#Please RB I miss my boy so much | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

writefightandflightclub · 3 months

Text

Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter One (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but will you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running?

Genres: a LOT of angst, some smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see collated series warnings here. Please note this series is NSFW / 18+ and minors or ageless blocks interacting will be blocked.

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are written. Posting schedule is here.

Author’s note: (If you read the original one-shot this slightly amended chapter will already be familiar to you, so I'm sorry for the initial lack of surprises. I promise though - there are many surprises from here!) Some of you may remember that this all started as an angsty smutty one shot, way back in 2020. Let’s just say, some of you really liked that story (thank you!) and a “part 2” was requested so that I could “fix” things for these two idiots (affectionate). Well, I guess part 2 took a while, because now it’s four years later, and I have written 87,000 words (ish). Oops. So, as you might infer through the accidental novel length spew, this series means rather a lot to me. It’s the longest piece of writing I have ever seen through to completion, and so, whilst it’s definitely not perfect, I am pretty proud of it! I hope with all of my little orange heart that you enjoy it, and if you do, any RBs, comments - or anything at all really - would mean the world. These two have lived in my head for four years and I will miss them, but I'm so excited to finally share them with you all! Honestly, I could say lots more, but for now I'll leave you with one more thought, which sums up this whole experience quite frankly: the characters made me do it.

Finally, I have to thank you all, lovely pocket friends, for being so supportive and encouraging the whole way. It means so much to me! Especially, I GOTTA thank the fabulous @astroboots, who has hyped this project from literally before the beginning and been so encouraging, and @foxilayde, who is an incredible cheerleader for all my hare-brained endeavours. ILY!

Word count: 9.7k for this part (it’s broken down into 3 sections, if you prefer to read in stints!).

Tag list info: will reblog separately tagging those on taglist. You can request to be added to the taglist if you are 18+ (or removed!). Send me an ask, please, so I can keep track :)

You love your squad. You really do. However, if you are being honest, it can be tough being treated as “one of the boys”. You know it’s a good thing that they don’t treat you any differently - but sometimes, you have to admit you want to be seen as a woman first and a soldier second. Especially on evenings like this when testosterone and drinks are flowing freely. Evenings when you have an ache in between your thighs that, in your case, calls out for a man. Okay - calls out for Santiago “Pope” Garcia, to be specific.

“I hope you can handle something stiff going down your throat,” you announce crudely to the group, arriving to whoops of appreciation as you slide the tray of hard liquor and beers on to the lofty bar table.

The squad is celebrating a successful bust, and the relief and revelry in the air after the months-long operation is palpable.

“Cheers to that!” Frankie winks with a dumbass grin, rubbing his palms together with glee. “You’re a saviour – Pope’s taking far too long.”

Will helpfully conveys the shots and beers around the table, glasses and bottles clinking and jovial smiles rippling through the group as a direct result. Ready for a cold one, you bring the rim of your beer to your lips for an immediate swig, condensation pooling on your fingers and making you realise how close the air is in this buzzing but dingy place.

“Bottoms-up, boys,” Tom directs as he passes you a shot, earning a good-natured side-eye from you. “And bottoms-eth up-eth, Mi’ Lady,” he adds, along with a regal hand wave to match his faux Olde English tone.

“To busts!” you ‘cheers’, clinking your glasses in the centre of the table. The innuendo earns a throaty, gruff chuckle from Frankie who bumps shoulders with you, inviting you to share in the camaraderie. You give-in with a broad smile, unable -as ever- to resist Frankie’s tittering.

“Oh, hang on,” Frankie says, flitting quickly to a now unoccupied bar stool at an adjacent table (seats are in short supply tonight) and dragging it over to you.

“This for me, Catfish? How gallant.”

He grins. He knows you hate gallant. “It’s actually for Pope and his creaky knees… but you may as well make use of it while he’s pre-occupied,” Frankie chortles. You sit gratefully, your decision to wear heels after months in your beloved combat boots feeling like a definite mistake.

Speaking of mistakes...

“You fucking seeing this?” Tom asks, nodding his head over towards your squad mate, apparently simultaneously in awe of and amused by his current interaction at the bar; the very reason the drinks had been failing to materialise.

Twisting on your perch, you follow his gaze towards Santiago, eyes boring into the back of his head and his wash of grizzled curls. Involuntarily, your eyes trail over his form, the midnight blue button-down taut over his muscled shoulders as he casually props himself against the bar, jeans snug over that impossibly shapely rump. He has the barmaid rapt, eating out of his hand, all batting eyelashes and tongue slack in her mouth. Abandoned, a tray of shots sits unnoticed in front of Santiago as he lingers in conversation with her. All you can do is watch as, next, she leans over the bar brazenly, letting her thick, dark mane cascade across her ample, showcased cleavage. You can’t see Santiago’s expression as he -respectfully, you’re sure- admires her, but you can imagine it.

Occasionally, you are on the receiving end of those expressions too.

Unfortunately, Santiago has a raw talent for making… connections. Besides off-shore bank managers and corrupt lawyers, that also inevitably extends to hook-ups. He is never short of distractions. Or, apparently, you never can hold his attention for long. When you do, though? When he does notice you, he makes you feel like you are the only woman in the world, his focus so intent and unrelenting you feel like he is viewing you through a sniper scope. Like the attention might end you.

You bristle thinking about his selective interest, the dull ache between your legs intensifying.

“Never mind that deserter. Let’s celebrate without him,” you encourage to a ripple of agreement. You toss your shot back in-time with the boys and screw-up your face, shuddering in response as the spirit burns down your throat. You stick your tongue out with a “bleuch” as the aftertaste lingers.

However, your distraction doesn’t work for long, as your comrades seem determined to continue gossiping about the object of your desire.

“How does he do it?” Tom asks in disbelief, with more than a side of jealousy. He’d always given off the vibe of envying Santiago, you’d thought. “We’re all good-looking guys, man. But that little shit’s rolling in it.”

“I don’t know what it is. He’s not even tall,” Will snickers, knowing that Santiago hates being teased about his height.

Frankie interjects. “MaybeFrankie interjects. “Maybe it’s the big dick energy.”

No comment.

You’ve certainly never had any complaints about his stature. He is large enough to feel sturdy and surrounding, and small enough that you can take control of him when the mood strikes you. Oh, and you’ve certainly never had any qualms about his big dick energy… or his big dick for that matter.

Frankie chuckles again at the good-natured teasing and bumps you with his elbow. You are grateful for his easy, infectious laughter, acting like an umbrella against the moody, Santiago-shaped storm cloud which threatens above your head.

“For real though,” Tom interjects, leaning forward over the table as if he’s sharing classified intel. “Has he been getting frisky with the informant again?” His eyes travel around the table, meeting each squad member’s gaze in turn. “I feel like he’s definitely got something going on there too. Tell me I’m seeing things.”

“Luci?” Will asks, then whistles in surprise at Tom’s accusation, his brows converging. You’re not sure if he’s surprised by Santiago’s potentially compromising choices, or impressed by his unparalleled ability to pull. “That sly dog.” Perhaps it’s a little of both.

You tense. Santiago getting involved with an informant. A beautiful informant. Sounds entirely plausible, although Santiago has neglected to tell you if it is true. Besides building connections, another skillset of Santiago’s is his uncanny aptitude for mixing business with pleasure. Realistically, he can do whatever the hell he wants with whomever he wants - it is no business of yours - but, in truth, you are tired. Tired of being the one he only picks up when he has no-one else. Tired of going unnoticed the rest of the time.

“Actually,” Frankie leans forward to drop this juicy titbit of gossip into the conversation. “Luci broke it off. Requested a new contact.” He taps the side of his nose as if to indicate that he has his sources too, trying to drum up some air of mystery. “Coincidence? I think not,” he adds, tipping his head towards the continued scene at the bar.

You stiffen then in cold realisation. That’s why. That’s why he was noticing you earlier tonight. It wasn’t that he finally saw you. It wasn’t you in this dress. It wasn’t you. Yet again, he’d simply run out of distractions.

“Huh,” Tom says, looking a little too pleased with Santiago’s misfortune, swilling the dregs of his beer around absent-mindedly. “Well. He doesn’t seem devastated. It took him all of two minutes to get back on the horse.”

“Come on. You know Santi famously doesn’t get attached,” you snipe, partially serving the sentiment up as a reminder to yourself.

Santiago does have a... reputation. Honestly, you have no problem with that. There is no shame in having casual sex, after all. So long as it is safe and consensual, what does it matter? You’ve even acted as Santi’s “wing-woman” on a number of occasions. It had never been a problem; that is… it hadn’t been a problem until he started having casual sex with you.

Santiago is loyal almost to a fault in many other areas of his life. He is abundantly loyal to you, and there is no doubt in your mind that Santiago sees you as a friend first. As a soldier second. You know he respects you deeply for your sharp-mind, your humour, your straight-talking, and your lethality in equal measure. And, you also know that Santiago desires you. Or, at least, he does when it suits him. When he is paying attention. These various roles never seem to converge, though. As a friend? You and Santiago go way back. As a soldier? You’ve been on his squad longer than anyone has, since decades before you all went freelance. As a lover, though? Well, that is new. And he can’t seem to reconcile this new role with the rest of the ways he knows you.

Yes. Sure. Sometimes, Santiago desires the soft parts of you. Sees you as something other than a friend or a soldier. But you wish he would notice all of you, all at once. He sees you in fragments, like shrapnel. You wish he would piece things together. You wish he would notice you consistently. Not only when you’ve been out in the field too long, spending days bunched into hot and confined spaces, too close for comfort. Not only when hails of bullets send him reeling, searching for any kind of foothold on feeling alive. Still, over and over, you let him. You let him dip you back, with urgency - on to a mattress or a roll-mat or simply down on to the jungle floor - to thrust himself into you.

Santiago “Pope” Garcia is the man you crave. He gives it to you good. He makes you feel like a woman. Of course, there is no one particular way to be or to feel like a woman. There are infinite ways. For you though, very specifically, it is simple. It feels like Santiago desiring the soft parts of you which lay secreted under your tactical gear and your tough façade. It feels like him kissing you, soft lips and abrasive stubble. Strong hands and that muscled body writhing in a mess of breath and flesh. In those moments, you are a soldier least of all. Free of any mission, you become unadulterated; reckless abandon. You cease to be clipped and tactical, precise and lethal, and instead you become a soft, fluid thing beneath him.

