarrassment. Even though this is probably just Shigaraki’s personality, you know how to deal with it. “Are you going to let me?”

Shigaraki holds your gaze for a second, averting his eyes faster than you’d expect. “Do your job. Whatever that means to a so-called hero.”

He’s mean. Of course he’s mean. He’s a villain – but honestly, you’ve rescued civilians who were worse. You pry open the first-aid kit and get to work. You’ll bandage him up, make sure he’s not decompensating, and escape. No one’s faster than you in the water, and given that Shigaraki can’t swim, he’s not going to chase you if you go back in. You’ll warn someone, the League will be captured, and you can forget all about this. It’s fine. Everything is going to be –

“Hey, I found them!” Toga is hollering down from the top of the headland to your right. “The hero brought Tomura-kun to this beach instead of the other one. Tomura, are you okay?”

“It looks bad!” Twice announces. Then, to you: “Give him mouth-to-mouth. With tongue!”

“He’s conscious, breathing, and talking. He doesn’t need mouth to mouth,” you say. You hear this joke a lot, usually from guys whose friend you just saved, and it irks you. “And you don’t do mouth-to-mouth with tongue.”

“Hey! You can’t give Shigaraki substandard mouth-to-mouth just because he’s a villain!” Spinner’s arrived now, too. “What kind of hero are you?”

“The kind who’s trying to do my job,” you say. They’re distracting you, and you need to focus on Shigaraki, not in the least because he could kill you instantly if you make a mistake. You need to keep assessing. “Okay, you didn’t pass out. Did you swallow water at all? Or breathe any in?”

“I didn’t breathe it.” Shigaraki coughs, then grimaces, a flash of panic crossing his face. “Shit. I’m gonna hurl –”

He rolls to one side and vomits seawater into the sand, and you hold his hair back, mainly so you can keep it out of the head wound you’ve just cleaned. “See, he’s fine,” Dabi says from the headland. “Told you.”

“Are you sure he’s fine?” Spinner sounds like he’s thinking about pushing Dabi off the cliff. “Hey. Hero. Is he going to be fine?”

“I’m still assessing,” you caution. Shigaraki coughs a few times, then flops back into the sand. “So far, I’m not too worried, but –”

“Great! We’re going to be over there!” Toga points to the beach on the other side of the headland. “That’s where Mister Compress put all the fun stuff. See you soon, Tomura-kun!”

Most of the League vanishes without another word, but Spinner hangs on a little longer, glaring down at you. “Spinner,” Shigaraki says, his voice raspy, and Spinner looks towards him. “It’s fine. See you – over there.”

Spinner nods and leaves, which is a relief for you. Usually you aren’t that intimidated by guys in purple board shorts, but you usually haven’t been kidnapped by a gang of villains who are hovering over you, shouting bad advice. And you’ve got a different problem now – Shigaraki, who’d be intimidating no matter what he’s wearing. Maybe. He’s soaking wet, his clothes plastered to him, and he’s a lot skinnier than you thought he’d be. He’s looking at you expectantly. “Are you going to fix my head?”

“Yeah. Sorry.” You pick through your kit for an appropriately-sized waterproof bandage. “Hold still.”

To your surprise, Shigaraki does it, not even flinching when you move a few more strands of his wet hair away from his face. “Why’d you bring me here instead of the other beach?”

“It was a longer swim. I wanted to get you back on land as fast as possible.” You press the bandage down carefully, running your finger over the edge to make sure it seals properly. “Okay. All done.”

Shigaraki starts trying to sit up, and on instinct, you reach out to help, only realizing your mistake when Shigaraki flinches away. He barks a question at you before you can apologize. “How do I get to the other beach? Climb that thing?”

“No,” you say. “Those headlands aren’t stable, and, uh – you probably need both hands to climb. Both hands and all your – what?”

Shigaraki ignores you. He’s fumbling in the sand, patting down the pockets of his coat, and when he doesn’t find what he’s looking for, panic descends over his features. “The hands,” he says, and your stomach lurches. “I lost them.”

“Um –” You don’t know what to say, and Shigaraki’s hands rise to claw at the sides of his neck. “If they’re a support item – I know it sucks to lose those, but you can probably get –”

“They’re my family’s hands. I can’t just get more!” Shigaraki’s starting to hyperventilate. “I need them –”

He shoves you to one side, gets unsteadily to his feet, and stumbles back towards the surf. You chase after him, thankful that your feet have mostly gone back to normal. “Hey. Where are you going?”

“I have to get them.” Shigaraki shakes you off when you catch his arm, and you grab him again. “Fuck you. Let me go!”

“You still can’t swim. If I let you go out there, you’ll drown.” You grit your teeth. You really, really don’t want to do this, but – “I can go look for them.”

Shigaraki blinks. “Huh?”

“I’ll swim you over to the other beach, and then I’ll look for them,” you repeat. “People ask me to find stuff they dropped all the time.”

You don’t mention that you usually say no, because it’s a waste of time when you’re supposed to be looking out for everyone on the beach. But it’s just Shigaraki here, and his breathing is starting to even out. “How are you supposed to find them? It’s the ocean.”

“They’re a little heavy, right? They’ll sink, and since I know how the currents work, I can figure out where they probably touched down.” You risk letting go of Shigaraki’s arm, breathing a sigh of relief when he doesn’t immediately bolt. “Come on. I’ll swim you over.”

“Are you going to put me in a headlock again?”

“Not if you promise not to grab me,” you say. He rolls his eyes. “I’m not kidding.”

“And I’m not stupid. If I kill you out there, I’ll drown.” Shigaraki lets one hand fall from his neck, then the other. “Swim me over. Now.”

You take a second to pack up your first-aid kit, then lead Shigaraki out into the water. You give the headland a wide berth, even though it means swimming more than a hundred yards out from the shore, but unlike last time, Shigaraki doesn’t question you. In fact, he doesn’t speak at all, except once. “Is that a –”

“Still a dolphin,” you say. The fin protruding from the water is rounded, and the snout that bumps against your hip is smooth and blunt. “Nothing to worry about.”

The entry to the other beach is smooth and easy. You can see why the League chose this one to hang out on – white sands, gentle waves, picturesque to the max. You hope they didn’t kill anyone to claim this beach for themselves. It looks familiar to you, but you can’t quite remember why, and you realize all at once that you don’t know where you are. Where is this place? How far away did they take you?

It doesn’t matter. You can swim to wherever you need to go, as soon as you dump Shigaraki off on the beach. And you don’t even have to take him all the way in – when they see him, Spinner and Twice come out to help. Shigaraki shrugs them off. “I’m fine.”

“Can you swim yet?” Twice asks. Shigaraki scoffs, and Twice turns on you. “You were supposed to teach him to swim!”

“I will,” you lie. “After I find the hands.”

“Ew,” Toga remarks from the beach, where she’s building a sandcastle. “You don’t need those, Tomura-kun. You feel better without them.”

Shigaraki ignores her and looks back to you. “You’ll find them.”

“Yeah.” You dive back into the water and swim for the other side of the headland. Maybe while you’re over there, you can come up with a plan.

There’s no way to get out of gathering up the hands. If you don’t, Shigaraki will go in to get them himself and drown, and you can’t call yourself a rescue hero if you’re willing to let someone die. You’ll find the hands, removing any incentive Shigaraki has to go back into the water, and then you’ll clear out. You can swim as far as you need to in order to find a populated beach, and once you do, you’ll be able to direct them back here to arrest the League. You track the current around the headland, noting that it forms a small vortex in a recessed area in the rocks. That’s where you’ll find Shigaraki’s hands. He said they were his family’s. What does that mean?

You figure out what it means, the second you find the first one. You pick it up out of the jagged rocks underwater and recoil, dropping it instantly. It’s not a model hand, like you thought when you saw him on TV. It’s a real, embalmed human hand, smaller than yours. It looks like it belonged to a little kid, and a surge of guilt travels through you, mixed in with frustration. You’re not the crazy one. Shigaraki’s the crazy one, for wearing his family’s embalmed hands all over himself all the time. It’s not weird at all for you to not want to touch a little kid’s embalmed hand.

But there’s something sad amidst the awfulness of it all, and whoever’s hand this was, it deserves better from you than just being pitched into the water because you got the ick. You retrieve it again, grimacing. Diving for embalmed hands is one thing, but the longer you stay underwater, the harder it becomes to resist your quirk’s transformation. The sooner you finish this, the better.

It takes you two trips to collect all the hands. Shigaraki wades out into the water to take them from you, but rather than putting them back on, he carries them past the high-tide line and dumps them in the sand. “You found all of them,” he says to you, and you nod. “I didn’t think you could do it.”

That’s neither a thank-you or a compliment, but you expect exactly none of that from a villain. And now’s your moment – Shigaraki’s up on the sand, the others are distracted, and nobody will be able to catch you once you cross the drop-off. “Stay out of the water,” you say, and as Shigaraki’s opening his mouth to respond, you turn and dive back in, swimming hard for the open sea.

