#rapid tone benefits

[justblades]

⌕ BUSINESS PARTNERS WITH BENEFITS, 18+

⟢ CHARACTER : sampo koski x afab! reader WC : 1.3k

⟢ WARNINGS : MDNI. public teasing, oral (male receiving), throat f, finger f.

everyone gets to witness sampo's absurdity. from his ludicrous backhanded methods whether to be of aid or to fool— that's how they perceive sampo koski. little do they know, among the many 'partnerships' he formed to which he singlehandedly decides, he actually has a business partner, a mutual connection. almost anyone who comes across him etch on their minds he's either to be trusted or disregarded. the two sides tiptoeing upon the boundaries every single time.

it's not just that. he oftentimes gets sidetracked whenever the dyad is commencing a dangerous operation. be it gathering intel from the enemies hideout, he'd still have the time to gawk over your body like he was to descend into insanity if he wasn't given a chance to douse the flames of his lustful tendencies.

and that's how you ended up in this bizarre situation. sampo laps your sprawled out mounds, gloved hands fiddling with your hardened nipples. you bite your lip in an attempt to stifle the moans threatening to slip out, as comical sampo appears from his choice of words and personality— he still manages to pleasure you in all kinds of ways, all for the sake of quenching his thirst for intimacies.

your breath hitches, and as bad as it can get, a soldier whips his head to the source of the weak noises, following his intuition. you knew full well being in cramped up spaces with sampo can be a handful to manage, among the many times you reminded him to focus on your jobs, he shrugs it off and proudly proclaims he'll still get it done in spite of you doing it in the middle of an operation.

and he always does. sampo may be deceving at times but his words never fall on his back. sampo's lush green eyes fixate on your expressions, finding enjoyment at how your eyes squint from the jolts of pleasure he sends into your system. he inches forward your face, tip of your noses just a hair's breadth away. "i can't get enough of this."

your eyebrows furrow in exchange, "i thought it'd be just this?" you ask, irritation seethes through your teeth. "when have we ever been caught whenever we do it? come on, we've been partners for years already. is sampo koski really that much of a doubtful figure?" his usual cocky, teasing tone laces his words, beaming you a sheepish smile right after.

in a sense, he's right. and that's exactly how you fall prey on his words. lastly, it's not bad, it is always a great past time when the intel hasn't been leaked yet to the other side. that was exactly it - you two have been business partners with benefits since long ago, making it a hobby to do the deed regardless of time and place, all for the sake of fun, cooperation, and lastly, money.

you slowly rid yourself of clothes, being careful not to draw much attention. meanwhile the bi-haired male basks in his momentary victory, reveling in the moment he won over your rationality.

sampo glides his gloved hand to your inner thighs, a sinister smirk plastered on his lips— with no hesitation lingering in his mind, he rubs viscules on your slit with his thumb finger swiftly, finding your region at such a fast rate, taking into account that he can't see nothing but pitch black darkness and the way you look underneath him.

he has your body memorized as if it was the back of his hand, one of the many things he's skilled at, although it's uncertain whether he should be proud of that. the corners of his lips tug further upwards as soon as he feels the liquids come in contact with his skin, dampening his onyx gloves.

with a rapid thrust, he pumps his digits in and out of your hole. you melt into pleasures, mind starting to be clouded with nothing but sampo's shit eating grins. perhaps you were more sensitive to his touches today since the teasing was too prolonged, and of course, it was intentional, all planned out by the master in control.

his bashful smile never ceases, a rapid rush of determination gushes through his veins. "if only you weren't appealing and so good at this, i would've gone for your neck a long time ago." fortunately, your words were muddled with the soldiers' fancy stories that they were unable to hear your threats.

sampo, as if it was engraved in his soul, replies with the same attitude as usual. "why thank you for the compliment." you scoff, but the huff of breath you heaved immediately got followed by a soft mewl, the navy haired curls his fingers inside your walls as he could feel you squeezing him tight.

"ahh, i wish i were inside you right now." he muses and proceeds to rest his head on the soft beds of your chest. a crease forms between your brows for the nth time, not until he had something up his sleeve once again. it only made sense when a surprising warm feeling slicks on your skin, in stark contrast to the chilling temperature deep inside this spacious building.

a realization dawns on your perturbed mind, maybe it would be easier if you part your lips open and let the breathing noises erupt, rather than trying to hold them back which could lead to your cover being blown. and finally, "dismissed." the soldiers say and leave the room in unison, and you could feel the heavy weight on your chest instantly dissipate into the air.

the two of you scoot out of the small cabinet and immediately locked the metal doors. "i've been in the receiving end for way too long." your eyes spark with hopes of revenge for sampo teasing you like that to which he promptly notices. "no, i—" you push him on the tabletop and hold him down with a hand on his sculpted pecs. as your other free hand travel down to his bulge, you were caught in surprise once you felt a particular spot wet.

you've known him for too long, the same goes for his clothing. if it got this damp despite the thick pants he's wearing, it is no doubt: he came from teasing you alone. you click your tongue in annoyance but proceed to kneel in front of him anyway, still set out on making him whimper and plead for mercy.

if anything, it's better he already came, this way, you could make use of his heightened sensitivity to your advantage. his cock grows hard again and you coil your hands around its body. it throbs from the slightest, feather touches - and you did not dawdle any further. enveloping the margins of your lips from the head of his dick, you try your best to provide more space.

skillfully brushing your sultry tongue from his cock's small folds, sampo throws his head back in pleasure. "h-hey, i'm still sensitive, i just came—" you gobble all his length, proceeding to bob your head up and down, building momentum while finding the right timing to quicken the pace as well.

he whimpers as he feels the crown of his dick hit the farthest back of your throat, "e-eno—" you fiddle with his ballsacks as well, gripping on them tightly, playing around to see what kind of play sampo would like today. with no forewarnings, strings of milky white liquids sprawl into your mouth, a hint of sourness and sweetness breaks through your tastebuds.

as a perfect business partner you were, you gulp all of it down, your mouth perfectly clean of any evidences from sampo's satisfaction. you watch on sampo's lifeless body, appearing like the soul was sucked out of him. fatigue gnaws at his bones meanwhile you chortle - one that was of a mocking tone. "a well deserved defeat."

my masterlist !

[kabira]

when the devil drives.

pairing — jeonghan x fem!reader ft. bestie!joshua

word count — 23.7k

genres — road trip au, exes to friends with benefits to lovers, fighting as flirting, angst, fluff, smut (fingering, vaginal penetration, dirty talk, slight praise, cunnilingus)

warnings — toxic relationships, swearing and threatening language, explicit sexual content, they're both infuriating (yes that needs a warning, trust me)

summary — when your best friend breaks his leg and cancels your summer getaway, jeonghan turns up in his place to take you home from college on what was supposed to be a five hour car ride. except he has other plans, and you end up with more than you bargained for on a week-long road trip to nowhere with the cynical, silvertongued ex-boyfriend whom you're still kinda sorta in love with.

note — it's finally done. the bane of my existence. please enjoy the fic that made me so stressed that it delayed my period by like a week. on a lighter note, there's a playlist. enjoy <3

go to main masterlist | svt masterlist

THREE YEARS EARLIER.

The person in the mirror is not you.

The person in the mirror is beautiful when you’ve only ever felt pretty, mature even though you still feel like an overgrown child, and confident despite the fact that your heart is beating right out of your chest. Despite her makeover skills being limited to being practiced only on fortnightly dates, your mom has actually done an incredible job with you. Long hours of youtube video-watching and swatting you to remind you to sit still have finally paid off.

You trail your lilac-coated fingertips over your bare collar, marveling at the way your skin throws off light. It probably wouldn’t take much to convince your friends that it’s actually makeup instead of sweat doing the job, but it probably isn’t worth it. You stand up, looking down at the ruffled skirt of the purple dress you picked out at the mall weeks ago. Then, glancing back up at the mirror, you lift a hand to your arm, giving it a light pinch.

The yelp leaves your lips right as your mother opens the door to your bedroom, gesturing frantically with a makeup brush. “Honey, he’s here,” she informs you in a rapid hiss, looking as giddy as if it were her final prom night. “Get downstairs, quickly.”

“But my phone, and my purse—”

“They’re downstairs. First drawer of the credenza.” She slams the door shut before you can get a word in, leaving you standing in the middle of the room feeling even more alone than before.

You begin chewing on your bottom lip, and stop when you remember her specific instructions against ruining the lipstick. Smoothing down the ruffles with fluttering hands, you cast one last, yearning glance at the full-length mirror before going to the door, unlocking it gently and stepping outside.

The walk to the edge of the staircase is short, but it feels like more than an hour has passed by the time you get to it. You take a deep breath, clutching the balustrade with trembling fingers, and pause.

The noise had gone unnoticed by you earlier, owing to the anxious clamoring of overlapping thoughts in your head, but now if you pay attention you can hear your father’s stern tones, no doubt questioning your date at the front door. Anxious once more, you take a step back, wringing your hands. You carefully tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, running your hands over your skirt again, letting the texture of the ruffles calm you down. Okay, okay, I can do this, you think, placing the ball of your thumb between your teeth. It’s no big deal.

No big deal at all.

“Dad, quit grilling him,” you call out, and finally step into view. Your father looks up, and so does the poor boy he’s been cross-examining for who knows how long. You feel your face heat up at suddenly being brought into the spotlight, but manage a small smile.

You think you see your dad’s eyes misting over, but then your eyes automatically stray over to the person whose reaction you’ve been anticipating more. Your date is standing there slack-jawed, the top of his slightly-loosened tie visible as the bouquet of roses in his hands droops from inattentiveness. 

“Hi,” you say shyly, pleased at his reaction. Then, raising your hands above your dress, you give him a slow twirl. “So,” you say breathlessly, “how do I look?”

Jeonghan’s eyes are bright with fervor, the grip on the plastic cover around the flowers tighter than before, which you can tell by the way the blood has receded from his knuckles.

And he doesn’t say anything at all.

NOW.

“And done,” you say, slapping the end of the packing tape on the side of what you hope is the last carton. Then, still squatting, you place a hand on the side and lean back to examine your handiwork. To your dismay, the end of the tape has already begun to curl. "You think that’ll keep?"

"Absolutely," your roommate, Mina, hums in a way that tells you she isn’t listening. You glance back at her exasperatedly, and she gives you an apologetic grin. “Listen, I’m beyond caring at this point. That was the last of them, right?”

“Checklist.” You point at her, and she sighs, her acrylic nails tapping against the glitzy pink clipboard in her hands. 

“Yes, mother.”

Straightening, you place your hands on your hips and survey the area like the captain of a ship sailing into unknown waters. Your shared room, which had once been a safe haven strewn with comforters and fluffy rugs, is now overrun by corrugated cardboard boxes, some bulging and some rattling, almost all sealed unevenly with old dried-up tape. You rub your creased forehead. “I feel like we should’ve gotten professionals to do this work for us. The RA even recommended someone who gives out discounts for people who move before summer.”

“Are you kidding? We did a pretty bang-up job, considering this was all last-minute, and for free too,” Mina exclaims. “Plus, I would never trust a stranger with my ceramic dolls.” 

“You wouldn’t trust me with them, and I’ve been holding your hair up while you vomited in the toilet for months,” you complain. “Did we pack everything?”

She hums under her breath again, chewing on her bottom lip as her eyes roll down over the checklist. “I think so. Did you finish packing?”

“Yep.”

Mina looks sideways at one corner of the room, where your lone olive-green suitcase sits flush against the wall. “I still don’t understand how you’re going to survive a whole summer on just that.”

“It’s not a whole summer,” you correct. The thought of leaving fills you with a buzzing excitement, and you have to bite your lip to stop the smile from unfurling like a banner over your face. “Just a couple of weeks out in nature. And maybe a few motels. Neither place really requires much clothing.”

She makes a face, but dismisses the line of conversation with a wave of her hand. “Whatever you say,” she says. "Now, help me push these out into the hallway?"

You groan, but oblige. It’s mostly your fault that the two of you had to pack everything yourselves, since you picked the last possible day to move out before you’d have been thrown out of the dorms. Most of your stuff is already gone, but as a dutiful roommate, you’d promised Mina that you’d help her out before leaving for the summer. So, here you are, running on less than three hours of sleep, having spent most of this morning and the night before squeezing piles of clothes into boxes and folding bubble wrap like splints.

When you’re done, Mina takes the elevator down with you, and the sole suitcase you’re carrying feels even lighter than it is after all the boxes you'd been lugging around. When the metal doors slide open at the ground floor, you let go of a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

Mina pats your hand. Her clipboard is still tucked under her arm. “Don’t be so worried.”

You let out an uncertain laugh that fades quickly into a grimace, fingers clenched tight around the handle of your suitcase. “Why would I be worried?”

She pries your fingers out of their vice-like grip. “Exactly,” she says, grabbing the handle in your stead and pulling the suitcase out of the elevator, leaving you to awkwardly follow along, not quite knowing what to do with your hands. “After all your unfounded confidence in your packing and planning skills, it would be a shame if you lost faith in them now.” You can’t help but smile a bit at that, but for some reason, you still feel squeamish. “We’re not late, are we?”

Pushing your irrational anxiety aside, you hurriedly check your watch. “Well, um, a little,” you say with a shrug, “but Josh makes it a point never to show up until it’s fifteen minutes past our appointment.”

“So it’s all dandy then,” she says, her voice a bit further away, and when you look up you realize that she’s more than just a few steps ahead of you despite the heels and the suitcase, and you hasten your step. “Just make sure to check your pockets for condoms—”

“Mina.”

“—and your phone and wallet, and pepper spray.” She catches the stern look on your face. “You know, just in case.” She stops suddenly, and you almost trip over your own luggage. You look up at her in exasperation, but stop short upon noting the confusion on her face. “Is that Joshua?”

You follow her gaze across the parking lot, and spot the unmistakable blue Corolla parked a couple spots over. There’s a figure leaning against the side, his stark blonde hair makes the heated air shimmer like a halo over his head. Your first thought is oh, he dyed his hair. Your second is that’s not Joshua.

“What?” Mina looks confused, even as she falls into step beside you as you begin to stalk your way through the lot. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing yet,” you mutter as you reach the car. The blonde looks up, and your heart jumps into your throat. “What the hell are you doing here?”

The boy who is not Joshua tilts his head questioningly. “Why the cold reception?” Jeonghan asks. 

You raise your eyebrows, incredulous, and are just about to open your mouth to elaborate on just why he’s getting a cold reception when Mina places a placating hand on your arm. “Hi, I’m Mina,” she says, putting on a bright smile, no doubt to outweigh the dark glare you’ve directed at his face. “The roommate.”

“Jeonghan.” He inclines his head with a neutral yet pleasant smile of his own, glancing at you. His smile falls almost comically upon seeing the expression on your face. “The…”

“You didn’t answer my question,” you interject, relentless. Mina is looking more and more discomfited by the second, but you scarcely notice. 

“The ex,” Jeonghan completes. He then turns to you, raising a cool eyebrow. “I thought you knew,” he says.

“Knew what?” You demand. 

He straightens, slowly drawing his hands out of his pockets, and you almost regret asking the question. Always the dramatics, you think bitingly. “That there’s been a slight change of plans.”

There was a time you thought you could trust Joshua Hong.

For the major part of your life, he had been the one person you could rely on for (mostly) everything, even when that something involved needing someone to catch you when you snuck out your window at 2 a.m., or knowing you’d always have a clean band-aid to use if you scraped your knee biking through a junkyard.

That time was approximately a minute and twenty seconds ago, when you hadn’t pulled out your phone with its unrepaired crack and checked the unread messages—the most recent of which were from him. It says sorry, and that he’s broken his leg and won’t be able to drive you from your dorm for the planned road trip. The crack lands right over the word sorry.

You know it’s been a minute and twenty seconds because you’ve been counting.

It’s like a bubble has burst inside your chest. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you mumble softly, clenching your fingers tighter around your poor phone, which might end up with another crack if you squeeze it any further. “And he couldn’t tell me this before.”

“So you’ve been saying,” says the unwelcome replacement Joshua sent in his place. Jeonghan doesn’t have a trace of sympathy on his face as he folds his arms across his chest and checks the time on his watch. “Not to sound like an asshole, but it’s already three o’clock. We were supposed to be in town before dark, and it’s at least five hours from here.”

His voice is flat, utterly unsympathetic to your frustration. You’re still reeling, which is the only reason you don’t snap back immediately. It’s bad enough that your best friend isn’t here after all the work that went into planning and budgeting your trip, but Yoon Jeonghan’s presence is like salt on the wound. 

Maybe you’d say something snarky if it hadn’t been eight full months since you’d last talked to him. If the anger from your last conversation hadn’t faded over the long months and turned into something more…malleable. Manageable, as if you could ever have associated the word with him, with the feeling that you were swallowing hot coals every time you looked at him. You still remember the last time you talked to him in painstaking detail, and as you realize that fact, the memory comes rushing back, alongside the feeling that you’re going to throw up.

“So...that’s it?” You don’t know if you’re supposed to be nice to him. Exes have never before been an issue for you because you’ve never really had one before. “Joshua breaks his leg, so he sends you over.” Like nothing ever happened between us, you want to say, but your tongue seems to curl up when you try. “As a stand-in?”

The corner of his mouth twitches, and you can tell he’s holding back some words of his own. “Call it what you want, sweetheart,” he says, and you feel like you���ve been slapped across the face.

Part of you knows that he’s just trying to rile you up, but unfortunately, he’s had a lot of practice at it, so it’s working. You find yourself wishing that you hadn’t sent Mina away with nothing more than a short hug and a few words, but ever since you spotted Jeonghan across the parking lot you’ve been feeling about as steady as a salt shaker. Some support right now would’ve been nice.

Your fingers unclench from around the phone. There’s two ways this could go—the good way, in which both of you pretend that nothing ever happened, or the bad way, and you don’t even know what the worst case scenario could be. Jeonghan has never been a patient person, but right now, even as you stand silently in front of him after months of no contact, he seems unresponsive. Something hurt and hungry rears its head inside you at his hollow indifference, and you taste a familiar venom at the back of your tongue.

But you’re not going to give him the satisfaction. 

“Why are you doing this?” you ask instead.

Jeonghan shrugs. You’re not sure if you just imagined the tension going out of his shoulders. “I owed Joshua a favor.”

You raise your eyebrows. “You expect me to believe that?”

His lips thin. “Would you believe me if I said it was a big favor?” he asks casually, but his shoulders are tense again.

You’re aware of the intensity with which you’re watching him, and the fervence with which he’s avoiding your gaze. “No.”

“Figured.” He looks away right before you manage to catch the look in his eyes. “Is that all you’re carrying, or…?”

You look back at your olive green suitcase, the handle still pulled out, lying forgotten a couple of steps away from you. You don’t remember having moved towards Jeonghan during the course of your conversation, and you’re surprised enough by the realization that your chest tightens for a second. “That’s all,” you say numbly, and Jeonghan turns to pull open the car door.

“Well, then, we don’t have all day,” he says, gesturing to the seat. You feel a twinge of irritation again, but say nothing, roughly grabbing the suitcase handle and yanking a door open. Asshole, asshole, asshole, you chant in your head. This is going to be the worst drive of your life.

Even worse, you find it impossible to fall asleep.

Somehow, it’s not the noise. Jeonghan doesn’t whistle, and he doesn’t turn on the radio, or try to make small talk that would make you want to tear your hair out. He remains perfectly silent, not saying a single word to you after starting the car, not even an offer to stop by a corner store or for a drink of water. It’s been some time since the loud city faded into empty, expansive grasslands on either side of the highway, but you’re still wide awake.

Maybe it’s the silence that keeps you up, or whatever it is that it implies. You’re on edge, and your mind is churning, struggling between being mad at Joshua or being mad at Jeonghan or being mad at yourself for giving a shit. You’re still so shaken by Jeonghan’s sudden reappearance that you haven’t even begun to process anything else.

I’m going home, you think numbly, but even that thought evokes only a dull response in you. You think about the weeks building up to the summer, the calls with your dad. Your not-so-meticulously packed suitcase lies in the car’s boot, probably collecting dust if you know anything about the state of Joshua’s car. Much like all your dreams of summer. No beers, and no swimming pools, and certainly no Joshua.

You look over at Jeonghan again, but he doesn’t even seem to notice. You must be in a daze, because for a moment, you think about leaning over and nudging him.

What makes seeing him so much worse is that he looks almost exactly the same as he used to. The same hands, the same eyes, even his hair is still bleached the same silvery-white. The first button of his white shirt is opened, revealing a sliver of tanned skin inside. He always wore pressed shirts and sweater vests—and here a venomous thought enters your mind—when he really should be wearing a straightjacket instead.

When you knew him a year ago, he had been beautiful, but it was a beauty that was yours to possess, to kiss and to touch and to hold. He’s still beautiful, but now it’s the kind of beauty that makes him untouchable. The kind that belongs behind a glass pane, like a fragile display made out of cards or glass or papyrus in a museum exhibit that you would stare at with wonder in your eyes, yearning to reach out but holding yourself back knowing that a single touch could send it crashing to the floor. No, you can’t allow yourself to touch him now.

So you cross your arms, tuck your fingers under your biceps, and turn to glare out the window instead.

You switch with him after the first stop at a gas station.

“I’ll be right back,” Jeonghan had told you before heading in, and you’d taken the opportunity to get out and stretch your legs. When he comes back carrying a plastic bag from the convenience store, it takes him a few minutes before he notices standing forlornly in front of a tree.

“What?” he asks, only half curious. It’s a tall three, thick-trunked, with segmented branches that end in spiky gray-green leaves that make it look like a high school rocker with too much hairspray.

“It’s a Joshua tree,” you reply mournfully.

“Oh my god,” he mutters, and you turn to him with an evil look in your eye as you begin the walk back to the car. “He broke his leg, not his neck.”

“Of course it’s all the same to you,” you fire back. Jeonghan unlocks the Corolla with short, sharp movements that show his exasperation, and tosses the keys to you. You catch them, going around to the driver’s seat, as he leans in and pushes against the lumpy plastic bag, trying to make space for it on the dashboard. “A broken leg is pretty painful.”

“More painful for you than him, apparently,” Jeonghan grunts. With a final push, he manages to make the bag stay, and climbs into the car, shutting the door behind him before pulling on the seatbelt. He turns to look at you with his forehead furrowed as the car starts rolling forward. “I thought you wouldn’t want to drive.”

“Why, because you think I’m sulking?” you ask, offense creeping into your voice. Your neck is already coated in sweat, and you’re not sure if it’s because of the weather or just a bodily reaction to your feelings.

“I’d say it’s normal to be upset about your best friend being hurt.” Jeonghan shrugs.

“I’m not upset about that,” you snap. 

“You’re not upset about your best friend being hurt?”

“I am. I just mean—” You break off, irritated. The sweat is now drying because of the hot air coming in through the open tops of the windows, making your skin itch. You just twist your shoulder backwards, unwilling to let go of the steering wheel because if you do, you might just sock Jeonghan in the mouth. “It kind of brings things to a halt. For both him and me.”

Jeonghan leans against the side. “I wouldn’t call one canceled trip bringing your life to a halt.”

Your head is beginning to hurt. “You’re right,” you say testily. “It’s just really fucking inconvenient.”

“Inconvenient?” he echoes. “You get to go home to sweet Joshua. Nurse him through his grievously traumatic injury. It could be a bonding experience, unless you’re bent on calling the poor incapacitated boy an inconvenience.”

“I never—” You grit your teeth, forcing down your rising anger. The heat has begun to crawl like a swarm of fire ants, up your neck and down your back. “I’m surprised he only broke his leg,” you say savagely. “Considering that he thought of sending you in his place, instead of literally anyone else, I wonder how he didn’t get a concussion instead.”

Jeonghan laughs. “All this anger over a little road trip? What exactly were the two of you planning to do, pray tell? I feel like I’m missing out.”

You kiss your teeth, thinking better of responding with another biting comment. Your skin is sweaty and itchy and hot and there’s still a good four hours before you get home. Going at it with him isn’t going to help your mood. You tell yourself that it’s been eight months, you’ve grown, you’ve become a better person. You’re not going to fall for his bait.

Then Jeonghan says, “You could always tour his bedroom.”

In your head, you slam on the brakes, bringing the car to an immediate halt for dramatic effect. In real life, however, you’re painfully aware of how Jeonghan’s lack of a seatbelt would send him flying into the windshield, so you slow down before coming to a rolling stop at the side of the road. Your throat feels like hot lava.

“Really?” the perpetrator asks, raising an eyebrow. “It’s the witless bedroom comment that gets you?”

You clench and unclench your jaw a couple of times, trying to bring your temper down, but to no avail. Your hands on the wheel are unusually tight, as if trying to close into complete fists around it, so you have to forcefully pry your fingers apart before you unlock the door and step out of the car.

Jeonghan copies your movements, getting out of his seat to lean over the hood of the car, his posture suggesting curiosity rather than sympathy. His lips part, no doubt in preparation to say something to push you over the proverbial edge, and warning bells go off inside your head.

“Shut up,” you snap, and he recoils, blinking in surprise.

“I didn’t—”

“Shut up,” you repeat decisively, turning to level your gaze at him like the tip of a sword. “I didn’t ask for you to be an ideal travelling companion, but the least you could do is shut the fuck up.”

Jeonghan says nothing, but his eyes stay on your face, intent and oddly unnerving. You force yourself to look away lest you give away some kind of weakness in your expression—being civil is your best bet to last the duration of the ride, but this is still a push-and-pull. With him, it always is.

“This was supposed to be the last summer we had before graduating and getting jobs and moving to different parts of the country,” you say through clenched teeth. “It wasn’t even going to be that big of a deal—just being on the road for a few weeks with each other for company, having no responsibilities, no destinations, and no deadlines. And then he had to go and fuck himself over, and fuck me over in the process, and now it’s weeks and weeks of work gone to waste, and all I’ve been looking forward to is dust. And on top of that, you had to come in and do what you do best, which is twist everything I say and make me feel like shit about it like it's your god-given right to ruin my life. So, yeah, it’s the fucking—” 

The anger seems to have gone out of you somewhere towards the end, and you feel yourself deflate like a pricked balloon. “And it’s so fucking hot, too,” you mumble, burying your face in your hands. Then, face still covered, you laugh, feeling ridiculous and petulant like a child after throwing a temper tantrum about a broken toy. “Sorry. I’m sorry. It’s not your fault for having to drive me, and it’s not Joshua’s fault for getting his goddamned leg broken. I’m just…” You struggle to find the right words to express your frustration, but ultimately give up. “It’s so hot,” you whisper.

Your face burns, and you’re no longer sure if it’s from anger or embarrassment. It’s unusual for you to lose your composure, but you must have been more affected by this than you had imagined. Or maybe it’s just Jeonghan bringing out the violence in your emotions again.

Speak of the devil. Jeonghan steps around the front of the car and comes to a stop in front of you, hands very still at his sides, yet tensed as if they’re about to move. Suddenly you feel very tired, and very, very small.

“Let me drive the rest of the way.” His tone is gentler than you expected, but you’re still not brave enough to meet his eyes. He hesitates, like he’s about to say something else, but then his lips press into a thin, concerned line. You remember that expression from years ago, his eyes warm, a hand reaching over to curl around yours. Now, it just feels alien.

“Get some rest,” he finally says, and you don’t have the heart to fight back.

It’s been half an hour, and you still haven’t said a word to each other. Whatever pretense of cordiality you thought could be preserved is gone—if it had even existed in the first place—and the tension in the air is thick enough that you could carve something out of it. You’re beginning to get a little tired of the silence, now that the noise in your head has begun to quiet down just enough so you can actually think.

At least he’s turned the air conditioner on, which is a small mercy. You don’t know how you forgot about it before, but it probably had something to do with your rising irritation and the complete lack of awareness due to your blinding rage. Maybe if you’d just retained enough sense to turn the stupid freaking air conditioner on, you wouldn’t have had a loud, embarrassing breakdown in the middle of the freeway.

“I can hear your internal monologue from all the way over here,” Jeonghan says, making you start. It’s almost as if he actually can hear every single one of your thoughts—which shouldn’t be so surprising, considering your history. Your heart’s startled palpitations turn into a painful squeeze. “Stop thinking so hard and get some sleep.”

“It’s not like I’m not trying,” you mutter. “I’m just…restless.”

“Can’t wait to get home?”

You scoff. “Yep,” you say, dragging the syllable sarcastically. “Can’t wait to get home.”

Jeonghan catches your eye in the rearview mirror. There’s something quietly thoughtful brimming behind his eyes, and although you can’t quite put your finger on why, it makes you sit a bit more easily. It could be that you’re glad he isn’t too mad at you—people pleaser that you are—but it’s more likely that the look is…familiar. Familiar enough that relaxing in reaction to it is an instinct your body hasn’t gotten rid of just yet. Fucking biology. “We don’t have to go home if you don’t want to,” he says with pretend nonchalance, looking away.

You laugh, a little sadly, and uncross your arms to rub your hands down your biceps. “Where else am I supposed to go?”

It’s quiet for another moment. This time, it’s you who can almost hear the gears turning in Jeonghan’s head. You can’t help but anticipate what he’s going to say. “I don’t know,” he says, voice so muted that you have to look at his mouth to make sure you can correctly make out what he’s saying. “Where were you planning to go with Joshua?”

Your breath catches in your throat. “No,” you say firmly right as he asks the question, your voice a little rough and more than a little hoarse. You’re sitting stock-still now, like you touched a live wire and have been electrified in place. “Don’t even think of going there.”

He shrugs, and you can see the slightest hint of tension in his neck muscles when they flex with the movement. “If we take the highway, there’s a motel about half an hour from—”

“Don’t,” you say through your teeth. He’s still not looking at you. “Jeonghan, stop it.”

“Two days,” he says, unrelenting. His eyes finally flicker to yours, and you feel something stutter in your heart when you see the first hint of genuine emotion in his expression. The first time in eight months. “If we take the U-turn up ahead and keep going, it takes two days to lead up to the bay. Just two days. We could stay in a bed-and-breakfast, and if you still want to go back after that, I’ll take you home. No stops.”

You swallow back the dry patch in your throat. It feels wrong to see him like this, so eager when he greeted you with all the warmth of an icicle just a couple hours ago in the parking lot behind your apartment building. You know some part of it is because of your unintended meltdown in the middle of the road an hour ago, but the whole proposal reeks of pity.

“Not funny,” you say shakily.

“I’m not joking,” comes the simple reply.

“What’s the catch?” you ask sharply. “Not even half an hour ago you were letting me know exactly what you thought of road trips and risks. Why the sudden change of heart, huh, Jeonghan? If you tell me it’s because you feel guilty, I swear to god I’ll punch you.”