Every time you arrive back in the city though, distractions abound. Santiago apparently ceases to desire you. Notice you. You had wrongly believed that tonight felt different. Something about the cool but heady night air. The way he was looking at you in this dress during your walk to the bar to meet the rest of the group. The way his hand lingered on your back as he guided you over to the table. But it mustn’t have been so. It must have been wishful thinking, that’s all.

You’ve done an increasing amount of wishful thinking, lately, it seems.

Too much.

You sigh deeply. You don’t even realise you have zoned out from the group’s banter until Santiago arrives back with the tray of drinks -and no doubt one more phone number in his contacts- by which point, you are riled up enough to grab the shot of tequila right off the tray and down it without thinking, salt and lime be damned.

“Woah, cariño. Feeling spirited tonight? Not wanna wait for the rest of us?” His smile is broad and easy and annoying as hell and suddenly you are adrift.

“Nah, I’m done waiting, Santi,” you bite. He doesn’t catch the double-meaning in your words, because of course he doesn’t. Why would he?

Your skin flushes with instant heat as a result of his presence- definitely a recently acquired response. And so, you hastily dismiss your leather jacket, revealing a strappy, red, form-fitting dress beneath. Your appearance even earns a low whistle and murmur of approval from your buddies.

“Someone’s gonna get lucky in that cute little number,” Frankie says pointedly, even as he’s staring curiously at Santiago staring at you. Maybe he’s on to you two.

You smile, happy -as ever- to take a little flattery. Plus, you do find it hilarious to watch these guys squirm when they remember that you do, in fact, have a body concealed underneath all your tactical gear.

“Well I won’t get lucky if you chumps keep staring down every man who looks at me,” you complain, already having clocked the defensive perimeter which has formed around you, simply from the way they have positioned themselves.

The squad are protective of you, unnecessarily, and you simultaneously chide and love them for it.

“Big men protec’, chiquita,” Frankie teases, puffing out his biceps and chest like a gorilla. He says it knowing fine well you could take out any one of them if you wanted.

You hear the warm rumble of Santiago’s laugh next to you too, chiming in time with yours, his body closer than you’d realised as he dishes the remaining shots out. “Please!” he scoffs, casually slinging his arm around the back of your bar stool, the shot primed in his other hand. “You know damn well she doesn’t need protection!”

“She’s gonna need protection when she gets laid,” Will quips, causing Tom to almost snort beer out of his nose in amusement and Frankie to high-five him from across the table. You would scold him but you’re laughing too, even as you roll your eyes good-naturedly at their ‘bro’ humour.

You drop your head towards Santiago as the others continue snickering like a pack of hyenas, the alcohol clearly having gone to their heads already. That’s what they get for drinking on empty stomachs. You and Santiago’d had the foresight to hit up a first rate food truck on the route across town, like sensible people.

“Dance with me, Pope?” you ask, giving him a subtle yet seductive bat of your eyes.

“For the love of God, Pope. Leave some women for the rest of us,” Tom pleads -partially in jest, you’re sure- as Santiago curtly nods, not knowing quite what you’re up to but taking your hand anyway.

“Ok. I hear you. Let’s ditch these losers,” Santiago joshes, smiling as he gets a predictable rise out of his squad.

It isn’t so unusual for you two to dance together when you visit bars, so it doesn’t earn too much suspicion from the group (plus, you’re military - you two have been pretty damn good at hiding your hook-ups, covering your tracks). Dancing with you might undo the careful ground-work Santiago had laid with the barmaid just a moment ago, however. Even so, Santiago opts to follow you into the sweaty throng of people on the floor all the same, your fingers loosely twined with his as you lead him. You find a relatively private spot, away from the prying eyes of the squad, and come to a standstill.

You turn into Santiago at the last available moment, meaning he ends up disconcertingly close. Almost chest-to-chest with you.

“Put your hands on me,” you command, a little more throaty than intended. You sling your arms around his shoulders, fingertips brushing at the buzzed hair at the nape of his neck. Santiago hesitates, but following a search of your eyes he plants his hands firmly onto the small of your back. You instantly feel the broadness and the warmth of him through the thin fabric of your dress. Those lethal hands. The hands that have pulled triggers and grenade clips. Choked the life out of assailants. Those lethal hands that have traced gently down your back as you laid bare beside him, killing you softly.

You let his hands rove over your body, wherever he wants to put them. Apparently, he wants to put them everywhere he can, like it’s a compulsion to touch you. He trails his hands up and down your back, ghosts them over the globes of your ass, snakes them down to the lip of your dress where his fingertips brush against your bare thighs, tacky with heat. And, after wandering, his hands come to rest low-slung on your hips, exactly where he likes to grab you when he thrusts into you. He gives you a subtle squeeze there, and the feel of him floods back to you. You are reminded of the way, when you’re with him, your own lethal hands are finally occupied by something other than battle. Of the times when you relinquish any preoccupation with victory, in favour of reaching perfect surrender. The times when your heart throbbing in your throat feels like safety instead of danger.

His hands on you feel... natural. You move together symbiotically. Your bodies are always, easily in sync. On the battlefield, on the dance floor, in the bedroom. Always moving as a team. After so long side-by-side, it would be hard to exist in a manner to the contrary. It would be hard to exist without him at all.

Will be hard.

You let Santiago press against you as you sway together on the darkened dancefloor, gyrating and slinking your hips in time with the music. You feel him half-harden against you and his grip on your hips tightens, a feeble but gruff sound involuntarily escaping his lips and causing a coil to tighten in the pit of you.

You think Santiago looks into your eyes meaningfully then. With something deep and unspeakable. Though that must simply be the wishful thinking you’ve become so practised at, and so, you immediately dismiss the thought, even as you nestle your mouth closer to his ear in order to speak. As your breath fans over the corded column of his neck you could swear he engorges further. And, the ache between your legs becomes almost unbearable at the spike of his cologne in your nostrils, his familiar scent curling within you.

Santiago doesn’t smell like spice or musk or woodsmoke. Not to you. To you he smells like memories and possibilities - a heady paradox. Like your past and future. His scent inspires a quickening within you. Something under your skin is spurred into motion, tending toward collision. Yet at the same time, his scent curls in you and feels like… a stilling too. Like someone entirely arrived at a place so familiar that they forget ever having arrived at all and can’t imagine leaving.

You dismiss it. You try. You fracture the moment. You must, before you collide.

“I hear you’ve had some informant woes? I hope to God we got the intel.” You feel him tense instantly against you.

“Uh-huh. I got it.” Santiago‘s not really listening. Instead, he’s dropping his eyes to your body pressed up against his own, the heels of his hands now kneading into your hips. “You look good.” His voice is a husk in the shell of your ear as he leans into you, ensuring he can be heard over the music.

“Good for Luci, breaking it off though.” You dismiss his compliment, barely able to obscure the animosity in your tone despite all attempts to sound casual.

He snaps back from you an inch or so, enough to look you directly in the eyes. You think that maybe, he looks almost disappointed. “Jealous?” he probes, ticking-up one eyebrow.

He knows you far too well. Yet, despite his on-the-mark observation, the question makes you feel called-out and so, your next tack becomes unnecessarily cruel. Vengeful almost. “He’s getting there.”

“What?” Santiago asks in evident confusion, his hands slipping back-up to the neutral area of your back as the mood slips away too.

“The tall drink of water at 9 ‘o’ clock. Guy who’s been eyeing me all night. Doesn’t he look like he wants his hands on me instead of yours?” You know that you sound cruel, and petty, and the words feel bitter, like salt and lime in your mouth. You’ve said them all the same though. It’s already done.

Santiago’s jaw clenches, eyes flicking subtly over as he rotates you to get a better look at your target.

“He does,” he states, with a thin attempt at neutrality, his neck roped with tension as his eyes skim over the other man.

“Great. Then thanks for the dance, Wingman. You’re relieved.”

Santiago puffs out air, his jaw clenching and eyes darkening.

You tick an eyebrow up at him. “What’s wrong? You jealous, Santiago?”

Then, you saunter towards the bar, where the other man is stood. He very blatantly gives you the once over, evidently liking what he sees. You lean in with a flirty smile, letting the image of an aggrieved Santiago dissolve into the throng of people as you allow yourself to be entirely distracted.

You are done waiting.

You want to be noticed, and this handsome man in front of you is certainly providing you with his undivided attention.

***

Later, Santiago watches you prepare to leave with the other man, disgruntled and forlorn. He’s watched you all night via snatched glances through the crowd. Watched the man laugh at your jokes, watched him work up the courage to brush your arm. He watched you eventually move in for the kiss, your eyes turning hungry as you pulled away, teeth biting down on that delicious, pillowy lip of yours.

The bar having quietened down a little by now, Santiago sits in a booth opposite Tom and Frankie, Will having found his own company for the remainder of the night as well. Santiago’s head is propped on his elbow, a half-empty beer nestled in his other hand. His buddies’ eyes needle him as you toss a casual salute over to the table, your hook-up leading you out by the hand and your eyes shining gleefully.

“What?” Santiago hisses defensively, as Frankie continues to stare knowingly at him from the opposite side of the table.

Frankie’s head simply shakes in amusement. “Nothing. Only… when in the hell are you gonna figure out it’s her you really want, huh?”

“She’s just a friend,” Santiago bristles, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, hunching in on himself.

“And a fuck-buddy,” Tom ventures.

Santiago looks down, taking a masking swig of his beer. “You know about that?”

“Didn’t until just now. But thanks a bunch for confirming,” Tom replies in a self-satisfied tone, earning a chuckle and a bump on the shoulder from Frankie.

“Well… fuck.” Santiago sighs, his face becoming pinched.

“I already knew,” Frankie states. “Christ. You’re loud enough, man. Hard to keep the secret that you’re nailing one of the squad when we’re camped out in, like, 3ft of jungle.”

Santiago absent-mindedly picks at the label on his bottle with his thumb. “Don’t talk about it like that, man. It’s not… Fuck.”

Frankie just looks across at him in sympathy, Santiago’s reaction revealing more than he probably cared to about the true extent of his predicament.

You’d risen through the ranks together. You’d been through a lot. Everyone on the squad knew Santiago was your ride or die and you his. You had each other’s backs. Had tended each other’s bullet wounds for Christ’s sake. Your friendship and the trust between you both -on the battlefield and off it- was deep and unshakeable.

“And you don’t want more than that?” Tom probes.

Despite being indoors, Santiago picks up his baseball cap from the seat and pulls it down over his eyes then, in an attempt to shield himself from this line of questioning.