This time, you let the transformation kick in, and it’s a relief. Each kick propels you through the water at speed, and you watch the seafloor fall away beneath you. You’ll swim a circuit of the island, figure out where you are, and take off. With luck, you’ll reach land way before the League decides to call cut on their beach episode.

In the water, with your transformation mostly complete, you can see everything, and although sound is muffled underwater, your dorsal and flank fins can pick up vibrations, giving you a heads-up for any sound or movement. But you don’t need your fins to pick up the flailing and thrashing that’s going on behind you. Someone’s in distress, and you have a bad feeling about who. You’re right. When you glance reluctantly over your shoulder, you find Shigaraki, just past the drop-off and sinking fast.

It’s not a question of what you’ll do next, no matter how frustrated you are. You breach the surface, suck down a new lungful of air, and swim back to shore.

The salt water must be stinging Shigaraki’s eyes, but he’s got them open, and when he sees you, they widen even further in shock. You know what he’s looking at, know that the natural response is to flinch back – but he doesn’t. Instead he reaches up for you. there’s nothing you can do but dodge his hands, wrap your arms around him, and pull him back to the surface for the third time today.

He’s gasping, coughing, but you don’t have the patience to wait for him to catch his breath. “Are you crazy? What was that about?” The answer occurs to you, and your frustration explodes. “Did you seriously try to drown yourself so I’d have to come back?”

“It worked,” Shigaraki says. You count to ten and remind yourself that you’re a rescue hero, just so you won’t drop him back in the water and let him sink. “You’re a rescue hero. You have to save people who need help. And I need help, so –”

“You’re going to keep drowning yourself so I can’t leave.”

“Or,” Shigaraki says, “you can teach me to swim.”

“I thought you didn’t want a swim lesson,” you say. “What changed your mind?”

“Seems like something I should know,” Shigaraki says. He shrugs. “And I’d be a dumbass to turn down swim lessons from a mermaid.”

You don’t like being called a mermaid, but at the same time, you know you’re not beating the allegations. When your quirk is fully activated, it transforms your legs into a long tail, complete with multiple sets of fins. It sprouts webbing between your fingers, lengthens your ears, changes the structure of your eyes. If you stayed under long enough, you’d probably sprout gills. You don’t look like a Disney mermaid, but mermaid is still what people see when they look at you when your quirk is on full blast. You’d never have let it get this far if you thought you might have to come back.

Shigaraki’s legs brush against one of your pectoral fins, and you clamp down on a shiver. This is why you never transform fully at work. Worse, you’re breaking protocol – you’re never supposed to hold victims face to face, and you’re definitely not supposed to let them wrap their arms around you like Shigaraki is doing right now. He’s getting weirdly familiar for somebody who’s so against being touched. “I’ll teach you to swim, and then what? You’ll let me go?”

“Maybe.” Shigaraki shrugs. “If you help me out, I won’t have a good reason to kill you.”

That might be the best you’ll get. For now. Once he knows how to float, you’re bailing out. “Fine. I’ll teach you.”

Shigaraki looks pleased. Not smug, like you’d expect – just pleased. “Okay. What do I do first?”

“Get back on land,” you say, “and find a swimsuit. I’m not teaching you in your clothes.”

Shigaraki’s suspicious at first, enough to remind you that he’ll just go over the drop-off if you try to escape again, and you react the same way he does when you remind him not to grab you. He heads up the beach, towards the surf shack Mr. Compress – the brown-haired guy you couldn’t place before – must have stolen. Meanwhile, you work on getting yourself out of the surf. Your quirk won’t start to deactivate until you’re clear of the water, and to teach a normal person to swim, it helps to be working with the same equipment as they are.

You use the waves as much as you can, but eventually it’s just you and the wet sand, and your tail is so heavy that you’re reduced to hauling out on the beach like a seal. It looks stupid. You look stupid, and all you can do is hope that the League of Villains is looking the other way. They aren’t. Shigaraki might be off looking for a swimsuit, but the other five are all staring your way.

It doesn’t take long for you to lose patience. “What?”

They ignore you. “I knew we grabbed the right one,” Toga says, gleeful. “We got Tomura-kun a mermaid!”

Dabi is nodding, a smirk on his face. “This is perfect. She’s gonna keep him busy all day long.”

“I’d be busy forever. Look how pretty her tail is –”

You flop back in the sand, staring up at the sky. Not only are you going to have to teach Shigaraki to swim, you’re going to have to do it while being stared at like you’re an animal in a zoo – and if you try to escape, Shigaraki will try to drown himself just to make you come back. This is going to be the worst beach episode ever. At least for you.

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#mermay 2025 #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #tomura shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki x you #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki tomura x you #x reader #reader insert #a bisquared production #part 1 of ?

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milk-is-stable · 3 days ago

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The Shoot from the Hip Hunger Games Day 1 - The Bloodbath

Masterpost (<-START HERE! the posts are best read in order)

Content Warning: descriptions of violence, blood/injury, and major character death

The sun rises on the first day of the games, and as the cornucopia glints in the morning light, twenty-four tributes prepare themselves for what’s ahead. As they rise onto their platforms and survey the arena, the one minute timer begins to count down. The camera sweeps around, showing you their faces as the seconds tick away. Some of them, like Juliet, look confident. Others, like Robin, look grimly determined. Some appear to be eyeing specific supplies scattered around the cornucopia, while others are looking at each other.

The camera zooms in on Janae, who is staring across the field at his brother, mouthing something silently. The microphones do not pick up any sound and lip reading is difficult, but you think it may have been “it’s okay.” Panning to the right, you see Caesar staring at Juliet, a frown creasing his brow. She is not looking at him: her eyes are glued to a sword near the center of the cornucopia. The camera moves around and you see Jasper swiveling his head back and forth as he takes in the arena, John Junior crouching low on his podium and looking at the ground, and Inga rolling her neck and shaking out her shoulders.

The camera rises up, showing an aerial view of the cornucopia and the tributes in a circle around it. The timer ticks down to zero, and the sound of the horn echoes throughout the arena.

Let the Hunger Games begin!

The tributes immediately spring into action. Jasper turns and runs directly away from the cornucopia, avoiding the fray altogether. Clarissa, Peter, and Chip each take a moment to run for one of the small supply bags at the edge of the ring before they too flee into the wilderness. Johnny starts to run towards his brother, but Janae shakes his head at him, and after bending down to grab a jug of water, takes off in the opposite direction. Johnny takes a step after him, but the sight of Michael barreling towards him makes him turn, snatch a backpack off the ground, and run.

The camera cuts and you see that some smaller scuffles have broken out between the tributes going for supplies. Marty and Jimmy are grappling with one another, a basket of bread on the ground beside them. You see Marty’s fist swing hard and Jimmy screams, blood spurting from his nose. He rolls away from Marty, who leaves him in favor of grabbing the bread and making a retreat.

Michael has made it to the center of the cornucopia and is scuffling with Robin over a mace. Robin is much shorter than Michael, but he is faster and manages to avoid Michael's stronger blows. He takes hold of the mace and Michael is forced to back off, but as he retreats he gets his hands on a small knife and a supply pack.

Pinocchio has gotten his hands on a spear, but the weapon is large and clumsy in his hand. He turns back and forth, as though unsure of where to go next. Caesar rushes past and Pinocchio lunges in an attempt to stab him, but he is much too slow. He misses Caesar entirely, and instead the tip of the spear is embedded in the stomach of the next closest tribute...Maria, who was running towards Pinocchio with a bag of food in her hands.

Maria falls to the ground, her eyes wide, and Pinocchio rears back, shock and horror written across his face.

“Sister? Sister! No! NO!” he screams, dropping to his knees beside her.

Maria’s eyes fill with tears, and she reaches up and cups her brother’s cheek.

“Whatever it takes, fratellino mio,” she whispers. “Do whatever it takes.”

Pinocchio clutches her hand desperately, pressing it to his forehead as tears of his own stream down his face.

The camera suddenly cuts away to follow Jimmy. His nose is broken and bleeding, but he’s back on his feet and running straight for the pair of District 11 tributes. Taking advantage of Pinocchio's distraction, he dashes past and grabs the bag of food that has fallen to the ground beside Maria's body. Pinocchio jerks up, shouting as he tries to grab the bag back, but he's too late: Jimmy is already out of reach and running towards the treeline.

Pinocchio's face twists into a grim expression, and he looks back down at Maria's body. He plants a final kiss on Maria's knuckles, then he lets her hand fall and staggers to his feet, leaving the spear behind as he chases after Jimmy. As he runs, he manages to grab one small pack of supplies before disappearing into the forest.