“Well,” he starts, lifting a single shoulder, “I don’t really have anything better to do. And if I take you home right now your mom will definitely make me stay for dinner, which would be awkward for both of us.” He shrugs. “And…maybe I want to spite Joshua. For breaking his leg playing soccer with little kids, and making me come all this way just to pick up an ungrateful little alley cat who could’ve just taken the bus.” 

You lapse into silence for a few moments. Then: “He really broke his leg playing soccer with little kids?”

“Yes,” Jeonghan replies, but not without an eye roll to accompany it. He looks at you then. “So what will it be, sweetheart?”

You know in your heart that there’s only one right answer to that question, and it’s a resounding no.

But then, if you’d been sensible enough to listen to your heart, you probably wouldn’t have ended up five hours away from home in a shitty old college majoring in fucking math of all things. So of course you tell him to turn the car around.

Jeonghan has always been an ass with apologies.

Which is ironic, because ever since you first met him, you’d known that he had the gift of the gab (for lack of a better phrase). His talents had always been in lying and talking and picking exactly the right quote from a classic text to make himself sound smart—which, admittedly, he is. He went from making people pay him to write their college essays and down the natural pipeline to majoring in literature at a fancy place. He’s always been good at making you angry, but you don’t think he’s ever figured out how to make things right. Or care enough to work for it.

So when Jeonghan knocks on the door and you open it to find him with a beer bottle in his hand, you’re only slightly surprised to see it. 

When he comes in, his eyes go straight to the double bed. He steps inside the room (at the first motel you’d seen which advertised running hot water, which makes no damn sense anyway because it’s over a hundred degrees outside and neither of you is taking a hot bath anytime soon, but whatever). The blades of the ceiling fan spin lazily, barely even disturbing his hair.

“The speed for the fan doesn’t go beyond three, and the air conditioner only works between seven and seven,” you inform him as you sit back on the bed, your suitcase open on the mattress in front of you. 

Jeonghan nods, and you have to bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing. He’s probably not used to this kind of place at all, but if you’re going on the road with him, you’re not pulling your punches. You’re happy enough with the arrangements yourself, being accustomed to living in even worse conditions. His description of you as an ungrateful little alley cat wasn’t far from the mark. It could always be worse, but you don’t tell him that.

You’d decided against calling your parents—or Joshua—to inform them about your change in plans, and had instead chosen a few simple texts to convey the information. They trust you enough to deal with your last-minute changes, but you know that there’s going to be a lot of questions about your choice of companion when you get back. Those questions, however, you can confidently avoid thinking about at least until you get back. And as for Joshua—he should’ve known better, you think primly. 

“I’m sorry,” Jeonghan says suddenly, breaking you out of your reverie. The beer bottle sits guilty in his grip. Gotcha, you think. “For riling you up in the car. Being around you kind of triggers my fight or flight instinct, and I’ve never been much of a runner. Heaven knows my dad tried, though.”

You half smile in acknowledgement. His expression is awkward, which makes your smile widen. The apology in no way makes up for your history, but now that you're already halfway through your decision, you decide to put him out of his misery and call a truce.

Leaning forward, you take the beer he offers you, raising it in his direction like a salute. “You’re good enough with words to make up for your lack of athletic ability,” you say, making the corners of his lips curl up. “And the pen is mightier than the sword, as they say. Care for a sip?”

He shakes his head no. “Can’t blame you,” you say, nodding sagely as you casually uncap the bottle with your teeth. “Beer does taste like piss when warm.”

“Or cold. Or room temperature,” he says. “I don’t know how you manage to keep it down.”

“Needs must.” You grin, patting the empty space on the mattress next to you, and he indulges your request. “So, I was thinking about what you said,” you start, taking a square of paper from between folded clothes and books in your unzipped suitcase, and unfolding it. “I’ve been going over the route Josh and I picked out for the trip, but I thought of making some changes.” You run your fingertips over a squiggly blue line marked on the map, and tap a spot outside it. “We could visit the museum. Take a meandering route, make a few stops here-and-there before we actually get to the bay.”

Jeonghan peers over your shoulder. “That’s about eight hours from here.”

“Mhm,” you say, putting the lip of the bottle to your mouth and taking a gulp. You make a face as you swallow. “Damn. I thought it was kind of clichéd, but warm beer really does taste like piss.”

“I did warn you.” He’s stiffened a bit. You sniff the air, wondering if something stinks. 

“Well, uh,” you mutter under your breath, and bring the bottle back up to your lips with slow, careful motions. “We could make a few pit stops over here, and go to the shore later. Then there’s the wharf.” Your fingertip moves over the map.

Jeonghan looks at the spot you’re pointing at. His gaze shifts to your hand, then up over your arm, all the way to your bared shoulder—which you realize is mere inches from his face. 

He’s stopping breathing, as if afraid to exhale on your skin. You open your mouth to make a joke, but it dies in your throat. Your mouth remains open, no words coming out. Jeonghan lifts his eyes up to yours, and you feel your heart jump. The scent of green apple shampoo envelopes you.

Something thumps on the roof above. Jeonghan looks up, and you take the opportunity to nimbly shift away. “Do you think that was a rat or a person?” you wonder aloud.

“I’m not sure which I’d rather have it be,” he answers, getting to his feet. You look up at him, the beer bottle in your hand barely empty, but you’re already feeling lightheaded. “Dinner?”

Dinner is uneventful. You usually hate forcing pointless conversations, but now you find yourself broaching all kinds of topics from the weather to the food to the ketchup stain on the waiter’s apron.

Jeonghan is polite, laughing at the right moments and nodding along when you need him to listen, but you feel fidgety on the worn leather seat that you normally would have sunk comfortably into. The long-drawn conversation makes you feel like you’re talking to a stranger, not someone you’ve known for the most part of your life. Not for the first time, you mourn a friendship that has seemingly dissolved after your break-up.

By the time the two of you walk back, it’s almost ten. You pass under more than a few flickering streetlights, but they are more than made up for by the neon signs that begin to light up after dark.

When you get back to the room, all you can think about is the double bed. How convenient, you think to yourself, more than a little miserably when you think back to the tiny moment you shared while looking over the map. While you’ve moved on from Jeonghan, your body clearly hasn’t, if the way it reacted to his scent is anything to go by. And you have moved on. Why else would you be so comfortable basically running away with him?

“I hope the lock works,” Jeonghan mutters to himself as he locks the door for the night. You’re less confident, so you zip your bag back up and push it flush against the white door, propping the handle against the top.

Your phone rings, and you take it out, checking the caller ID. Joshua. You look up, and find Jeonghan looking at you, his face blank. Feeling unsettled, you reject the call, and put your phone away.

Now that it’s just the two of you with no dinners or strangers or ketchup stains to distract your conversations, the two of you fall into a pregnant silence. Jeonghan thumbs the collar of his shirt idly, looking at the bed with a glazed-over expression. You sidle by the bed and place a pillow in the middle, then stand back to survey your work.

“It looks like a face,” Jeonghan says.

“We can share the blanket,” you allow. For all the burning heat of the mid-afternoon sun, you know that the nights in the desert are cruelly cold, especially so within the paper-thin walls of the motel room. “Do you want to keep the fan on?”

“I’m good.” For some reason, Jeonghan looks ill. “You know…I just realized I don’t have a single change of clothes.”

You take a good look at his current attire, and it’s definitely not an excuse to stare. He’s wearing a plain white shirt, as you noted before. It’s fitted but billows faintly about his frame, making him look like a prince of old. His hair falls in soft blonde waves down to his neck, brushing the very top of his collar, and a few stray strands frame his face. Even though the harsh fluorescent lights draw the color from his face, the sheen of sweat over his cheekbones make them shine. You watch, transfixed, as Jeonghan’s fingers slip from the collar to the undone button, the pad of his thumb shaping the outline of it.

And he’s also wearing jeans. The jeans are reusable, you think, blinking yourself out of your stupor. Get a hold on yourself. But you can already pick out the stained collar of his shirt with ease. “We can go shopping tomorrow,” you suggest, clearing away the thickness of your voice. “Restock your supply of Walmart t-shirts.”

He looks at you with narrowed eyes, and you allow yourself a smile.

When all the blinds are all drawn and the lights turn off, you’re the first under the blankets. The pillow you’d ceremoniously placed down as a barrier between the two of you is flush against your back as you curl into yourself. You feel the mattress dip and the bed frame creak as Jeonghan gets into bed. It feels strange to have him in the same bed again, something you used to yearn for, now something so strange and troubling.

“Neighbors are loud,” he states, his voice muffled. You curl your fingers into the bedspread, and sigh silently before turning on your side so you’re facing him. Sure enough, now that you’re paying attention you can hear party music bleeding in from the room next to yours.

Jeonghan is nothing more than a dark outline against the sparing light that seeps in from under the door. “G’night,” you say softly. Softer than you intended, anyway. You bite your lip and duck your head under the blanket, feeling inexplicably schoolgirlish.

With the way your heart beats in your chest, it sounds almost as loud as the music coming from next door. You’re almost worried about him hearing it, but if he does, he doesn’t betray a thought. There’s no way I’m falling asleep like this, you think to yourself, but it doesn’t take more than a few minutes before you’re at the soft edges of sleep.

“Good night,” Jeonghan whispers back, just as you begin to drift off.

True to your word, the first place you put on your list of shopping locations is the local Walmart.

“You know I intend to wear these newly-acquired clothes outside of this trip, right?” Jeonghan complains as you browse a rack of t-shirts that advertise themselves as being up to fifty percent off! “You’re wasting your time if you think I’m going to spend my well-earned money on anything here.”

“May I remind you, mister, that this whole trip thing was your idea?" you ask, pulling out a tie-dyed shirt that’s a swirl of shades of peach and baby blue, and holding it up in front of his frame with an appreciative hum. “Plus, don’t you feel gross in your sweaty old underwear? This could be the splash of color your wardrobe so desperately needs.”

Jeonghan looks unimpressed. He pushes the tie-dye down, looking over it at you with a shake of his head. “I know better than to trust your choices, even those made with good intentions. And your intentions at the moment are clearly not good,” he emphasizes. “Anyway, this is not the underwear section.”

You raise your eyebrows, and look behind you pointedly at what is, actually, the underwear section. Jeonghan follows your gaze to the display of Fruit of the Loom underwear. “No, nope,” he murmurs. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Too good for Walmart underwear, are we?” You wrinkle your nose, but don't press the issue, moving instead towards another part of the t-shirts section. The tie-dye stays in your hand, though. 

“With underwear, I always believe that what you get is what you pay for,” Jeonghan says, then frowns. “What are you doing?”

You look up, innocent. “These crewnecks are on sale too.”

“That’s because it’s the peak of blistering summer,” he says, exasperated. “No one’s wearing crewnecks.”

“At night, though.”

“I’m not wearing a crewneck to bed.”

You’re about to crack a joke about going on long walks by the beach, but think better of it. Jeonghan looks confused by your sudden surrender, but you’re too busy looking in every other direction possible as a prickly heat crawls up your neck. “You really are a snob,” you mumble.

“I’m not a snob.” He rolls his eyes. “Can we go somewhere else? Anywhere else?”

You glance back, coy. “Anywhere?”

He grimaces. “I take that back.”

“Your wish is my command.” You wave the blue-and-coral tie-dye in the air. “We’re buying this one though. Don’t think for a second I’m gonna let you walk out of here empty-handed.”

For once, Jeonghan doesn’t complain, but he does purse his lips to make his feelings clear. “I guess I could make use of it when I have no clean clothes left.”

“Come on, it’s not that bad.”

He still pays for it—and some clean, much-needed underwear, despite his many complaints—at the counter, and you’re honestly surprised at how civil he's being. You'd thought that it would require a lot more effort to make this whole thing as smooth as possible after the fiasco in the car, but he's been on his beat behavior since then.

Despite your outburst and Jeonghan’s subsequent apology, you’re aware that neither of you have actually broached the reason for this tension. It’s much easier to just not think about the break-up, and act like it never happened, because that’s a whole can of worms right there that you do not wish to open. 

You wish you could unscrew the top of your head and bring your brain out. Give it a good shake to dust off all the stray thoughts you keep having about Jeonghan and your self-control and your relationship, and just let yourself enjoy the ride. Unfortunately, it doesn't work that way.

“We could go thrifting,” you suggest once you’re in the car, and for once, Jeonghan doesn’t seem too opposed to the idea.

The first thrift store you find on the GPS is small and plain-looking, but upon entering the dilapidated, run-down looking building you quickly learn not to judge the book by its cover. Inside, Jeonghan picks up a fluffy hot pink scarf with a wince, and you can’t help but laugh.

“You should try that one on, actually. It matches your mean girl vibe,” you point out, digging through the bin where he found the scarf in question.

“I like mean girl better than snob.” He slings the scarf around his neck. He'd decided to trade in his white button-up for the tie-dye you got from Walmart, but not before proclaiming that it was only because he needed clean clothes to wear. “It sounds more like a phase that way.”

“It doesn’t fit as well though,” you say, bringing out a sequined shirt. “Ooh, try this one. The disco vibes would make you a hit at the local club.”

“Thirty years ago, maybe,” he grumbles, but adds it to the cart. “Can’t you look for something more…”

“Boring?”

“Classy,” he finishes with a pointed look.

You grin. “As my lord pleases,” you announce, and hold up a plain brown t-shirt. Jeonghan arches his eyebrows, looking mildly surprised and skeptical, until you turn it around to reveal the Twilight logo with the faces of the main trio plastered below it. “Doth thou find this to thy liking, good sir?”

There’s an expression of part disgust, part enjoyment (and is that a glimpse of fondness you catch in his eye?) on his face. “Verily, fair maiden. It is to my utmost satisfaction,” he replies, a smile playing on his lips. “And it would be dost, not doth.”

“Very well.” You drop the shirt into the cart and straighten, grin unwavering. “Let us look around.”

He offers you his arm, and you hesitate only a millisecond before taking it. “Shall we?”

You nod, keeping the smile in place. “We shall.”

The two of you end up staying in the store until it closes, losing track of time as Jeonghan models different outfits you throw together—“This one has a dick drawn on the back.” “I know, right?”—and bring to him in the changing rooms. It’s not entirely a waste—he actually ends up finding some decent clothes, which you make him pack into a hello kitty backpack, and you buy the heart-shaped sunglasses that manage to catch your attention. By the time you come out and agree to get an unhealthy dinner from a McDonald’s drive-thru, it’s almost nine, but you’re on a dopamine high that you know is going to keep you up for a long while.

Also, you kind of don’t want to go to sleep. Going to sleep means finding a cheap place to stay, with vacancies, during tourist season, which means you’re probably only going to find a single bed. After all you’ve done to keep an invisible barrier between the two of you today (which is to say: not much) you don’t trust yourself enough to try to risk sleeping in the same bed again.

Jeonghan seems to have had the same idea, so you end up taking mini naps while switching with him to drive all night to the next destination. Most of the night, at least. It’s about four in the morning when you realize you’re beginning to nod off in the driver’s seat, so you pull over and nudge Jeonghan awake.

“I don’t think going on is good for our health,” you tell him seriously.

He’s still half-asleep, but he bestirs himself at your words, rubbing his eyes with the knuckles of a closed fist. “Uh, okay,” he mutters, opening his eyes wide and blinking the sleep out of them. “Why?”

“It’s irresponsible,” you insist. “You know, from a road safety perspective. Also, I almost drove us into a tree.”

That wakes him up quick. “What do you suggest, then?” he asks, sitting up. “Sleeping in the car?”

“Well,” you begin, unsure, “yeah?”

“Are you crazy? We’ll freeze to death.”

“No we won’t,” you whisper back, then clear your throat, not sure why you’re whispering. “Body heat.”

Jeonghan puts his face in his hands for a few seconds, then exhales deeply. “Okay,” he mutters savagely, dragging his fingers down his face. He looks up at you, and there’s a languid sharpness in his eyes that makes you squirm in your seat. “Four hours,” he says. “Don’t complain later if you can’t take it.”

You try for a scoff to hide your discomposure, but end up yawning instead. “Whatever,” you murmur, putting your forearm against the wheel and leaning your face against it. It’s still dark out, and you are freezing a little bit, but the dull orange light that lights up the interior of the car makes it feel slightly warmer. “It’s not like we have anything worth stealing.”

Jeonghan lounges against the passenger seat. He’s still wearing the stupid tie-dye, and the orange of the interior lights have washed out the peach in his shirt. The rest of him is bathed in the same color, making his skin look like it’s been licked by fire. You watch him undo the seatbelt buckle with hooded eyes, curling your fingers around the steering wheel to contain yourself. Even as he climbs into the backseat, you don’t move, eyes still fixed on him. 

Would you have reached for him if you didn’t remember every word he said that day? Maybe you should talk about what happened, to clear the air at least. You try to think of how that would go. Jeonghan, you would start, about what happened—

“Are you coming or not?” Jeonghan asks. He leans forward, beckoning you with a crooked finger, and your gaze glides over the collarbone that peeks out from just below his neck. His voice is breathy and low, making something twang in your gut. You pull yourself up quickly, and follow him before you can change your mind. Jeonghan pulls out a few of his clothes from the backpack to cushion the seat. The space is small, cramped, and smells like cheese, but you think about none of those things except the heat of his body against yours. This is, undoubtedly, the most terrible idea you’ve had so far.

“This is a terrible idea,” you voice, as he pulls an oversized shirt over your legs and leans back. You’re not half as sleepy as you were mere moments ago. The comfort is so deeply unsettling that you feel like you’d rather nap in a bush.

“As I said,” he murmurs, gaze darting to your lips for a millisecond. You gulp. He looks like he’s made of honey and marmalade. “Do you want to turn off the light?”

“So passer-bys don’t think we’re fucking in the back of the car?” A nervous laugh bubbles up your throat like an uncorked Coke bottle, the regret following the words as soon as they come out. You glance up at him, pulse jumping, but his eyes are already closed. “Oh. Um. I’ll turn them off.”

It doesn’t take long for Jeonghan’s breaths to even out, but you lie awake for a long time, listening to your own heartbeat. It’s long past ten a.m. before either of you wakes up.

You spend the next few days doing what you do best—wasting time. This was what you’d planned originally, doing absolutely nothing and deciding destinations on the road, but it was supposed to be with someone who knew you well. While you have no doubt that Jeonghan had managed to puzzle out every part of you before, you're no longer the same pedantic, rule-abiding perfectionist that he probably remembers. You think you’ve changed a lot since you last saw him, and since a major part of that owes itself to him not being in your life any more, you don’t know how to adjust your relationship to that change.

There’s a day you spend most of at a microbrewery, where you manage to snag a guided tour to the home brewing process and Jeonghan develops a taste for fruit beers. Another where you trek up the mountains at a national park just to watch the sunset, sitting on a rock with your sore legs and sharing an artisanal. Once you spend the whole day at the pier.

“There.” You point at a highway, licking the side of your strawberry ice cream (Jeonghan takes the mint). “That’s the road I took while following this stupid underground band on their tour. Didn’t even like them that much, but these guys convinced me, and it turned out to be kind of fun. Sort of like a grown-up camping trip.”

Jeonghan squints at where you’re pointing, then shakes his head. “So that’s why you were so confident about sleeping overnight in a car in the desert.”

“S’not that bad.” You shrug. “I thought it would be like a new experience, you know, and that’s where I got this idea about the road trip in the first place. I don’t think Joshua expected me to suggest something so…careless.”

He’s silent for a long moment. You glance at him sideways, and clutch the bear plushie you won at the ring toss. “Do you ever miss it?” he asks at length.

“Never,” you reply quietly. Maybe you haven’t changed as much as you thought.

Every location is fun at first before your not-relationship gets in the way, slowly chipping away at your sanity like a heavy-handed ax. You swear you’ve barely touched alcohol, but soon the days begin to blur together, and by the time you get anywhere near the beach you don’t even know what day it is.

Saturday, your phone says.

You swipe ignore on Joshua’s sixteenth call in the past few days, this time not even bothering to shoot him a text in its stead. It’s late in the afternoon, and you’re lying on your stomach on an extremely soft mattress in a fancy hotel, ankles crossed in the air as you read an old copy of Gone Girl that you borrowed from Mina in case you got bored. 

Or you were reading it. You press your lips together as you finish reading the same paragraph for the seventh time without actually absorbing any of it, and sigh. Jeonghan reaches over and flicks the cover before leaning back. “Female rage, huh?” he asks, settling back against the pillows. “Should I be concerned?”

The colors of the sunset seep in through the slits between the blinds. You look up at him, noting his watchful gaze, the controlled set of his mouth. Somehow you feel more resentful than wary. “I don’t know.” You roll onto your back and jut your chin out, looking at him upside down. “Should you?”

He doesn’t give up. “Are you angry?”

Your fingers coil more tightly around the book. You match his stare for another second before propping yourself up on your elbow and going back to the text. “No,” you reply after a second, still with your back to him.

“I think you are.”

You throw your head back, irritated, and set the book back down on the bed. “Why would I be angry?” you ask, turning your face in his direction. “I’m just tired. That’s all. It’s too hot to do anything anyway, we can just go out after the sun goes down.”

Jeonghan doesn’t seem convinced, but he doesn’t push you on the subject, and you’re relieved. The truth is that you’ve been feeling irritated and guilty and rash ever since you woke up, but don’t want to give yourself the chance to do something stupid.

“Where do you want to go today?” he asks instead.

You frown, squeezing the bridge of your nose between a forefinger and thumb. “I don’t know,” you repeat. “Maybe nowhere. Do nothing.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “What were you planning to do with Joshua?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, all of that went out the window the second he broke his damned leg,” you snap. Then you pull back with a wince. “Shit. Sorry. I think I’m getting a headache.”

He doesn’t say anything, only offers you a glass of water, which you accept with a quiet thanks. It’s not going to help, though, you know that; your headache has deeper roots than that. The water is lukewarm, and you gulp the water down, spilling half of it over your mouth and down your shirt. “Maybe we can go somewhere you want,” you say, pursing your lips into the best smile you can muster. “You know, this was for the both of us.”

“I know,” Jeonghan replies, monotonous. “You’re getting a nosebleed.”

“What? Oh, fuck.” You hurriedly put the glass down on a side table and head to the washroom. Sure enough, when you look into the mirror, your upper lip is coated in crimson.

“Fuck,” you whisper to yourself again, and bend over the basin. The sound of running water almost drowns out Jeonghan’s footsteps, so you jump a bit when you hear his voice.

“Let’s go to a club,” he says. You straighten, holding a napkin to your nose, and glance back at him. He’s leaning against the doorframe, arms folded over his chest. “Sounds like you need to get drunk,” he says, shrugging.

Your lips part. “Okay.” You turn and grab another napkin. “Sure, yeah, let’s go.”

The teeming throngs of people seem to envelope you, like a piece of paper folded over and over. The air in the nightclub is stale but cold, with undercurrents of sour sweat and sweet coke syrup. You wouldn’t call yourself a stranger to this scene, but for some reason, it feels foreign.

You weave your way through the crowd on the dance floor, an untouched glass in your hand. Although the whole ordeal had been Jeonghan’s idea, he’d disappeared less than ten minutes after you came, no doubt off buying pretty girls drinks. Being seen with you would probably ruin his night, but at least someone’s living their single life to the fullest.

You, on the other hand, have not been having fun at all. It’s not entirely unexpected, since the whole reason you’d said yes to the idea was because you’d felt bad about snapping at him. Usually, you go drinking to unwind after a stressful week, but today you just can’t seem to get into it. You suspect it’s because you’re alone. The music is loud and heavy and while you remember noting that it’s one of your favorite songs, all you can hear right now is the bass. You feel it in your skull and your teeth and jarring all up your sciatic nerve, sending little jolts through your spine. If you didn’t have a headache before, you’re definitely close to getting one now.

Someone brushes past you, and you almost spill the drink in your hand all over the dress. Annoyed, you turn to snap, but they’re already gone by the time you’ve turned around. You sigh, massaging your temple with your free hand, and sit down at the first table you see, placing the glass with the red drink sloshing around inside. The pulsating lights make the surface of the liquid flash, turning it orange and pink and even green. You don’t even remember what it is supposed to be.

With a deep sigh, you pull the glass off the table and nurse it in your lap, head dropping from exhaustion. Maybe if you had someone to dance with you, but your choleric disposition has a habit of chasing people away, and tonight you’ve dialed it up by about a hundred.

A shadow looms over you, blocking the lights, and the color winks out of the drink in your lap. You look up with a glower, ready to chastise what is undoubtedly another hopelessly drunk guy looking to hit on single girls, but falter when you manage to make out the man’s features.

Jeonghan’s blonde hair looks lilac in the lighting. His hands are in his pockets, and he’s got that white shirt on again, but the lights have bled into it like with your drink, turning it different colors. For a moment, neither of you move, him looking down at you and you matching his stare from the seat.

“Are you drunk?”

You shake your head mutely.

If he doubts your honesty, he doesn’t show it. “Wanna get out of here?”

It’s stupid, but you feel bad. You’ve never known him to be into the whole party scene, but maybe he’s gotten different hobbies since you split up, and you feel like you’re taking that away from him. “Don’t you want to stay?” you ask, setting the glass on the small table. “I know the way back.”

He offers you a small smile. “You know how I feel about places like this,” he answers as you prepare to leave. Then why did you suggest it in the first place? you want to ask, but dare not utter a word. “Well then—” He offers you a hand, the smile softening— “my lady?” 

His voice is low, but you hear it like an arrow singing through the noise. “As my lord pleases,” you murmur with an incline of your head, a smile creeping onto your lips as you take his hand.

Jeonghan tugs you through the crowd, his grip gentle yet firm. You pull yourself closer to him, marveling at how the sea of people seems to part before him, like he’s a warm knife going through butter. “You should’ve told me if you didn’t want to come,” he yells back at you.

“It’s not that I didn’t want to,” you explain, wrapping an arm around yourself as the two of you step out into the night air. It’s much colder outside even with the crowd, and you barely manage to suppress a shiver. “I thought it might be—fun.”

“But it wasn’t?”

You shake your head stiffly, shoulders raised against the late night chill. It’s only then that you realize your right hand is still intertwined with his, with you almost hanging off his arm. Flushing, you extract it quickly, folding your arms across your chest. “Let’s just go back to the hotel.”

You can’t see his face, but you imagine him burning holes into the side of your face. But he only nods.

Back at the hotel, you lean against the basin in the washroom, staring at yourself in the foggy mirror. Your face looks back at you from the parts where you wiped off the mist with the heel of your palm, smokey-eyed, your makeup smudged. The cold ceramic seems to cut into your hands, but you’re grateful for it.

With the bathroom door left ajar, you can hear Jeonghan in the connecting room. “Sorry about ruining your night,” you offer with the most apologetic tone you can summon, but your heart feels as numb as your fingertips. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you hear him say, his voice feeling like it’s coming from a tunnel. You know exactly what’s gotten into you though. 

You swallow against the hard knot of dryness that has lodged itself in your throat. Your head is pounding, and you feel like something is splitting you apart from the inside, like a block of ice in your chest that refuses to melt. Am I really that cold inside? Throughout this trip, you’ve found yourself wishing multiple times that the distance between you and Jeonghan didn’t feel so great, but now the thought overwhelms you, washing over you like a riptide, and you feel like you’s gotten into you to sea.

You think about just giving in, but you want to preserve some semblance to self respect. Although none of your concerns feel grounded—Jeonghan’s been the perfect gentleman since after you broke down on him. The memory of your last argument eight—now nine—months ago, his harsh words cutting you down, they all feel so far away. So unreal. You wonder if you imagined breaking up.

“I shouldn’t act so immature, right?” you wonder aloud, and spin around to face him. Jeonghan’s standing just outside the bathroom, fiddling with the cuff of his shirt, and blinks at your question. “I mean, we’re not in high school anymore.”

His brow twitches, like he’s about to frown. “You’re not acting immature.”

You feel slightly hysterical. There’s exactly one thing you want from him—a reaction. Even though you know it’s only going to make things worse. “You don’t think so?” you ask, very quietly.

The frown finally manifested itself on his face. “Are you drunk?” he asks again, enunciating each word slowly and carefully.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Jeonghan.” There’s a wild edge to your voice that has him tilting his head. “Why are you so—so—” Blank. Unaffected. Maddening. “Calm?”

The frown flickers away, and once again, he goes back to looking as unemotional as an alabaster statue. Just as beautiful, driving you insane with a feeling that you can’t quite put into words. “What would you rather have me be?”

One second you’re leaning against the doorframe, fingernails gouging into the wood, and the next second you’re on him, reaching out like you’re about to claw his face off. Before you know it, you’re kissing Jeonghan with all the viciousness of a bite. 

Your hands grip his shoulders, then slide up to his neck and down to his upper back. You can feel his shirt creasing where your nails dig into it, so desperately that you think they might leave crescent-shaped scars. “What do you think?” you hiss into his ear as he stumbles, stepping back to steady himself, his hands coming to your hips. You lean into him, returning to his lips, and then he’s kissing you back.

Jeonghan slides his hand over the diaphanous material of your dress, reaching up to slide into your hair, deepening the kiss. His other hand grips your waist, pulling you as close to himself as humanly possible. His arm crushes you against himself as his lips part against yours, kissing you like he was breathing from you, as desperate as if he were drowning.

It’s as if he’s come alive under your touch, so different from the unemotional front he’d displayed just seconds earlier. His hands roam your body, exploring, tracing, remembering. You open yourself to him, letting every doubt and second thought be washed away by the tide of emotion that rages inside you. Jeonghan tastes like strawberries, his lips soft and sweet, and you feel like putty in his hands, but you still manage to push him into the bed. You’re in his lap now, legs on either side of him, slowly and teasingly tracing the roof of his mouth with the tip of your tongue.

Jeonghan’s hands travel up your waist to your breasts, and you press your lips to the junction of his jaw and neck, right over the pulse. He moans into your mouth, and you feel hot all over—the good kind of hot, the kind that makes you feel like you’re standing in his fire, sweating harder to feel more keenly the wind against your skin. It starts in the pit of your stomach and spreads to your core, your chest that’s flush against his, your hands as you pin his shoulders to the mattress. You kiss him again, hands moving to his chest as you start to unbutton his shirt.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jeonghan breathes, covering your hands with his. You make an impatient noise at the back of your throat, but pause, pushing yourself up so you’re straddling him. “You’re not drunk.”

You give him a black look.

“Okay, okay.” His breaths are coming in pants, each as ragged as the last. “I…I don’t have a condom—”

“I do,” you cut him off in the middle. He gives you a questioning look, and you huff. “I was going to get laid, okay? One way or another.”

His lips part, and for a long moment, no sound comes out of them. “Are you sure?” he asks lamely.