“What ‘else’ is there? There’s not much time for romance in between a hail of bullets.”

“Maybe.” Tom tips his head, contemplatively. “But you’re not getting any younger, Pope. How many years do your Goddamn knees have left in them?” He lets that one simmer for a moment, before nodding pointedly towards the door through which you had retreated. “You could do a lot worse, you know.”

“She could do a lot better,” Frankie interjects, earning a snigger from Tom and causing Santiago to huff, expression turning surly. Frankie holds his hands up defensively then. “Look, you do you, man. I’m just saying... I’m sure you’re having a great time getting your dick wet all over the continent… but if you don’t step up soon? You might regret it.”

Santiago whips his eyes towards his buddy, gaze interrogative and piercing. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing in particular,” Frankie shrugs, searching Santiago’s eyes with equal vigour. Santiago drops his gaze first, feeling exposed.

Frankie kicks his buddy gently under the table. “Come on, hermano. Use your words. Share your feelings.”

Frankie’s words may sound mildly taunting, as ever, but Santiago recognises the invitation to open up is genuine. He purses his lips, brows knitting together as he resists it, picking through his choice of words carefully before he allows them out of his mouth. He massages his palm over his roughened jaw and it rasps like sandpaper. “I don’t even know if she wants more.”

“Are you kidding me, man?” Tom responds in amusement. “The guy who can get information out of a freakin’ stone, make any informant sing, ‘doesn’t know’ if she wants more? That’s what’s stopping you? A fucking intel issue?”

Frankie titters again, narrowing his eyes at Santiago and trying to figure him out. “He’s scared,” the man accuses, before his tone softens involuntarily. “That it?”

Santiago takes an idle swig of his beer, polishing off the dregs before shrugging his jacket on, jaw twitching in irritation.

“Oh shit, he’s moping! He’s moping now. Can’t handle the truth,” Tom mocks.

“Come on, Santiago,” Frankie reasons. “We just want things to work out for you. You two are a good match- any chump can see that. Heh. Except maybe you.”

Santiago doesn’t respond. Instead, he simply continues his silent preparations to leave, stuffing his wallet and keys into his jean pockets.

“Plus- there are a bunch of reasons we’d like you off the market,” Tom teases. “More women for the rest of us. Golden opportunity to tease you for being so whipped.” Tom flashes a shit-eating grin up at his friend.

Nodding gently, lips twisted in a pout and refusing to rise to it, Santiago tips his head towards his squad members. “Gentlemen,” he offers by way of farewell, before starting towards the door.

“Want me to walk you home safe, chiquito?” Frankie calls.

“I’m not going home.” Santiago turns and gives the two men an affectionate middle finger before beelining toward the exit.

“You’re not going over to her right now, are you? Pope? Santiago? That’s not what we... She’s gonna be pissed, man. Think this through!” Tom shouts after him, but it’s futile. Santiago has already swept out into the night, leaving Tom and Frankie to exchange helpless glances.

There is a beat.

Then: “I bet the bastard gets laid as well,” Frankie snorts.

“Right?” Tom hums softly in agreement. “If anyone can turn up to a girl’s apartment while she’s banging another guy and still end up getting down? It’s that little shit, no word of a lie.”

There is a moment of silence as the pair sip their drinks and contemplate what Santiago has, precisely, which causes women to become so enamoured with him.

“Maybe it’s his ass?” Tom offers, finally.

Frankie clicks his fingers. “Ah. You’re probably right. That ass won’t quit.”

Meanwhile, Santiago steps out into the fresh air, the slight bite of it taking the edge off his alcohol buzz.

His thoughts are overwhelmed with you. Have been overwhelmed with you. In truth, Santiago is finding it harder and harder to keep this up. Especially whenever it is just the two of you, he finds it harder and harder to resist you.

It is typically easier in the city, where there are plenty of distractions. He is grateful for it - other people he can tangle with to take his mind off of you. In the city, it is easier to push that side of you out of his mind and to fall back into the clear-cut ways. The way it used to be before the lines had become blurred. Easier to compartmentalise his feelings for you. A friend first. A soldier second. A lover, only intermittently.

Santiago was determined not to let everything bleed into one, because once those barriers, those delineations fell, he was convinced he would never be able to rebuild them.

Most of all, he was convinced he wouldn’t want to.

The thing is... the “distractions”? They never really worked for long. You are the only woman for him, in truth. And for all it might be crazy, he is headed towards your apartment right now to find out if you feel the same way. To find out if you want more. To find out if you see him as more than a friend and a soldier and a lover, or if you see him completely, and all at once.

To find out if he is everything to you, like you are to him.

***

There is a loud rap on your door and it tears you, regretfully, from the tangle of limbs you are in. When the knock becomes more insistent, you apologise to the man blissed out beneath you and extricate yourself from his embrace, hastily cloaking yourself in a sheet and traipsing through your temporary apartment – home for the time being. Adrenalin piqued, you peer through the spyhole, relief flooding you when you see who it is.

“Santi? What the fuck?” you ask, opening the door to him and pressing the sheet to you with your remaining hand.

“Hi,” he says casually, the brim of his baseball cap pulled down over his eyes.

“I’m in the middle of something,” you bite, emphatically. “What in the hell do you want?” you hiss at him, keeping your volume low.

“You,” he says plainly.

Santiago looks you over; your flushed face, plumped lips and blatant post-orgasm glow. His jaw visibly clenches.

“What?!” you exclaim in confusion.

“I want you.”

You tear his blasted hat off to examine his eyes for sincerity, pushing it into his chest all bunched-up. He hastily stuffs it in his jacket pocket. Eyes narrowed, you appraise him a moment longer, clicking your tongue in disbelief at the nerve this man has before abruptly closing the door on him.

“Bye, Santi.”

“Wait!” he pleads, jamming his foot in the door and muscling through.

“What in the hell are you doing?!” you hiss again, backing-up and almost tripping over your sheet, which Santiago now has his mucky boots all over.

By this time, your hook-up for the night has heard the commotion and blustered through the dark apartment -in the nude- to ward off your supposed intruder. Your companion is bigger, sure, but he certainly shouldn’t mess with Santiago. He wouldn’t fare well at all.

You raise your hand to diffuse the situation. “It’s ok, he’s a friend. Sometimes,” you add with a tilt of your head.

Your companion’s face flashes with recognition as Santiago emerges from out of the shadows. “Oh. It’s you, from the bar. Here I was thinking we’d gotten rid of you already.”

Santiago simply glowers with bubbling aggravation at the man, who has the cheek to just stand there with his fucking schlong out, entirely undeterred. Santiago puffs his chest out, making himself larger.

“Please.” Santiago addresses you, tearing his eyes away from the man. “Can we talk?”

You sigh, unable to believe that you’re being stupid enough to agree to his demands. You turn back to the man you were enjoying being on top of until a moment ago. “Can you give us five minutes? I’m so sorry. I’ll be back.”

“Well - she might not be back,” Santiago suggests, and you glare at him, irritated.

The man looks between you and Santiago in disbelief before addressing you only. “Sure,” he says with a languid, sultry smile, ignoring Santiago entirely. “I’m willing to wait if we get to continue the fun we were having.”

“Oh he’s a cheeky fuck,” Santiago grates, his whole body tense, and you quickly grab his elbow to bundle him into the kitchen before he can do any further damage.

“You’re the cheeky fuck, Santiago.” Apparently that’s your type. You vaguely wonder why you keep subjecting yourself to this, but you certainly don’t wish to pull on that thread too hard. Not right now.

As you release his elbow, Santiago comes to face you in the narrow slip of a kitchen.

“Well? What in the hell are you doing here?” you rage whisper at him, folding your arms across yourself and tapping your foot impatiently on the tiled floor.

Santiago simply squares up to you, his expression formidable, unphased. His dark eyes trail over you again, snagging on the places where the sheet drapes over the contours of you. You are suddenly uncomfortably aware of how naked you are beneath it. “Told you. I want you.”

Normally, those words were enough. But not any longer. You scoff. “I know all about how you want me, Pope. Half-heartedly. You want me when it suits you. When you can’t have me. When there’s no-one else around for you to want.”

It is his turn to scoff now. “Casual is what you wanted. You gonna throw that back in my face now?”

You sigh, tiredly, refusing to get embroiled in this. This is all meaningless. He can twist things and make excuses all he likes, but Santiago is a man of action. If he wanted you? Really wanted you? He wouldn’t let a Goddamn technicality stand in the way.

You don’t have the energy for excuses. For this conversation. You’ve waited too long for Santiago to even realise there is anything worth talking about. So, instead of fighting back, you let it go.

“I’m done, Santi. I’m out.”

Your words feel like a relief to you, after bottling this up since you came to the decision. The relief extends through your body as you sag backward to lean up against the cold fridge door, that too relieving on your hot, sheening skin.

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Santi dismisses your assertion instantly. He tended towards tunnel vision about some things. Just because he didn’t want out, he tended to assume that was true for everyone else. He was a connector, an enabler, and these factors combined meant the squad had stayed together a long time; far longer than it ever should have, like this time. He’d pulled his “retired” buddies back in, yet again.

“I’m for real, Santi,” you say in a small voice. “It’s already done.”

A veil of shock then betrayal passes over his face as the truth of your words sinks in. He takes a step back from you, as if he’s been sucker punched in the gut. His brows knit together and he looks down at the floor. “When?”

“Three weeks.” You figure you may as well rip the band-aid off in one go.

He turns his mouth down at the corners and slowly nods his head, doing an admirable job of containing whatever it is he is feeling, for the moment, while he gathers his intelligence. Mission above emotion, as ever. Santiago looks at the world through a scope sometimes, and he often forgets about the big picture. It always surprises you how a man so perceptive and attentive to detail -when he chooses to apply it- could fail to notice something right under his nose.

“Where?”

“Home. Desk-job, by the ocean. Private firm and a nice salary too. What’s not to love?” You add the extra information in an effort to detract from the thing you least wanted to face. Home is far. Far from him.

“Fuck,” Santiago breathes, finally looking up at you. “Because of me?”

You bristle again. “You arrogant piece of....” you sigh heavily, biting your lip and reminding yourself it isn’t worth it to grow aggravated. Plus, there’s a kernel of truth in his question, after all. You gather yourself before speaking again. “I stayed so long because of you, Santi. But I’m leaving for me. I’m tired of waiting.” Maybe he’ll notice you when you’re gone, you think. Maybe he’ll want you then.