The camera cuts away again to show a series of other tributes in quick succession:

Hugh gets his hands on a slingshot, Sally acquires a long, sharp looking sickle, and Priscilla grabs a bow and arrow set before they all dash in different directions to find cover.

Alexa and Benjamin both run for the same axe lying on the ground, but Alexa reaches it first by a fraction of a second. She looks between the axe and Benjamin, her eyes blown wide with terror, and Benjamin freezes.

Before either of them can act, a shout rings out and they both turn: ten feet away, Inga has caught Jim off guard and sent him sprawling with a well placed kick. There is a knife in her hands, and the sunlight glints off the blade as she brings it down into the boy’s chest.

Alexa lets out a scream at the sight, and Benjamin chooses that moment to scramble away before Alexa has a chance to decide whether or not to swing the axe. Inga looks up from Jim's body and locks eyes with Alexa, who promptly turns and runs in the opposite direction.

The camera zooms in on the cornucopia itself, where two pale faces are visible peering out from the dark. Julian and Janusz have both had the idea to try and run past the other tributes and hide inside the cornucopia, but in doing so, they have inadvertently trapped themselves.

Juliet and Caesar have gained control of the ground surrounding the structure, chasing off other tributes and amassing resources, and now they are closing in on the pair inside the cornucopia. Juliet is wielding a sword and Caesar is armed with a trident, and the two boys clearly have no way to run past the more experienced fighters without being struck down.

Suddenly, a huge explosion shakes the arena, sending all four tributes sprawling to the ground. The footage freezes, and then cuts to show you a replay from another angle.

While everyone else was fighting and gathering supplies, John Junior was attempting to dig up the land mines surrounding the tribute platforms. However, he is unable to extract them successfully without setting one off, which kills him instantly.

The camera cuts back to the cornucopia, where Julian and Janusz both are scrambling to their feet, taking advantage of the opportunity to escape before they’re killed by the power couple. Janusz runs in the same general direction as Alexa, calling out her name, while Julian goes the other way.

Caesar is the first of the couple from District 2 to recover, getting to his feet and picking up Juliet’s sword from where she dropped it. She gets to her feet a moment later, and after looking around and seeing they are alone, she pulls Caesar into an embrace.

The camera zooms in on her face, and you see the exact moment her relief turns to shock as Caesar plunges her own sword into her chest. She coughs and blood bubbles from her lips, and Caesar reaches up and cradles the back of her head.

“I’m sorry, my love,” he says in her ear. “But I cannot allow you to take Rome from me. I’ll give your regards to Maximilian.”

He pulls the sword free and Juliet’s body goes limp, her eyes wide open and glassy.

Caesar lowers her to the ground, then stands and surveys the empty field around him. He takes a moment to gather up the remainder of the weapons and supplies worth collecting from the cornucopia, before he too heads out into the trees.

This broadcast will now break for commercial. Please tune in again soon to see what else will become of our tributes on the first day of the games!

— — —

Day 1 - The Remainder (next)

Game Summary:

Deaths:

Maria was killed by Pinocchio

Jim L was killed by Inga

John Junior was killed by a landmine/himself

Juliet was killed by Caesar

Kill Counts:

Pinocchio: 1 (Maria)

Inga: 1 (Jim L)

Caesar: 1 (Juliet)

Game Meta

The following is a series of screenshots depicting the events of the bloodbath as they were revealed to me. I actually ran multiple simulations to find one that would be the most entertaining/dramatic (the first one I ran was going fine, but then the final tribute death was environmental....and so was the final death on my second attempt. That's when I resigned myself to simulating multiple times to find the best possible run). I ran a few more simulations after this one, but I gotta say, with these set of first kills, I knew that this would be the run. The drama was too good to pass up, and I'm happy to report that it maintained a satisfying level of excitement through the whole run (other simulations started exciting but then had multiple simulated days of nothing happening but minor environmental effects)

As you can see from these screenshots, the way that I'm going about this is I take all of the events from the simulation and convey them to you in the order that is the most dramatic. The simulation always tells you the day's kills first, and then all other events/interactions from the day, but that's not good narrative structure! So I eased you in with a few minor supply runs, then escalated with a few minor scuffles before dropping the bombshell of 'Pinocchio spears Maria Clarissio in the abdomen.' (when I tell you I gasped reading that for the first time!)

Now, if you're particularly sharp eyed, you may notice a few tiny changes I made. Mostly I just gave a few tributes some minor supplies that the simulator didn't explicitly say that they had, but later simulated events implies that they do. The biggest change I made to this round was the simulator said that both Robin and Michael got the same kind of weapon, which I changed into a fight over one weapon.

Going forward, you can expect those types of changes between the screenshots and my narration, but NOTHING major. I will never alter a death, major encounter, injury, or alliance. I will occasionally omit superfluous interactions (for instance, several days in two tributes who haven't interacted at all for the whole game and proceed to never interact for the rest of it apparently spend the night holding hands...I cut that for simplicity's sake) or make some additional interactions up to strengthen the narrative weight of major events, but the vast majority of events were all generated by the simulator, the only thing I'm toying with is the order.

One final note: the bloodbath is technically also on the first day of the games, but it given its own simulated 'day,' so I will be posting the rest of "Day 1" tomorrow. Going forward, each day will get two posts, one for the Day simulation and one for the Night simulation (so tomorrow will be Day 1, the day after that Night 1, the next day Day 2, and so on)

Starting tomorrow, there will be a "Fallen Tributes Broadcast" at the end of each day, and when we reach the final 8 tributes we will see a return of Andre Beetroot, conducting family and friends interviews for the loved ones of the top 8 tributes!

If you haven't voted yet for who you hope will win, there's still two days left on the poll! This has no bearing on results, as they are already generated, it's just to see who folks are rooting for. I may use some of that data for dramatic purposes when conveying the fates of our beloveds ;)

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filthyjoelslvr · 15 hours ago

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Window Seat (2)

Part 1

Content: Dbf!Joel x reader

Synop: Joel's been distant ever since the night he snuck into your house, into your room, to touch you in places you needed. His need for you overpowers him, making all his regret dissolve.

Warnings: age gap (not specified), pet names (praising, says slut once), use of daddy (once), no outbreak, unprotected PiV, oral (f receiving), praising, (might be forgetting some)

Word Count: 9k

(dividers by: @strangergraphics @cafekitsune)

It starts with the blinds.

At first, it’s subtle, almost invisible — something that could easily be brushed off. But when you’re sitting at your window, staring across the street like you have so many times before, it becomes impossible to ignore.

Joel’s blinds are completely shut.

For weeks, they’ve always been open — just a little. Enough that you could see the outline of his figure moving in and out of the living room, the occasional flash of him leaning over to grab a shirt from his dresser, or the silhouette of him sitting on his bed, watching TV after a long day. Those moments, however brief, had become your silent routine. His window was a steady, reassuring presence, something that felt like a connection, even when you weren’t close.

But tonight, the window is dark. Nothing. Not a hint of movement. Not a flicker of light.

You shift uncomfortably, leaning forward, your face pressed against the cool glass. Your heart beats a little faster, a strange fluttering in your chest that makes you pause. You try to tell yourself it’s nothing — that maybe he just wanted some privacy tonight, or maybe he’s been busy. But deep down, you know it’s more than that. You’ve been doing this long enough to notice the changes, even the smallest ones.

You glance at your phone, checking the time — it’s past 10 p.m. Now would be the time Joel would normally swing by after his long day. He always has some excuse, a reason to come over, to have a beer with your dad or to just hang out. But tonight, there’s nothing. No knock at the door. No text. No call.

Not a word.

You run your fingers over the glass, your thoughts growing heavier. He hasn’t been by in days. Not since that night — that night you can’t stop replaying in your head, a night that felt like everything had shifted. It was supposed to be a one-time thing, wasn’t it? A secret between the two of you. But then the silence settled in, stretching between you like a rift, filling the spaces with confusion and doubt.

You’ve tried to convince yourself that maybe he just needs space, that maybe he’s processing what happened. But the doubt lingers in your chest, tightening with each passing hour. You can’t help but feel like he’s avoiding you. It’s not just the blinds. It’s the lack of contact — no text, no call, no word of any kind. Joel, who used to be here, is now a ghost.

You force yourself to look away from his window, but your eyes keep wandering back. It’s like you can’t stop searching for him, even though you already know the answer. The emptiness in his house, the absence of him behind the blinds, is enough to settle the growing pit in your stomach.

You glance across the street again, wondering if maybe you’ve missed something. But his house looks different now — darker. Quieter. His truck, which is usually parked out front, isn’t there, and the street feels colder without it. When he’s here, even just parked in his driveway, it feels like the neighborhood is alive. But now, with his absence, everything seems still.

You glance down at your phone again. You’ve sent him a few texts in the past few days. Short ones, nothing too needy. Just simple things like, "Hey, you coming by tonight?" or "Haven’t seen you in a while, everything okay?" But no responses. No pings, no notifications, nothing. Just that unsettling silence.