You stare at him, flabbergasted. “What do you think?” you demand again. He’s such a sight under you, with a half-unbuttoned shirt and swollen lips, that you’re having trouble stringing words together. “Jeonghan—I don’t know what it is that’s holding you back, or—or if you just don’t want to have sex with me, but—”

“Not like this,” he interrupts. There’s a softness to his voice, even as he looks up at you with heavy-lidded eyes. Your hand twitches where it’s lying on his chest. “I mean. You’re not in the right state of mind—”

You’re incredulous. “It doesn’t have to mean anything, Jeonghan,” you say, petulance creeping into your voice as you struggle to maintain your composure. “I’m upset and frustrated and I really need this, okay?” Your voice cracks just slightly, but it’s enough for the air to get knocked out of him. 

Some part of you tells you not to do this. To apologize, maybe laugh it off with a shitty joke about getting rid of the tension, act like you don’t want to open him up and climb into him. Sex has never been the solution to your problems. But you’re on a mean bad decision streak, so you just bite down on your lip, swallowing your feelings.

“Please touch me,” you whimper, and Jeonghan takes in a sharp breath, briefly closing his eyes before moving to oblige. 

His hands go back to your waist, but this time he flips your positions. He grasps the hem of your dress, and you stretch your arms, letting him tug it up and off your frame. You watch as his eyes rove over you, and his pupils darken, swallowing the warm brown of his eyes. Jeonghan leans down next to your ear, and you feel the dent in the mattress next to your head where his palm presses into it.  “Remember,” he says, as your stomach flutters weakly, “you asked for this.”

Jeonghan’s knee nudges yours to part your thighs, and the next thing you feel is two of his fingers pressing against the already-damped seat of your panties. “Didn’t expect to be so wet already,” he murmurs, and your face heats up like he toom a match to it. “Is that what you meant by frustrated?” Wordlessly, you arch against him, eager. “Hips,” he commands, and you raise your hips to allow him to pull your panties down your legs, where you agitatedly kick them off your ankles.

You suck in an anticipatory breath as his fingers push against your unclothed core. He doesn’t even need to look for your clit—the pad of his thumb is pressed against the bundle of nerves a second later, rubbing circles into it. You screw your eyes shut and throw your head back, clenching your thighs around his arm. “Oh god,” you gasp. “Oh god oh fuck—”

You cut yourself off with a sharp inhale to grab his forearm, digging your fingers into it as he flicks a finger against your clit. “You’re so sensitive,” Jeonghan remarks, a smug smirk painted on his face. “Always were. That’s what made playing with you so much fun.”

You open your eyes just to narrow them at him, panting. “Oh, finally, there he is,” you drawl breathlessly. “The resident devil of—Jeonghan!”

He has the gall to laugh as your entire body jerks in response to his middle finger pushing past your folds and into your heat. “Admit it. You like me better that way,” he counters, adding another finger inside you. You arch your back, sucking his fingers deeper inside your cunt as he curls the digits in your core.

“I did admit it,” you breathe. It’s astounding, how quickly the two of you fall back into the familiar play, trading words back and forth like you’ve been doing this all your life. His thumb swipes down against your slit, collecting your wetness and massaging it back into your clit. You buck against his hand, mewling. “Fuck, Jeonghan, pleasepleaseplease—”

Watching him like this, you suddenly remember that no matter how mild-mannered he may seem to the untrained eye, Jeonghan is neither calm nor reserved. He is sanguine, a hunter in the night, smelling blood from a mile away. And you've always been his favorite plaything.

“There’s a good girl,” he praises, but his fingers pull away a second later. You bemoan the loss of the friction, desperately rubbing your aching thighs together for any sort of relief. Jeonghan’s fingers dig into the inside of your thighs, prying them apart firmly. You begin to protest, but he quells you with a look. “But I can’t let you have it just yet.”

You’re panting. “Fuck you.”

He only smiles. “Condom.”

You gesture towards the bedside table with a tilt of your chin. “Second drawer,” you choke out, feeling like someone’s set a fire to the base of your brain, cutting off your ability to form coherent thoughts. Jeonghan retrieves it, waving the small square packet in the air as if to further provoke you. You settle back onto the sheets, waiting for him to put it on, but instead he leans his weight back against you, playfully nipping at your collarbone. You grit your teeth, grabbing the front of his shirt.

“You can be such an asshole sometimes, you know that?” You hiss, and start unbuttoning his shirt hastily. 

“Well, I tried being nice, and you hated that,” he murmurs against the base of your throat, sending vibrations through your sternum. You fling open his shirt, and he takes it off fully, balling it up and throwing it to some dark corner of the room. “Aren’t you hurrying too much?” he says, but when you roll down against his hips, the bulge straining against the seat of his pants is unmistakable.

“Aren’t you talking too much?” you fire back, and he chuckles. You hear the sound of the packet tearing and the subsequent unzipping of his pants. Jeonghan rubs the head of his cock against your slick heat, almost making you sob, and pushes it in.

Your fingers claw against his back when he slowly rolls his hips into yours, sending a wave of pleasure through your body. “I forgot how good you felt,” he rasps, sidling his hands under your arms and pulling them off him. The heel of his palms skims your forearm, reaching up to meet your wrist. When he presses his fingertips against the palm of your hand, you open up to him like a flower in bloom, letting him twine your fingers with his in a slow, decisive motion.

The head of his cock brushes against your sweet spot, and your mind goes blank with bliss. Jeonghan says your name like a prayer as he pushes deeper into you, harder, and the feeling of hot-and-cold pleasure stirs in your abdomen. His pace quickens, hips snapping faster against yours, and you begin to feel dizzy and delirious. 

You gasp his name, and he shudders as he breathes out, all but falling against you. His fingers tighten around yours as he moves, the tip of your nose nudging his, his forehead cool and damp with sweat where it meets yours. He draws your orgasm out, still fucking into you as you reach your climax. You call out his name as you ride out your high, and his face twists with desire so devastating that it looks almost like pain. He thrusts into you once, twice, only a few more times before he comes, almost collapsing on top of you when he finishes. The pent-up frustration is gone, you realize as you lie in bed and stare up at the ceiling, along with the misery and confusion and anger. 

You clean yourself off in the bathroom in silence, as he wipes off your makeup with a gentleness that you’d almost forgotten. Neither of you speak, but the silence is heavy and comfortable like a winter blanket. A voice at the back of your head is screaming at you about consequences, but it’s small and tin-like and easy enough to tune out in the face of Jeonghan’s lips brushing against your temple.

Plenty of time for regret in the morning.

And, oh boy, does the regret hit like a fucking truck.

You’re the first one up, waking to the feeling of soft blankets on your bare skin and Jeonghan’s sleeping face just inches from yours. Startled, you sit up, the strap of your bra slipping off one shoulder.

Then you’re slipping off the covers and making a beeline for the bathroom, stopping only to grab your phone off the bedside table before locking the door behind you. You lean against it heavily as your legs seem to give out, breathing hard as if you just woke up from a nightmare. 

You slept with your ex last night. The one thing your friends with active dating lives told you never to do. And it was all your idea.

Fuck.

Still trying to steady yourself, you sit down heavily on the edge of the toilet seat, placing your head in your hands. It was a stupid decision, and you know that—hell, you’d known that going into it—but now it’s time to deal with the aftermath. Jeonghan himself is going to wake up in no time, and you don’t even want to think about how he’s going to react.

You try to think of someone smarter than you, but after your actions last night, the bar proves to be pretty low. Your first thought is Joshua, but you feel even more like shit when you think of calling him, so reject that option out of hand. Someone who’d know what to do, you think to yourself as you shakily dial the number on your phone, fingers trembling.

She picks up on the fourth ring. “Hey, girliepop,” Mina greets in a bright, peppy voice, as your shoulders sag with relief. “I feel like I haven’t heard from you in ages. What’s up? How’s home?”

You don’t waste a second. “I did something really, really bad.”

A pause. “Do you need help hiding a body?”

“What? No. I slept with Jeonghan.” You cover your mouth, briefly closing your eyes. Saying it out loud makes it sound even worse. “I’m so screwed.”

“The hot ex-boyfriend? Oh, honey, don’t worry, that’s a mistake we all make at least once in our lives,” she says sympathetically. “Were you drunk?”

You squint. “No…”

“Okay,” she says slowly, and you wince. “Do you…want to do it again?”

At that, you pause. Do you want to do it again? You hadn’t even thought of it before this. “I mean…” You trail off, doubtful. “The sex was pretty great, but…”

You can imagine her twirling a lollipop stick between her fingers, sucking thoughtfully on the candy. “I don’t know, I’m gonna need a lot more context,” she asks finally. “Why did you guys break up? How long were you together? What kind of person is he? It depends on a lot of things.” Another pause, and you can almost see her raising her eyebrows at you, like, well? “You gotta give me something to go on here.”

You try to think of an answer, but every thought feels muddled, like you’ve reached peak brain capacity. “Um,” you start, haltingly, “we have a lot of history, I guess.”

She hums, which sounds like a muted buzz through the line. “Like what? Childhood best friend type of history? On-and-off kind of history?”

You close your eyes, focusing intently. “Um…well…we have known each other since we were in grade school. And we dated for most of high school, and almost two years after that. Then we…we broke up in October, last year.”

“Why?”

That’s a loaded question. You pass a hand over your face, trying to think of how you can explain it. You remember there being so many reasons for it, but now that you’re trying to remember them, not a single coherent-sounding explanation presents itself. “It’s complicated?”

Mina tuts. “I get it if you don’t want to talk about it, but I can’t help you if I don’t know what the problem is, babe.”

“I’m so confused,” you lament, biting your lip. You try to explain the situation as best as you can, how you decided to ditch your plans and go on a fuckass road trip with your ex. Everything comes out like a barrage: all the doubts you’ve had about your relationship with Jeonghan, the constant second-guessing yourself, all your worries about his inconsistent behavior. By the time you’re done, Mina’s gone silent on the other side. 

She doesn’t say anything for a long time, so you listen to the soft crackling of her breathing mixing with the sounds of traffic coming in through the tiny window on the opposing wall. “Oh, honey,” comes her fizzy voice from the speaker finally. “Now I wish I’d convinced you to go on that blind date.”

You laugh softly. “Yeah. It’s just… Every sensible bone in my body is telling me I’ve made some kind of mistake, that I’ve crossed some invisible line, but it was so easy,��� you tell her. “Last night, when we—it felt like old times. As if nothing had ever happened. And now I’m wondering if that’s what I’ve wanted all this time.”

“I almost wish you’d come to me with a murder to cover up, because at least I’d be able to help you then,” she replies. “But if you think that maybe this is what you want, and if he wants the same thing, then you can still work it out, you know? You’re a smart girl. You can figure out what you want.”

A smile tugs at the corner of your lips. “I wouldn’t be so sure,” you murmur, using your pinky to trace a crescent into your bare knee. “But thanks.”

Her grin is crystal-clear in your mind. “I’ve got faith in you.”

“That makes one of us,” you quip, and she laughs as you hang up. 

The call didn’t help much, but you’re glad to have gotten some things off your chest. The narrow walls of the bathroom don't feel so suffocating anymore. All right. You pull your knees up decisively, straightening your spine. It’s my problem to fix now, you think. Even if you don’t feel calm, you have to at least act like you are.

Taking a deep breath, you unlatch the door and step outside, closing it slowly behind yourself. As you’d thought, Jeonghan is already up and dressed. Well, kind of. He has his boxers on, and the shirt from last night, crumpled and still unbuttoned. You stare, frozen in place, as he turns and notices you. A beaming smile spreads across his face.

“I went ahead and ordered room service,” he says by way of greeting. “Considering it’s past twelve and absolutely boiling outside, I thought we might stay in for brunch instead. I hope you like pasta, ” he says, shrugging. Then he notices the look on your face. “Is something wrong?”

You blink slowly, as if coming out of a daze. “Something wrong?” you echo, wondering if you sound as bewildered as you feel. “Something…Jeonghan.”

His eyebrows arch. “Yeah?”

“We had sex,” you say slowly.

“We—yes.” He nods, slowly at first, but then more rapidly, until he looks like a bobblehead. “Yeah, but—I mean, we used protection, and we talked about it before, kind of, and I thought it was fine, you know, because—” He’s rambling. You’re beginning to realize he’s not as nonchalant as he appeared a moment ago. “At least we didn’t have sex very publicly in, in the motel, or the car, or—”

It’s like a strange tranquility has descended over you. Jeonghan swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, and he looks anxious. You haven’t seen him anxious in so long.

It feels like the roles have been flipped. You know that’s not quite true, and your poise is only temporary, but at least he’s not giving you unreadable looks every time you try to show vulnerability, tripping you up on your own words. You just hope you’re not going to use this opportunity to do something stupid again.

“Jeonghan,” you interrupt. Mina hadn’t really given you any clear-cut counsel, but it seems her reassurance had been all you needed. “If we’re going to do this, we need to set some ground rules.”

‘No strings attached’ sounds weightless in your mouth, but the words seem to sink like stones into your mind.

Still, now that at least the sexual tension is out of the way, you feel as unburdened as those girls in sanitary pad ads. Jeonghan’s inner navigator must be in touch with his good-for-nothing side, because he turns out to be absolute magic with finding amazing out-of-the-way places. The two of you go off-road for a while, but get lost so you decide to stick to what you could identify on the map. There’s another day spent walking around at a doll museum and pointing out dolls that you thought looked like people you both know.

It feels a bit silly, running around with Jeonghan all the time, but it’s the happiest you’ve been in months. You take baths together, and sometimes you go out for ice cream, and despite some of the lewd activities involved, it feels as sweet and innocent as kids playing house.

After the first time your motel room neighbor bangs on your shared wall to ask you to be quieter during sex, you decide that sticking to places with reliably thick walls is the way to go. That’s how you find out that Jeonghan has developed a taste for long baths.

You’re rummaging around inside your suitcase, looking for the paperback you borrowed from your roommate, untouched since the day you stopped reading it right in the middle. “Jeonghan!” you call, overturning a pair of pajamas. Even in a thin robe, you can feel the heat almost radiating off the floor. “Did you see my book? I’m kind of worried that I left it somewhere.”

No response.

Frowning, you stand, looking at the cream-painted door on the opposing wall. It’s firmly shut, and has been that way for the past hour or so, not a sound escaping from inside. You cross the room and check the handle, not too surprised when it swings open.

One glance inside gives it away. Jeonghan looks at you with displeasure, only his head poking out from behind the side of the bathtub. Well, that and the copy of Gone Girl you’ve been looking for the past half-hour, clasped in a long-fingered hand, his elbow propped against the lip of the porcelain tub. “Do you mind?” the perpetrator asks.

You place your hands on your hips, giving him an unimpressed look. “You’ve been in here for over an hour,” you tell him. “At this rate your body is going to turn into an overripe raisin. Also, that’s my book.”

He turns the book over to regard it. “I thought you weren’t reading it.”

“I wasn’t. Emphasis on was.” You rest your hand on the door handle. “There are other people who want to take a bath, you know.”

“Aw, I was just looking for some entertainment.” He flashes a grin at you. “But if you have a better idea…”

You roll your eyes, but unfasten the robe anyway. Jeonghan’s eyes follow your every move, pupils blown wide. He places a cheek on his arm, eyes half-mast as you slip the robe off your shoulders, letting it pool on the floor at your feet.

“Nothing underneath, huh?” he muses. “Have I been out-maneuvered?”

You ignore that. “Move over,” you say shortly.

“Don’t need to ask me twice.”

(Later, when you’re lying on the bed after having managed to wrestle the book away from him, Jeonghan brushes his fingers against the sliver of exposed skin under your shirt. “Don’t even try,” you warn him, after smacking his hand with the spine of the book.

“I thought you wanted to do something ‘wild’,” he says, making air quotes with his hands. You smack him again.

“Not everything is about sex,” you remind him, not really meaning it.

“‘Everything in the world is about sex except sex.’” he quotes. “‘Sex is about power.’”

You roll onto your side, letting the book fall shut as your forearm hits the mattress. “You’re so full of shit, Yoon Jeonghan,” you tell him, getting a razor-sharp grin in response. But you still let him kiss you a moment later.)

By the time you finally reach the ocean, the air conditioner has been broken for two days, so when you feel the fingers of the first evening breeze sneak in through the lowered top of the window and run themselves through your hair, you almost stop the car there and then.

Jeonghan stops you, reminding you that if you get off you’ll have to walk a pretty long time before you actually get to the beach. You stay put, but when you do get to the beach you’re the first out of the car, standing spreadeagle against the flow to feel the wind on each and every inch of your skin, plastering your clothes to your frame.

“This is so much better than that stupid air conditioner,” you sigh. Jeonghan’s still fishing out that Hello Kitty backpack that contains your towels and sunscreen, so you deign to wait for him instead of going off on your own.

Something pink and plasticky covers your vision. “Here.” He grins, settling the heart-shaped sunglasses on your face. “Now you can finally use these,” he says, and turns to head off.

You fix the sunglasses before following after him. The sand is soft under your feet, shifting to accommodate the shape of your feet as you step over it. You pull your sandals off, tucking your fingers under the bands and opting to carry them at your side so you can feel the grains on your soles.

“I thought there would be more people here,” your not-boyfriend comments.

You look around. A kid is building a sandcastle near a couple that looks over him, turning over buckets to deposit clumps of wet sand to shape them into towers. A bit further away, a head wearing sunglasses pokes out of the ground as its giggling companion packs more sand over the body. Jeonghan’s right; the crowd is tamer than you expected, but it’s probably because it’s getting late and the weather is about to turn icy in no time. 

“I haven’t been to the beach in ages,” he says as you reach the shore. The wind tousles his hair, flapping his shirt around his torso, and he squints against the saline breeze. “Kind of forgot what it feels like.”

You hum contentedly, watching the tiny waves lap at your feet. “When I was a kid, my mom told me I had to dig my feet in before the tide came in, or else I would be carried away by the waves.”

He snorts. “I know. Your mom told me the same thing.”

“Right,” you smile. 

Jeonghan bends to place his hands in the sand in front of him, letting the water wash over them. “Cold,” he says. 

“You know, I did almost get washed out to sea once,” you remember. “Swam too far. There was salty water in my mouth and ears and the ground felt like it was made of hands, trying to drag me down further. My uncle told me that when they finally fished me out, my head was wrapped in kelp. He thought that telling me that would traumatize me, but I just kept swimming out again and again.”

“Stubborn and proud,” he observes. “That sounds like you.”

“Does it?” You grin, bending to scoop some of the water into your palms, and sling it off your fingertips to splash it into his face before he can realize what you’re doing. Jeonghan sputters, stumbling in the sand, and comes up with an indignant hey!

Laughing, you turn to run, and glance back to see him discarding the Hello Kitty bag to chase after you. “It’s the beach, cut me some slack!” you yell back at him. He doesn’t respond, but when he does catch you, it’s around the middle, and his tackle flings both of you into the water, you still laughing. You wrestle unsuccessfully with him for another second before coming up for air, his arms still wrapped securely around your waist.

“No fair,” you complain, but the smile that splits your face is as bright as the sun.

“No fair?” he repeats, expression indignant. “You started it.”

“Okay, but now we’re both wet.” You spit some water out of your mouth. Sure enough, your clothes are drenched, and so are his. Jeonghan staggers to his feet, pulling you up with him. His pale blonde hair is plastered to his forehead, darker where it’s wet, curling at the back of his neck. “And not in the fun way.”

“Who says this way isn’t fun?” He kicks some water at you, and you raise your arms to shield your face. Offering only a glare in retaliation, you turn, wading a little further out so the water is up to your waist. “Are you planning to get washed out again?”

“Hilarious,” you call back without turning. The sun is low in the sky, turning the ocean the colors of fire. Jeonghan comes up behind you and you close your eyes, breathing it all in.

The water tickles your waist where your shirt billows up, and the breeze cuts deliciously sharp on your damp skin, but you only shiver when Jeonghan traces a map on the exposed skin of your back.

You don’t stay in the water for long, dragging yourselves up to the shoreline to make sure you mostly dry off when the sun is still up. Jeonghan’s hair slowly curls as it dries, and he tries to comb the sand out with his fingers to no avail.

“I’m gonna need a nice hot bath after this,” he complains, carding a hand through his hair. “It’s all fun and games going to the beach until you’re digging sand out of your body for the next three weeks.”

“You take a nice hot bath at every opportunity you get,” you remind him, but you share the sentiment. The retrieved backpack swings off one shoulder, slapping against your side with every step. “That was so much fun, though. I wish we’d just come here in the beginning and stayed.”

“Nothing beats hiking for hours up a mountain just to see a yellow ball come up in the sky. You made me wake up at an ungodly hour for that, too.”

“And I’m not gonna apologize.” You stand back in the final rays of the sun, watching it sink into the horizon. Strips of gold glimmer in the blue-green of the water, shimmering like the surface of a polished jewel. “Sometimes I look at the sun on a regular day and wonder how it can do that.”

Jeonghan hums under his breath. His stance is unhurried, shoulders relaxed, hands in his pockets. You lick your lips, feeling the salt sting the raw patches where you’ve managed to break the skin by constantly worrying at it with your teeth.

Now that your mind is beginning to quiet, it’s turning to thoughts of the real world instead. For the last few days, you’ve successfully ignored every single warm tingle or stomach butterfly, every warning sign that came up when you looked at Jeonghan, but casting them aside has only made them weigh heavier on your shoulders. 

It doesn’t have to mean anything, you’d told him, but that had felt more like an excuse. Under the guise of only using each other for sex, you’ve been indulging yourself in far more than that, and it’s plain as day for you to see.

“Jeonghan,” you venture in a hushed voice, and he turns to you quizzically. “Do you ever wonder—do you ever think that you’ve made a mistake?”

Instead of answering, he offers you a lopsided smile and extracts his hand from his pocket, letting it hang in the air next to yours. It’s only your knuckles that brush the back of his hand, but you feel the heat all over—on the backs of your shoulders, north of your abdomen, as a constricting circle around your throat.

“I try not to think too much,” he says, catching your fingers lightly when they graze his. You hesitate, but choose not to pull away. “But I know that’s not your strong suit.”

The sky has gone dark. One by one, the artificial lights switch on, bathing the sand in a pale glow. With his tanned skin and platinum hair, Jeonghan looks like a tallow angel in the light, his mouth a soft rosy line curved into a smile like you’re sharing an inside joke. The breeze flows over the water, lifting his shirt up a shade.

Your heart lurches in your chest, but you manage a smile back. He’s probably right and you’re probably overthinking, but you are as helpless in the face of that knowledge as you were without it. As you murmur and you think too little with numb lips, you can't help but wonder what he’s really thinking. 

Jeonghan thinks this bar is going to be the death of him.

The Shipwreck Tavern must take its name quite seriously, because it smells exactly like how he imagines the interior of a shipwreck must smell—like fish and rotten wood. The place is filled with tough-looking old people, and the bartender must be a wrestler’s grandma, because her arms are as big as his head. Everything inside the pub looks old and feels old, except the new-looking TV that adorns a wall adjacent to the bar, playing a soccer game that seems like the local pastime, judging from the attention it garners among the tavern’s patrons.

There are probably better places the two of you could’ve gone to, but this was the nearest place he’d been able to find with an outdoor shower, and he could’ve sworn he felt a crab in his pants before. Instead of bothering to look for a place to eat, you’d suggested staying at the same place, and he hadn’t known better than to comply.

Jeonghan takes the drinks he ordered from the bar with a nod of acknowledgement, fighting to keep the smile on his face until it’s out of the bartender’s view. As soon as the old lady with the anchor tattoo on her forearm turns her back, he makes a face, turning away from a fellow customer who frowns disapprovingly at his expression. Jeonghan gives him a helpless look, and begins making his way through the crowd to a pool table in the corner.

He knows that you think he’s the more sociable out of the two of you, but he begs to disagree, and the fact that you’re already laughing along with a mean-looking guy with a shaved head is only more proof. You turn slightly to let your eyes glide over the crowd searchingly, stopping when they spot him coming towards you. Something in his chest clenches when he sees your face light up upon seeing him. You wave him over to the table, and he raises the drinks in response.

“You might wanna go slow on these. I think I saw something wiggling in the bottle she poured these drinks from,” he warns as you take the glass from him. You grin, but pay no heed to his warnings, tossing the whole thing back like it’s a regular Tuesday.

“How bad could it be?” Shrugging, you put the drink down and smooth down the front of your skirt, briefly playing with the corner where the slit ends. “Maybe it was like an eel or something.”

“Well, you’re certainly something,” he mutters to himself, raising a disbelieving eyebrow. “Why don’t you go ahead and drink mine too, if you’re so fearless? Might find a shark fin in there.”

“Those are too big to fit in a bottle, silly.” You roll your eyes, taking a cue stick leaning against a corner. “Now let’s get this party started,” you purr, bringing the stick up and across the table and positioning yourself behind it.

Jeonghan shakes his head, but doesn’t try to push down the smile that appears on his face. “Okay,” he sighs, coming around the table to your side, leaning so his face is level with yours. “So you want to keep the stick aligned with your line of sight, and try to aim for the easy pockets first.”

You lick your lips, screwing one eye shut to aim. “You underestimating me?”

“No, it’s just to keep your mood up. Now choose your shot.” You survey the layout of the table once before deciding on a target, arranging your stance to aim accordingly. Jeonghan nods. “Okay, good. Line up, and be careful about the angle.”

Placing the stick’s tip near the cue ball, you bend again. “Like this?”

He reaches over, rearranging your hand that’s splayed against the table so your first two fingers make a bridge. “Balance the cue on top of that,” he says, curling an arm around your waist. His fingertips press against the elbow of your cueing arm, stabilizing it. You shiver slightly as if a cool breeze had just blown through, making his own stomach flutter. “That’s it, like that,” he whispers in your ear, enjoying your reaction as you squirm. “Steady, steady…now try.”

Taking a deep breath, you shoot. The cue ball cuts across the dull green surface, bumping into the black ball and sending it rolling into a corner hole. Grinning, you straighten, pumping a fist in the air. “Nice!”

“Yeah, pretty nice.” Jeonghan nods. “Except we’re playing 8-ball pool, which means if you pocket the 8 ball before all the stripes and solids are gone, you lose.”

A despondent boo erupts from the audience watching the soccer match, exactly in sync with your face as it falls. “You didn’t tell me that before,” you say accusingly. “That’s cheating.”

“Good try though,” he acknowledges, taking a sip of his drink. It tastes just as bad as he’s expected. “And I didn’t cheat, I just withheld information.”

“That’s lying.”

“Tomato-tomato.”

You bring up the cue stick, pointing the polished end at his chest. “I’m about to demolish you,” you challenge.

He grins and takes a stick of his own, tapping it against yours. “Bring it on.”

Jeonghan had intended on leaving the second you were done with your food, but you end up staying for more than a few hours as you keep asking for extra rounds despite continually losing. When you finally agree to leave, it’s way past two, and you walk with a giggly, faintly tipsy stupor so he has to support you all the way to the hotel. 

Instead of falling into bed immediately upon entering the room, you pull him into the bathroom, crashing your lips against his before he has the chance to let a question pass them. Jeonghan closes his eyes, holding you against him as you wrap your arms around his neck, almost dragging him down the floor as you go limp in his arms. Your back hits the wall with a loud thump, but you still don’t let up. “Someone’s eager,” he says as you press kisses along the line of his jaw, settling his hands on your hips.

You let out a soft breath, bunching up his shirt under your fingers. He leans in to kiss you, but you step back, holding him in place. “I was—do you think we should—”

Someone bangs against the other side of the bathroom wall, making both of you jump. “Message received, damn,” Jeonghan mumbles, turning his attention back to you. “Sorry, you were saying?”

You fumble with your words for a second before seemingly giving up, instead smiling brightly. “Nothing. Never mind.”

“Nothing, is it?” He kisses your jaw, and you let out a soft sigh. Your hand drops to his pants, moving to unfasten it, but he stops you. “Shh,” he whispers, brushing his thumb against your lips. “Walls have ears, remember?” he murmurs, as his warm breath fans your face.

You tuck your bottom lip under your teeth, blinking up at him so sweetly that he almost groans. He dips his head, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, the ghost of his smile against your skin. “We have to be quiet,” he says, lips touching the shell of your ear. “If you behave, I’ll make sure you’re well compensated for your efforts.”

Your breath hitches, and you turn your face away, letting out a choking laugh. “Oh yeah? And how are you planning to do that?”

Maintaining eye contact, he sinks to one knee, and slides his hands down from your hips to the back of your thighs. You steady yourself by placing your hands on his shoulders, and he tugs your skirt up, warm palms skimming the cool skin of your thighs. 

“Well, for starters,” he says in a low voice, watching your eyes as they darken, and slips a cold finger just inside the top of the slit in your skirt. “I’m going to make you come on my tongue.”

You watch him with wide eyes, still as a statue. Jeonghan licks a warm line up the inside of your leg, which twitches in response. “Remember, not a sound,” he warns, teeth nipping at your skin. 

“You’re an ass,” you tell him, taking a deep, shuddering breath.

He smiles, and taps at your knee to indicate to you to move it. You swing a leg over his shoulder, adjusting your stance to stabilize yourself. He hooks a thumb into the underside of your panties and pulls it aside, revealing your glistening core in its full glory.

The sight makes his breath catch in his throat. Jeonghan licks his lips, experimentally swiping the tip of his finger along your cunt, and you squeeze his shoulder. “Ticklish?” he asks, and you slide a hand through his hair, giving it an impatient tug. “Always so sensitive,” he tuts, even though the sensation sends a bolt of arousal straight to his dick. “Always had a bite, too.”

“Shut up,” you growl, impatiently pulling his face closer to your core.

“Patience, grasshopper,” he admonishes. He slips the finger between your folds, massaging lazy circles into it, and your grasp on his hair tightens. “Ask me nicely, and maybe I’ll give it to you.”

You grit your teeth, but the pause tells him you’re actually considering it. Your giving up so easily would take all the fun out of it, he decides, and without warning, he tilts his head up and closes his lips around your nub, flicking it with the tip of his tongue.

Your whole body seems to spasm in response, like a puppet that just had its strings pulled taut. Jeonghan grins into your cunt, and increases the pressure on your clit. You whine, rolling your hips against his face, but he holds you in place.

“Not so fast, honey bunny,” he murmurs against your arousal, which only has you straining harder against his hold. “You like that, huh?” he asks, and sinks his index and middle fingers into your hole knuckle-deep. “All those times you called me a silver-tongued devil—how d’you feel about this tongue now?”

As if to prove his point, he laves his tongue leisurely along the entire length of your pussy, making you cry out. “Jeonghan, please,” you moan, and his heartbeat stutters at your desperate pleading. The moment you start begging, he’s a goner. “More—ah—”

He doesn’t even remember that he asked you to be quiet. “Fuck,” Jeonghan snarls, “you know I can’t say no to you, don’t you?” He pulls his fingers out almost entirely, coated in your juices, before thrusting them back inside. He proceeds to bury his face back into your heated cunt, sucking on your swollen clit and finger-fucking you at the same time. You throw your head back, scraping your fingernails against his scalp as he eats you out like a starved man. “No.” he says, pulling away momentarily. “Keep your eyes on me.”