“You can’t go. Someone with your skillset will be impossible to replace at short notice. How the hell am I supposed to keep the operation afloat without you?”

You shake your head softly, smiling in disbelief, his response confirming so many of your reasons behind going. Always focussed on the mission.

“Frankie’s looking into someone, actually. He knows a guy. He’s not as good as me, of course, but-”

“-You told Frankie?!” You can hear in his voice that the revelation hurts him. He has always been your confidant. But hey, things change, even if Santiago never does.

“Yeah, well,” you say thinly, through your teeth. “There’s plenty you don’t tell me, Santi.” You look at him pointedly. “Besides, I think you’ll manage. You always seem to find someone to meet your… needs. Don’t you?”

Santiago brings one arm up beside your head, leaning against the fridge with his palm, his dark eyes turbulent and boring into yours. “You’re the one who’s got some guy in there. What do you want from me, huh?”

He crowds you, but you can’t bring yourself to push him back. Instead, you languish more readily up against the fridge door, your grip on your sheet becoming less and less sure.

“Oh! That’s your fucking grand gesture? You came here to ask me what the hell I want from you?” Your passions rise, heart thrumming in your chest. You try and tell yourself it’s entirely from anger and nothing at all to do with his proximity. That it’s certainly not because of that look he’s giving you.

Speaking of proximity, Santiago’s now close enough to smell the other man’s scent on you. He’s leaning into you, breath ragged and desire clouding his eyes, even as you still bear the signs of being ravaged by another between your legs. Or perhaps… because of it.

Even as you stand here, like this, signs of another lover temporarily strewn over your person, it’s ludicrous to think another could claim you. You belong to Santiago. It’s Santiago who is indelibly written onto your body, the map of scars telling the story and you and him. The scar on your shoulder from a bullet wound, the scar on your calf from an off-road collision, the marks all over you serve as a reminder of the times Santiago has been there for you. Pressed his lethal hands to you to keep your lifeforce from ebbing away. He is your ride or die, and your body knows it.

Equally, as he stands there fully clothed, you know that his body similarly hosts a constellation of scars from all your shared moments; in the field, on missions, over continents. One of you could not hope to be read -to be understood- without the other. Your bodies would forever move through the world as a team, as a pair, even if you left his side.

You were each the key to cartographing each other’s lives. To imagine that the hickey on your neck or the slick between your legs could begin to compare to the way Santiago had marked you as his was almost comical.

“You really need a grand gesture to know I care about you?” You know what he’s asking. Is running into a hail of bullets for you not enough? Hasn’t he proven himself to you time and time again?

“Santi. I don’t doubt you care about me. I could never. I just… I don’t feel like you know yet what you want from me. And I can’t wait anymore for you to make up your mind.” You shrug. “I don’t know. I just feel like… like sometimes you don’t even see me because I’ve always been right in front of you.”

Santiago looks at you, pained, expression weighted, as if he can’t find the words to tell the story of you. But your bodies are not stories. They are maps, and maps are to be understood through being travelled. That’s why, when his hand slips to you shoulder to slowly trace the scar there, it makes sense. It is understood without words as his fingers journey over your skin, a varied terrain of memories flashing through Santiago’s eyes. His touch retracing years in only moments.

“I see you,” he insists, his voice a husk, his calloused fingertips trailing over your smooth, delicate skin. Making you feel weak. Making you want to become a soft, fluid thing beneath him. Oh, he’s looking at you now. There’s that attention that feels like it might end you. You commune wordlessly, breath quickening, that pulse of desire tending toward collision, the stillness of having arrived home as he touches you.

“I see you,” he purrs, his hand moving to your sheet, gently tugging it away from your grasp and giving you ample opportunity to protest. But you don’t. You don’t protest. You are symbiotic with him. You move as a team, and you can’t help but want to merge. Maybe that’s why you let him tug the sheet from your grasp, fabric pooling at your feet. Maybe it’s the ache between your legs. Maybe it’s because you know he gives it to you good.

Santiago exposes you completely to him, eyes then hands hungrily trailing down over your contours. His fingers grip your hips firmly as his mouth sinks into your neck, his hot breath fanning over you as he speaks.

“I see you, baby.”

Your arms are still pinned to your sides as you pretend that somehow you can resist your urges, despite being naked and needy and oh so ready in front of him.

“Fuck you, Santiago,” you breathe, voice trembling, and you know exactly what he’s doing as his lips and his teeth snag angrily over your skin. Reclaiming you. Marking you as his. And instead of pushing him away, you pull him closer to you. Instead of recoiling you arch your body against him, breasts pushing up against him, the cold metal of his chain harsh against your skin. The sturdy mass and heat of him beneath his clothes only highlighting how exposed and vulnerable you feel, your desire entirely on display like a flare in the dark.

His mouth has already ravaged your neck, your collarbone, his stubble abrasive against you, leaving a pleasant burn in its wake. His cologne is the only scent enveloping you now. Then, his hands rove over you, everywhere, like he’d wished they could in the bar, your skin still cloying, tacky with sweat. He paws at every bit of you as if to reinstate his claim on you. Your breasts, your ass, your hips, your thighs. He isn’t gentle. His hands showing their strength in a way they haven’t with you before now. He tongues your salty skin and the way his mouth punishes you is bitter like lime, foreshadowing his words.

“Did he make you come?” he asks into your neck, his hand slipping between your legs and finding you wet and welcoming. “Did he?”

“Yes,” you breathe, his voice commanding enough that you want to answer. Your face contorting as if in pain as Santiago continues to grind two girthy fingers over your folds. Your companion had made you wet, but nothing like this. All he’s doing is feeling you, coating himself, and Santiago has you drenched already; you can feel it slick against your inner thighs as you tremble under the weight of yourself, suddenly so heavy with lust that you can barely stand.

Your arms wind around his neck to steady yourself and he pins you between him and the fridge, your fingers inching up through the buzzed hair at his neck, nails trailing over his scalp and up into his grizzled curls as you finally become molten against him. Your hands fist in his hair and you tug his head up towards your lips, earning a grunt from him as pain needles across his scalp. The sound is growled into your mouth as his snarled kiss crashes against yours.

He’s frustrated, and he’s jealous, and he wants to show you that you’re his. What’s more, you want him to show you. Oh, how you want him to.

You shudder against the sudden blunt pressure of two of Santiago’s fingers at your entrance, your need urgent and a tightness building so immediately in your core. He pushes himself more firmly up against you, pinning you between his taut body and the fridge. His tongue ravages your mouth and your pleas for him to touch you become incoherent sounds that you work into him in return. His kiss is rough, his teeth scathing you, lips on yours in a crush, stubble grating at your chin and cheeks as he opens himself up as if to devour you. Then, he sucks your bottom lip in between his own and clamps his teeth down until you howl against the sting of it, bucking your body against the pain as you cry into his mouth.

With the bucking of your hips, you grind yourself against his hand, and Santiago barely needs to move as you willingly spear yourself on his fingers. He leaves you wanting though, allowing you just an inch of him when he has so much more to give. Already, the ridges of him against you are providing divine friction, his fingers curling and scissoring inside you, but he leaves you begging for more. Begging him to plunge himself all the way in.

“Did you think about me when you took him? Did you use him and wish it was me between your legs?” Santiago’s voice is like gravel in the shell of your ear, and his words curl into the depths of you. With them, he thrusts his fingers angrily into your heat, driving himself in all the way to the knuckle. Your eyes practically roll back into your head as he thrusts harshly and asks you again, even more insistent. “Did you?”

“Yes,” you admit, in a broken voice, tugging him closer to you, crushing your lips onto the column of his neck, tugging the collar of his shirt aside until you can bite down into the meat of his shoulder, stifling your moans there as his pace intensifies. His fingers are curling relentlessly towards your sweet spot and your walls are already fluttering against him. The heel of his hand is rocking against your excruciatingly sensitive clit, applying steady rolls of pressure as his fingers delve into you. His watch strap digs into your pubic bone but for some reason it only adds to the heightened sensations coursing through you.

“Do I make you feel good? Do I make you feel better with my fingers than he could with his whole body, huh?”

His words practically make you sob into him. It’s dirtier than you’ve ever heard him talk. It’s more intimate and further from friendship than anything you’ve done with him so far. Yes, you’ve fucked but this… this is something else. This is you admitting you are entirely his. This feels simultaneously more like battle and more like surrender than it ever has. And you wholly surrender.

You moan. You moan out loud despite the fact you shouldn’t. Despite the fact there’s still another man in the apartment who you had underneath you only moments ago.

“Are you gonna come on my fingers – show me who you belong to?”

You agree. You agree wholeheartedly.

Santiago pulls back just to watch you. To see the pleasure play over your face, both the overabundance of it and dearth of it as every touch satisfies yet has you craving more. You see a prideful glow in his eyes that he has you this wrecked, mewling and writhing on him as he adds a third finger into your wetness and pumps himself hard in and out of you.

“Fuck,” he intones, his voice hollowed-out. “You’re fucking drenched. Wettest I’ve ever felt.” God. You can hear how wet you are.

In dire need of some relief himself, Santiago presses his clothed, hardened length against your hip as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you. Even through the substantial fabric of his jeans you can feel the thick, hard promise of him as he begins to grind himself against you, low and guttural moans escaping his sweet lips. The fact that he’s so fucking desperate for you, that you have made him hot enough to get off from only this has a knot tightening in the pit of you as you watch him start to unravel alongside you.

“Fuck, Santi,” you moan into the air, not even caring that there’s someone else in the apartment. Past caring about anything at all except your need for him to keep touching you, his fingers filling you up so well.

“That’s it, baby. Say my name, say you’re mine.”

Santiago is still grinding his clothed length against you, even as his fingers overflow with your essence. He dips his head into the crook of your neck and the growl he emits fans over your skin. Makes it sound as if he’s about to lose it too, simply from this. His spare hand dips down to collect one of your breasts and he lifts your nipple into his mouth, sucking and tonguing and biting the peak of you, squeezing you -not gently- as you topple towards your end.

He continues to grind against you, and the thought of him exploding in his pants for you tips you over the edge, his name tumbling from your lips over and over as you flutter and clench around his fingers. The feeling spreading outward through your body like an explosion, leaving you levelled, a resounding buzz reaching all the way to your extremities and whiting out your vision like a flashbang. Your fingers tangle in Santiago’s curls as you spasm against him, his fingers eking every last drop of pleasure from you - as though he knows his way around you better than anyone could.