Joel has always been the type to show up unannounced, the kind of guy who’d knock on the door without a second thought, asking for a drink or a place to sit after a long day. He didn’t need a reason to show up, not really. He was just always there, like a fixture in the background of your life. Even if he wasn’t there physically, you knew he’d be back soon.

But now? There’s an eerie stillness in the space he’s left behind. You don’t even remember when the last time was that he came by. Was it five days ago? Six? You can’t remember the last time you heard his gravelly voice, the last time you felt his presence in the house.

You try to call him, finally. Your fingers hover over the screen, but when you press his name, your stomach churns with unease. The dial tone rings longer than usual, echoing in your ear. He’s not picking up. No voicemail. Just the sound of the phone ringing and ringing until it goes quiet.

You try again, this time sending a quick text.

“Joel, hey. Everything okay? Haven’t seen you in a bit.”

Still no response. You feel the familiar, bitter sting of disappointment in your chest, but you push it down. You can’t let it get to you. It’s just… it’s just Joel, right? He’s probably just busy. He probably has a lot on his plate. The rational part of your brain tries to talk you down, but there’s a gnawing feeling at the back of your mind that tells you something’s wrong. Something is different.

You turn away from the window, pacing across the room. Your dad is downstairs, watching TV, blissfully unaware of the growing knot in your stomach. He hasn’t mentioned Joel’s absence yet, but you can see the change in him too. He’s been glancing at his phone more than usual, checking the time whenever he hears a car drive by. He’s used to Joel stopping by at least once a day, even if it’s just for a quick chat. But it’s been days now. Days without a word.

And your dad is starting to notice. Starting to worry.

“Hey, where’s Joel been?” he asked you earlier, in that nonchalant tone he uses when he doesn’t want to seem concerned. “Haven’t seen him around.”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s busy.”

But your dad’s frown deepened. “Hm. Yeah. I guess so.”

There was an odd weight to his words, a note of suspicion that lingered in the air long after he’d moved on to something else. But you could feel it — he’s starting to wonder if something’s wrong.

You make your way to the kitchen, distractedly grabbing a glass of water, but your eyes keep flicking toward the window again, toward the empty, dark space where Joel’s presence used to be. The silence in his house feels like a physical thing, pressing down on your chest.

You haven’t seen him in days. You haven’t heard from him in days. And now his blinds are shut.

And for the first time, you realize with a sickening lurch in your stomach: Joel is avoiding you.

The morning light filters through the kitchen window, casting a soft, golden glow over the room. You can hear the steady hum of the coffee maker, the clink of ceramic mugs being set down on the table. Your dad sits across from you, his usual worn flannel shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his face drawn with the lines of someone who’s been up for a while. The smell of fresh coffee lingers in the air, but it does little to mask the subtle tension hanging between you.

You glance at your phone absentmindedly, scrolling through a few messages that are all empty — nothing from Joel, nothing from anyone really. Just the dull buzz of notifications that don’t mean anything.

It’s quiet, the kind of quiet where your dad’s thoughts are running a mile a minute, and you can feel the unease in the air before he speaks.

“Y’know, it’s really weird about Joel,” your dad says, breaking the silence, his voice low but firm.

You look up, pretending like you didn’t notice it yourself. “What do you mean?”

He sets his mug down with a heavy sigh, fingers tapping absently on the ceramic. “I’ve been tryin' to get ahold of him for a few days now. He usually stops by, or at least sends me a text, even if it’s just to say he’s busy. But I haven’t heard a word from him. Not even a damn call.”

You try to hide your reaction, even though your heart skips a beat. Joel’s been avoiding you, and it’s clear he’s been avoiding your dad, too. You keep your voice casual, like it’s nothing out of the ordinary. “Maybe he’s just caught up with work. You know how he is, always busy with something.”

Your dad shakes his head, not convinced. “He’s been way too quiet. The thing is, when Joel’s tied up with something, he lets me know. He’ll text, or give me a call, something. Hell, sometimes he’ll even show up just to tell me he’s got a late one. But this… this feels different.”

You can hear the frustration in his voice now, the worry that’s been slowly creeping in. He’s always been laid-back, never the type to get too worked up over anything, but Joel’s absence has clearly unsettled him.

“He didn’t even send me a text to say he’d be gone for a while or that he was swamped. Just… nothing.” Your dad looks out the window, his mind clearly racing. “I’ve heard his truck leave in the mornings, and I’ve seen it come back in the afternoons. So, I know he’s around. But he won’t even pick up my calls. What the hell’s going on with him?”

You take a slow sip of your coffee, trying to maintain your cool. You already know what’s going on. The night still lingers in your mind, the way Joel left so suddenly, his words heavy with regret, his eyes full of something you couldn’t quite read. But you can’t tell your dad that.

You set your cup down gently, trying to keep your voice neutral. “Don’t worry so much, Dad. I’m sure he’s fine. Maybe he’s just going through something. He’s not exactly great at reaching out when he’s in his head, you know that.”

Your dad looks at you, raising an eyebrow as if trying to gauge if you're telling the truth or just brushing it off. "Yeah, I know. But it’s just… not like him. Not this bad. Hell, he’s been over here almost every damn day since he moved into that house.”

He runs a hand through his graying hair, eyes narrowing in concern. "You sure you haven’t heard from him? Or seen him around?"

You shake your head a little too quickly, your voice a little too steady. “Nope. Haven’t seen him. But I’ll stop by after work and see if he’s okay. You know, just check in on him. I’m sure everything’s fine. Maybe he just needs a break from… well, everything.”

Your dad nods slowly, his lips pulling into a thin line. You can tell he’s not convinced, but he doesn’t press the issue.

“Alright,” he mutters, reaching for his mug again. "I guess you’re right. But I don’t know, something about this just doesn’t sit right with me. It’s not like him to disappear like this, not without any kind of word." He pauses, staring down into his coffee. "I’m just… I don’t know. I’ve been worrying more than I should."

You smile weakly, trying to ease his mind, though your own thoughts are racing. “You know how men are. They don’t talk about their feelings. You’d get more out of a statue.” You chuckle softly, hoping to break the tension, though it falls flat.

Your dad smiles back at you, but it’s tired, a little sad. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I just hate not knowing what's going on. But… I guess if you’re heading over there, it’ll give me some peace of mind."

"Don’t worry so much, okay? I’ll check in with him and let you know what’s up. Maybe he just needs some time to himself, and we’re all overthinking it." You give him a reassuring nod, even though a part of you knows it’s not that simple.

"Alright," he says, sighing heavily, his shoulders slumping as he leans back in his chair. "Guess I’ll just focus on work today, and you let me know how it goes. Appreciate it, kid."

You nod again, feeling a tightness in your chest. It’s all you can do to act like everything’s fine, even though the sinking feeling in your gut tells you that something is seriously wrong.

You finish your coffee in silence, both of you lost in your own thoughts. The weight of your dad’s worry is heavy in the air, and you know it’s not just about Joel anymore — it’s about your dad too. But you can’t bring yourself to tell him what you already know. Joel has pulled away, not just from you, but from everything.

An anger settles deep in your stomach. Joel can ignore you all he wants, leave you be, but bringing your dad into this crosses the line.

The sun’s just beginning to dip below the rooftops when you hear it — the low, familiar rumble of Joel’s truck pulling into the driveway across the street.

It’s later than usual. Much later. Most nights, Joel’s already home and settled by now, beer in hand, maybe a light on in the living room, TV murmuring softly through the window. But this time, the engine grumbles into your awareness like a ghost finally deciding to come home.

You freeze in place, caught mid-motion in your room, a book forgotten in your lap, your phone screen dimming beside you. Slowly, quietly, you rise and walk to your window, careful not to make any noise — like he might hear you from all the way across the street.

You pull the blinds apart, just a sliver, and there he is.

Joel Miller, climbing out of his truck with one hand gripping the top of the door and the other slinging his worn flannel jacket over his shoulder. The soft orange of the setting sun hits him just right — that low, amber light brushing his skin, catching the gray in his hair, outlining the curve of his shoulders, the sharp lines of his profile. He looks tired. Worn. Still so painfully good-looking it makes something twist in your chest.

He pauses at his front steps for a moment, glancing out toward the quiet street — not at your window, not at you — just a passing glance before he rubs the back of his neck and disappears through his front door.

No light flicks on in the window. The blinds stay closed.

You stand there for a moment longer, fingertips resting on the windowsill, your throat tight with something you can’t quite swallow. You should be angry. Maybe you are. But mostly, you feel… disappointed. Not because Joel pulled away. But because he didn’t even try to say goodbye.