“Ngh—please—” Your words come out in broken moans, but Jeonghan scarcely hears them. He scissors you ruthlessly, stretching you out with his fingers, the other hand leaving dents in your skin where it digs into the soft skin of your thigh. Your orgasm is drawing near, he can tell by the way your walls are spasming around him, so he speeds up his pace, licking and suckling in quick succession, pushing you far past the point of satisfaction. “Jeonghan!”

You come with a cry, your eyes rolling back into your head, back arched against the wall. Jeonghan unlatches his lips from yours unwillingly, pulling back to admire the look on your face, hazy with desire. 

“Fuck,” you breathe once you’ve come down from the high, chest heaving. You let the back of your head fall against the wall with a light thump. “Where did you learn to do that?”

He shrugs with faked nonchalance, grazing your skin with his teeth as he slips your leg from his shoulder. A glint of satisfaction shines in his eye like an ember sparking in a dead bonfire as he gets to his feet. “I’ve been practicing.”

Your shoulders stiffen, and Jeonghan stops in his tracks. “Right,” you murmur, as alarm bells go off in his head. He regrets the words instantly, and moves to take a step towards you, but you’re already turning away and out of his reach, leaning towards your phone that rests precariously on the basin’s edge. “Oh, wow, it’s getting pretty late. I think we should head to bed.”

Jeonghan bites his lip. “Yeah,” he says softly, stepping back to allow you to slip past him and out the door. Stupid, he thinks, licking the remains of your cum from his lips. “I guess so.”

The next morning, after you finished locking the doors behind yourself, you’d come down to the lobby to find Jeonghan flirting with the receptionist.

He had both his elbows on the table, leaning his weight against it as he gave her his best smile, chuckling at some shitty joke he probably cracked himself. She’s pretty, you’d thought as you saw her smile, flushing as she tucked a lock of dark hair behind her ear. He said something else to her, and she giggled, but it had died out quickly when she’d spotted you approaching.

To his credit, Jeonghan dropped his smile as soon as he saw you. You’d deposited the keys, thanking the receptionist with the nicest smile you could manage, but even that wasn’t very nice. He hadn’t said anything as you got to the car, and you feel like shit even though you know he doesn’t owe you an explanation.

Stupid, you think to yourself. Stupid of you to forget that this whole thing was going to be over soon, stupid for caring so much and getting hurt despite yourself, stupid for thinking that Jeonghan would share your concerns. And let’s not forget angry: angry for getting so carried away, especially when you pride yourself on being so careful all the time.

The car hasn’t stopped in hours, not even for a gas refill, and you haven’t had a proper conversation since the drive started except for when Jeonghan tried to offer you a soda.

You’re glad you’re driving, because it gives you an excuse to be silent. Focus on the road. Jeonghan has sensed something off with your mood, but he hasn’t tried to ask you about it, and you don’t know whether to be grateful for him respecting your boundaries or mad for not trying hard enough. 

Now that it’s June the skies have begun to turn an angry, burning orange-red before six o’clock instead of remaining a softer bruised purple. You’ve been in the same position for a while although your neck started to hurt some time ago. It’s getting chilly, but not cold enough to roll the window back up, and you’re determined to fill the silence with the whistling wind for as long as you can.

You must’ve jinxed yourself, though, because the silence is broken in seconds. “Just so you know,” Jeonghan starts, tone light and conversational, “I wasn’t flirting with her.”

You tighten your hands around the wheel, staring so hard at the windshield that you’re surprised it hasn’t melted into a puddle of plastic yet. “I don’t care if you did,” you say tersely, trying and failing to sound normal. “It’s none of my business.”

“I was just asking her if she knew any places we could stay nearby,” he continues, instead of giving up. “And as it turns out, there’s this really great—”

“Actually, I think we should go home.” You cut him off demurely, not taking your eyes off the road in front of you, even though there isn’t another vehicle in sight. “My parents are probably worried about where I’ve run off to, and I’ve been kind of a shit friend to Joshua recently.”

Jeonghan’s mouth flattens into a thin line. “That was a choice you made.”

You scoff, rounding on him with a scornful look on your face. “Oh, so you want to talk about choices now?” you ask, voice full of strife. “Remind me again in case I’ve forgotten—it was your choice to have us break up in the first place, wasn’t it?”

The muscles in his jaw tighten, standing out under his skin where they flex. “Oh, come on. You’re just mad about last night and instead of acknowledging that, you’re changing the topic.”

“Okay, yeah, I’m mad,” you admit, “but that’s not why I’m bringing this up, and you know it. I believed you the first time you said anything. We can’t just never talk about what happened nine months ago—you can’t just sweep something that big under the rug and expect things to be fine and fucking dandy.”

“Who cares about something that happened months ago?” he asks angrily.

“Are you serious?” you ask, laughing disbelievingly. A chill is beginning to settle over your skin even as the air simmers at a hundred degrees.

He tugs an opposing sleeve, and throws the other hand up in exasperation. “I don’t see how it matters anymore.”

You stop the car.

Jeonghan opens his mouth, and closes it again. "You know, this whole stopping the car in the middle of the road thing is getting old," he says with a hint of exasperation in his voice.

“You don’t see how it matters?” You whip around to look him in the eye, and he shrinks back just a bit. “Jeonghan, you said getting into this relationship was a fucking mistake!”

He stares back at you, unyielding. 

“And now you want to act like that never happened?” you press on. “How did you expect this to turn out? That we would be on the road forever, always going nowhere? That you could get away with never addressing all the things you said, just because I never brought it up?” You scoff. “Did you ever give a shit, or was this whole thing just a way to get into my pants?”

Your eyes are burning, and not just from the heat. Jeonghan’s hands are balled up around the seatbelt, the skin around his mouth pulled tight. You don’t dare to look away, hoping against hope for him to finally say something, anything, even though you’ve been in a dozen arguments like this that all ended the same way. This time, you pray with bated breath, this time it has to be different.

“I guess it was just a bad idea,” he says finally, quietly.

Every tensed muscle in your body goes limp, and you’re pulling yourself out of the suffocating car before your mind has even formed a coherent thought, dying to get away from him. The asphalt seems to sizzle, and you wonder in a daze if the road is just a mirage and you’ve actually been standing in one spot this entire time.

You’re standing in the heat, the warm wind making your skin sting with sweat, and even with your hands covering your face you can still sense Jeonghan’s presence behind you. When you turn, there he is, standing still in front of the car. The sun’s rays reflect off of the hood of the car and into your eyes, and you blink back against the stinging brought on by the forceful brightness. For a second you can’t see the expression on his face as he shifts, his silhouette outlined in shadow by the glaring sun, but then your eyes adjust to the light and the look on his face makes something crack and split apart in your chest.

You know then that he will not say anything. He will watch you walk away, again and again and again, with that stoic set of his shoulders and the proud line of his mouth, but he will not say a word. You want to grab him and shake him, scream at him to say something, but you know that his words, in all their vehemence and vitality, are reserved only for him. And you’re going to stay outside, forgotten in the sun, where he hung you out to dry all those months ago.

You wrap your arms around yourself, feeling a twinge of pain against the side of your ribs where his fingers dug into your skin last night. For a moment, you can almost feel his hot breath on your neck, his teeth on your thighs, but you blink, and suddenly the distance between you feels too great. Jeonghan’s eyes bore into yours, the heels of his palms braced against the hood of the car he leans on, and even in the sweltering heat you have to suppress a shiver. 

“I knew this was a bad idea,” you whisper. “Even when I didn’t have a choice.” 

A muscle in his neck pulls taut, but all he does is lift one corner of his mouth in a lazy, sardonic smile. You watch him pretend not to notice as his grip turns white-knuckle-tight.

“Needs must when the devil drives, sweetheart,” is all he says.

You have no response to that. “Right,” you whisper. Your fingers are trembling, and you’re definitely in no state to drive, but you’re suddenly seized with the desire to get away from it all. Away from him. “Take me home, Jeonghan.”

Peonies have always been Joshua’s favorite. 

Even though you’ve never been big on elaborate apologies, the guilt you feel after having ignored your injured best friend for the past couple of weeks is strong enough that you end up buying a whole bouquet for him. Joshua’s mom’s face lights up when she sees you, and you give her a shy, apologetic smile right before she sweeps you up into a bone-crushing hug.

Your eyes widen, but you wrap your arms around her anyway, feeling stupidly emotional at the warm reception. “Oh, sweetheart, I haven’t seen you in so long!” she gushes, and you ignore the painful squeeze of your heart upon hearing the endearment. “If Josh had told me that you were coming, I would’ve made your favorite cherry brownies.”

“No problem, ma’am, I’ll be sticking around for a while,” you tell her with a warm smile.

“Oh, you must be looking for him,” she says, “Poor kid’s been cooped up for weeks, he misses you so much. I think he’s in the backyard, or I would’ve called for him.”

The backyard? You wonder what a guy with a broken leg is doing in the backyard—definitely not sunning himself in this weather—but you thank her anyway. Gripping your bouquet, you head to the back of the house, pushing past the screen door and stepping into the uncut grass of the Hongs’ backyard.

And stop short.

“What the fuck?” you sputter.

Joshua almost trips over the black-and-white football, steadying himself last minute to look up at you with wide eyes. Your grip on the flowers has tightened even further as you imagine it to be the boy’s throat. “Hey, ____,” he says with a strained grin. “I didn’t know you were coming! This is such a lovely surprise. And are those flowers? For me? Aw, you shouldn’t have!”

You stare him down, unrelenting. “I didn’t realize broken bones could heal themselves in less than three weeks,” you say pleasantly, a contrast to the death glare that pins him in place. “Shouldn’t you be resting, sweet Joshua?”

“Oh, um, the doctors were pretty surprised too. Miracle recovery, they called it.” He lets out a forced laugh as you cock an eyebrow menacingly. Joshua sighs, dropping the facade. “Okay, that’s not working, huh.”

“No,” you tell him. “But I can break your leg right now to make it all true, because I know how much you hate lying to your best friend.”

He puts his hands up placatingly, taking a careful step back. “Hey, hey, hey, I can explain,” he says, sweating. “Why don’t we go back inside and get you something to drink, and then I can tell you why I lied,” he suggests with a nervous smile. “You must be parched.”

You give him a dirty look. “For blood, yeah,” you mutter. “This better be fucking good, Hong, or I’m going to break both your legs.”

Back in his room, you opt to stand near the doorway in case he tries to bolt. You’d tried to upend the peonies into the bin, but he’d grabbed them before you could, saying that the poor flowers weren’t to blame. Joshua sits on the edge of his bed, hugging the bouquet to his chest, and you fold your arms threateningly across your chest. “Alright,” you say waspishly. “Explain yourself.”

He looks down at his shoes, see-sawing the heels of his cleats back and forth. “Before you get mad,” he starts, “you gotta remember one thing. I did it for you.”

Your lips curl downwards into an unimpressed frown. “Let me get this straight. You lied to me about your leg being broken, sending my ex-boyfriend in your place to take me home, for my sake?”

Joshua winces. “That sounds pretty terrible when you put it like that,” he confesses. “But, yeah, I did.” You unfold your arms, making as if to step towards him, and he yelps, putting his hands up again. “Let me explain!”

“You’ve explained plenty,” you tell him.

“No, I still have stuff left!” he pleads. “Listen, after you broke up with that guy, you weren’t the one who had to deal with him afterwards. While you went back to college, I had to stay here and be there for him while he was moping all over the place.”

You roll your eyes. “I would hardly call you and Jeonghan friends. There’s no reason he would come to you for comfort.”

“I mean, yeah, he didn’t,” he admits, “but this is a small town. Do you know how hard it is to escape the news of one break-up, especially one as high-profile as yours.”

“High profile?”

“You know what I mean,” he chides. “The point is, you didn’t see him afterwards. He was really torn up about it, you know?” You purse your lips as Joshua leans forward, his expression turning serious. “I didn’t have any sympathy for him in the beginning, because of what you told me, but the more I saw of him the more difficult it became to match up the idea of the Jeonghan I knew and the Jeonghan you said told you all those things.”

Scoffing, you look away, unable to stand the sight of Joshua’s imploring eyes. “Just because you couldn’t make sense of it doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

He sighs. “Look, I’m not defending him. What he said to you—about not seeing the point in putting in effort, that you were just playing at charades, and the thing about your relationship being a childish mistake—”

You grit your teeth. “I get it. I was there, remember?”

“Yeah.” Joshua scratches his head, a thin line appearing between his brows. “He had no right to say any of that to you, but I still felt like there was something I was missing, so I went to talk to him.”

Defeated, you throw your hands up. “Of course you did.”

“And I don’t think he meant any of that. I mean, he still shouldn’t have said that shit, but…” Your eyes narrow to snakelike slits, and he shakes his head hastily. “Haven’t you ever gotten the feeling that despite all his bravado, the guy just doesn’t know how to express his feelings without getting defensive about them?”

You hesitate, biting your lip. Joshua sees the shift in your mood, and persists. “I might be wrong, and maybe breaking up with him was the best thing that ever happened to you,” he says, “but if there was the slightest chance of miscommunication, I would be a shitty best friend if I allowed you to let him go without a chance to set things right.” He tilts his head, sitting back. “So I faked a broken leg and kind of tricked him into thinking I was doing him a favor by letting him go get you in my place.”

“You tricked Jeonghan.” You can’t lie, you’re impressed. “Wow, you’re insane.”

“Um, I would say talented,” he argues. “Anyway, he was happy to do it. I think he was secretly looking for a chance to talk to you, so I thought a five hour drive might give him enough courage to tell you how he really felt. Then when you came back, I thought I’d surprise you, and we’d get to go on that trip after all. And then you texted me that you were eloping with him—”

“That’s not what it was.”

“—and I thought that my idea had worked. But then…” he trails off, and looks down at the flowers in his hands.

“But what?” you prompt.

“I don’t know, you tell me,” he says. “Something clearly went wrong.”

You sigh, and walk over to sit down heavily beside him. “It was going fine in the beginning,” you tell him. “But we didn’t actually talk about the argument, and after a point, I didn’t know how to bring it up. Then we sort of…” You wince.

Joshua frowns. “What?”

You think about all the different times the two of you fucked instead of talking about your feelings. “We kissed,” you finally speak, and Joshua shakes his head disappointedly. “A few times.”

“I’m getting the feeling that’s not all you did.”

You shush him. “And then it sort of reached a boiling point, and we argued. Again.” Your heart hurts as you remember the argument from only hours ago. “And he said some messed up things. Again.”

Joshua is silent for a few moments. Then he slings an arm over your shoulders, squeezing you against him in an incredibly comforting side hug. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles into your hair, and you blink back tears. 

“I missed you.” You reach up to wrap your hands around his shoulders. Joshua’s hugs are as comforting and as restrictive for your breathing as his mom’s. “I had the worst fucking time, but it was also the best fucking time,” you sniffle into the crook of his neck. Then you spot a gleaming trophy on his ledge. “Oh, so you guys did end up winning the playoffs.”

Joshua looks back, and nods. “Oh, yeah, the second half was absolutely insane. Remind me to tell you about it.”

You tuck your chin into his shoulder. “I still can’t believe I threw a whole tantrum about not getting to go on a trip,” you say, “when I could’ve just come back and done it anyway.”

“Don’t worry, we still have weeks to make up for that.” Joshua rubs your back comfortingly. “He’s an idiot.”

“Yeah, he is,” you mumble, speech slightly obstructed by your cheek squished against Joshua’s shoulder. “I just thought things might be different this time.”

“Me too,” he whispers.

You press your face back into his neck. "You're not off the hook, by the way."

Joshua sighs.

Joshua’s mom insists on throwing you a welcome back party that night, and despite being both emotionally and physically exhausted, you can’t find it in yourself to say no. She makes you your favorite cherry brownies, as promised, which are the only thing you eat before your appetite runs out.

You sit alone at the table after everyone is done eating and the guests have dispersed around the house, dragging your spin around the empty hollow of your bowl. Your shoulders feel heavy with the weight of all the mistakes you’ve made. As you sit there idly, you keep running your last conversation with Jeonghan over and over in your head, wondering what you could’ve said to make it go differently. 

You close your eyes, and for a moment you’re back to last October, standing on the ice-slicked ground outside the diner where you’ve celebrated every birthday with Jeonghan since eighth grade. His eyes are vacant and vicious and there’s ice trapped around your ribs that seems to be getting harder and sharper with every breath, and you’re screaming at each other until your throat is raw and your tears freeze in the cold.

There’s no point in crying over spilt milk, you suppose, and you’ve always been a hothead. You and Jeonghan together are about as mild as an active volcano.

Sighing, you get to your feet, the table cover rustling over your knees. You’ve stayed for about as long as you could have, and now you just want to sleep. I’m just gonna tell her I’m tired, you think, and head towards the backyard in hopes to catch Joshua’s mom conversing with someone there.

You step outside into the dark to find a single person sitting on the rickety old swing. Frowning, you move closer to figure out if it’s her, but the frame is too tall and masculine to be the person you’re looking for. “Sorry, I thought you were someone else,” you tell them as they raise their head, taking a step back.

“No. Stay.” A hand reaches out to wrap around your wrist, tugging it towards the swing. It’s then that you notice the silvery-blond hair, lit up by the smattering of light that shines out past the half-open screen door. Jeonghan gets to his feet, and you freeze. “Please.”

“I didn’t realize you were invited,” you say stiffly.

“I wasn’t. I just came to look for you,” he says. There’s an earnest touch to his voice, giving you pause. “To apologize.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, feeling your hackles rise. “What could you possibly have to say now?” You free your hand from his grasp, taking another step back. “You’ve made it sufficiently clear that this never meant anything to you.”

“Of course it meant something!” he yells. He takes a deep breath, chest still rising and falling. “I never wanted to hurt you. I was—I was scared.”

The notion sounds so ridiculous that you want to laugh in his face. But his eyes are still on yours, voice is gravelly and somber, and you feel like you’re rooted to the spot.

“Scared of what?” you whisper.

“Scared to repeat history,” he replies. “Scared to let my pride get the best of me again, say things I don’t mean. Lot of good that did me, since trying to avoid talking about it just led me to making the same mistakes.”

Your throat constricts painfully, like it’s being choked from the inside. “You really hurt me, you know,” you say hoarsely. “I never wanted to see your face again.”

A small, sad smile touches his lips. “I know,” he says. “Knowing that you didn’t want to see me made everything so much scarier. What if you just refused to come back with me? What if you’d rather just stay back or actually take the bus?” He seems to struggle with his words for a second. “When you agreed to come on that stupid road trip, I felt like I had struck the lottery.”

Your vision is blurry, and you blink rapidly against the oncoming tears. “Thank you,” you whisper, choking back the emotion that surges up your throat, “for telling me that. But,”

He waits.

“That’s not enough,” you complete tiredly. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Jeonghan asks, eyes blazing. He looks just as tired as you are. “Is it because of what I said? Because—I don’t know how to make you believe this, but I didn’t mean any of what I said.”

“No.” It feels like the only reason you’re standing still is because every cell in your body has had the energy sucked out of it, leaving you bone-weary. “It’s because you never say anything. And I’m sick of it, Jeonghan.” Your face twists as you try not to start sobbing like a little kid. “I can’t live knowing that you can go back to pretending to be that wooden, unfeeling shell of a person every time I rip myself to shreds in front of you. I hate that you never say a word, that you’re willing to watch me walk away rather than choke back that damn pride of yours. I’m fucking sick of it.”

His eyes soften. “I’m not the same person I used to be, sweetheart. Losing you taught me that,” he says quietly. “Even if I forget that at times myself. Please, just let me show you.”

“I'm not a girl anymore, Jeonghan,” you say tightly. “I don’t know how many second chances I have left in me.”

“That's what I'm afraid of.” He moves towards you, cupping your face. “Because you still feel like a girl to me… and I still feel like a boy around you. I'm afraid that you're growing up and away and out of me. That’s how I felt last October, when you came back so different, and I didn’t know what to do with myself. I thought you wouldn’t need me anymore.”

“Then why didn't you say that?” you demand, lungs burning. “All this time, I've been—” You finally let the tears flow. “I’ve been so…”

“Because I'm still seventeen," he breathes, "every time I look at you, choking on my words as you come down the stairs in your prom dress. I might be a devil, but when it comes to you, words still fail me." 

There’s a barbed wire wrapped around your spine, a spike stabbing into each vertebrae, that tightens and tightens with every word that comes out of his mouth. He laughs under his breath, as if remembering something. “You see,” he says, “being around you kind of activates my fight or flight instinct.”

A broken laugh bubbles to your lips, and you blink against the tears that seem to make everything brighter around you. “You suck,” you tell him honestly, making him smile as if you’d just told him he was the most perfect man on earth. Standing straighter, you school your features into an expression of formality, and clear your throat. “So how are you planning on not making the same mistakes again?”

“Well,” he says, “I’m gonna try really, really hard.”

You cast your eyes heavenward. “You’re really lucky I’m hopelessly in love with you.”

“I know.” Jeonghan takes your face between his cold hands and pulls you in for a firm kiss. You clutch the hem of his t-shirt, feeling warmth spread down to your toes when he smiles into the kiss. “I’m hopelessly in love with you, too.”

“Oh, look at you, all grown up,” Joshua gushes as you lug your olive green suitcase down the front steps of your porch. “Going off to college for the first day of her final year. I feel like we should take a photo to remember this moment.”

“Joshua, shut up,” Jeonghan grunts as he lifts the bag. “If you have the time to take a photo, you have the time to help me out with the luggage.”

“Um, aren’t you forgetting something?” Your best friend points exaggeratedly at the plaster cast that covers his foot. “I’m a bit disabled at the moment.”

Karma had come full circle for him when he’d tried to take over the neighboring eleven-year-old’s trampoline, and had ended up breaking his leg for real. Everyone thinks he deserved it except Joshua himself, who’d warmed up to the idea anyway when he’d realized that he could get people to sign cool stuff on his cast.

“You’re acting like I’m going for my first day at kindergarten or something.” You roll your eyes. 

“Yeah, you’re a real grown-up,” he leans over to pat your arm, withdrawing it hastily when you threaten to kick his broken leg. “Jeez, calm your tits.”

“I am calm.”

“Totally.” Jeonghan slams the boot of the Corolla, making a cloud of dust puff up. He reaches over to press a chaste kiss to your lips. “You ready to go?”

“I really think we should take a picture,” Joshua interjects.

Both of you turn to glare at him, and he shrinks into the wheelchair. “Sensing some hostility,” he mutters. “So ungrateful, considering that I’m the whole reason you’re together in the first place.”

“Exaggeration,” you say, and turn to Jeonghan. “I’ll just be a moment, okay?”

He nods, and you give him a tiny smile before running back inside the house. Joshua shakes his head curiously at Jeonghan, who only shrugs in response, just as mystified. They wait for a few more seconds, and Joshua pulls out the marker and begins doodling inside the D of your signature on his cast, which is a sweet, short message: Dick.

“Okay!” You command the attention back to yourself with a clap of your hands as you emerge from the door, this time with the plastic pink heart-shaped sunglasses adoring your face. “How do I look?” you ask, propping them up on the top of your head, and giving them a little twirl.

“Like an idiot,” your best friend says, deadpan. You smack the back of his head as you pass him. “Also, don’t forget your Hello Kitty backpack. They go with your glasses.”

“That’s mine, actually,” Jeonghan says pointedly, and turns to you with a heart-melting smile. “And you look gorgeous as always.”

“Disgusting,” Joshua comments.

You flip him off. “I’m ready to go now.”

“Well, then,” your boyfriend says breezily, patting the hood of the car, which causes another cloud of dust to billow into the air. “Get in. We don’t have all day.”

taglist: @fragmentof-indifference @sadgirlroo @joonsytip @odetoyoon @sstarrysshit @lockburn-castle @chocosvt @ohgeezitsbreadgenie @outrologist @ishireads @ti--red

[rodolfoparras]

Thinking about Joe Bear Graves who claims that he doesn’t care about who you sleep with since you’re only friends with benefits, even encourages you to walk up and talk to the man who’s been eyeing you up on a night out, well encouraging would be a bit of an exaggeration since he just said “do whatever the hell you want” before he stormed off to the bar to order another round

But you don’t even get a kiss in before Bear is storming into the stall that you and the stranger were in.

“Out” Joe says, sounding out of breath but firm as ever with his request.

The man who’s down on his knees, fingers hooked onto the waistband of your jeans looks confused as ever seeing Joe standing there.

“Didn’t your hear me? Get out,” Joe repeats sounding much more firmer now as he tugs at the man’s sleeve, forcefully pulling him up to his feet.

The man swiftly gets up but turns to look at you as if you’ll defend him only to see a smile your face chest rising and falling at a rapid pace, and eyes glued to Joe who looks furious.

The man almost trips over his feet as he scrambles out of there.

However he’s long gone from your mind as Joe pushes you up against the wall of the bathroom stall, crashing his lips onto your own, and grinding his clothed cock up against your own

“Do whatever the hell you want huh? “ you mutter against his lips in a teasing tone

[seresinhangmanjake]

Jealous Jake and the Biting Problem

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x fem!Reader

Summary: Jake Seresin is your friend with benefits, but he doesn’t appreciate finding the evidence of your other sleepover buddy on your body.

Warnings: talk of and almost oral (f receiving), cursing, um…that might be it. That said, it’s still 18+

Note: I wrote this in about a half hour so don’t judge. I’m sure there are mistakes.

Words: 989

Jealous Jake Masterlist

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You lay with your back flat against your mattress. He pushes your skirt up around your waist, kissing every bare piece of skin as he makes his way down between your legs. With a firm hand he spreads your thighs further and you shiver from his breath softly caressing your pussy. 

But then he pauses. 

“Wh–” he begins, and you hear the question in his tone before he asks it. “What is this?”

Supported by your elbows, you lean up and peer past your skirt to see his eyes glued to a specific spot on your inner thigh. He runs his finger over the sensitive skin. 

“Oh,” you say, “A, uh…bite, I think.” You rub at your temple, trying to gather the foggy drunken memories from the night before. “Yea, definitely a bite.”

His eyes meet yours, anger swirling in mossy-green irises. “Some other guy bit you?”

“Once or twice.”

“Twice?” he snaps, eyebrows shooting up his forehead. “Some other guy bit you twice. Where’s the other one?”

You chuckle when he starts to scan over all visually accessible pieces of your body for similar bruises. “I don’t know, somewhere. I didn’t really keep track, Jake.”

His stare clashes with yours. “So there could be more?”

“I–I guess,” you say, unable to process the rapidity of his questions with your brain still in its aroused haze. “Can we stop talking about this, please? Are you going to eat me out or what?”

Jake stands and you get the full view of his belt buckle hanging open, likely undone when he’d settled between your thighs so he could stroke himself as he licked you–before he got distracted, that is. 

He runs long fingers through his hair and chuckles dryly, looking like he’s trying to tamp down a panic attack. “No, I can’t focus now.”

“What!”

His eyes are wild as his hand gestures up and down the length of your body. “You’ve got marks on you that I didn’t make! That’s all I'm going to be able to think about.”

“Jake, are you serious?”

Those hands land on his hips; chest rising and falling at an unusual pace, especially for Jake, who’s rarely anything other than calm, cool, and collected, occasionally even in the midst of absolutely wrecking one another.

“Yes!”

Shrugging as best you can in your position, you say, “Ok, I’ll tell him to back off with the biting. No big deal.”

“Yea, tell him to keep his biters to himself,” he grumbles, “and then he needs to move a hundred miles away.”

At this point, you’re well aware that your dripping pussy is unlikely to be satisfied, so you sit up and let your skirt fall to bunch at the tops of your thighs. “You sound like such a child.”

He releases a scoff and, arm fully extended, points a finger at the door of your bedroom as if the other man is just outside, hanging out in your living room and making himself at home in Jake’s territory. “He’s the one with the biting habit of an annoying toddler!”

“You’ve bitten me too.”

“That is completely different!”

“Because it was you?”

“Exactly!”

You nod and wait for him to take a few breaths to allow for his voice to drop to its usual octave. When he looks calm enough, with a snort you ask, “Should I just get a tattoo below my belly button that says ‘No biting unless you’re Jake Seresin?’.”

“More like ‘No fucking unless you’re Jake Seresin’,” he mumbles under his breath, but you hear it so clearly he might as well have whispered it in your ear. 

“Excuse me?”

By the look on his face, he knows he’s been caught. His brow is knitted, lips folded in though it’s way too late to keep his mouth shut. He groans, spits out a curse, shifts his weight to his other foot. “I’m not seeing other women,” he says, calmly for the first time in the night. “I don’t want to, because I only want you, and I want you to only want me.”

If not for the faint pink shade making its way over his cheeks, you’d have thought yourself crazy for hearing those words. Jake Seresin and relationships did not go hand-in-hand as far as you knew. But then again, the two of you started sleeping together about three hours after Phoenix introduced you at the Hard Deck, and relationships never came up. She had joked that he was trouble, but he never actually told you himself that he wasn’t willing to sign his name in the Big Book of Monogamous Men. And you’d be kidding yourself to say you haven’t thought of it. You have a chemistry with him you’ve never known with another man, and when you go out together you always have fun. And you do like him. Plain and simple. 

You smirk, but he still looks nervous. “Well, you could’ve just said so.”

“What?”

Rising to your knees, you inch towards him until you’re at the edge of the mattress, your chest flush against his. He’s still frozen as a statue when you wrap your arms around his neck. “Jake, I don’t feel anything for him.” You press a kiss to the line of his jaw, and then another before you pull back. “It’s not like how it is with you. So if you want me, I’m yours.”

His eyes go wide and his lips part from his slackening jaw, then he swallows, adam’s apple bobbing harshly in his throat. “Really? Just like that?”

“I know. Crazy, huh?”

He finally loosens his stiff limbs. His hands fall to their natural place on your waist, fingers pressing into your skin and tugging you impossibly closer. “Fucking insane,” he whispers as he leans in, “But I’m not about to argue with my girl,” and his lips meet yours. 

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tags (if you’re crossed out, it didn’t work for some reason. If I spelled it wrong, let me know) @marvel-ousnesss @thespeeder @nobody7102 @marrianena @fangirlingoverfangirls @blue-aconite @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @dempy @chaoticassidy @alana4610 @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @dracosluvbot @smoothdogsgirl @smit41 @wkndwlff @rileyloves5 @gigisimsonmars @hangmanbrainrot @withakindheartx @izzzzy-the-amazing @topguncultleader

[superblysubpar]

masterlist | the music

15.8k words | This is an 18+ NSFW series | A/N at the end

You’ve done bad things in your life. Tiny, inconsequential sorts of things in the grand scheme of the universe. Small white lies told to spare feelings or cut corners like letting your mom believe you liked her haircut or using spark notes in high school instead of reading the assigned chapters. Granted there have been several spiteful moments like allowing your boss to go into a meeting with lipstick on her teeth. 