At the feel and sound and sight of you coming undone, his hardened length grinds on you with renewed vigour, a wracked and disbelieving moan stuttering through him as he loses it without you having laid a finger on him. His body becomes stiff against you as he pulses his seed out beneath his clothes. Something about him being so lost in desire for you that he’d make a mess of himself like that has you clenching with deep, generous aftershocks, adrift with the thought of his hardened length pearling with his warm release.

Santiago’s head settles into the crook of your neck as you both come down together, even as his fingers continue to lazily pulse in and out of you - just to feel you. Your arms lovingly cradle his head, fingers tangling in his curls, your lips finding their way to his hairline to plant gentle kisses there. Your Santiago. In your arms.

You stay there a moment until your jagged breathing and thrumming heart settle, enjoying him languorously touching you. With a shiver of contentment, he withdraws from your heat, wrapping his unsullied hand around your waist to pull you closer.

For a moment, everything is in soft focus, like the break of day before an alarm. You close your eyes against his touch and breathe him in as he whispers lovingly into your neck, planting light kisses where a moment ago his puckered lips left angry bruises.

“Fuck. I love you. I love you. I adore you. I need you.”

When you don’t respond though, Santiago stills against you, lifting his head to look you dead in the eyes. He finds them tearing in the corners.

Your voice begins weakly. “You love me, Santi. But do you want a life with me? A life outside of the mission, outside of all of this?”

He brushes his thumb softly over your jawline. “I know I haven’t been all in. But I swear it to you, baby... you’re my end game. It’s just, we’re not there yet. We’re too deep in this shit. If we can get one more of Lorea’s deputies then maybe-”

“-Sure,” you say sadly, the word heavy and the intimacy of the moments prior dissipating quickly. You know fine well what “one more” means. You dip to collect your sheet from the floor and tighten it around yourself, using the motion in a vague attempt to distract both Santiago and yourself from the tears threatening more violently in your eyes now.

The footsteps you hear approaching the kitchen are a further welcome distraction, and you surreptitiously clean off Santiago’s hand on the already soiled sheet before your first companion of the evening (now fully clothed) pops his head around the doorframe.

“I’m just gonna leave,” he interjects awkwardly, and your cheeks flush in humiliation. You’re sure one day, far into the future, this may be a funny story you tell, but, right now? It feels more than a little mortifying.

“I’m so sorry. I…” You reach for a more robust apology but come up with nothing, far too aware that Santiago’s eyes continue to needle you. What are you going to do? Tell him it was fun? And so, since you opt to leave it hanging, your companion simply pumps his eyebrows once before striding smoothly out of your apartment. You jump slightly as you hear the door slamming shut behind him, evidently feeling a little on edge despite being wrung out so recently by bliss.

Your eyes linger on the doorframe a little too long, staring at nothing except the now vacated space. You’re not ready to turn your attention back to Santiago quite yet, and you’re much less ready to deal with what will follow.

It turns out, you don’t even have to look back at him, because your cowardice says it all for you. Instead, a small voice escapes him.

“You’re still gonna go, aren’t you?”

You look at him then, and you see a sadness blooming in his eyes which is so heart-breaking that you're half-glad when tears gather in your own, blurring-out the sight of him. His pain always was too much for you to look at.

Your gladness is short-lived however, as your own tears begin to spill out of you. You wipe the deluge away with the heel of your hand, but the tears are coming quicker than you can mop them up. Your chest shakes as you speak your next words.

“I love you, Santi. Believe me. I love you. But it’s always ‘just one more’.” One more woman. One more mission. One more way to break your heart. “You’re living like... like you can get to the end of the line and wish for one more fucking chance.”

“Don’t go. Please,” he pleads, moving close to you and wrapping his arms around you. His broad, warm hands at your back. “Please. I’m putting it on the line here. I want you. I love you.”

You smile thinly at him. You know he’s trying and God, you love him too. But this? For you, it’s too little, too late. For him, you guess you’re asking for too much, too soon. He’s not ready to leave this life. He’s not even ready to imagine leaving it. But, oh boy, you are. You are.

You sniffle and take a deep, steadying breath, giving it everything you have to stay firm, despite every fibre in you telling you to surrender. To just stay with him. It would be too easy to do.

“It’s a hard out, Santi.”

He senses the finality of your words and nods slowly, his eyes shining with tears, his whole face becoming taut with emotion. His silence is prolonged as he draws in ragged breaths. His hands slip away from your back and the moment slips away with them. You miss the warmth of them instantly.

“Okay,” he says in a small, curt voice. “Okay.”

He about turns, precise and efficient, swivelling towards the door and tracking along the hallway leading out of your apartment.

“Santi, wait!” you call, traipsing along after him, slowed by the material bundling at your feet. “Santiago Garcia, don’t you dare leave it like this,” you plead. “Not after everything.”

He turns his head back towards you as he swings open your front door. His eyes are cold, face set as he looks at you, his voice monotone. “I’m not the one leaving.”

An anger and a sadness erupt in you at the coldness, the cruelness of his words, and, apparently, not even the sight of the fresh batch of tears spilling down your cheeks can slow his retreat from your apartment.

Santiago “Pope” Garcia turns and swiftly walks out without looking back, leaving the door swinging violently on its hinges. The fucking nerve of this man.

You start after him; but he’s already making his way down the stairwell and you’re in no position to chase him. Your pain boiling over you yell, voice creaking under the weight of your emotion.

“I hope your fucking knees give out on the way down, you asshole.”

Your cruel, cheap words carry down the stairwell, yet an echo is all the response you get. Santiago is gone. He didn’t stop for a second.

He doesn’t know how to stop.

He’s mission over emotion. Near-death over living. He’s seemingly in this until it kills him, but you can’t be in it anymore. You have always been his ride or die, but now is the time for you to live, even if that means you can no longer be side-by-side with him.

He is the other half of you and no matter where you are to go, your bodies will move through the world as a team, one unable to be read without the other. Santiago is written all over you, and nothing can change that.

Besides, you know if he really wants to, he can always come find you. He has a map for loving you, if he would ever follow the route it was trying to take him. But he’s not there yet.

He just has one more mission to go.

And then the next.

And the next.

#santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago garcia x reader #triple frontier #oscar isaac

220 notes · View notes

ikissjae · 1 year

Text

PAIRING … jung jaehyun x female!reader

THEMES … college!au. mainly smut. there's some angst but mainly smut.

LENGTH … 5.9k.

WARNINGS … bathroom sex. throat/face fucking. virgin!reader and fuckboy jaehyun. fingering (fem receiving). please let me know if i missed something! MINORS DNI.

NOTES … i wrote this fic literally years ago as a someone i don't acknowlege anymore fic lol! this is a prequel to "During the Fall" which will be linked in the source link! hope yall enjoy! rbs, comments, and asks are always appreciated ♡

ㅤㅤㅤ© ikissjae 2023. translating and/or reposting is not allowed.

“Just…Just put it in your mouth. It’s not hard, ______.”

You whined at his poor explanation, looking up at Jaehyun with a big pout shifting on your knees silently. The bathroom floor was cold and unforgiving on your knees, the tall boy leaning against the sink, tapping his fingers against the marble to the muffled music from the party just outside the door. He sighed down at you, raising his brows as you stared up at him huffing quietly.

“I’ve never done it before.”

You tell him with a quiet sigh, sitting on your heels and looking up at him a small pout on your mauve-painted lips. The tall boy clicked his tongue as he tilted his head down at you, with no empathy on his face just a look of dissatisfaction.

“You’re never going to learn if my pants are on.” He deadpans motioning for you to undo his jeans with a simple downward nod. You looked at his dark jeans that hugged his thighs beautifully before looking up at him with raised brows.

“You have hands. Big ones too. I think you’re capable.”

You snap up at him throwing your hands out in slight confusion, earning a chuckle from Jaehyun who reached down to run a hand through your hair. You blushed softly at the affection your eyes falling from his face to his jeans, your hands hesitantly lifted to hold onto his hips, pulling yourself up on your knees to be at eye level with his crotch blushing even harder. His hand moved to cup your cheek, his thumb drawing soft circles the gentle touches encouraging you to continue. With shaky hands, you unbuttoned his black jeans gently tugging the fabric down his hips letting them fall to his knees. You let your hands skim up his strong thighs, resting on the waistband of his briefs a rush of sudden anxiety washing over you.

“I’ve never seen a dick before.” You blurt quickly looking up at him with big wide eyes causing him to chuckle softly his hand dropping from your cheek.

“Have you never watched porn before?”

You cringed at the thought shaking your head slightly repulsed at the memory of the one time you tried watching a rather loud and brutal adult video. It wasn’t a fun time.

“Once. I didn’t like it that much, they were sweaty and she was making…weird sounds. It didn’t sound like she was having a good time.”

You explained to him making him chuckle softly, a soft smirk on his features looking down at you with raised brows.

“You weren’t watching the right videos, baby.” He coos his hand returning to your hair stroking the soft locks adoringly.

“Don’t worry. I’ll help you find something that’ll get you nice and wet.” Your breath hitched a little at the thought of Jaehyun watching porn with you, lying next to you with his long legs tangled with yours, and his hands wandering wherever he pleased.

Jaehyun was very well known at your university he was tall as hell, hot as hell, and cocky as hell. Everyone wanted to be with him or under him. You weren’t going to lie, yeah, you thought about sleeping with him, but you weren’t typically the type to throw yourself at boys, especially boys like Jaehyun. Typically. This party was different, you were tired of being a boring fucking prude so you sought out Jaehyun, who didn’t hesitate to take you into the bathroom for a good time.

God, you were really about to suck this random boy’s dick in a bathroom.

“You’re okay with this, right?” He piped up, his hand still running through your hair, raising his brows at you. You quickly nodded before slowly pulling his black briefs down, eyes widening when you saw the dick every girl in your class went on about.

Holy shit they weren’t wrong.

Jung Jaehyun had a big dick. Every girl you had heard drown on about Jung Jaehyun’s dick was fucking right, you’ve never been turned on by a penis before but now you could feel tension gathering between your legs. You heard a deep chuckle that knocks you out of your dick-induced trance, you looked up at him jaw still hanging open when you tilted your head up to him.

“Impressed?” His voice dripped of honey which only made the tension between your legs more obvious, you shifted uncomfortably nodding quickly like a doll. He hummed quietly his thumb running over your bottom lip, you slowly let your jaw drop further his thumb sliding into your mouth. You wrapped your lips around his thumb moaning quietly beginning to suck the digit, your hands resting on his strong thighs to support yourself.