You think about all the nights you’ve watched him from this same spot — the warmth you used to feel when you’d catch a glimpse of him moving around his house, the stolen glances, the tension that built in the space between your windows like static. And then, that night. The way he looked at you. The way he touched you. The way he whispered your name like it was something he didn’t want to give up.

You feel the weight of it settling on your shoulders like dusk. And you’re so damn tired of it.

With a shaky breath, you step back from the window. You tell yourself you’re just going over there to check in. That it’s what any good neighbor would do. That this has nothing to do with the ache in your chest or the unanswered texts or the way your heart clenched the second you saw him walk inside like you never happened at all.

You grab a hoodie from the back of your chair, pull it over your head, and slide on your shoes. You don’t give yourself time to second-guess it.

As you cross the street, the sun sinks lower, throwing long shadows across the pavement. Joel’s truck is still warm, the engine ticking softly in the cooling air. His porch light is off, the blinds unmoving — like the house is holding its breath, waiting for something to break.

You climb the steps and hesitate at the door.

Your knuckles hover over the wood, your pulse pounding in your ears. For a second, you consider turning back. Going home. Pretending none of this ever happened. But the thought of another night of silence — another night of pretending Joel hasn’t become this unreachable part of you — is worse.

So, you knock.

Soft. Hesitant. But loud enough.

And then you wait.

The knock still hangs in the air when the door swings open — not fast, not welcoming — just enough to say what do you want?

Joel stands in the doorway, his shoulders square, one hand still gripping the edge of the doorframe like he hadn’t decided if he was going to open it all the way. His eyes land on you, and for a split second, something like relief flashes across his face.

Then it’s gone.

Replaced by something colder. Guarded. Almost annoyed.

“…What are you doin’ here?” he asks, his voice rough, like he hasn’t spoken to anyone all day. Or maybe like he didn’t want to speak to you.

You blink, caught off guard by how distant he sounds. You expected guilt maybe, or discomfort, but not this sharpness. Still, you hold your ground.

“I just…” You clear your throat, looking up at him. “I wanted to check on you. You’ve been quiet lately.”

Joel exhales through his nose, leans against the frame. “I’ve been busy.”

“That’s not like you,” you say gently. “You usually at least text my dad. He’s starting to get worried.”

Joel’s jaw tightens, his gaze dropping for a moment before flicking back up to yours. “I’m fine.”

You study him, your eyes narrowing slightly. “You sure?”

“I said I’m fine,” he snaps, a little too quickly.

You don’t flinch. “Okay. So you’re fine. Everything’s okay. Then why have you been avoiding me?”

Joel goes still.

He opens the door a little more, like he’s considering asking you in, but doesn’t. The hallway behind him is dimly lit. The smell of wood and leather and old whiskey drifts out, familiar and grounding, but right now it only makes your chest ache.

“I’m not avoidin’ you,” he mutters, clearly lying.

You cross your arms. “Joel.”

He lets out a tired sigh and runs a hand down his face. “Jesus. Look, it’s just… what we did…” he starts, his voice dropping low, like even saying it out loud might make it worse. “It was dangerous.”

You stare at him, pulse pounding. “Dangerous how?”

“You know how,” he snaps, then softens almost immediately. “It was wrong.”

“Then do you regret it?” you ask, voice quiet now. Not angry. Just… broken.

Joel looks at you — really looks at you — like the weight of that question has knocked the wind out of him. He opens his mouth. Closes it again. Shakes his head slowly.

“No,” he says finally. “Of course I don’t. But that doesn’t make it right.”

You take a step closer. “You not talking to me? That doesn’t make it right either. It’s not just hurting me, Joel. My dad is confused. Worried. He thinks you’re mad at him or that something happened. And you know how he is — he doesn’t talk about his feelings, but I can see it. Every day. He misses you.”

Joel’s eyes close briefly like the words hit too close.

“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” he says quietly.

“I know you didn’t,” you say, voice softening too. “But you are. By shutting down. By disappearing. And if this… whatever this thing was between us — if it’s the reason you’ve pulled away, then fine.”

You swallow hard.

“I’ll let it go. I’ll forget it happened. Just… don’t disappear on him. He needs you. We need you.”

There’s a long silence between you. Joel doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. His jaw clenches like he’s trying to hold something back — guilt or longing or both.

Then, finally, he speaks.

“I care about your dad,” he says, his voice low and thick. “More than I’ve ever cared about another person in my life. He’s… family.”

“I know,” you whisper. “That’s why I’m asking you to stop doing this. Just come back to us. To him. We don’t have to talk about what happened. We don’t have to do anything else. Just… be normal again.”

Joel looks at you like the words are both a lifeline and a punishment.

And for a second, you think maybe — just maybe — he’s going to reach for you. But he doesn’t. He just nods once. Slow. Reluctant.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

You exhale, even though it doesn’t feel like relief. “Thank you.”

Joel’s hand tightens on the doorknob. His voice comes out quieter this time. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know,” you say, even if it doesn’t feel true.

You turn to go. He doesn’t stop you.

And as the door closes gently behind you, the space between you settles into the silence again.

Weeks pass. And life, somehow, starts to feel normal again.

Not all at once — not with some big moment or apology — but gradually. Like the way winter fades into spring: slow, cautious, not entirely sure it’s safe to bloom again.

At first, you and Joel barely look at each other.

When he comes over, you find an excuse to leave. You suddenly remember errands, drive aimlessly for hours just to avoid the creak of floorboards in your room while his voice fills the house downstairs. You wait until he’s left before returning home, stepping into the quiet space he’s left behind, air still faintly warm from where he’d stood.

You wonder if he notices you slipping around him like a ghost. You wonder if it hurts him the way it hurts you.

But he never says anything.

Your dad, though — he lights back up like someone flipped a switch. Joel’s presence returns like it never left: sitting at the kitchen table again, beer in hand, teasing your dad about the burnt edges of his barbecue. Watching sports, fixing things that don’t really need fixing. He starts calling again, sending texts, stopping by after work with that slow, tired smile that used to feel like home.

And you watch from the background. At first.

Little by little, you let yourself drift back in.

Dinner at the table again. Quiet small talk. A movie night where you don’t fake a headache and hide in your room. A joke shared on the porch that makes your dad laugh, Joel’s eyes flicking toward you for half a second — just long enough for your breath to hitch. You sip your drink and look away before it can become anything more.

Everything is back to normal.

At least on the surface.

But beneath it, under the calm rhythms of domestic life, something pulses.

You miss him.

You miss the way he used to say your name with that quiet warmth. The way he’d smile when you walked into the room, like you were the one he’d been waiting for. You miss catching his eye from across the table, the subtle flicker of amusement or softness that only you could read. The knowing glances shared across the porch, the late-night glimpses through open windows.

You keep your blinds closed now. So does he.

It’s better this way, you tell yourself.

Safer.

You promised to forget. To move on. To let it go for your dad’s sake.

And you meant it. You still do.

But some nights, when the house is quiet and you’re lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, you remember the way his voice sounded in the dark. The way his hands moved like he already knew every part of you. You remember the heat, the whisper of sweet names, the way he tucked you into bed like he didn’t want to leave but knew he had to.

You don’t cry.

But you feel the ache of missing him like something that was half-healed and pulled open again. Not bleeding — just sore. Tender. Like a bruise only you can feel.

And so you smile at him over dinner. You laugh when he teases your dad. You hand him a beer from the fridge like nothing ever happened. You nod when your dad talks about how good it is to have Joel around again.

And you pretend.

Because that’s what you promised. And because pretending is the only way you get to keep him in your life at all.

The house is quiet. Your dad's gone to bed hours ago, his snoring echoing faintly down the hall. A half-watched movie flickers across the dark living room, its sound low and distant like the buzz of a dream. You’re still on the couch, knees pulled up beneath you, a throw blanket wrapped around your shoulders like armor. Rain tapping the window with a calm stream.

You’re not expecting anyone when the knock comes.

It’s late — not so late that it’s strange, but late enough that your heart jumps at the sound. The kind of late that makes everything in the house feel more vulnerable. Darker. Softer.

You pause the movie that’s been playing to an empty room, remote still in your hand, and glance toward the front door. No text. No warning.

But you already know it’s him.

You cross the living room slowly, wiping your palms down the sides of your thighs as you go. You don't check through the peephole. You just open the door.

And there he is.

Joel.

He stands beneath the low porch light, one hand braced on the doorframe, the other clutching something — your dad’s wallet. His jacket is open, shirt rumpled like he’s been wearing it too long. His hair is still damp from the shower or maybe the rain — you can’t tell — and his face is unreadable. Guarded. Tired. A little like he didn’t want to be here, but couldn’t stop himself anyway.

“Hey,” he says, voice low.

Your stomach flips. “Hey.”

He lifts the wallet slightly. “Your dad left this in my truck earlier.”

You glance at it, then back at him. “You didn’t have to bring it by tonight.”