It’s all relatively normal though, never more than a tick on the good versus bad meter. You’ve always known that deep down you’re a good person. 

You’re not so sure anymore. 

The orange flicker of the quickly melting candles illuminates your flushed skin. Chipping polished fingers clamp your ruined underwear against the countertop you lean on. Chest heaving as you try to get your breathing under control. Steve’s next to you, thigh almost touching yours. His white top has a new button undone, his gold chain and the start of his sweat matted chest hair on full display now - catching the light, glistening with every flicker of the flame. You hate that the sight is almost enough to distract you from your predicament, that it makes you wish you hadn’t been interrupted. 

Eddie leans against the wall across from the two of you. His arms folded over his chest, black tshirt stretched across muscles almost as tight as his clenched jaw. His large brown eyes dance between yours and Steve’s. Eyes that give his true feelings away - as his mouth ticks up into a judging smirk, those eyes are pools of hurt. The confidence you had witnessed all day quickly draining from them as he peers at you. 

Tongue jutting out to lick his lips as he throws his hands up, “Jesus fucking Christ, will one of you say something?”

Your mouth opens as Steve’s fingers rub at his temples before sliding into his hair with a long huff of breath through his nose. Steve speaks before you’re able to force any words out of your parted lips. “Well, now you know. We can talk about it later. Let’s get out of here,” the last part directed to you. Not a question, but it doesn’t feel like a command either. It’s a request. 

Something in his tone, the way Steve’s hazel eyes plead with yours makes your heartbeat turn rapid again - throbbing in your ears. Your entire body kicks into overdrive, alcohol mixing with adrenaline and thoughts of what all of this means for you and Steve. 

Steve’s eyebrows raise at you expectantly, and Eddie’s voice is soft as he speaks to you, “So you were just using me to get him, right? Make him jealous? None of that was…”

Eddie straightens as he trails off. Eyebrows pinched together, cheek pulled between teeth in thought. Stepping towards him, you shake your head vigorously. Feeling like you’re being ripped in half. “No, Eddie, I promise you, I-” faltering on how to explain it all, to ease some of the hurt you caused, you push out, “We were already sleeping together and-”

Eddie’s gaze shoots over to Steve, eyes settling into a harsh glare as his finger shoves into Steve’s chest. Steve’s eyes roll as his shoulders do the same at Eddie’s hiss, “Dude. I straight up asked you if you were into her or had anything going on and you said no and that Robin-”

“Well we are and we do, so.” Steve shrugs, too casual about it all. He swats Eddie’s finger away like it’s an annoying gnat and not attached to the friend he lied to. The two boys sit in a staring contest, jaw’s clenched and eyes darkening and your blood boils from the words exchanged and Steve’s attitude. Your adrenaline tipping from flight to fight as you watch Steve push out his chest and Eddie take a step closer, shaking his head slightly. 

Your eyes turn on Steve, “Hold on. We’re not together.” Eddie’s gaze flicks to you as you keep speaking, anger rising rapidly in you. “We’re friends with benefits. Fuck buddies. Eddie, I absolutely was flirting with you and if I want to sleep with you, that’s none of Steve’s god damn business and-”

A knock on the door stops you from continuing. Steve’s jaw twitches, tongue licking his top lip as he narrows his eyes at you. 

“Y/N?” Nancy’s voice echoes through the door, softening to a whisper, “Guys, come on. I know all three of you are in there and Robin is wondering where-”

She stops as you open the door, meeting her thin lipped smile and too insightful for their own good eyes. 

“Sorry,” whispering as you brush past her. For sleeping with Steve? For pulling her into this mess somehow? For lying to your best friend and her girlfriend? You don’t even know anymore. 

Music grows louder as you wander down the hallway, clenching your fist tighter around your underwear. Risking a glance over your shoulder to see Nancy and Steve arguing, Eddie’s eyes dancing between them before catching yours. 

Any urge to fight, any anger, it disappears, lost in the smoke that fills the room and you’re desperate to get out of there. Technicolor lights swirl as the bass thumps through speakers and you maneuver your way through the small crowd. Front door almost within your reach as an arm slinks between yours and your side, hooking and yanking you to a stop. A voice attached to the arm you’re dreading to face, especially after they ask, “Hey, do you have something to tell me?”

Her words fill you with ice, toes numb and a chill down your spine. Looking up, you’re not met with anger but a smile that thaws you. Robin isn’t mad, she’s beaming and you’re wondering why when she glances over her shoulder. 

Eddie leans against the wall, smiling and nodding towards the two of you as he lifts a red solo cup. He must have told her something else with the way Robin is looking at you. Your stomach twists as Robin smiles wider, her dimple popping out. Her hands find your shoulders, blue eyes sparkling as her voice sings, “Girl talk. Wine. Cookies. Now. Let’s blow this popsicle stand, babe.”

“Robin, I-”

She shakes her head, pressing a finger over your lips as she shushes you, “Let me say goodbye to Nance and it’ll just be me and you the rest of the night, kay?”

Robin’s smile is so genuine and over her shoulder you see Steve looking around the room, clearly searching for you. Eyes connecting with yours finally, you feel nauseous as he quickly shoves in and out of groups making his way towards you. Forcing a smile, you look at Robin and nod. “Okay, I’ll be outside. I need some fresh air.”

Robin claps, happy with her victory. She weaves her way towards the kitchen, stopping Steve and gesturing to you before bouncing over to Nancy. Steve continues to make his way towards you and as hard as you try to exit and slam the door in his face, his hand catches your shoulder as you slip outside. 

Shrugging him off harshly, you focus all of your attention on your phone screen, pulling up Uber. 

“Can we talk?”

Steve’s voice is soft, straining to be heard over the bass from inside and it makes you peer up from your screen. His hands are in his back pockets of his dark jeans, hair a mess and sticking to his sweaty forehead. Brows knitting together and a frown on his lips - you can’t stand how sad and confused he looks. Does he not understand why you’re mad? Why this is all so wrong?

Why is this all so wrong?

Your brain is screaming at your body to run, yet everything in you wants to fight with Steve until you’re breathless. If you talk, if you fight right now, you’re both going to say things you can’t take back. On the other hand, if you run, if you push him away further, perhaps you’ll never say some things you probably should. 

“Not now, Steve.”

“But, I-”

Your glare is harsh, voice ice as you repeat yourself, “Not now, Steve.”

He narrows his eyes again, hazel that’s normally soft and sticky turning amber and hard. Jaw clenching as he rocks back onto his heels. Clearly Steve wants to fight as he shakes his head, mumbling under his breath, “You’re really unbelievable.”

Phone dropping to your side, you turn to face him fully, disbelief filling your features, “I’m unbelievable? Me? Were you just in the same bathroom? Were we at the same beach today? Or how about last night, Steve? Was that a different guy who-”

“You liked all of it, so don’t even-”

That stupid gravitational pull you seem to have with each other back at work again, your bodies moving closer to one another without meaning to, chests almost touching. Hands tightening into fists at your sides, you tilt your chin up at him, “Oh, and you know what I like?”

Steve laughs cooly, fingers tugging in his hair with a groan. His voice rises, dripping in exasperation, “That’s a ridiculous question and you know that! And what, you’re trying to tell me that you wanted Eddie to-”

“Who cares what I wanted Eddie to do Steve!” Your resolve to not fight fully breaking as your voice does the same, “That’s the point! It’s none of your business who I’m fucking or not, or have you forgotten that little part of the deal?”

Steve groans, grabbing at your forearms and scoffing, “I care! And it’s stupid of you to expect me not to!”

Your faces are close enough that if anyone were watching, they’d think a kiss was about to happen. Steve’s adam’s apple bobs as he swallows and both of your breaths quicken. Mint and rum on your lips mingling with citrus and beer on his breath. His eyes watch your mouth as you lick your top lip, swallowing harshly before hitting him with a final blow. 

“I’m not yours.”

Something in Steve’s eyes shifts once more, amber shattering and turning to cold and hard granite. A fake smile tugs on his lips, it’s all far too emotionless and nothing like the Steve you know as he tilts his head, whispering, “Not what you just said in the bathroom, babe.”

Your fingers itch to slap him at the same time your body betrays you, pussy clenching around nothing.

Steve smirks, knowing all of your tells. His mouth hovers over yours as his fingers squeeze your arms, “You can’t have it both ways.” 

A part of you wants to keep fighting, but what are you even fighting about anymore? How can you be mad at him, when you’re just as much to blame. He’s not wrong, you can’t make him jealous and then be upset with him when he acts on the feeling. It’s just a day full of too much sun, delusions and decisions fueled by rum. 

Before you can do or say anything more that you’re sure to regret later, the front door opens and saves the two of you. Steve’s hands drop from your arms as Robin’s head turns inside, laughing at someone’s departing words for her. She turns and skips down the stairs as you and Steve step further apart. Eyes on the sidewalk as the tension that has been surrounding you both pops like a bubble. 

Robin slows, her eyes lingering on Steve as she asks, “Everything okay?”

Steve looks up at her, nodding once before smiling and backing away. “Yup. Never better. Have a good girl’s night.”

He turns on his heel quickly, walking in the opposite direction he needs to go. Robin watches him with a frown, her lip pulling between her teeth as her arms cross. His fading figure’s shoulders sink, head turned down as she tilts hers. Holding your breath as her eyebrows furrow.

“He’s been so weird all week. And he was fighting with Nancy like, three times today. You don’t think…” she trails off, tugging on her fingers and shaking her head. “Maybe something’s going on with them? Maybe he’s not as cool with it all as he said he was? I should go…”

Your fingers are pruny from the guilt you’re swimming in as you quickly shake your head, shutting down the train she’s gotten herself on. “No, no, no, Robs, “ at a loss for words, you just repeat yourself firmer, “No. That’s not it at all. He…I don’t know. We were fighting about something stupid. You should just hang out with him, maybe he misses having you all to himself, okay? First me, then Nancy, now Eddie’s back. He probably just misses his best friend, you know?”

Unable to stop yourself, the lies build and build as you drown in the waves of guilt that knock you down repeatedly. Your chest tightens, suffocating and choking as it all pulls you under while she nods and hums, “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Robin doesn’t look too convinced, but turns to you and smiles, a little forced but she takes a deep breath. “God, he’s not the boy we need to talk about right now anyways.” Her eyebrows raise before she continues and steps towards the Uber pulling up, “Eddie asked me for your number inside and I’m betting my next paycheck it has something to do with the undergarment in your hand there?”

Your hand quickly moves behind your back, but it’s too late and she cackles, “Oh my god, tell me everything!”

Phone buzzing in your hand as you both slide into the car. Robin squeals and makes grabby hands for it, “Oh, oh, oh, he’s already messaging you?!” 

The unknown number’s message fills the screen and you’re not quick enough to lock it before she sees:

Robin frowns, looking up at you, “Your side of what?”

“Oh, uh, Steve and I…he…” you’re fumbling, about to just blurt it all out when Robin groans. 

“I was hoping he wouldn’t find out.”

“What?” You blink at her, sweating palms wiped on the hem of your dress. 

Robin sighs, leaning her temple against the backseat as she turns her body towards yours. Waving her hand around as she speaks, “You know, that Steve and you slept together,” she shakes her head a little, smiling, “So weird still. Anyways. As confident as Eddie may appear, it’s always a competition with those two and Eddie…” she trails off, voice softening to a whisper, “Well, let’s just say Eddie wasn’t as popular in school as Steve was.”

Your head falls back against the headrest hard. Any remorse you were feeling for being mad at Steve vanishes. Steve knew what he was doing, how Eddie would feel. He knew how risky the bathroom stunt was and he didn’t seem to be ashamed in the slightest of being caught. Bitterness sits on your tongue as you remember how you felt in the bathroom as the boys sat in their staring contest. Steve doesn’t seem to care about the rules anymore, and you hate that you let yourself sort of forget them too. Steve was right. You can’t have it both ways. 

This is exactly what was not supposed to happen. It was supposed to be fun. No one was supposed to be hurt. You never thought you’d be the one to ignore your own rules, to feel the pit in your stomach at the thought of losing Steve. Your stringless fling seems to have quickly tied itself into a tangled knot in less than a day. 

Robin pats your thigh, smiling softly, mistaking your quiet for worry about Eddie. “Hey, you’ll tell him it’s all good. You and Steve are just friends. It’ll all work itself out, right?”

Humming in a sort of agreement as the Uber pulls up to your apartment, you pause on the sidewalk as you get out. Something gnawing at you. “Hey, Robs?”

She turns, smiling as she holds the door open, “What’s up?”

“Why…” you falter, unsure if you should ask. Her eyebrows raise in wait for your question. 

Opening the door to the stairs, you frown and ask, “Why are you excited something happened with Eddie and I? Why do you want something to happen with us, but not…”

You’re worried asking might lead to her reading too much into it but she shrugs, unbothered. “Steve? I don’t know. I think Eddie’s more your type,” she ticks off on her fingers, “He’s a lot more go with the flow, he hasn’t stayed in one place for more than a year since high school. He’s not looking to be tied down, and Steve is. Steve always is,” she rolls her eyes as she starts on the stairs, continuing, “I think you both have a lot in common, like reading today on the beach, same sense of humor. I don’t know, Eddie and you just make more sense to me, I guess? Steve and you are so different. Different worlds. Want different things. It was never gonna work, and I love you both and didn’t want to see that happen.”

What she’s saying makes sense, but why does it hurt a little?

She stops on one landing, hands on her hips, “I mean, the Dingus is great, but dude would be a total mess if you broke his heart, whereas you’d probably be fine? Eddie just handles heartbreak better in the end, and he also isn’t one to fall easily. You’d be able to still be friends if it doesn’t work out is what I’m saying. Casual and easy going are Eddie and yours shared middle names, ya know?”

“Right,” you agree quietly.

She turns to continue on the last flight, voice echoing up the stairwell, “So, I think it’s an ‘I Think You Should Leave Night.’ I need some Tim Robinson. Did I tell you that Nancy had never seen it? I…”

She trails off, explaining how she introduced Nancy to the show and you stare at your phone, sending a message to Eddie with the address to a coffee shop around the corner. Maybe you should have trusted Robin’s insight into these relationships from the start.

She knew right away Steve and you would end in failure and hurt and it was silly of you to think the two of you could avoid the kind of people you are. Fundamentally different, and not meant to be together for a reason, you’re sure. 

Your phone buzzes again as you enter the apartment, Robin already pulling out cookie trays. You turn your phone off without responding. 

Ice clinks together as Eddie’s fingers swirl his straw in the coffee in front of him. His eyes remain on the drink, tracking the faintest swirl of milk, lips downturned in a frown as you gnaw on the ripped skin of your thumb. 

He’s been silent for a full minute, since you finished explaining everything. He agreed to meet you at the coffee shop before brunch with the group. You’re hopeful to just move on, to forget about Steve. Maybe it would have worked out with Eddie and you if you hadn’t created this mess. Maybe it still could. You almost forgot about Steve fully when Eddie showed up in dark wash jeans, chain hanging loosely at his hip. A burnt orange shirt snug across his shoulders and chest where his waves hung down. Framing his dazzling smile that went straight to your lungs and pulled your breath out and away. 

Eddie finally blows out a long exhale, palms dragging down his cheeks as he groans. “Shit, this is a fucking mess.”

“Mhm,” you hum, sipping your own coffee. 

He folds his arms on the table and leans forward, frowning, “I don’t…I don’t understand why Robin talked my ear off for like four fucking hours about you though. That’s what I meant when I said I’d tell her last night, Steve knew she was trying to set us up.” He rolls his eyes and continues, “If she didn’t want you two together, why does she want us?”

Your fingers fold and unfold the straw wrapper in front of you, shoulders falling as you slump down in your chair further. “Right? I asked her that last night. Let’s just say I’m not a huge fan of relationships and she thought you’d be the perfect fit for…” you twist your lips and narrow your eyes as you search for the right words, “The lifestyle? I tend to lead.”

Eddie smirks but it quickly turns to a grimace around his straw. He leans back in his chair and picks at the chipping paint on the table. “You too, huh? Who broke your heart?”

Surprised at his question, the paper wrapper rips in your fingers and your brow furrows, “I…no one. It’s a long story.” Waving your hand at him, you try to brush off the question and he raises his eyebrows and you huff out an annoyed breath. Something tells you he’s not one to give up easily, perhaps just as stubborn as you are. “I just know happy endings are few and far between, why put yourself through all of that pain for maybe a chance of it working out. Plus I’m very happy being single.”

He watches you curiously. “Happy or just complacent?”

Rolling your eyes, you sigh. Squinting at him as you sip your coffee. “I’m happy. I think assuming I’m not because I’m not in a relationship or searching for love is some 1950s bullshit. I love the life that I’ve made for myself, without anyone’s help.”

Eddie’s lips twist into a smirk as he narrows his eyes playfully. “I see why he likes you.”

Frowning, you fiddle with your straw. “Steve doesn’t like me like that. He likes having sex with me.”

Eddie laughs, shaking his head. “Sweetheart, I can tell you right now, that’s not Stevie. He likes you. A lot. Wouldn’t have pulled that crap yesterday if he didn’t.”

Your stomach twists. That’s the problem, isn't it? 

Shaking your head back at him you snap, not mean, but not warm either. “Well, that’s too bad. Deal’s off. I’m sleeping with other people.”

Eddie leans forward again, arms resting on the table and his eyebrows disappear under his bangs, “Other people, huh?”

You mirror his posture, arms close to his as you smile, “Yeah, have anyone you can set me up with?”

He laughs, throwing his head back. He shakes his head, curls falling across his shoulders as he watches you closely before speaking, “Steve will never forgive me princess, sorry.”

Falling back in the chair dramatically, you sigh. Ignoring his comment about Steve. “Damn. I thought you were supposed to be the bad boy of my dreams?”

Eddie laughs again, and you decide you really like the sound of it. It’s warm and comes from his chest, you can tell smiling and laughing comes easy to him when he’s around the right people. 

He sips at his coffee and then drums his fingers on the table, tongue licking his top lip, “Well, normally I’d say fuck it. Cause you’re real cute,” he winks at you and you laugh, he shakes his head no again, “But I’m afraid that you’re different. You may actually be the one to cause a fistfight, sweetheart, and I can’t afford to marr the merchandise - it’s all I got going for me.”

He pats at his cheek and you laugh at his theatrics. “Well that’s just not true. I’ve known you for only a day and I can already confidently say you have a lot more going for you than looks Eddie.”

Eddie bats his eyelashes at you, false embarrassment, but you don’t miss the way his cheeks turn slightly pink. 

Acting on instinct, you reach forward and grab his hand, “But really, the offer will stand if you ever decide to risk it. I mean, Robin thought it’d work, right?”

He smiles, squeezing your fingers, “True. But Steve-”

Groaning, you fall backwards again, letting his hand slip from yours, “Is a big boy and will get over it.”

Eddie snorts, fingers tapping at the table again. Eyes avoiding yours as he speaks, “That’s cute. Will you?”

“Will I what?”

Eddie looks up again, big brown eyes peering directly into your soul it seems as he asks, “Will you get over Steve?”

His question makes your limbs feel heavy, heart pounding, as you choke out, “Eddie, I don’t-”

He rolls his eyes, “Yeah you do,” he stands, nodding his head towards the door, “Come on, you can tell me all about why you refuse to let him love you on the walk to brunch.”

Chest tightening as you watch him start to walk away, somehow Eddie can read you quickly, knocking some of the stones you surround yourself with loose. Maybe the universe does know what it’s doing, it certainly did when it gave you Robin. Perhaps you were meant to meet all of these friends at this time in your life. Was it okay to let yourself be open? To let some light in through the cracks in your wall?

Eddie waits and beckons you with his hand, dragging out his words, “Come on, you can do it.” He grins, holding one of his hands up like he’s swearing in an oath, “I’ll even tell you my tale of doomed love first. Cheerleader dating the freak. Real star crossed lovers kind of shit. It’s pretty damn heartbreaking if I do say so myself.”

He bows as you stand, extending his arm for you to walk out first and you do. Feeling a little less alone, a little less pessimistic about the world and love as you listen to him tell you all about a girl named Chrissy on the walk to Benny’s. 

“I’m really sorry, Eddie,” you whisper as he finishes his story.

He shrugs, straw squeaking as he sucks the last of his coffee dry, kicking a loose stone as you wait at the crosswalk. “It’s okay. I’m okay. Done lot’s of healing up here,” he taps on his temple and then his heart, “And here. Now,” he spins, eyes big and lips forming a pout as he pokes your cheek, “I think I’m owed your story.”

As you take a deep breath, maybe you will tell him actually, Robin’s voice sings from behind you, “Well, well, well! Looks like some people have had quite a morning already!”

Eddie and you turn, rolling your eyes almost in sync and Robin beams. You all know she slept over last night, and was there still this morning when you left for coffee. It’s not Robin you look at right away though, but Steve, who stands just behind her and Nancy. His eyes are on yours and Eddie’s coffee cups before they meet yours. 

The light changes and Steve’s eyes fall to the ground again, passing by you silently. Eddie leans in close and whispers in your ear, “Yeah, what was that thing about him getting over it?”

Brunch is uncomfortable after that to say the least. Eddie and you end up squished together all thanks to Robin’s insistence that you can all squeeze into the booth. But, you can’t, leaving Steve in a chair pulled up on the end, dodging elbows of the staff carrying trays to the busy diner patrons. Finding it hard not to stare at the way his muscles flex under his plain white t-shirt or the way his neck extends, exposing his freckles and moles with every turn. 

His eyes catch you staring at one point and your gaze quickly drops to your plate, hands becoming busy with your coffee mug. Your stomach finds the giant waffle in front of you unappetizing. Eddie nudges your knee while offering a reassuring smile as Nancy watches all three of you over the rim of her coffee. 

Robin is oblivious to it all, chattering about her and Nancy’s trip next weekend, the football game coming up, and Eddie’s band potentially booking a gig for the Halloween party following it. 

“Wait, we’ve barely hit September, Halloween?” Eddie shoves pancakes into his cheek as he speaks. 

“In Chicago, Halloween is the entire month. So, in two weeks, October 1st equals Halloween season officially, baby!” Robin rubs her hands together like an evil genius before continuing, “Costume contests and bar crawls, horror movie trivia and marathons, oh my god all the Rocky Horror showings. It’s the best freaking time of the year.”

Nancy grimaces and Steve smiles for the first time all morning. “Have fun. Extremely happy to let you inherit the responsibility that is Robin for the month of October.” He removes an invisible hat from his head and pops it onto Nancy’s.

She smiles widely at him.  “Wow, King Steve removing his crown?”

“Only for those worthy.” He winks and they laugh about something you don’t understand, remembering you’re the outsider of this little group. Your chest burns from the thought of them together, the history they have. A bitter taste fills your mouth and it’s not from the coffee. Swallowing harshly as you push down whatever is brewing inside of you - definitely not jealousy. 

Robin rolls her eyes, responding dryly, “Ha-ha,” she takes the invisible crown and places it on her own head, sticking her tongue out at Steve. 

Eddie leans across the booth stealing it, “Oh no, I’ve wanted this bad boy since High School!” Robin and Eddie pretend to play tug of war with the invisible inside joke. Feeling yourself fading into the vinyl seats of the booth as they all reminisce about a particular Halloween from high school. Something about a party at Steve’s, pure fuel, and Eddie and Robin being higher than kites while they TP’d Steve’s backyard. 

Nancy covers her mouth in shock, “That was you guys?!” 

The two fall over in a fit of giggles and Nancy shakes her head, throwing a wadded up napkin at their faces. A smile sits on your lips as you poke at your waffle. A bump to your knee has you looking up to find Steve watching you, his eyebrows furrowed. Standing as you offer a shrug of your shoulders. 

Robin stops Nancy and Eddie from their loud boos about something, waving her hands, “Wait, where are you going?”

Your thumb hooks over your shoulder, “I’m gonna head home, I’m not feeling so hot, probably just too much sun yesterday.”

“I can walk you,” Eddie starts to get up and you motion for him to sit.

“It’s like a block away, I’m fine, promise. Catch up! You haven’t had the chance yet.”

Robin smiles at you, but it doesn’t meet her eyes as she tilts her head. Eddie nods once, sitting back down. Grabbing your receipt and quickly leaving the table with a wave. As you wait for the hostess to return to the register, the receipt is plucked from your fingers and Steve is next to you. 

A roll of your eyes as you huff a breath out of your nose, “Steve, give me my receipt.”

“Oh my god, so you can talk to me. Was worried I left my secret invisibility cloak on.”

He leans against the counter, chin resting in his palm as he raises his eyebrows. Shrugging your shoulders, you avoid his gaze. “Nothing to talk about,” you reach for the receipt again and he holds it away from you. Gritting through clenched teeth, “I can pay for myself.”

“I know you can, but it’s okay to let people do something for you sometimes.”

“It’s not sometimes with you Steve, you do it all the time. I don’t want your money - “ 

“You could just say thank you,” he rolls his eyes, “It doesn’t mean anything. Does it really bother you that much?”

“Yeah, it does, I’m able to pay for myself and I don’t need someone to provide for me.”

Steve stands up taller, crossing his arms as his voice lowers, “Probably didn’t have a problem letting Eddie provide you with your coffee this morning.”

Rolling your eyes again, you snort, snatching the receipt and leaning in closer. “Actually, not that it’s any of your business, but I bought his coffee to apologize to my friend for yesterday.”

Steve smirks, ripping the receipt from your fingers again, “Right, and I’m your friend offering to buy your breakfast.”

“If you were my friend, then you wouldn’t be acting like this,” your fingers graze his as you reach for the ticket again, and he closes his fist around it tighter. Your voice grows weak as you continue, “What are we doing Steve.”

His shoulders relax slightly and he sighs, blowing his breath out through his nose as he turns towards the counter. It wasn’t phrased as a question, but he answers anyways, “I don’t know. You tell me. You seem to want to call all the shots right? When we talk, when we don’t, when we fuck and who we tell.”

Your gaze jumps over to the booth, everyone caught up in conversation thankfully and you exhale. Turning on your heel, choosing that some battles are not worth fighting. Your armor has received far too many dents and you can’t afford to rebuild it again. 

“Not anymore,” you mumble to him as you try not to focus on the way his shoulders fall further or the wetness that pools on your lash line. 

The city transitions from Summer to Autumn in less than a week. Trees lining your neighborhood turn from green to yellows and reds. The air becomes cooler, easier to take deep breaths and be open to the change the season promises. Your fingers trail along the brick of an old building as you walk towards your favorite pizza place. Rounding the corner, you nearly smack into someone.

“Oh, sorry, I-”

“I’m so sorry-”

Steve stands in front of you and both trail off as you realize it’s each other. You almost didn’t recognize him with a black baseball hat on, tight black shirt and light wash jeans. It’s probably the most casual you’ve seen him and  you swallow harshly. Neither of you have messaged and you hate how much you wish he would have. 

He shoves his hands in his pockets, twisting his lips up while squinting. “Hey, I was just coming to see if you were done avoiding me.”

A flip switched, your annoyance with him returns easily. Rolling your eyes as you push past him. “I’m not avoiding you.”

He spins to follow you, dragging out his word, “Riiight.” He kicks a pebble as he falls into step with you, “So, if you’re not avoiding me, let’s go back to your place and hang out. Maybe get Red Hot-”

Stopping abruptly, Steve nearly trips on his own feet as he comes to a halt next to you. Your arms cross as you look up at him, “Steve, I thought it was clear that the arrangement was over.”

He nods once, licking his lips before smiling, “I meant actual Red Hot Ranch, get your mind out of the gutter.” He’s trying to joke, but his tone is forced - like he’s speaking while holding his breath and it makes your chest hurt. 

Steve runs his hand through his hair before his arm falls to his side, “Seriously, I just…I’m sorry. About everything. And I miss my…friend?”

He lets the last word hang as a question. Debating if you can actually move on, you look up at the sky. You’re sure if you and Steve can get through this awkward sort of scramble to fix the mess you’ve made, you can be friends and end up happy. 

You want to move on from Steve, right?

Raising your arm, you gesture in the direction you had been heading in, speaking softly, “I was just on my way to Argyle’s, if you can handle sharing a pizza with a friend who likes olives?”

Steve’s lips twitch into a lopsided smile, remembering how the two of you met. He sighs dramatically before walking towards the bar, “Only if you agree to let me absolutely crush you at ski-ball at Replay after.”

A demolished pizza, a train ride, and several beers later, Steve is cupping his ear with his hand, a gloating grin on his lips as he asks, “How many games is that?”

Rolling your eyes, you scoff into the bottle and spin, scanning the barcade. It’s 80s theme this month, so while the front of the place is normal - pinball and arcade games - the people mingling about and heading to the back themed portion of the bar are decked out in neon, legwarmers, and dizzying patterns. An 80s playlist booms overhead mixing with dings of the pinball machines and chatter of bar goers. 

Your fingers tap on the side of your bottle and nod towards the machines, “You know, all of these are free and yet, I’ve never seen you play. Someone too chicken to lose at something he might not be the best at?”

Steve smirks around the lip of his bottle, “I’ll play you on any machine in here. Still gonna win.”

You’ve missed this with him, the banter and fun. No pressure and no feelings. Although, is it really without feelings when his cocky attitude is a turn on, because now you know how it translates into the bedroom? Will you ever be able to separate the two versions of Steve?

Spinning once more, you land on a Goonies themed free machine, you tap your fingers on the glass and face him, “Care to make it interesting?”

He leans against it, smiling. “What’d you have in mind?”

“If I win, I get to pay for the next round,” you point your finger thinking, “And the next dinner we have together!”

He shrugs, sipping his bear, “Fine. If I win, I pay for the next round, dinner next time we’re out, and I get to come over for a movie tonight. My choice.”

“Fine,” you narrow your eyes.

“Great,” he smiles wider. 

Suspicious with how easy he agreed to let you pay for something if you won, you gesture towards the game. “You go first.”

Steve hands you his beer, cracking his knuckles as he speaks, “Prepare to lose.”

Steve releases the ball, standing tall in front of the pinball machine, confident with his legs spread slightly, shoulders rolled back. You hate that your eyes travel to his butt and up his back, swallowing a drink of your beer as you reach his neck, his concentration present on his face under the baseball hat that you’re quickly wishing he’d wear more often. Watching as his long fingers press the buttons on the side of the game with quick and precise moves, his eyes roam over the glass, unmoving from the game as he smirks. “You didn’t read the names on the screen did you?” 

Flashing lights distract you from his face and fingers, turning towards the screen, Steve’s score trailing across it in bright red, then the list of top five scores appear where you see ‘Dingus’ and ‘Other Dingus’ as the top two names. 

Groaning, you close your eyes, “What?!”

He laughs, “Robs and I came here like every night when we first moved to the city and worked at that burger place just down the road.”