“Are you going to suck my dick like that, baby?” He whispered tilting his head a little, his hand splaying over your cheek causing you to moan softly around his finger pressing the palette of your tongue against the pad of his numb.

“Yeah? You have the prettiest lips, ______. Can’t wait to see you choking on my cock.” You whimpered quietly at him nodding along to his words, his deep gravity voice sending shockwaves through your body. Slowly he pulled his finger from your mouth running the wet digit on your cheek groaning softly at the image in front of him, you could see his dick twitch out of your peripheral causing you to whine softly.

He quietly began to stroke his cock, your eyes dropping down to the action making your mouth water. He grunted quietly looking down at you, that beautiful smirk glued on his features. His other hand grabbed your chin possessively making you look up at his face, biting his bottom lip as he stroked himself faster. You watched him hiss, his jaw clenching, and his brows furrowing as he swiped his finger over his slit gathering clear pre-cum on his fingertip.

You watched him with wide eyes, digging your nails into his thighs your lips parting giving him a desperate pathetic look. “Open your mouth.” He commanded raising his brows waiting for you to comply which you did without hesitation. Silently he placed his glistening finger onto the palette of your tongue, you wrapped your lips around the digit brows furrowing at the foreign taste. It wasn’t awful you thought you should get used to it, he was going to be cumming down your throat eventually. At least you hoped so, you really didn’t want him cumming on your face ruining the makeup you worked so hard on.

“I’m gonna fuck your mouth so good.”

You whimpered softly feeling him swirl his finger around your mouth before popping his finger out of your mouth. “Want to suck my dick now, baby?” He whispered stroking your hair softly, making your heart beat a little harder before giving him a small nod, swallowing thickly.

“Use your words. I want to hear you say it.” He suddenly had a grip on your hair causing your eyes to widen. You held onto his thighs tightly nodding once again before opening your mouth hesitantly, not really trusting your voice.

“I-I want to suck your d-dick.” You finally got out with bright red cheeks and adverting eyes. He watched you, his confidence building as he watched you squirm looking down at the ground. He hummed quietly as you leaned up nervously pressing a kiss to the head of his cock, he let out a soft moan biting his bottom lip harshly.

Just put it in your mouth, Jaehyun’s words echoed through your mind as you mindlessly let your lips run over his head. You parted your lips engulfing him in your wet mouth, sucking softly onto his head listening to his soft moans. He tangled his hand into your silky hair tugging softly, his eyes never leaving you.

“Gonna push you deeper. Is that okay, baby?” His deep voice sent waves through your body. You nodded once again, he didn’t hesitate to push you further down his length groaning quietly.

You weren’t going to lie, this wasn’t as easy as it seemed. You thought it was just sucking, using your tongue, making sure your mouth was wet, but here you were struggling to breathe feeling your eyes burn with tears. Your nails dug into his thighs as he began moving your head up and down his cock, pushing you further down with each tug of your hair.

“Suck a little bit. Don’t make me do all the work, ______.” He grunted causing you to whine softly swallowing around half his cock which only caused you to choke around him, but he didn’t let you come up from your position. You whimpered loudly pushing yourself off his with all you could with a soft cough turning away from him, shaking your head silently before looking back up at him.

“I can’t suck when you’re halfway down my fucking throat.” You snapped slapping his thigh softly, reaching over to pull some toilet paper off the roll dabbing your wet lips huffing loudly. Jaehyun chuckled softly watching you try to gather yourself, tugging your head back up, smirking down at you his grip only tightening. “Want me to just fuck your mouth while you just sit there?” You looked up at him brows furrowing as you pondered his question, before nodding matter-of-factly.

“Yes. Yes. Just do that.”

You simply replied opening your mouth widely waiting for Jaehyun to fuck your throat. You never thought you would ever say that sentence. The tall boy shrugged a little before pushing himself off the sink, taking his long cock in his hand, watching you as he ran a hand through your hair soothingly.

“If it gets too much just pinch my thigh, yeah?”

You looked up at him with wide eyes before giving him a simple nod, a small smile forming on your lips at how sweet he was. It was probably just part of the act he had going on, you knew what type of boy Jaehyun was. He was going to treat you like you were the only girl in the world, you were going to suck his or let him fuck your throat, and then he was never going to call you again. You knew that when you went into this bathroom with him, you wanted him to walk out of that bathroom and forget you, he’s the cheap thrill you’ve been craving.

He tapped your chin signaling you to open your mouth, which you did, feeling his hand rest on the back of your head. He slid his dick into your mouth inhaling sharply pausing briefly to look down at you. “Breath through your nose. Just a tip.” He adds quickly, his fingers tangling into your locks once again to hold your head in place. He started at a slow and shallow pace, his breathing getting heavier with each slow thrust. You sat there on the cold hard floor, hands fidgeting at your skirt, big eyes staring up at him, your knees were aching but you took it breathing through your nose as he told you to.

You could feel his tip prod at the back of your throat, you shut your eyes at how his hips began picking up speed pushing you deeper. He pushed your head down till your nose brushed against his stomach, a long groan ripping through his throat when you gagged around him letting out a soft moan when he looked down at you.

“Through your nose, princess. It’ll help, I promise.”

You wanted to snap that you were breathing through your nose, but that wasn’t helping, but your mouth was full of his cock you couldn’t really say anything. Taking a few deep breaths through your nose, tears were brimming your eyes as you fidget with your skirt trying to focus on your breathing. He tugged at your hair pulling you back a bit before snapping his hips into your mouth, at this point his dick was literally down your throat making you gag louder digging your nails into his thighs.

You squeezed your eyes tightly shut at how brutal his hips were getting, tears beginning to pour down your cheeks, your jaw going slack after a minute, and you could feel spit spilling from your mouth. This was messy. You should’ve just stopped being a sarcastic brat and sucked his dick like a normal person, but here you were getting your throat fucked like a whore.

Jaehyun groaned loudly, a quiet hiss leaving his lips as he pulled at your roots harshly looking down at you. “God, you look so fucking hot just taking my dick like that. Want me to cum down your throat? You’d like that wouldn’t you?” You nodded your head as much as you could. Finally, you opened your eyes, feeling more tears roll down your cheeks, you couldn’t help but moan around his cock at how erotic this whole thing was. Your thighs clenched at the wet sounds coming from your mouth, you closed your eyes once again feeling spit falling onto your thighs making you whimper softly.

His hips started to become inconsistent, his deep groans began getting higher and whinier, and the grip on your hair was unforgiving. You opened your wet eyes to watch his face and you did not regret it. He looked truly sinful with his dark brows furrowed, his plump lips parted slightly, and his jaw slacking a bit. He was hot even when he was relentlessly fucking your throat.

Jaehyun tilted his head a bit to look into your eyes, a small smirk forming on his lips when he sees how wrecked you looked. “Mmm gonna cum, baby. Can I cum on your face?” He gives your hair a firm tug back on your hair, pulling you off his dick with a small whimper. You tried to catch your breath, coughing off to the side as you dug your nails into his thighs, whimpering softly as he grabbed your chin making you look up at him.

“Answer the question, ______,” he tells you sternly making you squirm softly, a small pout on your dripping lips. You wanted to wipe the spit off your face, you wanted to wipe your tears, you wanted to see if any of your makeup survived this brutal face fucking, but Jaehyun’s iron grip on your chin kept you still.

“D-Don’t get it on my eyes, please. I-I have lashes on.” You tell him shakily with a small sniffle, looking up at him with big glassy eyes. He smiled softly down at you using his thumb to wipe a stray tear that ran down your cheek, before tilting your head up to make you watch his face with slightly parted lips. You wanted to watch him stroke himself, you knew it was going to be a sight, but watching his face was just as pleasing.

He was so pretty. His dark brows furrowed once again, he took his plump bottom lip between his teeth, as his hand worked quickly at his slick member filling the bathroom with slick squelching sounds that made your stomach do flips and tighten.

“I bet you’re dripping right now. You like watching me jerk off, baby?” he groaned looking down at you, his hand moving faster as you nodded quickly a soft whimper leaving your lips.

“Are you going to cum on me, Jaehyun? Didn’t my mouth make you feel good? I want your cum so bad.” You tell him with a slightly shaky voice as you batted your thick expensive lashes up at him causing him to let out a string of beautiful moans, his voice hitching when he finally came angling his dick down away from your eyes. Such a gentleman. Strings of pretty opal decorated your cheeks, a glob falling onto your lips causing you to let out an airy giggle.

Jaehyun hummed contently as he slowed his hand down, milking himself as much as he could. He couldn’t get over how dangerously beautiful you looked with his cum on your cheeks and smudged lipstick. You licked the droplet of cum off your lips, his cum saltier than before making you grimace a little, but he didn’t seem to notice because he was tucking himself back into his boxers, zipping his jeans back up.

You opened your mouth to remind him that you were still here, that it was rude to just use someone for their mouth and not get them off as well, but suddenly he was on his knees pressing his lips to yours. His large hands held your hips tightly to pull your chest against his causing you to gasp softly into his mouth, he pulled away from your lips to lick the string of his cum off your skin. You let out a loud shocked gasp, a shaky breath leaving your lips when he pulled away from your face with a small smirk.

“I just taste so good. I couldn’t help myself…You don’t mind, hm?” He swiped his finger over your other cheek gathering the sticky liquid onto his pointer finger, nodding his head waiting for you to open your mouth which you didn’t hesitate to do, wrapping your lips around his finger, sucking his cum off the digit with a small moan at the taste.

“So pretty.” He whispers slipping his finger out of your mouth to catch your lips once again, he held you once again this time his hand skimming down your hips to grip your spit-slicked thigh softly.

You wished you had kissed Jaehyun earlier, this was magical. His lips were so soft, so skilled, and so careful. He was holding onto you tightly as if he was going to care about you after he leaves this bathroom, as if he was even going to remember you when this was done, a pathetic part of you didn’t want this to be over. You wanted to be with Jaehyun but you know that feeling will go away once this part is over, it’s just the adrenaline coursing through your veins that made you want him.

“Wish I could fuck you. I’d bend you over the sink, make you watch yourself get wrecked all over again because of my dick, fuck, I bet you’d be so tight. You’ve never been fucked before, have you?” You felt his hand skimming up your skirt causing your jaw to drop slightly at his words but still nodded, letting him push you onto your back crawling between your legs.