Joel shrugs, like it’s nothing, but his jaw’s tight. “Figured he might need it tomorrow.”

“He’s already asleep.”

“I figured that, too.”

Silence settles between you. The kind that used to feel easy — familiar. But now it’s wrapped in something heavier. Sharper. The kind of silence that has to be handled carefully or it might shatter.

You step back without thinking. “You can come in, if you want.”

He hesitates for a beat.

Then he steps inside.

He walks with slow, deliberate steps — like the floor might crack beneath him — and sets the wallet down on the kitchen counter with a muted thud. You shut the door, but don’t move to join him just yet. You watch him from the hallway instead, arms crossed, your body buzzing with nerves.

Joel turns toward you, hands in his pockets, eyes unreadable.

You clear your throat. “You’re quiet.”

He exhales, looks away for a second. “Yeah.”

“You okay?”

He nods once. Too quickly. “Fine.”

“You sure?”

His shoulders tense. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

You study him. The slope of his brow. The way he’s not looking at you. And it stings — that careful distance he keeps between you. Like you’re something he can’t be trusted to stand too close to.

“You don’t have to do this,” you say softly. “Pretend we’re strangers.”

Joel’s gaze snaps to you — quick, sharp, pained.

“I’m not pretending that,” he says, voice low.

“Then what are you pretending?”

He doesn’t answer. He just watches you like he's trying to hold something in — something he doesn’t trust himself to say.

You take a step forward. Just one. Your voice stays quiet. Careful.

“I thought we were okay. After that night on the porch. I told you I’d drop it. I meant it.”

“I know you did.”

“Then why does it still feel like you’re avoiding me?”

Joel’s jaw clenches. He doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t try to lie.

You step closer again, your chest tightening. “I’m not trying to pull you back into anything. I just… I miss you. I miss when we could be in the same room and not feel like we were walking on glass.”

Joel swallows hard, his throat working around the weight of your words. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and hoarse.

“I don’t know how to look at you and not want to touch you.”

The words sink into your skin, low and heated and aching. You go still.

Joel shakes his head. “You think this is easy for me? Bein’ around your dad. Coming in this house. Trying to be normal when all I can think about is how you looked that night — standing at my door, askin’ me if I regret it.”

You blink, throat tight. “Do you?”

His eyes meet yours. Unflinching. “No. But I think about it every goddamn day. What we risked. What it could’ve cost.”

You step closer — close enough now to feel the warmth of his body.

“But it didn’t,” you whisper. “And we said we’d move on.”

“I know.”

“Then why are we still hurting?”

Joel looks at you like he’s trying not to drown in it. Like he wants to say no, wants to say nothing, but his body betrays him first.

His hand lifts.

It hesitates halfway — a breath, a pause — and then he’s touching you. Calloused fingers brush gently along your jaw, so soft it nearly breaks you. His thumb trails just beneath your cheekbone, and your eyes flutter shut instinctively, overwhelmed by the way it feels. Like a confession.

He’s so close now. You can smell cedar and smoke. Feel the warmth of his breath as it fans across your lips. Your heart is in your throat, thudding loud enough to drown out every thought except him.

“I shouldn’t,” he whispers, but he’s already leaning in.

And then he kisses you.

Slow. Desperate. Tender.

His lips press into yours like a secret he’s too tired to keep. There’s no rush, no hunger — just aching restraint, the kind of kiss that says I’ve missed you every second I’ve been away. His hand cradles your jaw while the other curls gently around your waist, not pulling, just holding. Like he needs to remember what it feels like before he lets go again.

His lips taste like regret and rain. His touch is careful, worshipful — like you’re something holy.

Your fingers find the front of his shirt, clinging to it as your body leans into him, heart pounding so hard you’re sure he can feel it. The kiss deepens — slowly, carefully — his mouth parting against yours with quiet submission. Like he's afraid if he gives in too much, he'll ruin you both.

And maybe he will.

When he finally pulls away, it’s with a soft, trembling breath. His forehead rests against yours, his eyes still closed.

He doesn’t say anything for a long moment.

Then, in a voice so broken it almost undoes you: “I’m sorry.”

He brushes his thumb once more across your cheek — almost like goodbye — and steps back.

And before you can ask him to stay, before you can say please, he opens the door and slips out into the night.

You don’t follow. You don’t cry. You just stand there in the dark, feeling the echo of his mouth on yours like an imprint you’ll never get rid of.

Gone again.

Leaving you standing there in the dark — lips tingling, heart hollow — with the weight of his kiss still clinging to your skin like a bruise that hasn’t formed yet.

And for the first time in weeks, you’re not just missing him. You’re mourning him.

It starts with the quiet.

The kind of quiet that hums. That settles into the walls of the house like dust and lingers under your skin, too thick to ignore but not loud enough to drown out. You’ve been trying to keep busy — folding laundry that doesn’t need folding, pacing around the kitchen without purpose, starting a movie you didn’t even want to watch.

You left it playing in the background anyway. Something old. Familiar. A film you’ve seen a dozen times but couldn’t name a single plot point if someone asked. The dialogue blends into the silence like white noise. You're not really listening.

Not when your mind keeps wandering.

Back to him.

Back to that night.

That kiss.

You haven’t been able to stop thinking about it — the way his mouth felt on yours, soft and certain and so careful, like he was afraid of breaking something even as he gave in to the very thing he’d been trying so hard to avoid. It plays on a loop in your mind. The heat of his hand on your jaw. The tremble in his voice when he said, “I’m sorry.”

You haven’t been the same since.

Not because of the kiss — but because of what came after. The way he left. The way he hasn’t reached out since.

Like he’s trying to pretend it didn’t happen.

Like you’re something he regrets.

You pull your knees up to your chest on the bed, resting your chin there as the light from the TV flickers across the room. You’ve been holding your breath every night since. Waiting for him to text. To call. To do something.

But he hasn’t.

And the silence is starting to feel like punishment.

The house is still. Your dad went to bed hours ago — you heard the creak of his door, the distant shuffle of him brushing his teeth, the usual end-of-day routine.

You wonder if he regrets it.

The thought sits heavy in your chest, pressing down with every heartbeat. You’ve tried to be okay with the distance — you promised you’d let it go — but there’s a hollowness in your ribs that won’t fill. Not when he feels so close and so far all at once.

You sigh, reach for your phone, and check it for the hundredth time.

Still nothing.

You set it down with a quiet thud on the nightstand, then push yourself up, restless. You pace once to the window before you catch yourself.

And then you see it. Just a sliver at first.

Barely there — the way moonlight breaks across his blinds when they’re tilted too wide, or how the glow of his lamp leaks between the cracks. You almost don’t notice it. You’re not looking for it, not really. But your eyes find his window anyway, like they always do. Like they haven’t stopped.

You freeze.

Because they’re open.

For weeks, they’ve been closed. Tight. Like he couldn’t risk letting you see even a shadow of him. Like he was trying to cut the tether between your houses with nothing but slats of plastic.

But now?

Now the blinds are drawn just enough to see in.

And he’s there.

Joel.

He’s standing by the window, backlit by warm lamplight, his head bent low like he’s reading something. You can’t see much — the outline of his shoulders, the slope of his spine — but it’s enough. Your chest pulls tight.

You don’t move. Don’t blink.

You just watch.

At first, it feels innocent again. Like it used to — like the old evenings, when you’d glance across the street and see him moving through his house in a way that felt... comforting. Familiar. A ritual neither of you ever spoke about but always seemed to fall into.

But this time it feels different.

Because now he’s looking up.

Right at you.

Your breath stutters in your throat. You think about ducking, turning away, pretending you weren’t staring — but something about the look in his eyes stops you.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t hide. He just watches you.

Slowly, you step closer to your own window. Close enough that he can see your face. Not just your shape. Not just your shadow.

His expression doesn’t change. Not at first. But there’s something in the way his gaze softens, something that makes your stomach twist and heat crawl up your neck.

His hand moves — slow, deliberate — reaching for the chain of his blinds. You tense, thinking he’s going to close them again, disappear from view like he has so many nights before.

But he doesn’t.

He pulls them wider.

Your breath catches. Because now you see all of him.

He’s wearing a soft, worn t-shirt, clinging to the shape of his chest. His hair’s damp, like he’s just come out of the shower. There’s a crease between his brows, something tired and tense, but his body is relaxed — like he’s standing there waiting for you. Like he knew you’d be looking.

Like maybe… he was waiting too.

You don’t know who moves first.

Maybe it’s you — maybe it’s the way your hand lifts, pressing against the glass as if that’ll make the space between you smaller. Or maybe it’s him — the way he shifts his stance, closer to the window now, one hand braced on the frame, the other resting low on his hip.

He’s not smiling.

But he’s not hiding either.

And God, that does something to you.