Steve pats your shoulder and when you open your eyes he’s smiling with fake sympathy, “I think I’m gonna make you watch a rom com tonight.”

Your groan grows in volume and you face the machine, shoving the two beers into his hands, “Bite me, Steven.”

Steve takes a sip of his beer, only to choke on it as you pull the lever and the ball immediately falls down the center. Brushing it off, you start on the second one, only for Steve to wince when you press the lever at just the wrong moment, sending the ball careening around the board with no way to control it or anticipate when it’ll drop again. 

He sets the beers down, holding up his hands, “Okay, hold on, hold on. I wanna win, but in a fair fight. This is pathetic.”

Steve comes up behind you, you hold your breath as his hands hover over yours, arms on either side of you and he whispers, “Can I help show you something?”

Worried your voice is going to betray you, you just nod and Steve steps closer. His head to the side of yours, cheeks almost touching as his fingers land above your own. He watches as your first ball goes ping ponging around the board again, laughing a little as you stick your tongue out and jab at the buttons. He whispers close to your ear, “You’re hitting it at the right time, just too quick and choppy. You gotta take a deep breath before hitting the button, relax your body.”

The heat of Steve’s face next to yours, his chest just touching your back, it’s melting you, words he’s saying fried on impact in your brain like an egg on a sidewalk. You couldn’t take his advice if you tried, the instructions gone from your thoughts as your body betrays you, underwear growing slick between your thighs.  

“Show me?” you squeak out and out of the corner of your eyes you see his lips tip up on one side in a smile. Will Steve be able to ignore your tells, will he ever be able to separate the two versions of you either? 

The second ball releases, Steve’s fingers lace with yours over the buttons, he whispers, “Okay, deep breath,” you feel his chest expand against you, feel his breath hit your neck as he turns to face you instead of the game, “Now.”

His fingers press yours into the button gently, his nose brushing up your neck slowly and the ball hitting the exact spot you wanted and you spin to face him, ignoring the game. “I-”

A girl comes out of the bright pink bathroom, mascara on her cheeks and blowing her nose loudly and interrupting any moment you two were just having. Her friend wraps her arm around her. “He’s an idiot.”

“Why doesn’t he love me!” She wails, swiping at her nose with toilet paper another girl hands her. The two friends on either side of the crying girl communicate silently with their eyes. One touches her finger to her nose before the other can, holding her hands up in surrender. 

Steve’s eyes meet yours, shimmering with held back laughter and you cover your smile with your fingers. He leans in closer, lips brushing your ear and you hate that you shiver as he speaks, “You are so not laughing.”

“No! He’s gonna be my husband!” The clearly drunk girl hiccups and the friend who didn’t tap her nose quick enough whispers, “Babe, you met him last week on tinder.”

An unstoppable snort leaves you and your shoulders shake, forehead pressing to his chest. 

“Hey! What’s so funny assholes?” The one girl directs towards the two of you. 

The sad girl hits her friend's shoulder, “Don’t be mean, they’re clearly in…lo...love!” She starts crying harder and Steve’s shoulders start to shake too, his hand grabbing yours and pulling you back into the themed part of the bar. 

He drags his palm down his cheek, laughing still, “Not funny. It’s not funny.”

Straightening, you form a serious face, mashing your lips together. “Right. Not funny.”

Your eyes meet and your laughter bursts out of you again, wiping your eyes as you lean against each other. 

Steve shakes his head, removing his hat for a second to run his hand through his hair, before adjusting the cap. His shirt rises a little, exposing the line of dark hair that runs under the waistband of his jeans. Your laughter dies off, eyes trying to look anywhere but there.   

He motions to the bar, grinning as he asks “I believe I get to get the next round?”

Rolling your eyes, you shoo him away, leaning against a small unoccupied table. As you wait for him to return, you’re lost in people watching and admiring the decorations. Replay does not hold back when it comes to a theme, specific and hidden nods to the decade surround you as you watch the groups and couples enjoying themselves. Some clearly on first dates, or new to seeing each other. Lots of sipping of drinks, nodding, restless hands and standing not too close to each other. Then there’s those that your chest twinges a little as you watch them. The couple at one of the tables with arms around each other, laughing and kissing temples. The two that come out of the photobooth catch your attention the most. They’re giggling, stealing kisses and holding hands, waiting as their pictures print. Their heads lean together as one of them squeals, “Aww, babe!”

The bump of your drink against the wood tabletop pulls you away, Steve watching you curiously, he raises his eyebrows, “Everything okay?”

“Oh, yeah, I just didn’t know people actually did photo booths anymore. Or like, got excited about them. Never done it before.” Shrugging as you take a sip. 

Steve’s mouth falls open, “You’ve never…Come on.”

He’s pulling you over despite your protests, sitting down and waiting for you. He rolls his eyes and pats his thigh, “Not like you haven’t sat on my thigh before.”

“Jesus, Steve.” Hissing at him as you sit, swiping the curtain closed behind you. 

The space is even smaller than it looks, and it takes Steve and you a second to find a comfortable position. Your elbow bumps the wall as you try to sneak it around his shoulders and give up, resting them in front of you in your lap. His chin knocks against your shoulder as he moves his arm around your waist. 

Steve leans forward to press the button and you stop him, “Wait!” 

He raises his eyebrows at you, looking up and you realize his face is right in front of your chest and you squeeze your eyes closed, “What…uh…what do we do? Smile or - “

Steve's fingers tap your hip, “We’ll figure it out. Relax.”

The number flashes on the screen, your faces filling it and Steve suggests a silly one first, his tongue sticking out and his eyes crossing. You’re mid laugh in that one. He hooks both arms around you, pulling you further onto his lap and his chin falling over your shoulder for the next one. Smiling for the camera normally, until right before the flash he blows a raspberry in your neck, squeezing your waist. You’re caught up in scolding him, trying to jab at his sides in the next one. By the fourth photo you’re laughing, looking at each other as your breathing slows down with smiles. After the flash, Steve’s hand cups your cheek, leaning in closer as your smiles fall and your breath picks up for an entirely different reason. 

“Steve…” your voice is a breath. 

He swallows, his own voice not any louder, “Yeah?”

Your noses are touching, lips hovering over each other’s as you speak, “We should-”

The flash goes off and you both freeze, the booth’s voice echoing and telling you your photos are printing. Clearing your throat, you pull the curtain and stand, Steve following you out and he exhales, sipping his drink. Well, more like chugging it, his finger looped into his collar as he tugs it away from his neck. 

The strip falls into the little cubby and you pull it out with a smile. Your thumb brushes over the photoset, happy to have a physical memory of you and Steve. You get it, why people like them. They’re black and white - timeless. Little moments caught where you weren’t overthinking what Steve and you are, or what you’ll be or how you’ll never work. 

It’s just the two of you at that moment, and you’re glad you have the photos because you already miss it. 

He’s behind you, voice quiet as his eyes take them in, “Do you like them?”

You nod your head, smiling wider, “Yeah, I really do. Thanks.”

He hums, nodding towards the door, “Wanna…?”

A very open ended question, but you nod, slipping the photos into your back pocket and walking out ahead of him. 

Your walk to the blue line stop is silent. Your hands barely touch as you walk, the back of Steve’s fingers hitting yours. Does he want to hold hands? Do you want that too? Lost in a day dream of what it would be like to let yourself walk around holding hands with someone like Steve Harrington.

The sunset draws your attention as you lean on the wall waiting for the train, your chin resting on your folded arms. Oranges and pinks are vibrant streaks across the sky as the sun sinks lower and lower behind the buildings. 

You turn and catch Steve watching you. His eyes melt as they meet yours, orange golden light hitting his jaw, eyes turning into the stickiest honey you’ve yet to see. Your breath catches in your chest and you raise your eyebrows, “What?”

He smiles, soft and barely twitching his lips up before his eyes fall to the ground. He fiddles with the hem of his shirt, “Nothing. I like watching you watch the sunset is all.”

Your heart beats harder and you turn your gaze back on the sky as you exhale, “I never said sorry either you know. And I am,” you look at him again, his eyebrows furrow, and you continue, “Sorry, I mean. It’s kind of all my fault.”

The train pulls up then, both of you caught up in getting on and failing to find a seat. You stand with your back to the doors, chairs to one of your sides and Steve steadies himself with a palm over your shoulder. You’re close, caged in, and on a jolt of the car, you lean forward and catch yourself on his chest. He looks down at you, eyes bouncing between yours. The loud rumble of the car rattles inside your ribcage and as the train goes through a tunnel, the quick bursts of lights outside flash across his face. 

“Sorry it happened or sorry it’s over?”

“What?” You ask quietly, confused by his question. 

He steps closer and your back arches, forgetting there’s other people on the train with you as  he speaks quietly, barely able to hear over the noise of the train, “Earlier. You said you were sorry. That it was your fault. So you’re sorry it happened at all or sorry it’s over?”

“Steve…” you tilt your head, lip almost catching his.

His breath fans across your cheek, “I’m not sorry.” His nose nudges into your cheek and he whispers, “I’m not sorry about any of it. Sorry I hurt you, but not sorry about it happening. And I’m definitely sorry it’s over.”

Your words are caught in your throat. Is this what you want? Do you want Steve completely? Even if it means hurting him? Even if it means getting hurt yourself?

The train announces your stop and his arm falls, following you out the doors. His admission hangs heavy in the air, mixing with the thick heat that’s started to fall over the city. Is it too late to tell him you feel the same way? Can you even tell him that when you can barely admit it to yourself? 

As you step down the stairs to the sidewalk, you see Stan’s and you gesture to it, “Grilled cheese or a donut for the walk back?”

He nods and you don’t argue with him when he pulls out his wallet, only whispering a quiet thank you. You walk in silence, your mind races just as fast as your heart. It’s crazy to think you could let yourself be open to Steve. Robin is right, you’re different, and it’s never going to work. It already hurts now, what happens if it really doesn’t work out?

Taking turns with the sandwich, Steve takes a bite and sighs, stuffing the piece into his cheek. “I only ever make these when I’m sick. Kind of forget they exist outside of that.”

“So that’s your favorite food when you’re sick?” You question as he hands the sandwich back to and you round the corner, your apartment only a block away now. 

He nods, licking his finger and squinting at the sky. “Yeah, grilled cheese and tomato soup.”

“Respectable choice,” you speak around your own bite and you smile. 

You’re stopped at a crosswalk, and Steve watches you, blowing his breath out through parted lips, “Are you going to leave me hanging?”

You know he’s referring to what he just said on the train. Your eyes drop to the sidewalk, stomach turning as you speak, “Steve, we’re…this isn’t going to work. We’re too different. And you don’t even know me. Not really.”

He steps closer, fingers on your chin as he tilts your face up to look at him. He licks his lips, shaking his head and his voice is desperate, “I do. I do know you. I know you like sunsets, and your favorite foods, and what kind of body wash you use…”

His words make tears spring to your eyes, chest tightening as you shake your head. He continues, “You can tell me things. I-” he rubs his thumb across your cheek, “If you give it a chance and open up to someone-”

Maybe it’s a sign from the universe, because before he can keep going, before you can respond, the sky opens up, dumping rain on you from seemingly out of nowhere. 

“Fuck!” He screams, swiping at his eyes as the torrential downpour swallows you both.

Grabbing his hand as the light changes, you take off towards your apartment, both of you blindly running as the rain streams down your face. People honking or running by with umbrellas as you cut across the busy street screaming at Steve to hurry. 

“I’m trying! I can’t see anything more than like two steps in front of me!”

You come to a stop outside your apartment, rain pounding against you both and Steve tries to cover you with his arms, doing absolutely nothing as you fiddle with your keys in your pocket. Finally getting the front door open, the door closes and the sound of your clothes dripping onto the tile is soft compared to what sounds like a hurricane coming down outside the doors. 

Steve removes his hat, shaking his hair and running a hand through it before wringing out the cap, water dripping sadly from it and landing in the quickly forming puddles beneath your feet. Your eyes meet after watching it and you can’t help it, you both burst out laughing. It’s all so ridiculous, or maybe it’s the beers you’ve had. Taking a step, your shoes squish loudly and you groan and Steve's laughter fades and he covers his mouth, shaking his head as he looks up at the ceiling. 

The entire trip up the stairs, the squishing of your socks in your shoes landing on each step only seems to get louder. It’s comical, straight out of a cartoon and every time you look down at your shoes annoyed, Steve’s lips twitch in a fight against a smile. 

A particularly wet squelch happens on the top step and Steve snorts and whispers, “That’s what good pus-”

“Stop!” You cover your face with your palm, hiding your laughter as you interrupt his crude joke. 

Steve can’t stop laughing, both of you breathlessly wheezing as you make it to your front door finally. It’s that kind of laughter that can’t be stopped, spurred on by the other’s picking back up. You don’t even know what’s so funny anymore, all you know is your cheeks and stomach hurt and you don’t want it to be over. 

Stopped at your door, you swipe at your eyes and your laughter trails off naturally. The soft glow of the dimming hallway lights casting Steve in pale yellow, his eyes bounce between yours. Chests rising and falling almost in tandem, your breathing slightly ragged from running and laughing. The air around you feels different and Steve swallows harshly, your eyes follow the movement of his adam’s apple. You’re scared to speak, because maybe if you do, the night isn’t going to end the way you’re too afraid to admit you want it to. 

It’s silly, really, drenched from a surprise rain storm, the night you’ve had with each other and the things he’s said. It’s almost like a date, a pivotal scene from the movies you claim to hate. 

It’s almost like you want Steve to kiss you. 

Your body knows before your brain can catch up, or maybe it’s your heart this time. Drawing closer to each other, Steve pulls you in time and time again. Your own moon, controlling your tides. Keeping you tethered to him, grounded in his gravity and weightless in the same breath. How can someone who makes you feel like this not be meant to be in your life? How could it not work out?

Steve closes the distance, the tips of his sneakers tapping yours as he looks down at where his hand falls to rest on your waist. Your head tilts with an easy familiarity, eyes on his mouth as his nose brushes against yours. He sighs, eyes flitting up to yours as he speaks, barely louder than a breath, “I really missed you.”

His fingers are warm on your side, cold fabric of your shirt bunched up slightly as his thumb brushes across your skin. His other hand rises, almost in slow motion, and cradles your cheek. Steve’s voice is raspy, a little broken as he promises, “Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.”

You really want him to kiss you. 

Your top lip skims his as you lean into him more, speaking even softer than he is, “I don’t want you to stop.”

Steve’s fingers squeeze your hip as his other hand glides to the back of your head. Tangling in your hair as he tilts your head further, lips meeting softly as your eyes flutter closed. A simple press, his breath hits your top lip as he pulls away slightly. Your eyes open, the warmth of his meeting yours, your own personal sunshine back and surrounding you. His hands move, cupping both of your cheeks. Steve's eyes close as he pulls you in again, mouth parting over yours and he sighs into you, filling your lungs with air like you hadn't been able to take a deep breath without him. 

Your stomach flips as he kisses you slower than he ever has - it's easy, familiar, yet new at the same time. Kisses that are sweeter and savoring, nose squished into yours, desperate to be closer. Thumbs brushing over your cheeks, foreheads pressed together. Steve's head tilts, nose bumping higher on your cheek, thumb dragging down your jaw gently as his tongue glides over the seam of your lips, sighing into you again as you open for him. 

Hands roaming to his chest, your palms flatten there as your back bumps into the door. Steve slots his knee between your legs, letting the weight of his body fall against you as your hands climb up his chest. One rests on his shoulder, thumb tugging and brushing against the collar of his shirt as the other trails higher on his neck until it holds his jaw. The slight scratch of scruff against your face contrasting with soft lips that continue to kiss you like he thinks he won't get to ever again. 

It turns desperate quickly, breathily sighing his name into his mouth as he sucks on your bottom lip. It makes Steve kiss even slower, a different kind of teasing than you're used to with each other. His lips move over yours languidly, but precise. Each press to yours a conscious decision, every nudge of his nose against yours purposeful until he's got his hands on either side of your head, palms holding him up against the door. Until yours are twisting his shirt in your fists. Kissing you so slow, you've forgotten to come up for air, panting breaths and back arching as he lets his teeth drag on your bottom lip. Tugging it and sucking before releasing it with a quiet pop. Steve laughs a little into your jaw as you shiver. He's breathing hard, lips ghosting over your skin as you breathlessly laugh too.

"Are we-"

"Do you want to-"

Smiling as you speak at the same time, both sounding a little wrecked. 

"Fuck, please," Steve pleads into your lips and you can't move fast enough. 

Reaching behind you to your door handle, you spin to unlock it as Steve presses up behind you. Large hands landing on your hips after he brushes your hair to one side. Nose dragging against the back of your ear, breath hot against your skin as he mouths at you, "Baby, hurry."

Baby.

Heart stuttering at the name you didn't realize how much you missed until you heard it again. 

You laugh, realizing this is crazy, only for it to break off into a moan as he presses his growing erection into your back and sucks at the skin just behind your ear. "Fu-fuck, Steve," you stumble as his fingers squeeze your hips and his bruising mark heats up under his mouth, "St-stop distracting me."

Steve's smile against your skin makes you shiver again. Soft lips grazing just barely against your cheek, down to your jaw. His hands bunch your shirt into his fists, knuckles brushing your sides as he sighs. "Dunno what you're talking about honey."

The lock clicks open finally, Steve reaches for the knob, engulfing your hand with his and pushing you both inside. He laces his fingers into yours as his other hand locks the door once more. Fingers intertwined, he spins you, back against the door again. 

"Smooth," you smirk as he catches your lips with his.

"You liked it," he breathes into your mouth. He tugs at your hips until you're straddling his thigh. One hand wraps around your back, palm pressing you closer to him as his lips move over yours slowly once more. 

You're not sure how long it's been since you've been kissed like this - if you've ever been kissed like this. 

Parted lips, tongues meeting soft and lazy, your fingers get lost in his hair as his slowly roam under your thighs, lifting you and guiding you to wrap around his waist. Steve starts laughing as you kick your shoes off and he nearly trips on them as he makes his way to your bedroom, kicking his own off somewhere along the way. 

Rain hits against your bedroom window rhymically, curtains filtering in the pale blue dusk as Steve sits down on your bed. Your legs falling on either side of his hips as you straddle him.

Steve deepens the kiss, breath warm on your cheek as he angles his head, smiling as you moan when he nips at your bottom lip again. He pulls away just enough to look at you, his thumbs brushing your cheeks as his eyes move over your face, tracking and tracing over the freckles and curves of you. You missed seeing him in this space and it makes your heart beat harder. Realizing in just a week the scent of his cologne has faded from your sheets, second coffee cups unused, a tangible thing missing from your home in too many ways to count. 

Steve's watching you curiously as your hands moved without realizing, tracing over the features of his face physically. Fingers over his eyebrows, the slope of his nose, his flushed cheeks before following the curve of his top lip. Backtracking and touching his cupid's bow. His own thumb roams to your lips too, dragging over your bottom lip as he sighs, "I don't have a condom. I didn't really expect..."

Your fingers fall, shrugging as you quietly admit, "I don’t either. But I haven't slept with anyone but you Steve. Not since before..."

"Yeah?" he swallows, thumb on your chin and pulling you in for a soft kiss. The rain picks up somehow, mirroring your hammering heart. 

Reluctantly removing your lips from his, your fingers scratch down his shirt. They fiddle with the hem of it as you avoid his gaze, "Have...have you?" 

He shakes his head, nose bumping yours as he whispers, "Just you."

"Okay," you exhale a shaky breath. 

He smiles, hands wrapping around your back. "Okay."

A crack of thunder rumbles outside so loud it feels like it's inside your apartment and you jump, clinging to Steve. His hands soothe up your spine, nose pressing into your cheek as his fingers cradle your jaw again. Your lips catch his top one in a soft press before your hands lift his shirt. 

You've removed each other's clothes before, but something about tonight feels different. Slowly tugging the shirt over his head, hair ruffled as it's drying. Your hands roam over his biceps, leaning in to kiss him again, smiling as his muscles flex under your fingertips as his run across the exposed skin on your lower back. Fingernails scratch down his chest, curls of his chest hair sticking to his tanned skin from the rain that soaked through the fabric. His arms are filled with new freckles from all the sun lately and you can’t help but lean forward and let your lips drag over them. As your fingers stop on his stomach, Steve slowly lifts your shirt from you. A flash of lightning illuminates your room, Steve's eyes drinking you in as his hands roam over you just as yours had on him. Buzzing touches into your skin, sending vibrations throughout your body as he pulls you closer to his chest. 

His nose ghosts over the shell of your ear, lips kissing under it. The pads of his fingers press into your spine and he sighs as he leaves a trail of kisses down your neck to your shoulder. Resting in a spot only he's found that makes you whimper without control, lip tugging between your teeth and back arching as he bites down gently. He sucks over the spot before his tongue soothes it as his hands cradle you closer. He sighs into your neck as you whine again. His breath is fast and hot against your skin, kissing up the column of your throat as you extend it for him, head thrown back as he holds you tighter. His mouth moves lower as his hands do the same, pulling you down and guiding you to rock against him and your stomach flutters alive with butterflies. 

Steve can’t seem to keep his hands still, squeezing your hips, roaming to your back again, soon he’s cradling your jaw, pulling you in for a deeper kiss as he falls onto the bed further. He groans as you grind against the bulge under his jeans, rolling your hips harder as his hands slip into your back pockets. Your kiss becomes frantic, letting your weight fall against him completely and he breathes into you, hands moving to your back again. “Hey,” he shakes his head against your lips, smile ghosting over them as you whine. He tugs on your chin, thumb holding it as he gasps into your mouth, “Slow down. I’m not going anywhere.”

A whimper into his lips, his words make your chest ache. His fingers toy with the strap of your dark maroon bra, they trace the lace above the cups, thumb brushing over the hardened bead of your nipple through the fabric. He breathes into your lips, smiling, “This is new isn’t it?”

Nodding against his kiss, you whine again as his fingers move at a tantalizing pace over your skin, rolling you onto your back. He holds your waist as your back arches and his lips kiss over your chest. He huffs a quiet laugh into your navel as he moves lower, “You were so going to Argyle’s to try to get laid tonight.”

You’re quiet at his words, pretending like you didn’t hear him and he gasps dramatically against your skin. Lips and nose tracing the band of your jeans as his fingers squeeze at your hips. “Wow. And here I thought I was special.”

His fingers fiddle with the zipper of the denim as you breathily ask, “Excuse me?”

He pops open the button, rolling your jeans down, nose dragging over the maroon colored lace exposed. Steve scoffs, “Aha! Matching new set! I was right!”

Your hips lift as he tugs the pants off of you completely and you roll your eyes, ignoring him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He makes eye contact with you as he unbuttons his own jeans, disbelief in every feature of his face and you bite your lip as his pants drop and he steps out of them. His fingers trail up your legs, hooking around your knees as he crawls forward. Squirming under him as his thumb brushes the ticklish spot and he smirks. His hands climb up your thighs, squeezing at the soft and doughy flesh. 

Steve’s lips trail across your hips, skimming across the band of lace as you breathe out, “Okay, how did you…oh,” thoughts broken off into a moan as he sucks on your hip, fingers dragging over your clothed slit. 

He kisses up your body, nose pressed to your jaw as the pads of two his fingers dip under the band of lace, teasing, not moving any further, brushing back and forth. His legs straddle one of yours, hard length pressed to your hip, your other leg rising as your back arches. Steve smiles against your jaw, fingers slowly moving lower as your breath quickens. He speaks into your neck, “Honey, were you really about to ask me how I knew?”

He presses a soft kiss to your damp skin, goosebumps rising as he whispers, “Told you, I know you.”

The pad of his finger catches your clit just barely, slipping past it and you whine, fingers twisting in your comforter as your toes curl. Steve makes a soft tutting noise, “She’s needy, huh? Missed me?”

You want to roll your eyes at his cockiness, but your thighs spread, head nodding as you tug your lip between your teeth. 

When Steve said slow down, he meant it. His kissing, his words, the slow pace of his movements has you aroused embarrassingly quick, slick coating between your thighs. His fingers drag through your folds, teasing at your entrance and quite literally slipping up to your clit, pressing lazy and messy circles into it. A sigh, a whine of his name falls past your lips as your hands find his shoulders. Your body stretches away from him, overwhelmed already as he props himself up on his forearm and hip. 

He gives in to your whimpers, granting you a kiss. Lips latched onto your top one as he breathes heavily, his fingers sliding easily through you as he rolls his hips against your side. Your fingers scratch down his chest, hooking around his neck and tugging him on top of your body. His hand slips from your underwear, cradling your face as he grinds himself against you. 

Arching as your hands roam over the muscles of his back, you push at his boxers. His hands move to your hips, both of you sliding undergarments from each other while refusing to break your kiss. His tip catches at your clit and you moan into his lips. He unclasps your bra, flinging it somewhere and you nod against him, nose pressed to his cheek as he slides through your folds, nudging at your entrance. 

Steve pushes into you torturously slowly, your lungs feel like the air was sucked from them. Tears pricking at your lash line because you missed him. Missed this, of course, but you’re realizing you just missed Steve. 

His mouth falls open against yours, eyes pinching closed as his hand grips at your waist. Cursing softly at the roll of your hips, begging him to go deeper. His hand squeezes your thighs, wrapping them around his waist as he bottoms out, your strangled moans mixing together. 

Steve focuses on your lips again, kissing you softly as your ankles lock behind his back. He lets his weight fall on you, hand against your lower back as he angles your body for him, beginning to thrust slowly. 

Sex with Steve has always been good. He takes care of you, makes sure you’re comfortable, you orgasm at least once (but always more), and praising you to no end. His dirty talk is what always pushes you over the edge, hurtling through space. 

This is different. 

The rain beats loudly against your window, your sighs and gasps lost in it. He’s breathing your name into your lips, fingers pressed into your spine. Every drag of his cock along your walls makes him moan, makes you clench around him tighter. Your foreheads press together, his nose nudges into your cheek, you want him closer and it’s impossible, there’s nothing between you and you feel the stones of the wall you surround yourself with crumbling. 

Rolling your hips to meet each of his thrusts, he whispers into your mouth, “So good f’me,” kissing you sweetly, “Baby.” His hands roam up your body, fingertips grazing across your skin. He pushes himself deeper and you gasp out his name. The cool metal of Steve’s chain hanging from his neck, taps at your chin with each lazy thrust and your thumbs drag on it around his neck, tugging. Part of you wants to rip it off, wrap it around your own neck and be his. 

Steve practically begs, your name a plea on his lips against yours as his fingers roam higher, lacing with yours and pushing them into the pillows. Held hands above your head now and you moan loudly, nodding into his kiss as the new position gives him leverage to roll his hips. Each thrust hitting deeper now, pausing before he pulls out halfway and does it all over again. Frantic as your body fills with heat, telling him to keep going, that it’s the perfect spot. Bodies sliding together like they’re made for each other, sweat slicked as they drag against one another. Steve pants your name again, fingers flexing in yours as you grip him tighter, sinking into the mattress with every slow and powerful thrust. 

He squeezes your hands harder and your stomach somersaults. Lips moving against yours needy, desperate, you can feel the ache in his chest mixing with yours as his thrusts pick up their pace. Your foreheads still touching, his kiss turns soft, contrasting with the way his hips meet yours - the sound of your slick coating him mixing with the rain. His mouth hovers over yours and your eyes flutter open, making eye contact with him. Steve’s face is flushed, eyes looking at you like no one ever has before, like a bulldozer was taken to the wall around your heart, metal armor shattering and clanging to the floor.

He squeezes your hands again, pushing them higher and your mouth parts in a gasp as something in you melts with each snap of his hips. Your ears buzz with static, lips tingling against his as white heat bursts through you, thighs shaking around his waist. This has to be what it feels like to sit in a rocket before take off. Adrenaline and excitement mixed with something that makes your pulse throb in your ears. 

Steve whispers into your lips, “That’s it, honey, come on.” Your stomach flips around his words, your orgasm rolling through you. Squeezing his hands as your back arches. Your eyes flutter open, making eye contact with him again. Steve kisses you harder, moaning into your lips as his thrusts stutter, his release filling you up as you come down from your high.

His movements slow, both of you breathing heavily, skin flushed and damp. Steve releases your fingers, dragging his hands down your body, wrapping around your lower back. Yours fall around his shoulders, holding the back of his head, scratching at his scalp and smiling when he shivers. His nose brushes down yours, eyes meeting before his look at your lips. Fluttering closed as you kiss again. 

A different kiss. 

The kind you’ve only watched in the movies. The kiss after, not fucking, but the kind of sex where you can feel the emotions coming off the screen. 

You’re exhausted, limbs heavy and eyelids even more so. Your fingers card through his hair as his lips slip over yours lazily. Rolling to his side and pulling you with him, Steve pulls out of you with a quiet wince, his touch buzzing circles into your spine. 

“That was…” you whisper, breaking off into a yawn. 

“Yeah?” You don’t have to open your eyes to know he’s smiling. 

“Yeah.” Kissing his jaw and sighing as sleep tries to pull you under. 

Steve’s strong and warm arms, the rain, and the way your heart feels lighter, gooier, it’s all a perfect concoction for sleep, and despite knowing that you need to talk about this, you don’t. You let the heavy blanket of exhaustion wash over you, curling into Steve’s chest as your breathing grows more steady. 

Unsure of how long you’re asleep for, you wake to the soft silk of his lips on your temple, then your cheek. Steve’s whisper of having to leave and you hum, not really hearing him. Fully rising when the sun is too warm on your face coming in through the curtains. Your eyes blink open heavily, the mattress next to you empty. 

Rolling to your side, you hide your smile with the blanket. A glass of water with a note leaning against it from Steve, reminding you he left and he’ll text you. 

The corner of white sticking out from your jeans on the floor draws your attention. Pulling the sheet around you as you pad over to it, your photos from last night are a blur. Water damaged, and smeared on the edges, but if you squint you can still make out yours and Steve’s smiles. Your thumb brushes over the last one, heartbeat kicking up as your palms sweat and you close your eyes. 

Fuck. 

Are you falling in love with Steve Harrington? 

The buzz of your phone wakes you from your half asleep state, forehead and neck clammy with sweat and you pull your blanket over your shoulders again. Burrowing your face in your pillow as tears prick behind your eyes. You miss Steve, and you haven’t had a chance to talk other than a few texts since last weekend. You have no idea what he’s thinking and you’ve been ripping yourself up from the inside out with your own conflicted feelings. Silly to cry over it, you know that, but your hormones have other plans. 

Swiping at your lash line, you respond quickly and lock your phone, eyes focusing back on the movie playing. 

An hour later when your front door rings for the take out you ordered, you buzz them in and unlock the door. Returning from your bedroom as you pull a sweatshirt on, your body freezes at the sight of Steve standing in your doorway. 