He pulled your skirt down to reveal your lacy pale blue underwear, making him groan softly looking up at you as his fingers drew gentle shapes on your smooth thighs.

“So pretty, wish I could take a picture to remember this forever.” Your eyes flickered up in interest a small smirk on your lips, nodding towards his pocket where his phone sat.

“Will you keep my face out of them?”

“You want me to take pictures of you, baby?” You smiled up at him biting your bottom lip as you nodded your head a little.

“I want you to remember me.” You whispered snaking your hand into his back pocket, a sweet smile on your lips as you pulled out his phone, swiping the screen up to activate the camera laughing when Jaehyun’s lovely face filled the screen. You took a few shaky shots of his laughing face, his laugh rang through the bathroom as he took the device from your small hands.

“You’re so handsome, Jaehyun.” You told him quietly feeling him sit up to position your legs out, crossing your ankles, causing you to giggle softly covering your face with your palms.

“You look so pretty. Blue is my favorite color now.”

He smirks resting his large hand on your hip, humming softly as he took multiple photos as his hand skims down your thigh letting out an obnoxious yet adorable laugh. You peeked out from behind your hands giggling softly at him, placing your hand on top of his slowly lacing his fingers with his causing him to smile down at you.

“These pictures are so pretty, baby. You’re so pretty, ______.”

He took a few more photos from different angles before leaning down to press his lips against your skin, you squeeze his hand softly feeling him slowly push your legs apart. His lips pressed wet kisses to your inner thighs causing you to whimper softly, you could feel him smile against your skin which only made your stomach flutter more.

“You like it when I kiss you there?” He whispers, his warm sultry voice sending hot waves through your body as nodded quickly.

“What about…” He leans up pressing a soft kiss at the hem of your underwear, making you suck in your stomach with a quiet gasp, “here?” he looks up at you with those beautiful big eyes as his fingers fidget with the fabric hugging your hips. You nod once again, biting your bottom lip anxiously as he hums quietly against your skin, his grip tightening on your thighs smiling softly before kissing down to kiss the wet patch on the front of your panties making you whimper quietly.

“Mmm, I like kissing you there.” He whispers mouthing at the damp fabric, you moaned quietly letting your eyes flutter shut as he presses his tongue against your panties only making you mewl out louder.

“P-Please.” You whine pressing your cheek into the cool tile huffing quietly as he chuckles against your now dripping center.

“Please what, baby?”

“Please kiss me somewhere else.”

“Where? Here?”

With that he leans up to press a wet kiss to your tummy, your cheeks flushing softly with a small shake of your head. “You know where.” You whine spreading your legs wider in a pathetic attempt to lure him in further, giving his hand a tight desperate squeeze.

“I want you to say it. Say you want me to kiss your pussy and I’ll do it.” You whined loudly covering your face once again, your cheeks burning harder than you wished.

“P-Please kiss my pussy. I’m so wet i-it hurts, Jaehyun.” You told him with a rather loud swallow, waiting for his reaction with fidgeting fingers. You heard him chuckle softly feeling him nod against your skin, pulling your blue underwear down your legs only making you blush harsher.

You looked up at the ceiling as your stomach twisted harder than ever when he spreads your legs further to reveal your dripping center to him. You felt exposed. This was weird but a good weird. You couldn’t form coherent thoughts about how you felt because Jaehyun was hovering over your pussy, you could feel his breath ghosting over your sensitive clit which made you whimper loudly.

You covered your face with your palms again causing him to chuckle softly, reaching up to tug your hands away from your face.

“I want to see your pretty face when I make you cum.” with that quiet testament, he pressed his tongue flat against your core. You let out a short shocked moan at the new enticing feeling, his doe eyes flickering up at you for a second before flicking back down.

He let out a soft groan at your taste pulling away with a life-ruining smile.

“You taste so sweet, I knew you would,” he whispered to himself before diving back between your legs, his lips pressing hotly to your clit suckling softly on the sensitive bud. You arched your back up off the floor, a rather loud moan leaving your lips as you lifted your head to watch him with furrowed brows and parted lips.

You couldn’t believe something could feel so good. You felt him move your legs till they were over his broad shoulders, you put your hand out to him waiting for him to hold it again. Jaehyun blindly laced his fingers with yours as he kept his head down between your legs, making the most obscene sounds you’ve ever heard. He sucked a little harder at your clit before pulling back with a soft pop.

You let out a shaky moan when he pulled back looking up at you with glistening lips, he whipped his shiny chin with the back of his hand chuckling softly.

“You look so wrecked right now.” He laughed causing you to roll your eyes playfully, his fingers gently massaging the subtle flesh of your thigh.

“Just make me cum, Jaehyun.” Your voice was a shell of what it used to be, which only seemed to boost his constantly inflating ego. “I want to cum.” You tug at his grey hoodie with an annoying whine, that seemed to encourage him to slide two of his fingers on your clit making you whine loudly watching his fingers draw slow circles on the soft flesh.

“I’ll make you cum, ______. I’ll make you cum so good, baby.” He whispered crawling up to lay one head next to your head before leaning down to press his lips softly to yours. You sighed contently into the kiss, your hands resting on both sides of his face to keep him close. His fingers trailed their way to your entrance as his lips danced across yours like a peaceful distraction, silently he slid one long digit into your tight pussy. You tangled one hand in his hair, tugging softly at the long locks every time he moved his finger in you.

You let out a small gasp when he curled his middle finger, feeling him press against a spot that had your brows furrowing and back arching slightly. “Right there?” He asked quietly against your lips his voice turning sickly sweet, you nodded anyway moving your hands to hold tightly at his hoodie. Wriggling another finger inside you, which made you shift a bit uncomfortable at the stretch, he pressed a soft kiss between your furrowed brows chuckling softly.

“You look adorable like this.” He told you as he looked down to watch his hand move in and out of you slowly and rhythmically, your jaw dropping fully at how easily his fingers moved in you. Then when you’re getting used to his gentle rhythm of in and out, he changed it completely. His fingers moved shallowly in you, zoning in on that spot that had your jaw dropping before, massaging the bundle of nerves with a small smirk. He watched you wither against him, watching your eyes flutter shut, you tossed your head to the side to get away from his scrutinizing stare.

“No no no.” Jaehyun pushed himself up, his hoodie falling from your grip, using his now free hand to grab your chin and make you look at him. “I want to see that pretty face when you cum.” You whined in response but listened to him, a sudden moan ripping through your body feeling his thumb toy with your clit again. A tight twisting feeling began to form in your gut, you moaned louder which made him smirk softly.

You squirmed softly at the feeling of him beginning to move faster, curling deeper inside you causing a friction that made your hips lift off the title with a loud whimper. You felt hot. Your cheeks were burning, the cold tile was the only thing keeping your body from overheating, the tightening feeling in your stomach growing more intense making you clench around his long digits.

“You gonna cum, baby?” He whispered feeling you tighten around his fingers, he rests a hand on your stomach rubbing soft circles, humming quietly when your quickly nod your head. Jaehyun moved his hand to your hip to turn you on your side, lifting one of your legs to get better leverage to move his fingers faster and deeper. You let out a loud high-pitched moan, squeezing your eyes shut as his fingers hit new spots you didn’t know you had.

“Who’s making you feel good, sweetheart? Hm?” You opened your mouth to say his name, to say anything, but only pathetic little moans left your lips. You swallowed thickly looking back at him with a soft whimper, you couldn’t stop staring at his lips hazily.

“Y-You make me feel so good. Oh my god!” Was all you could get out before the tightening in your stomach became too much making you cry out his name in pure ecstasy, something you’d been craving to have for months now.

You pressed your cheek against the tile, multiple waves of body-wrecking pleasure washing over you, leaving you a whimpering mess on the floor. Jaehyun slowed his pace but kept his fingers curled up against that wonderful spot that kept you whining. You grabbed his wrist with a loud whimper, shaking your head a little with a soft whine unable to find your voice again.

“Did I make you feel good, baby?” He asked you quietly before leaning over to press his lips softly against your cheek, scattering soft kisses all over your face as you tried to catch your breath blinking hard to see straight with a small huff.

“You did…A really great job.” You whispered with a breathless giggle looking back at him with a hazy smile.

Jaehyun slowly pulled his fingers out of you, turning you on your back, making you look up at him with a small sigh. He tilted his head a bit, tapping your bottom lip with his glistening fingers his pink lips curling up slightly as you obediently opened your mouth to take his fingers once again. You tasted sweet just like he said, you sucked quietly on the digits with a content hum, resting your hand on his bicep.

“You looked so pretty when you cum, baby. I never thought I would like fingering a girl on a bathroom floor but fuck you looked so good.” He pulled his fingers out of your mouth, wiping the now dripping digits on your blouse. There’s a brief pause, you staring at him in a post-orgasm haze, before reality hits you.

“A-Are my lashes still on?” You question quietly causing him to chuckle softly looking down at you. He nodded slowly letting his fingers run over the soft lashes causing you to turn away from him with a soft laugh.

There’s another silence but this time it isn’t as comfortable, you feel…dirty. This wasn’t you. You didn’t fuck boys in bathrooms, hell, you didn’t fuck anyone ever, but here you were laying on the bathroom floor thighs slick with your arousal. You pulled away slowly push yourself up, clearing your throat as Jaehyun pulled away from you watching you collect your clothing.

Maybe hookups weren’t your thing, maybe you didn’t like the thought of Jaehyun telling everyone about the girl he throat fucked in the bathroom, or maybe it was that you were just another name on his list now. You shouldn’t think about it too much, you shouldn’t think about him too much, it was bringing your mood down.

You struggled to stand up after pulling your skirt and underwear back on, you felt hands on your hips to help you. You smiled back at him with a quiet laugh, he squeezed your hips playfully causing you to shove his hands away with a small sigh.

“I’m never gonna forget this.” He whispered pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your head before unwrapping himself from you to lean on the sink smirking down at you.

“Don’t lie to yourself.” You teased shaking your head a little as you looked up at him with a shake of your head. For the first time you see a confused look on Jaehyun’s face, he scoffs a little crossing his arms across his chest.

“What do you mean by that?”

“You sleep with a lot of girls. You’re not gonna remember me.” You tell him with a similar scoff. You watched his face fall which caused a twisting feeling to form in your gut.

“Is that what you think of me?” His tone changed from playful to a deeper serious one. Now your brows were furrowed, and you shrugged your shoulders nonchalantly.