The silence of the night is louder now. You can hear the soft whir of your fan, the hum of distant traffic, the thump of your own pulse in your ears. You can feel everything — the weight of his eyes, the heat blooming beneath your skin, the ache that never really left.

Joel tilts his head. Just slightly. Like he’s asking you a question without speaking.

You don’t answer. You can’t. You just keep watching.

And then — slowly — he brings a hand to the hem of his shirt.

He doesn’t take it off. He doesn’t do anything obvious or lewd.

He just lifts it enough to scratch at his side. A lazy, thoughtless gesture. But your eyes follow the motion like you’re starved for it. The way his stomach flexes, the glimpse of skin. Your thighs press together, instinctively, and you hate the way it feels like he knows that. Like he’s watching your reaction just as closely.

Because this isn’t innocent anymore.

This is intentional.

This is him saying: Remember.

And you’re too scared to look away. Too sad. Too hungry.

Because you want him — so much it hurts. Even after all the distance. Even after all the silence. You want him in a way that feels like surrender.

He shifts again.

Turns just slightly so you see more of his profile, his broad chest, the curve of his jaw. And when he leans forward — arms braced on the windowsill, head tilted low — it feels like gravity itself is shifting. Like the space between your houses isn’t enough to stop what’s starting.

You move without thinking.

Your fingers trail down the front of your sleep shirt. Thin cotton. Nothing underneath. And when you see his jaw clench at the sight, your breath catches.

You should stop.

You should close your blinds, turn away, pretend you don’t feel the heat blooming low in your stomach like a secret — but you don’t.

Because he’s still watching.

And he looks like he’s in pain. Like watching you is unraveling him.

His hand lifts again — slow, cautious — like he’s asking permission.

You nod. Just once.

And he unbuckles his belt.

The leather comes undone, slow and deliberate –– like he’s trying to torture you in ways you couldn’t possibly understand. He finally removes his belt, it’s like you can hear the metal clinking even through your window, feet away –– but he doesn’t undress.

His jeans now hang low on his waist, revealing deep hipbones just under his white t-shirt. His shirt rides up just enough, exposing the hair that travels, disappearing in the waistband. He sends a knowing look your way, eyebrow slightly raised, head tilted low. He’s teasing you.

A shiver escapes your lips, but it has nothing to do with the night air. What is he doing to you?

Not long ago — weeks — he told you to stay away. Made you promise. Said it was better this way, that you both needed to forget. And yet, just weeks after those words, he came to you in the dark. No warning, no reason. Just a kiss that lit a fire in your chest and then vanished with him into the shadows, leaving you gasping and hollow.

You know better than to let this go on. You’ve tried to pull away, to make the distance real. But Joel — Joel is like some toxic flower. Beautiful, intoxicating. The kind you want to keep touching even when the thorns are already cutting in.

You should shut the window. You should walk away. But instead, you vanish from the glass, knowing damn well what you're doing — leaving him aching.

Moments later, your phone buzzes.

Joel come back please

You stare at the screen. Your thumb hovers.

You No.

A pause. Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.

Joel you can’t just disappear like that i need to see you

You you saw me. that was the problem, remember? you’re the one who said this couldn’t happen.

A longer pause now. Maybe he’s pacing. You imagine him raking a hand through his hair, frustration carved into every line of his face.

Joel i didn’t mean it. not like that. i just... it’s complicated

You No. It’s simple. You told me to forget. I tried. You kissed me. I didn’t ask for that.

Joel but you kissed me back.

You swallow hard, your breath catching in your throat. You type. Erase. Then type again.

You doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

Another pause.

Joel then come over. just for a minute. i’ll explain. no pressure. i just need to see you. please

Your fingers twitch. Everything in you says no. But the thing is, that ache he left in you — it never really went away. You press your lips together, jaw tight.

You if i come, you don’t get to disappear again.

Joel deal… wear something pretty.

You know exactly what he means by those last words, know what you’re getting yourself into. You stare at your reflection in the dark window. You already know you’re going. Just needed to hear him say it.

You slip your phone into your pocket before he can say anything else. The decision has already sunk into your bones like warm rain — inevitable.

The house is silent. You move like a ghost through the halls, toes brushing cold wood floors, heart pounding in your throat. Every creak feels like a confession. Every breath, too loud. You hesitate at the back door, one hand resting on the knob, the other curled around the edge of your jacket.

Just for a minute. That’s what he said.

But you already know a minute won’t be enough.

The night greets you with a hush, the kind of quiet that makes you feel like something big is about to happen. Joel’s house is just a few feet away. Close enough that you've memorized the way his porch light flickers.

By the time you reach his porch, your pulse is a steady drumbeat in your ears. His truck’s out front, same as always. The house is dark except for the light in the front room.

You round the corner of the porch. And there he is.

Joel’s leaning against the doorway like he’s been standing there for hours. His arms are crossed, his jaw set, but his eyes — his eyes are soft in the worst way. Like regret and want are sitting side by side behind them.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” he says, voice low, rough from too many things unsaid.

You shrug, pretending like your heart isn’t breaking just looking at him. “You said please.”

He lets out a breath, half a laugh, like he can’t believe you’re real. Then he steps back and opens the door wider.

“Come inside.”

You hesitate for only a second. Then you cross the threshold.

The door shuts behind you with a soft click that sounds a lot like surrender.

Inside, the air feels different. Warmer. Tighter. Joel stands close, but not too close. Not yet. You can see the way his hands twitch, like he’s holding himself back.

“I wasn’t lying,” he says quietly. “When I told you it was complicated.”

You look at him. “Then explain it.”

He nods, eyes dropping to the floor for a second before they meet yours again. “I wanted to protect you from... from this. From me. I thought if I stayed away, you’d move on. That I’d stop wanting you.”

“And did you?” Your voice is steadier than you feel.

He swallows hard. “Not for a damn second.”

The space between you hums like a live wire. One wrong move, and you'll both fall into it.

You take a step forward. Just one. “Then what do we do, Joel?”

He exhales, slow and ragged, and lifts a hand like he’s going to touch you — then stops himself again.

“We stop pretending it doesn’t matter,” he murmurs. “And we stop lying about how we feel.”

This time, it’s you who reaches for him.

The moment your fingers curl into his shirt and you whisper, “Then stop pretending,” Joel loses it.

His mouth crashes into yours with a groan that sounds like it’s been clawing its way out of him for weeks. There’s no patience, no hesitation — just heat, teeth, tongue, and years of tension finally catching fire.

He’s already walking you backward, lips never leaving yours, hands gripping your waist like he can’t decide whether to pull you closer or push you straight through the wall.

You gasp against his mouth as your back hits it with a thud. “Joel—”

He shakes his head, breathing hard. “No. Don’t talk. Just—come here.”

He grabs your hand and pulls you toward the stairs, but neither of you make it gracefully. You’re tripping over each other, stumbling, laughing breathlessly between kisses. He lifts you halfway up the stairs like he can’t stand the space between your bodies, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist, arms thrown around his shoulders.

He pins you to the wall midway up, grinding into you hard enough to draw a gasp from your throat.

“You gonna keep teasin’ me?” he mutters against your neck, biting gently.

“You gonna keep talking?” you shoot back, yanking at his jeans.

That does it. He lets out a guttural, broken sound and practically hauls you the rest of the way, mouths still crashing, hands roaming fast and rough. The stairs become a blur of groans and tangled limbs, your bodies fumbling, too impatient to care.

By the time you burst through his bedroom door, you’re both wild.

He slams the door shut behind you, doesn’t even wait to reach the bed — just presses you up against it, shoves his hands under your shirt and yanks it off like it’s offending him by existing. You tear at his in return, dragging it over his head as he kisses down your chest, your stomach.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re killing me.”

You pull him back up, crash your mouth to his again. “Then don’t stop.”

He doesn’t. He lifts you, drops you onto the bed, crawling over you with that same unstoppable force. His hands are everywhere — your hips, your thighs, your jaw. He kisses you like he’s drowning in you, like if he stops, he’ll lose his mind.

“I’ve wanted you,” he groans, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your neck. “For so fucking long.”

“Show me,” you whisper, nails raking down his back.

He groans into your skin, grinding against you. “You think I haven’t imagined this? Thought about how you’d sound—how you’d feel?”

“Joel—” you gasp, hips meeting his in desperate rhythm.

He’s losing it. You both are.

You roll, straddle him, kiss him hard. He grabs your hips, guiding you as you move, both of you chasing something that’s been just out of reach for far too long.

“Look at me,” he demands, voice ragged.

You do — and that look in his eyes, that wild, almost worshipful hunger, nearly knocks the air out of your lungs.

“You’re mine,” he says, like a vow. “Tonight, you’re fucking mine.”

Joel dips his head to your neck, sucking on the sensitive skin just below your ear –– creating possessive marks that you know shouldn’t be there but can’t bring yourself to stop him. You roll your hips into his crotch, needing his attention in the filthiest of ways. A small grunt slips from his lips at the friction.