He’s dressed slightly more formal than you’ve ever seen him. Hair gelled perfectly, matching navy suit with the coat and vest that’s usually missing from his work attire. The tips of his brown shoes and sheen of his matching leather belt make you glance down at your own outfit. You’re in your comfiest sweats, one leg tucked into fuzzy socks with ducks, your sweatshirt you just pulled on ripping at the sleeves, giant gaping holes in it and stains down the front. Your hair is sweaty, yanked back in a frizzled and matted ponytail. 

Your arms curl in on yourself. “What are you doing here?”

Steve closes the door behind him, holding up two brown paper bags from two different places. He goes to your kitchen with a frown on his face. “You said you were sick. Do you always buzz people in without asking their name and leave your door unlocked for them? Cause that’s really not safe?”

He spins, removing his jacket and unbuttoning his vest as he looks in your cupboard for a plate. He asks over his shoulder, “Do you want the chinese food I intercepted at the door or the pancakes I brought?”

His words make tears fall past your lash line and you quickly swipe at them, clearing your throat before he notices and you whisper, “Pancakes, please.”

He starts opening the bag, looking up at you. His cheeks turn pink, rubbing the back of his neck as he nods towards the couch with a smile, “Go lay down, you look like crap.”

Rolling your eyes, you sniffle but listen to him. Sitting up now and curled under your blanket, you reach for the cord of your heating pad, bumping up the temp as he enters the room with a plate. Watching him take in the stack of movies, the book on your coffee table, the heating pad, bottle of painkillers and finally your face. 

His lips twitch up on one side as he sits, lifting your legs and draping them over his lap as he hands you the plate. 

“Thanks,” you whisper. 

Steve watches as you roll a pancake, picking it up with your fingers and nibble on it, closing your eyes as it hits your tongue with a quiet sigh. 

He rubs at your ankle, thumb soothing under the elastic of the bottom of your sweats. Squirming at the thought of your prickly hair, you start to pull away from him, voice tense, “Steve…”

He massages your calf and your eyes flutter closed, moaning into your bite of pancake. When you open them, you see him smiling at the screen and your other foot kicks at his thigh, “Stop gloating.”

His fingernails scratch down your leg and you shiver, rolling your shoulders back as he speaks softly, “I’m not gloating. Just nice that you’re letting me take care of you is all.”

Normally you’d push back, shut him down, tell him you don’t need his help, but it’s been a particularly bad period and after your last night with him, your emotions are getting the best of you. 

Sinking down into the couch, you mumble into your pancakes, “Sometimes it’s nice to be taken care of…”

Steve hums, eyes trained on The Princess Bride playing on your small TV as he asks, “When’s the last time you let someone do that?”

Shrugging your shoulders, your eyes trained on your pancakes that become blurry, as you squeak out, “I don’t know. A while.”

He drops the subject, both of you sinking into the couch as he massages up and down both of your calves. His fingers and thumbs resting on your ankle as the movie plays. Eventually your eyes start to drift closed as the credits roll and Steve squeezes your leg gently, whispering, “Hey, why don’t you go lay down in bed.”

“ ‘m fine. Not tired,” you mumble, eyes blinking open. 

He scoffs, slipping out from under you and before you can protest, he’s pulling your blanket off, unplugging your heating pad. He picks you up under your arms, hoisting you to your feet as you groan. Your hands wrap around his neck, face pressed to his chest as you yawn. Steve’s arms wrap around you hesitantly, his cheek to the top of your head. 

You stand there for a while, holding each other, your breath falling more even as you inhale his cologne. All woodsy and the faintest hint of a cigar on his tie. 

His palms rub up and down your spine and he whispers, “Come on, I’ll put a movie on your laptop and you’ll feel a lot better laying down in there, right?”

Nodding your head, you let him go, heading to the bathroom before finding him in your room. He’s fluffing your pillow and smiling at you as you stand in the doorway. He pats the bed and you make no movement to enter the room, hands twisting together in front of you as your stomach ties itself in a knot, your words stuck in your throat. 

Steve stops his movement, eyebrows raising, “What’s up?”

Exhaling a breath through your nose, your eyes look into his before finding the floor much more interesting as you ask, “Will you…will you stay?”

“Yeah, of course.” He looks down at his clothes and then up at you, gesturing to them, “Is it okay if I take these off?”

Smiling, you tug your lip between your teeth as you climb into your bed, “What, you don’t wanna relax in a three piece suit, Steve?”

He rolls his eyes but starts unbuttoning his slacks, you try to focus on pulling up a movie instead of the way he carefully folds his pants and vest over your desk chair. He’s got just his button down on now, black boxer’s and thick dress socks. You drag your palm down your cheek and scold yourself for letting your hormones derail your thoughts into something dirty. He’s just a friend here to watch a movie.  

He looks at the laptop screen as he hangs the button down in the same place, crawling in next to you in just his white undershirt and boxers. Warm socked feet tangling with yours as he raises his eyebrows and asks, “Holes? You wanna watch the movie Holes?”

Shrugging your shoulders, you roll onto your side to face the screen, quietly admitting, “Yeah, it’s a good movie. You don’t like it?”

Steve props himself up on his arm, head resting in his palm as his other hand rubs at your shoulder. “No, it’s good. I’m just surprised by your movie choices tonight is all.”

Your eyes flutter closed as his hand rests on your waist, thumb brushing under your sweatshirt at the bare skin he finds there. Humming as you relax back against his warmth. “What do you mean?”

Steve’s breath is warm on your neck and cheek as his thumb continues to rub circles, “I don’t know, The Princess Bride? Holes? I saw The Notebook out there and your book on the table was Pride and Prejudice. Seems like someone who hates love, secretly doesn’t.”

You huff, burrowing back against him and tangling your legs between his. If you had your eyes open you’d see him smiling down at your pout, but you do feel his squeeze on your hip as you reply, “Holes doesn't have anything to do with love and The Notebook is out there because Robin left it here after she made me watch it, so.”

Steve laughs quietly, “Holes is totally a love story. Sam’s ‘I can fix that’ is a nod to ‘As you wish’ and Kate’s revenge is because the love of her life was killed, and,” Steve squeezes your hip again, nose dragging across the back of your neck as he whispers, “That’s bullshit about Robin, cause I know for a fact she hates The Notebook.”

Your heart beats faster in your chest, palms sweating where they hold your blanket up to your chin as your eyes open. You want to deny it. To tell him he’s got it wrong, but there is something about these movies that always pulls you back in, and maybe it’s okay to tell him that. 

“I like that they all still love each other, even when they’re ripped apart from each other. They didn’t let life take their love away.”

Steve’s breath changes on your neck, his fingers pause just slightly on your hip and you feel tears in your eyes as you clear your throat. Deciding that if you want Steve in your life, you’re going to have to be open and tell him things you normally keep close and guarded. 

Not noticing you’re doing it, you pull his hand from your hip, playing with his fingers in front of you as you tell him all about your parents, their once in a lifetime kind of love. Dancing in the kitchen and your dad hitting your mom’s butt when she wore a particular pair of jeans. Your tears fall down your cheeks and you wipe at them as the movie continues to play while you retell their love story and how they met. Their date nights once a month no matter what, their coffee on Sunday mornings and feeding each other food while driving on long road trips. Knowing each other’s orders and getting the other ice cream even when they say they didn’t want anything.  

Rolling to face him, Steve’s eyes roam over your face, his thumb brushing at your cheeks before you grab it again, holding it against your chest as you tell him how your mom got sick. How your boyfriend in college who you’d thought was the one left when it got hard. How you watched your mom wither away, alone. Your dad stayed with her every day, and you knew it, that when she died, you’d never get him back, not the full dad you knew. He died a week after your mom, and you’re certain it was from a broken heart. Certain no one could have anything comparable to their love for one another. Convincing yourself that a person only gets to witness a love story like that once, and they were it for you. 

Steve’s eyes are wet with unshed tears as you shrug and swipe at your nose. Your voice scratchy and rough as you clear it and whisper, “I’ve never told anyone about that before. We moved around so much when I was little, and after they died…well,” you laugh a little, backhanding your cheek roughly, “I just kept moving too.”

“I’m so sorry,” Steve’s palm rests against your cheek, forehead pressing to yours.

“Yeah,” you sigh out in a breath. 

Steve swallows loudly, nose nudging against yours as his hands warm up and down your spine, soothing you. Your legs tangle together as Kate dies on the screen of your laptop, imagining her true love has returned for her. 

It’s hours later, your bedroom lilac and blue as dawn rises outside your curtains. Warmer than normal when you wake up to buzzing. Steve’s arms are wrapped around you, his body pressed flush against your back, puffs of his breath hitting just behind your ear on a shared pillow. 

Rubbing at your eyes, you search for the sound, nudging him awake, “Steve, phone.”

“What, honey?” He doesn’t open his eyes, nosing into your neck and arm tightening around your waist. 

Heart stuttering and a smile pulling on your lips as you nudge him again, “Steve, your phone is going off.”

He sits up abruptly, voice hoarse, “Oh fuck!”

“What, what’s wrong?” Rolling as he slips out of bed, pulling his clothes on quickly. 

He grimaces at his phone, locking it and shoving it in his pocket. He holds his shirts in his hands and leans over you in bed, hands grabbing your cheeks. 

“I’m sorry, I gotta go, my parents are here and…” he sighs, forehead touching yours, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you whisper, holding onto his wrists. 

Steve’s eyes open, glancing down at your lips before he pulls you in closer. He presses a soft kiss to them, sighing into you as he whispers it again, “I’m sorry. I’ll…I’ll see you at the game later. I,” his phone starts buzzing again and he groans. 

He kisses your lips quickly again and then he’s gone. 

You let yourself get ready for the day with a smile on your face after that. Telling Steve about your past was the right decision, you know it was. You feel lighter, you feel hopeful for the first time in a long time. Your thumb brushes over your photos from last week again, letting them rest on your desk as you finish your coffee. 

You’re lost in daydreams of getting ready for tailgating and outings with the group in the future, only Steve is next to you in a different way. It’s insane, it makes your heart stutter, makes your stomach flip, but you have a smile you can’t hold back at the thought of it all. Robin would surely be okay with everything that’s happened, if it meant you and Steve are happy. 

When Robin, Nancy, and Eddie pick you up, you’re caught up in Eddie insisting that that top stays off of the jeep all day despite Nancy pulling up the weather app and telling him the chance of rain. 

The tailgating spot is all set up and Eddie and you are crushing Robin and Nancy at bags, beers in hand and matching sunglasses on your faces. You pretend to chest bump as you score three more points while they’re stuck at zero. 

Robin grimaces at the two of you, finger waggling, “I’m really regretting this. I don’t like you two together. You’re too similar.”

Nancy looks frazzled, hating that they’re losing. She tries showing Robin a better way to throw and Robin throws her hands up in the air, turning to the two of you again. “Can’t you go easy on us? You both know I’m athletically challenged.”

Eddie shakes his head laughing, “No can do, toots!”

Robin pretends to gag, “Gross, don’t call me toots.”

Nancy puts her hands on Robin’s shoulders, her voice strained, “Robin. Focus.”

While they gameplan and Eddie heads to the cooler for another beer, you look around wondering where Steve is. Checking your pockets, figuring you left your phone in the jeep and you open the door to search for it. 

When you do, you see three missed calls from Steve and three texts:

Your brows furrow at the messages, heart rate picking up as you wonder what could possibly be wrong. Green phone button ready to be pressed under your thumb when relief washes over you as Robin shouts, “Dingus! It’s about time! You’re going in for me as Nace’s partner, I give up.”

Turning to face him as your shoulders relax, your smile on your face quickly falls. 

Steve has another girl’s hand in his and he’s staring at you as he says, “Hey guys, sorry we’re late.”

A/N: I cannot say thank you enough for the patience in waiting for this series to update. I'm forever grateful for those of you who are sticking by this series despite long wait times in updates & I'm happy to see some new readers still finding this little world! We have one final part after this (plus a small epilogue), and I promise, it's coming soon. Endless endless thanks to my beta @sweetsweetjellybean and my ladies for talking me off cliffs and helping me make this series the best it can be. 💛

WCIL Taglist: @boomhauer @loveshotzz @myobmaya @sweetsweetjellybean @pastel-pillows @littlesubbyflower @johnricharddeacy @freezaz123 @selfdeprecatingnerd @big-ope-vibes @manda-panda-monium @hellkaisersangel @yogizzz @soulmatecashton @happytimeunicorns @mandyjo8719 @lunarxeclipse @buckleylips @beckkthewreck @differentdeputyfishpaper @supardupar @micheledawn1975 @imjuststeddietrashatthispoint @sagelittleplace @totally-bogus-timelady @steves-babysitter @fallinginlovewithqueue @aftermidnightwriting @omgshesinsane @pootcullen @definitionwanderlust @nostalgiafool @palmtreesx3 @scoopshxrrington @live-the-fangirl-life

[drdemonprince]

To the COVID anon: my pro-Palestinian writing mentions the importance of masking and bringing masks to protest multiple times, so I'm not sure why you're under the impression that it doesn't. Please also keep in my that my essays are typically queued up for weeks, if not months, prior to their publication -- you should not assume that because I am talking about riding on a plane in an essay published today that I am currently that moment on a plane during a surge. You also shouldn't assume that I'm not masking in airports, train cars, and other public spaces (I am).

Since the beginning of the pandemic, I have had to deal with people assuming the absolute worst of my own personal behavior regarding COVID because I am critical of how public systems have failed to encourage and facilitate COVID mitigation. It's infuriating to be on the receiving end of such moralizing bad faith assumptions and for them to always be posed to me in an accusatory tone. I speak about this topic LESS because of the amount of bad-faith, moralizing, perfectionistic shit people throw my way.

I understand why you feel completely left behind anon, but projecting the most negative possible actions and intentions onto another person who does take this issue very seriously and has been writing about it regularly since March 2020 is not helpful. I need people to stop being propagandized into believing that COVID's spread is caused by nobody giving a fuck and not doing the "right" thing. Lots of us take principled, informed action constantly only to be told that we aren't doing enough or that we must be fucking up somehow because the situation is still bad. It's still bad because our public systems have failed us repeatedly.

If I were going to write about COVID masking in an essay about how disability is manufactured, it would be about how the government and employers forced people into work and made them sick and disabled for life. I would be writing about the Biden administration discouraging masking and no longer funding rapid tests. I would discuss school openings, reduced Medicaid benefits, and all the other systemic forces that have pushed people to have no choice but to take more risk and to lose their life or worsen their health because of it. And then, after I'd written that, which I have written many times before, people would accuse me of being an anti-masker who doesn't care about chronically ill people because I... go to protests and am required to travel for my job.

We can't build a disability justice movement on assuming the worst of other people who we are in community with, punishing them with judgement when they do speak out about COVID (thereby discouraging them from doing so further), and moralizing every individual choice (real or imagined) at the expense of focusing on the systemic causes of behavior.

[astrology-bf]

FFXIV Write 2024 | Day 10 "Stable"

Master Post | My AO3 | Challenge Info

~ 1.8k words | Mature | M/M | WoL/Haurchefant | CW: Implied Smut, Angst, Post-ARR Spoilers

A knight of Ishgard buried his misgivings as he always did, keeping his sunny smile affixed upon his face as he made his way back from the stables of Camp Dragonhead… at least until he neared his chambers in the keep, where privacy afforded him the chance to visually express his bitterness and his frustration.

Haurchefant frowned. A frown so deep his jaw began to twist, which was accompanied by a deep huff leaving his nose. The footfalls of his boots maintained a steady rhythm on the stones beneath his feet, but every now and then his gauntlets would ring out as his fists clenched. 

Fortunately, none were around to hear or see him as he went: Camp Dragonhead at large was now retiring for the night, its people seeking shelter from the chilly blustering ending the day… yet another day where Ishgard’s savior and his friends remained in limbo - neither in safety in Halone’s city, nor out of danger from the machinations of the Syndicate.

Haurchefant huffed again before coming to a halt outside his chamber doors. 

He stared at the dark oak with that same frown. The routine of ill news from up above followed by trudging to a lonely night within his rooms was a well-practiced habit, comforting only in that it was familiar to him. He closed his eyes, pursed his lips, and shook his head before reaching for the latch.

The door swung open silently under his touch. Haurchefant took a step forward, and took a breath as he opened his eyes… and paused, breath catching as he blinked. A moment passed, and then the knight’s faintly surprised expression started easing off into a tender smile.

His room was at a pleasant enough temperature, given the fireplace was kept in maintenance, but the curtains had already been drawn and the lamps darkened so its current occupant - the Warrior of Light - could get some rest. 

Ifan was lying on his stomach on Haurchefant’s bed; clearly having thrown himself on top of it out of sheer weariness, if the fact he’d only taken off his boots and little else was anything to go by. The white of his attire still bore some dirt stains from the day’s labors, and he was snoring lightly in the way which made the Elezen’s ears quiver faintly at the endearing sound. 

Haurchefant entered and closed the door behind him, then simply stood and spent a good while gazing fondly at the sleeping figure. His eyes traced over the Hyur’s face, lingering on his dark eyelashes and the way his lips were softly parted as he slept. Then his head tilted and his smile broadened further as his gaze went to the magician’s unclothed legs, fingers twitching lightly at the memory of just how soft the ash-brown hairs dusting his calves and thighs felt under the knight’s touch. 

His legs were much more toned than they’d been even a few weeks ago: the dividends of dedication when it came to learning windriding. Estinien was unforgiving in his tutelage, and Ifan was too stubborn to concede regardless of the regimen the Azure Dragoon deemed necessary. So, between the two of them, Ifan’s progress was rapid if taxing - and Haurchefant enjoyed the benefits of Ifan’s requests to massage his legs after a rough day training.

When his frown had finally eased in full, Haurchefant quietly made his way to the dresser so he could disrobe. The fireplace was more than sufficient for him to see his armor’s straps and buckles, so he made no move to light the lamps lest he disturb the Warrior of Light… but Ifan began stirring shortly after Haurchefant had slid off his gauntlets.

Ifan pursed his lips and swallowed, fingers curling in the covers before cracking his eyes open. Then he slowly sat up and rubbed at his left side with a small grunt before gazing blearily in Haurchefant’s direction, attention caught by a faint chiming of his chainmail.

“Mm…? Oh…” Ifan blinked, rubbed his eyes, and then gave the knight a tired smile. “Evening, Haurchefant.” Then he yawned, eliciting a chuckle from Haurchefant.

“A fine evening to yourself as well, my friend,” Haurchefant greeted in turn. “There is no cause to rise if you yet need rest.” 

Ifan shook his head. “Just needed a little nap. Estinien worked me really hard today.” 

The magician closed his eyes and stretched before shimmying out of bed, feet finding his slippers after feeling around on the soft rug with his bare toes. He stood, reaching for the hem of his Amdapori robe and simply shucking it over his head in a smooth motion - having already unlaced it before falling into bed, and not hesitating despite wearing nothing underneath it.

Haurchefant averted his gaze instinctively out of politeness before he took his liberty and eyed the Hyur’s naked bod,y as he draped the robes over a chair and reached for the shirt of Haurchefant’s which Ifan had wordlessly claimed as his preferred undergarment during his stay. It hung low and loose, the sleeves had to be rolled up, and the collar was constantly in danger of falling off one bronze-skinned shoulder… but it was the best fitting garment Haurchefant had ever seen his Warrior of Light attired in.

They were his colors, after all. Undyed, simple, but soft and sturdy cloth lacking any sign of House Fortemps of Ishgard. Just the shirt of a mere knight, freely given as a token of affection. It even smelled like both of them, as it often remained on when they were intimate, and despite how often Ifan laundered it by magic; carrying a little whiff of snowy pine from Haurchefant, and a faint hint of desert Azeyma rose from the Warrior of Light. 

Ifan ran his fingers through his hair to smooth it down before smiling at Haurchefant more wakefully. Then he made his way to where the Elezen was still doffing his armor, and wordlessly began helping the knight in removing it.

“How are you feeling?” Ifan asked, still smiling up at Haurchefant.

“...I will confess some frustration.” Haurchefant answered. His expression grew strained, and another barely audible huff escaped him. “Those voicing skepticism over your asylum remain intractable. One would think them more grateful for all you have done for Ishgard; at least sufficiently so as to think better of leaving you out in the cold.” He shook his head, and then pulled his now loosened chain hauberk up and off before he set it down.

Ifan paused, then rose up and reached for Haurchefant’s cheek with his right hand. The Elezen’s lips curved into a smile again on that side of his face, still marveling at just how warm his body always was thanks to the brand he had been given by Ifrit. 

“I’m not out in the cold,” Ifan said, gazing up at Haurchefant. “I’m with someone who’s doing everything he can to help me and the others. And I’m grateful for him.” Then he tilted his head and nodded reassuringly. “It’s all right to be upset, though.”

Haurchefant shook his head again, more firmly this time, and smiled down at the Hyur resolutely. “I shan’t sully our time in private with such matters, my friend. Slow progress is still progress, and there are worse dooms than your company. If such can be called a doom and not an act of grace.” 

Ifan sighed, grinning as he shook his head up at the Elezen. “You and your effusiveness. What am I going to do with you, hm?” he asked, before reaching for the laces of Haurchefant’s undershirt and loosening them. The magician’s eyes immediately went to the faint dusting of icy blue hairs on Haurchefant’s sternum… soon followed by his fingers, lightly grazing up towards Haurchefant’s neck before the knight had placed his hand over the magician’s.

“Permit me but a scant few minutes to raid the larder,” Haurchefant suggested, bringing Ifan’s fingers to his lips so he could kiss them. “I feel in need of an impromptu supper.”

“Just supper?” Ifan asked, with a coy grin. 

“Indeed. Followed by your hindquarters for dessert.” Haurchefant answered, with a smile that was too courteous by half. 

Ifan’s grin widened as his eyebrow rose, and he canted his head languidly. “Well. If that’s the case… you can have a few minutes while I make sure dessert is to your liking.” he said, giving Haurchefant a small chuckle.

“It has yet to fail to whet my appetite, I can assure you.” Haurchefant said, chuckling in turn with a light grin of his own. Then his expression became more sedate, and he craned his head down to press his lips to Ifan’s in a long, languid, and heedlessly impious kiss. 

His fingers curled within the shirt he shared with Ifan, and his arms tightened as he slightly lifted the magician up to get a better angle, better able to find the places within Ifan’s mouth which left him breathless… and breathless he was when Haurchefant rose up, their cheeks flushed pink and darkened bronze, and their lips set in soft smiles of quiet affection as the Elezen gazed down at Ifan lovingly.

Ifan took in a breath, lips parting as if ready to say something. Haurchefant found himself tensing for some reason that he couldn’t quite identify. A tension settled in the air, as did a silence that was broken only by the crackling of the fireplace and the muffled sound of Coerthas’ chill winds from outside the keep.

No words came. 

The Warrior of Light gazed up at Haurchefant in silence, still held tightly in his arms, as his joyful expression gradually faded into one of guilty confusion.

“...I’m sorry,” Ifan whispered, brows falling at the ends as he kept staring up at Haurchefant. “I don’t know why I can’t say it.” He took in another breath, one that was near-pained, and lowered his chin until he was staring vacantly at Haurchefant’s sternum with his gaze turned inwards.  

The Elezen’s smile gradually cooled into a sadly sympathetic look. He pulled Ifan more tightly up against him, one hand threading through the magician’s hair and pulling him out of his thoughts with the soft slide of his fingertips against his scalp. 

Ifan let out a resigned sigh, fingers curling in Haurchefant’s undershirt. He buried his nose against Haurchefant’s chest and inhaled lightly to refresh his memory of the knight’s scent, filling his mind with him in an attempt to ignore the voids left in his heart… dug out in Syrcus Tower, and again in the Sil’dihn Aqueduct. 

After a less tense silence, Ifan raised his head and gazed up at Haurchefant again, doing his best to express with the wine-dark blue of his irises what he was otherwise still too freshly injured to say.

Haurchefant smiled widely, taking in a slow and happy breath at the sheer fondness in the magician’s eyes. He squeezed Ifan again, putting his own thoughts aside in favor of the feeling; being in his chambers with a man he cared for, who didn’t care about his birth or rank, and cared about his city though he had no real reason to. 

“How could I want for words?” Haurchefant said softly, reaching up to brush a lock of Ifan’s ash brown hair out of his eyes. “How could I want for words… when you look at me, so?” 

[morethanwonderful]

One of my favorite little clever details in Tai Sui is how the state of Jinping at the very beginning of the story mirrors what's revealed to us much later about the state of the whole world.

Tai Sui's world is enclosed. Through the power of the immortals, at first for mortals' own benefit, their continent was severed from reality and encased by the axioms of the spiritual mountains. One of the main ways this is emphasized is through the fact that Zhou Ying knows he has never seen the true sky. The sky is blotted out by the constructed world that is supposed to grant them immortality and "prosperity."

Similarly, in the very first opening paragraphs of the novel, Jinping is described as a city of prosperity. Moon Plated Gold, a gift from the immortals of the spiritual mountains, has granted the city endless new mechanical power and economic growth. As a result of this, the steam generated by their prosperity has blocked out the sky.

One of my favorite lines is in that very first section: "The fog above Jinping couldn’t be called fog. It had to be called auspicious clouds."

This has to be a blessing, says the popular opinion! This fog has brought us wealth and power and prosperity, so who cares if we can no longer see the sky? It's written with a cheerful, insistent denial of the clear dark side to their prosperity. The fog "has" to be called something auspicious; there's no other option. The narration tells us to see this repressive smog as a gift, rather than a curse, as it came from the immortals and brings "prosperity," so there simply cannot be another interpretation.

And the same applies to the way the spiritual mountains block out the truth of the sky. The enclosed world Tai Sui's people inhabit is protective and auspicious and immortal. Who cares if their sky is false? Who cares if immortality is the loss of the self? The spiritual mountains and the chance to become an immortal are gifts given to the people! You can't possibly call them anything otherwise!

But you know, on some level, that eternal fog hiding the sky over the "prosperous" capital cannot be a wholly good thing, and the same applies to the axioms blocking the sky that are revealed much later on. No matter what the narration tells us, and no matter what the residents of Jinping try to tell themselves, we know it's not right to never get to see the true sun.

The whole introductory section of chapter 1 takes this sort of tongue in cheek tone that I think expands to the rest of the story extremely well. We hear of the obvious problems of choking smog, poverty, and rapid economic/environmental change, and then the narration tells us that this is all wonderful, actually. We're told migrant workers flooding into Jinping can't afford to live within the city walls, but there's so many they've built up nearly a proper town among the factories. We're told this is the picture of prosperity. Then the novel spends its entire first half (and beyond) hammering both the rich boy protagonist and the readers over the head with the horrific injustices of poverty and the widespread mistreatment of the poor by those in power.

Jinping on a whole, with its intense social stratification, rapid changes, and hidden sky, is a sort of microcosm of Tai Sui's world. The insistent, cheerful denial of the opening narration in describing it sets the tone for how the novel as a whole will go. Denial is everywhere in Tai Sui, and some of that denial (like the ignorance of true ways of the heart) will literally kill you if you let it go. And yet, Tai Sui is a novel about tearing down that denial anyway and looking right at the ugly truth of the world that nobody can bear to see, because confronting that truth is the only way you can ever hope to change it for the better.

Before you can hope to see the sun, you have to admit that maybe, just maybe, the "auspicious clouds" granted to you by immortal inventions aren't quite so auspicious after all, and the novel's opening paragraphs use their playful tone to gesture toward that all-important fact.

[investmentassistant]

How to perk up without coffee

Coffee is the go-to beverage for many people seeking a quick energy boost. However, there are times when you might want to skip the caffeine or simply try other ways to stay alert. Whether you're trying to cut back on coffee or just looking for some alternatives, here are some effective ways to perk up without relying on your favorite cup of joe.

Get moving

Physical activity is a fantastic way to wake up your body and mind. Even a short walk around the block can increase your energy levels. If you have more time, consider a quick workout session, stretching, or even a few minutes of jumping jacks. Exercise increases blood flow and releases endorphins, which can help you feel more awake and alert.

Regular exercise also has long-term benefits that can contribute to your overall energy levels. By incorporating activities like running, cycling, or yoga into your routine, you can improve your cardiovascular health, build muscle strength, and enhance your mental clarity. Morning exercise routines, such as a 30-minute jog or a session of high-intensity interval training (HIIT), can set a positive tone for the rest of your day, making you feel more energized and productive.

Stay hydrated

Dehydration can lead to feelings of fatigue and sluggishness. Start your day with a glass of water and continue drinking water throughout the day. Adding a slice of lemon or a splash of natural fruit juice can make your water more appealing and provide a slight energy boost.

Beyond just drinking water, you can stay hydrated by consuming foods with high water content, such as cucumbers, watermelon, and oranges. Herbal teas and coconut water are also excellent choices for maintaining hydration. Remember that your body loses water through various activities, including breathing, sweating, and digestion, so it's essential to replenish your fluids consistently. Aim for at least eight glasses of water a day, and more if you are physically active or live in a hot climate.

Eat a healthy snack

Choosing the right foods can make a big difference in your energy levels. Opt for snacks that combine protein, fiber, and healthy fats. Nuts, yogurt with fruit, or a piece of whole-grain toast with avocado are excellent choices. These foods provide sustained energy rather than the quick spike and crash that sugary snacks often cause.

Additionally, consider incorporating complex carbohydrates, such as oatmeal or quinoa, into your snacks and meals. These carbohydrates break down slowly in your body, providing a steady release of energy. Foods rich in antioxidants, like berries and dark chocolate, can also boost your energy levels by fighting inflammation and improving blood flow. Avoid highly processed snacks that are high in sugar and refined carbs, as they can lead to a rapid increase in blood sugar followed by a sharp drop, leaving you feeling even more tired.

Take deep breaths

Breathing exercises can help increase oxygen flow to your brain and body, making you feel more alert. Try taking a few deep breaths, inhaling through your nose and exhaling slowly through your mouth. This simple practice can help clear your mind and boost your energy.

You can also try specific breathing techniques, such as the 4-7-8 method. To do this, inhale deeply through your nose for a count of four, hold your breath for a count of seven, and then exhale slowly through your mouth for a count of eight. Repeat this cycle several times to help reduce stress and increase mental clarity. Another effective technique is diaphragmatic breathing, where you focus on breathing deeply into your diaphragm rather than shallowly into your chest. This type of breathing can improve oxygen exchange and promote relaxation.

Get some sunlight

Natural light has a powerful effect on your body's internal clock and can help improve your mood and energy levels. Spend some time outside during the day, even if it's just for a few minutes. If you're stuck indoors, try sitting near a window or using a light therapy box.

Exposing yourself to natural light in the morning can help regulate your circadian rhythm, making you feel more awake during the day and sleepier at night. If you live in a region with limited sunlight, especially during the winter months, consider investing in a light therapy lamp. These lamps mimic natural sunlight and can help alleviate symptoms of seasonal affective disorder (SAD) and improve your overall energy levels. Additionally, incorporating outdoor activities, such as gardening, hiking, or simply enjoying a meal outside, can provide you with a healthy dose of sunlight and fresh air.

Listen to uplifting music

Music can have a profound impact on your mood and energy. Create a playlist of your favorite upbeat songs and listen to them when you need a pick-me-up. Singing along or even dancing to the music can amplify the effect.

Studies have shown that listening to music can stimulate the release of dopamine, a neurotransmitter associated with pleasure and reward. Upbeat music with a fast tempo can increase your heart rate and make you feel more energized. Consider incorporating music into your daily routine, whether it's during your morning commute, while working, or during your exercise sessions. Singing along to your favorite tunes can also improve your mood and reduce stress, making you feel more awake and motivated.

Take a power nap

A short nap can do wonders for your energy and productivity. Aim for a nap of about 20 minutes; this is enough time to recharge without leaving you feeling groggy. Avoid napping for longer periods, as this can interfere with your nighttime sleep.

Power naps can help improve memory, boost creativity, and enhance cognitive function. If you have trouble falling asleep quickly, try creating a relaxing nap environment by dimming the lights, using a sleep mask, and playing soft, soothing music. Set an alarm to ensure you don't oversleep, and consider drinking a small amount of caffeine before your nap. The caffeine will start to take effect as you wake up, providing an additional energy boost.

Use aromatherapy

Certain scents, such as peppermint, citrus, and eucalyptus, are known to have invigorating effects. Use essential oils, candles, or diffusers to fill your space with these energizing aromas. A quick sniff of peppermint oil can be especially helpful in boosting your alertness.

In addition to peppermint, consider using essential oils like rosemary, lemon, and ginger, which are also known for their stimulating properties. You can apply a few drops of essential oil to your wrists, temples, or the back of your neck for an instant pick-me-up. Aromatherapy inhalers and rollerballs are convenient options for on-the-go use. Incorporating these scents into your daily routine, whether at home, in the office, or during your commute, can help keep you feeling refreshed and focused.

Stay engaged

Sometimes, boredom can make you feel more tired than you actually are. Keep your mind engaged by switching tasks, trying something new, or taking on a challenging project. Mental stimulation can be just as effective as physical activity in waking you up.

To stay engaged, consider taking short breaks to do something different, such as solving a puzzle, reading a book, or engaging in a creative activity like drawing or writing. Learning a new skill or hobby can also provide mental stimulation and keep your brain active. If you find yourself zoning out during work, try breaking your tasks into smaller, manageable chunks and setting short-term goals to maintain focus and motivation.

[benders-back]

Hey soo this is the first fanfic I've written in a minute!! Uhhh, I kinda wrote it as if you, the reader, were in Henry's pov! I also didn't intend for this to be gay, but I also didn't have it planned for them to be buddies either. So really, it's up to your interpretation if this is a jimmenry one shot!! Definitely because I wasn't too lazy to pick one path and go down it nooooo of course not

This is me also giving sweatervest Jimmy a second chance because the way he died in the movie was 100% NOT deserved man wtf </3

Cw; blood/gore, description of blood/gore, some profanity, weird descriptions of piecing someone back together, unlawful usage of glass (/j), description of dead bodies, and in general just other blood stuff yaya 👍

"Aye, stay still."

Jimmy would say with bit of a grumble as the world around you seems to be a shade of red. He seemed to be wearing a sweater vest, strands of his hair being more in his face as he was leaning over and being more up close with his tools. Almost like the man was screwing back in your eyes into their sockets.

"Look at ya, damn scrap metal is all you're left as . . I got you, mate."

He sounded a bit worried with his speech, his tone of voice sounding more soft and laced with genuine worry. You could hear parts of your body softly beeping, as if it were to alert yourself about what state of damage your body has been mangled into. As you lay on these rooftops, the rose tint begins to start fading from your vision. You look around, noticing the carnage of what once was hundreds of men that..oddly resemble you. You're covered in remains, not certain if they're yours.

"Now, I know yer brains a bit . . haywire, but Im sure I'll have a good enough explanation of everythin once you're stable enough." He would pull up your shirt to get access to your torso, noticing the metal holes for something to plug into them. Jimmy then grabbed a duffle bag off of the floor, dragging it over and unzipping it almost immediately. In his bloody hands, he held up a contraption with almost aux cord components at the ends to attach it to something, or in this case, someone. He lined up the plugs, and inserted them into those metal lined holes in your chest. He stared at the screen impatiently, noticing it blinking red. Jimmy seemed more focused on the battery part of the screen, observing that the battery that's pumping energy into you, is nearly empty. He put the contraption and screen into your open hands, putting his palm against where your knuckles would have been and closing his own hand slowly, causing your hands to close as well, now having you hold onto the screen that shows your vitals. After that, he quickly stood up and looked around at some of the scattered bodies.

"Yer gonna have to trust me, Henry. Keep a good hold of that, yeah?" He would explain while pointing at the machine in your grasp, his pace of speech growing more rapid as he starts to wander around the roofs, poking bodies and flipping them over with his foot to see what damages they have. Almost as if he were trying to find one that could qualify for both of your benefits, as if one of them has something that James is looking for.

Some time goes by where you can't see him, you're stuck looking up at the star scattered sky with the smell of iron poisoning the air around you, with lingering scents of burnt flesh and wet leaves. You're left all on your own, as you feel the numbing factors of the adrenaline shots you had taken before start to wear off. If you didn't feel paralyzed before, you could definitely feel the reason why, now. You want to scream, but something isn't allowing you to, no matter how wide your mouth is. With the bullets still being lodged into your inhuman skin, waves of agony are rushing in and slowly swaying out in a stuck loop of fake hope and immediate, painful truth.

After a few moments, you can hear heavier footsteps approaching, as if someone was carrying or dragging something that was weighing them down. Jimmy kneels back down beside you, now having one of the many bodies being at his feet. Jimmy looked down at him and sighed, taking a big shard of glass off of the rooftops from a shattered window and holding it hesitantly, both his hands shaking as he looked at the corpse before finally closing his eyes, and moving his head to look away from the body. Jimmy plunged the shank into his chest, tearing it open as if he were to gut a fish. He looked back at the organs inside of the man, tossing the glass aside and moving his heart out of the way. Behind the corpses heart, seemed to be a power unit, one similar enough to the one you were running off of. Jimmy quickly went back over to you, leaning down and unplugging the contraption before taking both sides of your chest and slowly peeling them apart, exposing where your battery would have been held. He reached his hand in, then the spare battery, and at this point, anything you could have seen has now entirely faded away.

You lay there, not being able to see anything, not hearing anything. Are you dead? Is this what hell feels like? The concept of being held down seems to be gone, you're floating aimlessly in a pool of pitch darkness.

And then suddenly, that's all gone.

You flicker awake, like an old lightbulb. You quickly sit up as the world around you has returned to the bloody mess you had left it in, with your buddy in the sweatervest jumping around and laughing in relief, before quickly going back over to you. Jimmy leaned down and got one of your arms over his shoulder to hold you up before slowly standing back up, now walking slowly to a door that was on the rooftops.

"Good enough for now . . fuck, gotta whole lot of explaining to do, don't I?" He would say with a soft laugh, as if a weight just released itself off of Jimmy's chest as he walked the both of you to the other side of the roof towards a door, leaving this blood bath behind.

[toloveawarlord]

♥ Pairing: Mikey Sano x Fem!Reader

♥ Timeline: Toman Timeline post timeskip

♥ Event: Kinktober

♥ Day 2: Friends with Benefits

♥ Warnings: semi/public sex; doggy style; exhibitionism if you squint

♥ wc: 800

 "Couldn't wait to get me alone, huh?"

You rolled your eyes, seated across from the Toman commander in the enclosed Ferris wheel cabin. The gang had decided to spend the beautiful summer day at the amusement park, and like usual, everyone wanted Mikey's attention.

"Are you still upset because Baji took your seat on that roller coaster?"

"He shoved me out of the way! Damn bastard." You were still sore about that. He’d shouted to startle you and then pounced on the opportunity to push you aside and sit front row in the seat that was supposed to be yours. The thought made you grimace. “I had to sit next to the smelly teenager. He gave me the creeps,” You replied, shuttering at the memory of his gross, oily hair and thick cologne.

Mikey chuckled as the carriage lurched and the Ferris wheel turned to take you both upward. You'd taken your opportunity to steal him away, waiting for the door to open and pulling Mikey inside to slam the door shut for no one else to jump in.

The carriage below yours held the very loud group of boys still shouting at you.

"You know, every time I ride one of these, I think it'd be a great hookup place." His tone nonchalant. An enclosed, but quite public space. The rocking of the carriage. His gaze moved from the window to you, a predatory glint in his eyes.

"You ever been fucked on a Ferris wheel?"

Time was against you. As you crept ever closer to the top of the wheel, clothes were only removed as necessary. Your hand hit the window, knees rested against the hard seat with your shorts and panties tugged down. "Ah- what are you waiting for?" You asked, the tip of his cock dragging against your folds.

"I haven't heard a please."

"Fuck you, Mikey. How's that for pleeea-" You stuttered off as the Toman commander sank his entire length into your cunt. It stung how wide he stretched you, pussy forced to adjust with little prep. Your eyes rolled back.

There was nothing like it.

For either of you.

Mikey gripped your hips, jerking you back in rhythm with his thrusts. This definitely made it to the top ten wildest places the two of you had fucked. He enjoyed that you also had a wild, dangerous side. "Were you waiting all day for this? You're soaked-"

The carriage rocked dangerously, making your stomach flip. A feeling that you chased with the Toman Commander. "I have other thoughts-"

"Like what?"

His question drew silence out of you, cock scraping the sensitive spot deep in your pussy. He fucking loved how you squeezed him, making him work to fuck you senseless. "Don't ignore your commander." His palm slapped against your ass.

"Fuck!" You yelped at the sudden pain, opened mouth spilling out filthy sounds as he pounded into your cunt. Surely, you hadn't been thinking about this all day. You weren't so cock hungry that you couldn't let loose and have fun with your friends. "Is that an official- mngh- invitation to be a member?"

You weren't a member of Toman, no matter how often you hung around.

Mikey snorted, slipping his free hand under your shirt to grope at your breast, rolling your hard nipple between his finger and thumb. "Ask me when I'm not balls deep in your pretty pussy-" He wouldn't mind having you in the gang, if that was what you wanted.

Your free hand went between your legs, rubbing your clit with quick movement. "Oh my god, fuck- right there-" The coil snapped, sending a wave of pleasure over you. His name tumbling from your lips in rapid succession.

"Shit-" Mikey rutted into you. Your cunt had a vice grip on his cock, squeezing him over and over. He couldn't get enough of you. Hooking up with you was like taking the most mind-blowing drug.

The sound of someone clearing their throat interrupted the moment. The poor boy working the ride hadn't opened the door, but he clearly understood what was going on. "I'll let you ride- I mean go another round- jesus-" He fumbled over his words, going quiet until the ferris wheel moved again.

You turned your head to catch Mikey's gaze, and the two of you burst out laughing. "Think we gave him a hard on?" The boy who'd let them on the ride was likely an overworked first year in college.

"Probably. Any guy would with you screamin so loud."

You shrugged your shoulders as Mikey pulled out. Your body ached from the odd positioning, but one orgasm surely wasn't enough. The boy had given the two of you more time and you were already half naked anyways.

Mikey plopped onto the seat; gaze locked on your tits as you disposed of your shirt. "We aren't getting off anytime soon, not with you lookin like that." A bold move, getting naked in a carriage with these large windows.

"Since that attendant was so nice, I thought I'd give you a ride, too."

The two of you ended up going around on the Ferris wheel four more times.

[fuckyeah-jessicabiel]

Jessica Biel for Elle USA - June 2007

From the moment she appears, Jessica Biel is gracefully deflecting the attention of men. Wearing Roger Vivier white pumps and snug True Religion jeans, her hair tightly pulled back in a ponytail, she walks out of the elevator in the Hotel Gansevoort in New York City's Meatpacking District at a rapid clip, shedding two young men who had the incredible good luck to have ridden down with her. She nods them off nicely as they walk away grinning and no doubt mentally compiling lists of buddies who'll be receiving the following text message: "DUDE! I WAS JUST IN AN ELEVATOR WITH THE SEXIEST WOMAN ALIVE!"

Next in the gauntlet is a Moby-looking scenester with a paunch who descends upon her in Ono, the Gansevoort's bustling, dimly lit Japanese restaurant, introducing him- self as if he's an old friend. The fact that he's wielding a Treo device like a video camera goes unnoticed by Biel, who later refers to said implication as "creepy." She dis- patches him into the darkness with a tight smile and walks through the large restaurant to a back booth, caus- ing a ripple of chopsticks to go still as heads turn.

If the rhythms and rotations of the mass entertainment media complex are to be trusted, we are currently living in Jessica Biel's Big Moment. After getting her foot in the door in 1996 on the show 7th Heaven, the now-25-year- old actress won the hearts and minds of the boys with her badass ability to wield a meat cleaver in the 2003 remake of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and a bow and arrow in 2004's Blade: Trinity. Her turn in 2005's Stealth, which bombed (literally), may have gone largely unnoticed, but the trailer highlighting Biel under a waterfall certainly didn't. Then in the fall of 2005, Esquire bestowed on her the magazine's "Sexiest Woman" honorific. Last summer, she deftly skipped over the threshold from hottie to respectable actor with her supple performance as an early-twentieth-century duchess opposite Edward Norton and Paul Giamatti in The Illusionist and since then has become a red-carpet flashbulb magnet, wearing Valentino to the Golden Globes and, to present at the Oscars, a fuchsia halter-top Oscar de la Renta dress that strikingly revealed her toned shoulders.

And yet "it's still a struggle," Biel says, sitting up straight with the alertness of a ninja. Her tan sleeveless Preen turtleneck highlights her muscular arms. "I thought the Esquire cover was going to be really positive for my career," she says. "But it wasn't, really." Biel recalls being told by one director, "I'm not looking for the sexiest woman; I'm looking for the girl next door."

"Parts that I really want aren't going to me," Biel says. "Like The Other Boleyn Girl with Scarlett Johansson and Natalie Portman." But she stops herself. "I don't want to say that there's nothing I love that I can have. But there's still the occasional script that the director doesn't want to see you for. They want that top tier of girls."

So how does she go from Big Moment to top tier? Gaug- ing from her acting heroes-Meryl Streep, Cate Blanchett, and Annette Bening (with whom she will costar, along with Sean Bean, in a screen adaptation of Oscar Wilde's play A Woman of No Importance)-it seems she has good taste. And in addition to working with Nicolas Cage and Julianne Moore in the recent thriller Next, Biel is finally getting a turn at comedy-something she's been longing for-opposite Adam Sandler and Kevin James in I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry, due out next month.

"Jessica is a great actress who also happens to be smart, sweet, and funny," Sandler says. "But the best part of working with her was watching her beat Kevin James at arm wrestling." Not that the movie, about two firefighters who pretend to be gay in order to claim domestic-partner benefits (Biel plays their lawyer), refrains from reveling in her sexiness-she sheds her clothes for a gawking Sandler, and when his character first sees her, his world goes into super slow-mo.

"She's capable of attaining the Julia Roberts crown," says Chuck and Larry director Dennis Dugan, referring to Biel's healthy-American-girl vibe and comic timing. The actress herself is wary of such pronouncements.

"The scary thing about having this opportunity is that if it's 'your moment,' that eventually disappears," she says. "I think about reaching for 'the moment' but never really achieving it. That way, I'm always striving."

BIEL CARRIES HERSELF WITH THE CONFIDENCE OF A DANCER OR AN ACCOMPLISHED JOCK-BOTH OF WHICH SHE HAS BEEN.

When Biel walked onto the set of The Illusionist, director Neil Burger was impressed with her athlete's readiness and resolve. She carries herself with the confidence of a dancer or an accomplished jock-both of which she has been. "She completely gave as good as she got" with her Oscar-nominated costars Norton and Giamatti, Burger says. "That's a testament to her poise and her talent."

Early in the production, Biel had a scene with Norton that put the two of them in a stream in the Czech Republic in March. "It was essentially liquid ice. It was like an elec- tric shock, and it knocked the breath out of both of us and Jess turned blue," Norton says. "When we watched it back on the monitor, you could see it hadn't played out exactly right. Neil and I both wanted to do it again, but some- times you have to give up perfect for safety, and we were hesitant to ask her to get back in that water. But she said, 'It wasn't right, was it? Let's do it again.' And I thought, All right, she's a pro."

"She doesn't take herself too seriously," says her friend and producing partner Michelle Purple.

Stephen Collins, who played Biel's minister father on 7th Heaven, agrees: "She has an incredible goof-off, tom- boy streak," he says.

So what was a tomboy doing in the front rows at fashion week in Paris early last March? ("An intimi- dating and overwhelming environment," Biel says.) Scoring some clothing, including the Preen number she's wearing now, and also celebrating her twenty- fifth birthday. "Someone said, 'You have five years till 30.' I started to think, Wow, over the next five years, my life could really change personally," Biel says smil- ing, with a slight squint of her catlike eyes.

When the tabloids started spotting Biel with Justin Timberlake in January shortly after his breakup with Cameron Diaz-the two were seen snowboard- ing together in Park City, Utah, during the Sundance Film Festival; sharing a glass of champagne at Prince's Golden Globes party; and backstage at Timberlake's concert in San Diego-her personal life suddenly became of great interest to the public. She dodges a probe about her relationship with Timberlake while knocking back shrimp tempura with aplomb, saying that she was in Park City with girlfriends and holding

"WE DIDN'T LOCK OUR DOORS," BIEL SAYS OF HER COLORADO CHILDHOOD,

meetings for her production company, Iron Ocean Films. Nor does she want to discuss her past relation- ships with actors Ryan Reynolds and Chris Evans, or Yankee star Derek Jeter, "for no other reason than I can't even go to the dry cleaner by myself anymore," she says. "You're seen in public with anybody that you might not even know, and you're speculated about."

Asked if the constant attention makes dating hard, she says, "It makes everything hard because you can't even go to pick up a prescription without somebody trying to snap a photo of what you have in your Longs Drugs bag. Thank goodness I'm a nice person," she says. "Thank you, Mom, for teaching me that.

"The day after Biel was born, in Ely, Minnesota, her parents took her to a dogsled race; it was 30 degrees below zero. By age one she was in a canoe. Her mother, who is "New Age," grew up in Colorado, hunting for arrowheads as a child; her father was a "mountain man" who ran an Outward Bound school and worked as an international business consultant. His career took the family (her brother, Justin, is three years younger) from Texas to Connecticut and, finally, to Boulder. "We didn't lock our doors," she says. "We snowboarded, hiked, climbed, rafted. We grew up without a fear of the world."

Although Biel thrived at athletics, she doesn't remember a time when she wasn't dancing or sing- ing. At age 11, she signed up with a talent agency in Denver, which got her to the International Modeling and Talent Association convention in Los Angeles, which in turn got her into meetings with managers and agencies.

"I wanted to be Whitney Houston for a long time. I would be onstage and I would just come alive," Biel recalls. "I begged my parents to let me go out for pilot season."

When she was 14, she landed her central role in 7th Heaven, playing the oldest daughter of seven kids in a wholesome Christian family. But after a few years, she wanted to mix things up personally and professionally. At 17, Biel posed seductively for a Gear magazine photo shoot, topless with scant bottoms. It was a clear sign that she wanted to be off the show. "I was all over the place," she says now. "I was being a rebellious teenager." She feels that she was exploited by the magazine, but 7th Heaven's producers cut her out of the series. (She eventually returned in a more limited role.)

"The Gear thing, while embarrassing, wasn't exactly bad for her career," Collins says. True enough, in that between Gear and Esquire Biel worked on seven major films. But none of those movies had anywhere near the impact that taking off her clothes did . Julianne Moore says that Biel's "extraordinary" beauty appears as if "she were carved from marble," but she also has a body that you'd think only a comic book artist could draw-curvy in just the right places-and yet still healthy. 

"WE SNOWBOARDED, HIKED, CLIMBED, RAFTED. WE GREW UP WITHOUT A FEAR OF THE WORLD." 

Biel works out three times a week, primarily heart-rate training, doing fast-speed soccer exercises, squats, and running. She also does yoga regularly. Still, she feigns dismay at the suggestion that she looks buff.

"What do you mean? This is the thinnest and the least muscular I've been in a long time," she protests. "I'm so lean and feminine!"

As we order tea after dinner, the large party of 20 at the banquet table perpendicular to ours has mostly disbanded, allowing four of the men left at the table to reshuffle themselves so that eventually they sit on one side, facing her. It's as if they're at dinner theater. Biel may feel she has yet to land the role that breaks her out, but until that time, she has no shortage of fans who will be happy to watch her along the way.

When asked to go bowling two days later, after her ELLE photo shoot, Biel scarcely raises an eyebrow. She throws on a black ensemble and arrives ready to roll at Chelsea Piers between two lanes of bouncy seven-year-old girls. Despite doing pretty poorly, losing for eight frames, she pulls a spare, a strike, and two nines at the very end to win the contest. "I was really sucking, but I'm a closer," she says gamely. "You should see me at beer pong."

[justageneralsimpindeed]

Since Choke me as if you hate me will probably take a while until there is a smut with illumi here's a little scenario that may appear in the story.

You attend to him with innocent eyes as you slowly accept him inch by inch. It's intoxicating. He snaps his hips towards you, smothering you as you gag on his length, tears streaming down your skin. Your lips are soft and welcoming the unconditional distinction to his slender pale fingers, knitting their way into your hair and harshly commanding it to his pelvis.

He is vicious as you savour the pre cum that confronts your taste buds, a salty, moderately bitter essence has you trembling away in ecstasy from the exotic flavour. Illumi knows and this does not benefit you at all because five seconds later his cock is back to beating the back of your throat in a rapid convulsion. You struggled to take him before even as he was always somewhat gentle or at least he prepared you enough so it wouldn't be a problem.

Not this time.

"That's it, you doing so well so far, "Illumi sighed as your wet cavern clung to his cock. He wasn't extremely vocal but his responses were far from his ordinary self.

You put up with him, with his guidance to assist you. The clear instruction of 'no touching' hung by a delicate fibre over an abysmal trench in the back of your mind. But it wouldn't matter you would forget about this night either only seeing it as a blur or thinking you fell asleep at sunset the next morning.

But you couldn't help yourself, your past was unfortunate but that didn't say you couldn't have sex with people anymore. As his hands snatched back on your hair and his hips surged to accomplish his euphoria, you touched him.

You went against his orders.

He stepped back away from you, your hands drifting from his jeans as you had no idea what was going on. You moaned as the pleasure of having your throat ravaged left.

Illumi glared seeming unbothered by the prosecution if not for his tone.

"What a disobedient girl, I told you not to touch didn't I?"He lectured as he eyed five crescent indentations on his thighs after removing his jeans.

"Guess I'll have to punish you then."

It was incorrect to get excited when illumi said that. He was unpredictable sometimes he would idolize your very being and would char the earth if anything happened to you and yet occasionally he is almost pleading the world to allow him to sacrifice you for it.

Your slick coated your thighs in a glistening sheet, and you knew that he wasn't dubious of the fact of your unmistakable arousal for discipline.

His face was like stone unchanged as he stalked your every movement.

"Get up."

"This isn't a punishment you'll relish."

Your legs throbbed seconds before collapsing from your aching knees, and yet you tried again, using the convenient trunk as leverage. You gasped as Illumi took hold of your shoulder hurling you onto the bed, before quickly crawling onto it, eyes drilling into your soul with a predatory regard.

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[fitnessnirvana]

HIIT WORKOUTS AT HOME

High-intensity interval Training (HIIT) is not only an excellent and convenient training method for building fitness and burning calories, but it is also a versatile workout style that can be done at the gym or at home. The goal of HIIT is to alternate between rapid bursts of high-energy movement and intervals of rest or extremely low-intensity exercise.

If you're doing HIIT at the gym, you may use a variety of equipment to boost the difficulty or intensity. However, it is simple to use what you have at home (even if it is only your own body weight) to get great exercise.

Benefits of home HIIT workouts:

You don't need any kit—HIIT workouts may be accomplished using just your own body weight.

2. They're not weather-dependent; you can work out in the rain or shine.

3. Easily fits into your lifestyle, ideal for busier times.

4. You can work out in a tiny place; you don't need large studios for these workouts.

5. Your home HIIT workout can be tailored to your fitness level, whether you're a novice or an established athlete.

As a sort of exercise that checks all of the boxes, it's no surprise that this method of training has become the preferred routine. There may be days when you are unable to make it to the gym, or you are not confident enough to join a gym but still want to work out. HIIT can help you achieve this from the comfort of your own home. The ease of rolling out a mat and getting a workout done in a short time makes this activity a good fallback option.

If you've ever tried HIIT workouts, you'll know how quickly you can work up a sweat, even with just your body weight. HIIT training can help tone and build muscles while also improving aerobic fitness.

[cryotherapy-sa]

The Recovery Hub Adelaide

Experience the transformative power of freezing cryotherapy at The Recovery Hub Adelaide. Our cutting-edge freezing cryotherapy treatment immerses your body in subzero temperatures, promoting rapid recovery and enhancing overall wellness. By exposing your body to extreme cold, cryotherapy effectively reduces inflammation, relieves pain, and boosts circulation, helping you recover faster from injuries and intense workouts. Additionally, it stimulates collagen production, improves skin tone, and can even aid in weight loss. Whether you're an athlete seeking quicker recovery times or someone looking to enhance their general well-being, our cryotherapy sessions offer numerous benefits. At The Recovery Hub Adelaide, we are dedicated to providing the highest-quality treatments to help you feel your best. Book your session today and experience the rejuvenating effects of freezing cryotherapy. Your path to optimal health and recovery starts here.

[fandom-addict404]

Anxiety’s One Hell of a Problem

“Oh fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck” Conrad muttered under his breath, shakily. He felt his heart rate beating a mile a minute and his hands shaking profusely has he scrambled to grab his phone from his pocket. However it seemed to keep slipping from his hands.

He finally got his hands to grip hard enough onto his phone where he clicked on Steven’s contact. He held the phone to his ear, the dial tone fading in and out as he felt his body float to and from his body every couple of moments. His hands were shaking and his leg was bouncing uncontrollably under the table.

“Conrad? Conrad? Is everything okay?” Steven’s voice echoes, worriedly over the phone. At first Conrad can’t completely hear him but Steven’s mind quickly pieces together what’s happening from the sounds of Conrad’s rapid breathing and panicked muttering from across the line. “Hey, Conrad, man, it’s okay. You’re having—“

“A panic attack, I fucking know!”

“It’s okay, just breathe with me.” Steven instructs, taking a deep breathe as example. “In…and…out. Just like me.”

“I—“

“Don’t talk. Just breathe, man. In…and…out…” Steven guides Conrad with his words, keeping a smooth coaxing tone.

Conrad takes a deep breath—though ragged—still a deep breath in and releases hot air through his slightly quivering lips.

“T-thanks, man. That was uh…really helpful.”

“Yeah, of course. You know I hate hearing from you like this every couple of weeks.”

“Sorry, I just don’t know who else to call.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean—“

“I could always call with a bit more than my ragged breathing and panicked thoughts over the phone.”

“Yeah! I wouldn’t even mind a nice friendly hello and a how are you every now and then. Ya feel me?” Steven smiles and Conrad can feel it, even through his phone’s shitty audio.

There’s an awkward silence for a couple of moments. Steven has so much he wants to say but he can’t have Conrad go back to square one with denied calls and shut off-from-the-rest-of-the-rest-of-the-world mentality.

“So…uh, it’s been getting worse?”

Conrad nods and Steven sighs to himself. He feels this pang of hurt in his stomach. Thinking of his best friend in the whole world (including Jeremiah, of course) going through this—and practically alone he might add.

“I just don’t know what to do. I mean, I’m anxious all the time. Over the stupidest things and sometimes over—her. a lot over her, actually.” he closes his eyes for a moment but when a flash of her appears he quickly snaps back to reality.

“What was this one over? Was it—?”

“No. This one was just stressed about you guys coming for the fourth. There’s a lot to do and my dad’s here and I’m just suffocating in this house, y’know?”

“Yeah. Your dad did tend to do that for you.”

Conrad lets out a dry laugh and takes one last deep breath. I’m gonna..”

“Yeah…” Steven says but quickly grabs the phone with his other hand and says, “Wait. I actually wanted to ask you something.”

“Oh?”

“Have you ever thought about…”

“Repainting the walls here? I might go a few shades lighter, I don’t know. Would that be bad? Repainting my mom’s walls like that? I don’t know it was just a thought but—“

And just as Conrad started spiraling about wall colors and whatever else that has crossed Conrad’s still slightly frantic mind, Steven interjected and spat out, “Have you ever thought about therapy?”

The call went silent, the only sounds coming from his dad’s bickering with the movers and the construction outside.

“I, uh…fuck, I-I don’t know, man.” Conrad stutters out fidgeting with the drawstrings on his shorts.

“I-I think—“ Steven clears his throat and adjusts his tone to something more assertive. “I think you’d really benefit from it. It’s really no secret you have anxiety and not in the, ‘sometimes I get anxious. It’s whatever’ sort of way and we BOTH know that. it’s in the ‘I’m having panic attacks almost weekly and I’m always overthinking everything’ sort of way.”

“Steven. I don’t—“

“Need to talk to someone about me feelings?”

“I’m—“

“Fine and don’t need some shrink to tell you how you feel?”

“See you get it.” Conrad jokes, his nervousness traveling all the way from Cousins to Philly in the duration of 2 seconds on a phone call.

“Just tell me you’ll think about it, okay?”

“Think about it?”

“Yeah! Think about how you feel about ‘finding your zen’!”

“Are you quoting yourself?”

“I am! it was a very wise thing to say and I think it applies to this situation.”

They finish up the conversation and Conrad hangs up the phone. He closes his eyes and takes a few more deep breaths and puts a smile on his face, almost feeling it. He hates putting on a happy face when he’s not feeling it but right now he’s trying to do the right thing and right now that’s finishing up the house before everyone comes, getting everything together for his mom’s favorite holiday, and resisting the urge to punch his no-good-of-a-father in the face. Easy enough, right?

For the rest of the day, all he could think about was Steven’s comment about therapy. Conrad knows he can get his panic attacks under control. All he has to do it breathe. Easy. Just breathe. We all breathe. In and out, in and out. But then why was it so hard for him all the time? Why was every little thing making him pull his hair out, get a sick feeling to his stomach. He felt on edge all the time. it used to come out in angry bursts but now, he either crumbles and panics or he shuts down and lets these little things ruin his day. What was happening? Was it…anxiety? first off, he hated that word ‘anxiety’. So diagnose-y and real. And second of all, it felt like more. He wasn’t just anxious, he was crumbling, tearing at the seams. Why?

Why fucking him?