“Fuck, baby girl, want me that bad?” He teases, a sly smirk displaying for you to see.

“Joel I— please.” You beg, tired of the games, tired of the complication, tired of the mess. You just want to pretend you really are his, even if it’s just for the night.

Joel doesn’t fight, doesn’t continue with the teasing –– he needs you just as bad. Flips you back over so he’s on top. One hand cups your breast, kneading the hard nub –– twisting it harshly between his fingers, sending electric shivers up your spine. His mouth catches the other, his tongue swirling in sinful ways, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin.

Your fingers curl into the back of his head, tugging slightly at the stray hairs. His eyes meet yours –– nipple still between his teeth. The site alone makes you moan his name in ways you never thought you could.

His hand trails down your stomach and pushes down your pretty, baby pink sleep shorts. Of course you weren’t wearing underwear.

“Such a slut.” Joel murmurs, shaking his head slightly. “Walkin’ to my house with no panties on. Tryin’ to tell me you didn’t come over for me to fuck you?”

Whines escape your lips as his fingers reach down, rubbing you’re already soaked cunt –– spreading your slick up to your clit.

“So wet for me. Can see you glistening. Needed me this bad, baby?”

“Joel—" You whine, body withering underneath his gaze.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Daddy’s here now.” He assures, dipping his head between your thighs, lightly flicking his tongue at your ever swollen clit.

The noises leaving your mouth are sinful, filling the dimly lit room, feeling the empty house. He sucks slightly, thumb trailing rubbing between your wet folds. Your hands grab at his hair, tugging for some release. Knees now bent with your feet hanging ever so slightly in the air.

You feel your body start to shake as he easily enters his middle and ring finger inside of you –– curling once he knows he’s deep enough to have you begging.

His free palm presses slightly on the lower part of your stomach, keeping you still while his movements begin a harsh pace. Wet, disgusting noises feel the air, but you can’t seem to bring yourself to care, chasing his mouth with your trusts.

“Need my tongue?” He asks, making eye contact with you for the first time since he buried his face between your legs.

You nod your head fiercely, whining when you lose contact as he removes his fingers. The loss isn’t long missed when he quickly replaces his tongue, digging himself inside you. His thumb trails slowly up your thighs, meeting at your clit and rubbing deep circles causing you to arch into his touch.

“Joel, gonna— god I’m gonna come.” You whimper, movements now faulty, legs shaking around him and toes curling slightly.

“Wanna taste you. You can do it, babygirl, come on.”

The want you hear in his low, hoarse, voice drives you over the edge. Never hearing anyone want you that bad. Never having anyone begging for your taste. The heat coiled in your lower stomach now released –– mouth agape and eyes rolled. You can hear the lewd sounds of Joel taking you all in, not allowing any escape.

You lay there, catching your breath and admiring the site one last time of Joel between your legs. You thought this would be it, never have gone so far with him, never have even seen him naked. Sure, you’ve seen him shirtless in his dimly lit bedroom from hundreds of feet away. And when you were finally falling apart in his arms, he was clothed the whole time, never touched.

So, it came as a shock to you when Joel desperately pulls his jeans down his thighs, past his calves, and throws them on the ground –– uncared for. His boxers chase quickly after and you’re met with the sight of Joels hard, dripping, length. He’s just as big as you imagined.

He crouches over you, hand placed on the side of your head as he adjusts himself between your legs. His gaze lands on yours –– full of hunger, like you’re the last meal he’d ever have.

“You want this?” He asks. Genuinely asks –– no teasing.

“Yes.” You answer quietly, slowly wrapping your legs around his waist. “Fuck me hard.”

He smirks at the request. You have no idea what you’ve just asked for kind of look displayed on his face. You’re nervous. You’re excited. You’re ready to take him –– all of him.

He lines himself up with your entrance, giving you one last assuring look, and once he sees that you’re serious, he slams into you. No edging, no warning, no prep. A scream leaves your lips, and you quickly cover your mouth with you own hands.

“No, let me hear you.” He demands, removing your hands. “Wanna hear my pretty girl’s cry.”

You move your hands to his biceps, digging your nails deep into him –– defiantly leaving marks. He gives you exactly what you asked for as your screams fill the dim room. Joels movements so harsh, so steady, the sound of skin hitting against skin drowning itself into your ear.

His gaze lingers at the sight of you taking him in, all of him. He watches the filthy sight, groaning every time he sees himself disappear between your thighs. Watching how his shaft is glistening with your juices when he pulls out again.

“Look at you. Handlin’ this like such a good girl.” He grunts, facing you. “My girl takin’ all of me.”

You grab each side of his cheeks, stray tears leaving your eyes at the firey contact between your legs. He’s being so harsh with you, so mean. But his words suggest otherwise. You want to be so good for him, you want him to have his way.

“You okay, baby girl?” As he bends down, kissing each tear. His concern couldn’t be more comforting. You nod your head. I want this.

He offers you a mischievous smile at the answer, arms now wrapping around your knees, pushing your legs to your chest to get himself in the deepest position. A deep moan escapes his lips at the feeling.

He starts slow, pacing to get you prepared and ready, but seeing you’re already scratching his back at the contact, his pace quickens –– the sound of loud smacks and the headboard banging against the wall over power your moans.

You feel his movements become unsteady as he pushes your legs as far as he can, almost folding you in half as if he could place you in his pocket — and then he thrusts deeper, harder, as if trying to crawl inside you, to stay there.

His grip tightens, his pace turns frantic, and when he finally loses control, it’s with your name ripped from his throat and his body trembling above yours, like you’ve shattered something vital in him.

And when he finally flips, pulls you down onto him, the world splits open. You’re now in his lap, but you’re not in control. His thrusts still deep inside you as his hands grip at you hips –– holding you there as if you were to escape.

It’s not gentle. It’s not slow.

It’s pure, feral need. A collision of bodies, of emotion, of everything you’ve both denied.

You’re kissing between moans, holding on for dear life, moving like the world might end tomorrow — and maybe it already has, because nothing else exists except this. Joel, beneath you, inside you, gripping you like you’re the only thing that’s ever felt real.

And you — burning alive in his hands, coming apart under every word he groans into your skin, every thrust, every whispered “God, I missed you.”

The bed rocks. The headboard slams. Your name breaks off his lips like a prayer.

And you feel him twitch deep inside of you, head thrown back, breath hitched. He’s warm inside of you, dripping out slowly down your thighs and around his shaft where he still sits inside.

You collapse onto his chest, your limbs weak, lungs pulling in ragged breaths that still can’t quite catch up to your racing heart. Joel’s arm is already around you, holding you there like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

His skin is warm, damp with sweat, his chest rising and falling beneath your cheek. You listen to the thrum of his heartbeat — it’s fast, chaotic, like yours — and somehow, that grounds you more than anything else.

Neither of you speak for a moment. There’s no need.

His hand finds your hair, fingers slowly combing through it in lazy, distracted strokes. You melt into him, eyes fluttering shut, lulled by the rhythmic movement and the soft sound of his breathing.

“You okay?” he asks eventually, his voice low and rough, still wrecked from what just passed between you.

You nod against his chest. “Yeah.”

He tilts his head, kisses the top of yours — slow, gentle, lingering. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “You were perfect.”

You feel the breath leave his lungs at that, like your words hit something deep inside him.

For a moment, he just keeps playing with your hair, grounding himself in the softness of you. Then you feel him shift beneath you, moving with quiet purpose. Finally pulling himself out.

“Stay right there,” he murmurs.

You groan softly in protest, but he presses another kiss to your forehead. “I’ll be right back.”

He disappears into the bathroom, and you hear the sound of water running, a drawer opening, something rustling. When he returns, he’s holding a warm, damp towel and one of his shirts.

Joel sits at the edge of the bed and gently parts your legs, eyes scanning your face for any hesitation. “Just let me take care of you,” he says quietly.

You nod, throat tight.

His touch is tender, soft, as he cleans you up — his fingers slow, like this is his way of saying all the things he doesn’t quite know how to say aloud. When he finishes, he slips the oversized shirt over your head, pulling it gently down your arms.

You catch him staring at you in it — his shirt, your skin — and there’s something in his eyes that isn’t just lust. It’s something quieter. Something closer to wonder.

Joel climbs into bed beside you, pulls the blanket up over both of you, and gathers you into his arms like he’s done it a hundred times before.

Like you belong there.

His fingers find your hair again, idly twirling strands between them.

You press your face into his neck, breathing him in.

“I missed you,” you whisper.

His hand stills in your hair. “I never stopped missing you.”

And in the quiet that follows, everything feels still. Safe. Real.

For the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like you’re running.

You just feel at home.

a/n: I am so sorry this took forever for me to post!!

@locaparapedrito @vickie5446 @thewritergx

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