“You’ve fucked almost every girl in my Government class, Jaehyun.”

“Okay, but you didn’t even know me before tonight. So, how could you form an opinion on me without even knowing me?”

“I just...I just did. You can’t seriously be upset over that.”

You chuckled in disbelief at how he was acting, he couldn’t be serious. He let out another scoff. if he scoffed one more time you were going to choke him. You cringed softly at that thought, no one has gotten that big of a rise out of you, and even if it was internal you still hated it.

“I’m not upset. I just expected more from you, you didn’t seem like that kind of girl.”

“You don’t even know me. Stop acting like you didn’t meet me just an hour ago.”

“You seem to know everything about me though, right? Because you heard a few girls talking about me, isn’t that right?”

“I never said that? You’re being a complete bitch right––”

There was a loud thud on the door making you both turn away from each other staring at the door. He took one last look at you before turning back to the door, opening it with the same irritated expression on his once harmonious face. A boy stumbled into the bathroom causing you to shift into the corner watching the scene unfold in front of you.

The lanky boy wrapped his arms around Jaehyun smiling lazily up at him with a soft giggle. “I want to go home, Jaehyun.” His voice was delicate and woozy, it was obvious that he was wasted. Jaehyun held onto him tightly sighing quietly down at him with a small nod, his friend mumbled incoherently babbled about wanting to go home which Jaehyun nodded along to.

“I’ll take you home, Jungwoo.” He looks down at the boy one last time then back up at you, huffing softly as you stare at him intently raising your brows waiting for the conclusion to this pathetic excuse of a romantic endeavor.

“I’ll see you around, _____.”

And with that he left the bathroom, practically carrying Jungwoo as he walked out, not even looking back at you as he did. You almost followed him but you stayed still against the wall, you watched him disappear into the dimly lit party scene making your chest ache slightly.

You blinked hard trying to ignore how awful this once great experience ended. You went to close the door. You could feel your eyes getting wet, which was pathetic and you knew it but you couldn’t help it. Before you could react you saw the ridiculously tall boy shove through the crowd to get back to the doorway of the restroom, grabbing the back of your neck, leaning down to press his lips harshly to yours.

You knew kissing him was going to be addictive, he held you tightly like you were going to run away from him, and you felt warm almost protected when you were in his arms. He pulled away with a small sigh, he pressed another soft kiss to your lips before leaning up to nuzzle his nose against yours.

“You won’t forget me?”

You whispered feeling the urge to tug him back into the bathroom, back into the small world your two created in there, but you refrained and just held tightly onto his hoodie once again. He nodded simply, you could hear his friend calling him from the front door which almost tore your attention away from him. Almost.

“I promise.”

#jaehyun smut #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun imagine #jaehyun scenario #jaehyun angst #nct imagines #nct smut #nct scenarios #nct x you #nct ff #nct 127 scenarios #nct 127 smut #nct 127 angst

2K notes · View notes

sunderlust · 2 years

Text

you left me no choice but to stay here forever (right where you left me)

masterlist

pairing: jake ‘hangman’ seresin x reader (hotshot journalist!reader)

synopsis: you and jake have been best friends for years and eventually he becomes the love of your life - which makes it that much harder to cope when he starts pulling away with no explanation (based off right where you left me by miss tswift)

wc: 14k (yoo I think I actually may'd)

warnings: angst with a happy ending, explicit language, pining, supposedly unrequited love, kinda sad feels, reader wearing heels.

A shoutout to gretagerwigsmuse and @seasonsbloom - I wouldn't have gotten through this fic period, let alone begun writing in the first place without them. Please check out their writing, send them a sweet message or two <3

AGE SIXTEEN (pages turn and stick to each other)

This is not a date.

On a crisp Wednesday in October - well, as crisp as it can get in Texas - you find yourself sitting across from your high school’s running back in a greasy booth at your town’s renowned pizza parlor. And even though he’s objectively the hottest guy in your grade - not to mention the fact that he’s kind, well-liked amongst your peers, almost too charming for his own good - there’s no way you would ever go on a date with Jake Seresin.

For that matter, you’re not even friends. The only reason he’s even here is because you managed to pique his interest with the promise of a free meal in exchange for an interview for the school newspaper. So even though he held the door open for you and let you choose the side of the booth to sit in and even insisted on getting your favorite pizza toppings, you’re not going to let it distract you from doing your job.

You had been invited to join the school newspaper team in August, but you had yet to write a story featured in the paper. By some stroke of luck, Newsteam President Joe thought you were ready to handle your own solo project: a profile on one of your school’s football players. And while you aren’t exactly thrilled to interview Westwood High School’s star running back you’re determined to deliver a moving, heart wrenching piece about #25 and the trials and tribulations of high school football that’ll have Joe reaching for tissues.

No one needs to know that you’ve never even been to a football game in your life.

“Thanks for agreeing to meet with me,” you tell Jake briskly after your waitress walks away after passing you your drinks. You pull out the giant legal notepad you stole from your dad’s study and your favorite ten color shuttle pen, then push down the lever for dark blue ink - for your more serious projects.

The boy in front of you nods once, stretching both arms out on either side of him to rest on the back of the booth, eyes darting around. “Sure.”

“So...” you start, then trail off, eyes scanning the list of questions you’d meticulously drafted the night before. You decide to start from the very beginning: “What can you remember about the first time you played with a football?” you ask, and Jake shrugs his shoulders.

“Blood,” he says simply, and you wrinkle your nose.

“What? Blood?”

“Yeah. I was six. My dad was trying to teach me how to catch the ball, and ma kept telling him to use the foam ones but he said they didn’t spiral as well. Ended up pelting a pigskin at me and clocked me right on the nose. I can still feel a bump here,” you briefly look up from rapidly transcribing to watch him idly rub the bridge of his nose with his index finger.

You nod, scrawling down the details, mentally planning out how you could possibly fit this into an article and thinking of potential titles. Child gets pelted with a football and vows revenge. Becomes Westlake’s Star RB. Pathetic.

“So you’ve been playing since you were six?” you try to establish a timeline. “Ten years?”

“No. I joined a youth league when I was nine,” Jake corrects. He doesn’t elaborate.

You sigh, tapping your pen on your legal pad idly, then another question catches your eye. “What do you enjoy most about football?” you flip over to a clean page and smooth it out, not missing the flash of incredulity on Jake’s face.

“You kidding? No offense, but these questions suck,” he snickers, and your shoulders sag as you flip back to scan your messy notes. “Do you even want to be doing this little interview?”

“Do you?” you throw back, angrily, nervously clicking your pen as you try and figure out how you’re going to salvage this meeting, reaching into the crevices of your mind to craft a less sucky, more thought-provoking question.

The one thing you know about conducting an interview is asking the right question, one that will unleash your subject to go off on their own path and tell their story the way they want to. This way, you find that you get the most details, the most honest perspective. And so far, all you had from Jake was a stupid story about a childhood injury doesn’t lend itself to writing a tear-jerking profile.

Jake’s smirk doesn’t waver and after a few moments of silence, he relents. “I was promised free pizza. What’s in it for you?”

You sigh and rest your head back against the worn pleather of the booth seat, squeeze your eyes shut, tighten your grip on your pen as you deliberate his question. “Will you answer my questions if I tell you?”

“If they’re better questions, yeah.”

You shoot him a quick glare, then let out a resigned sigh and click your pen, setting it down on top of your scribbled notes. “First off, I hate football. Never even seen a game.”

“Seriously?” Jake says and folds his arms together to lean in closer over the sticky tabletop. “We live in Texas. You’ve never even watched a game on TV?”

You shrug ambivalently. “No, it never really caught my interest. I mean, what’s there to watch? Someone screams out a bunch of numbers and then you all just charge at each other to wrestle for five seconds while a stupidly shaped ball gets tossed around? And don’t even get me started on your weird scoring system-”

“- It makes sense if you actually commit to watching it!” Jake defends hotly, crossing his arms over his chest and looking like he’s trying his hardest to fight a pout. “Why’d they even put you on this article? Doesn’t seem like you give a damn about writing football.”

“I don’t,” you agree, sitting up straight and daring to look him straight in the eye. At this point, you don’t care how little you know about the stupid sport - you just want Jake to answer your questions so that you can go home and cobble together something, anything to show Joe that you can handle writing your own opinion pieces. “But Joe said if I write a great profile, he’ll print my story about the cafeteria workers.”

Jake pauses, mentally chews your words. “Seems like he set you up, then, darling,” - your surprise at the sweet name is overtaken by the harsh reality check - “Seeing as he asked you to interview me when you’ve never even been to a game.”

A wave of clarity washes over you. You didn’t think about it that way - that Joe might have intentionally put you on this project just to watch you struggle, so he could easily shut down your other ideas. You deflate, shrinking into yourself, and your solemn expression suddenly has Jake shaking his head and trying to backpedal.

“Look - hey. I’m sorry. I’m sure... Maybe he’s just testing you to see if you can write things out of your element. Isn’t that the mark of a good newspaper... writer?”

It kind of makes sense, but the first reason hurts more, resonates with you, and opens the door for self-doubt to stride right in. With how hard you had to fight tooth and nail to even be offered a spot on the school news team, it’s easy to imagine they didn’t want to make things easy for you. Suddenly, you find yourself questioning your writing ability, wondering if you’re really cut out for this. You shrug. “Yeah, maybe.”

Jake purses his lips, drumming his fingers again on the tabletop. “What’s the story with the cafeteria workers?”

At this, you perk up slightly, straightening your back and halting your anxious pen tapping. “There’s just been lots of wages being cut, some layoffs early this year and now they’re being asked to work overtime and the supervisors keep changing the schedule around and giving them such a hard time for wanting to take time off. I think they let someone go because they wouldn’t come in when they had the flu. Can you believe that? Someone was literally sick and didn’t go to work in a kitchen where they could easily infect the whole school. And Sandra - you know Sandra the cashier? She told me they’re all planning to walk out in two weeks, which I think is really admirable - but honestly, I think they need someone to talk about their complaints y’know? Let their voices be heard?”

You stop, finally realizing that you’d been rambling for the better half of a minute about a topic the star running back probably couldn’t care less about. But to your surprise, he’s listening intently, nodding encouragingly, looking contemplative. It’s weird - you’re not used to people being interested in what you have to say.

It’s nice.

“Sounds like you’re a lot more keyed up about this story than stupid football,” he finally says with a half smile, and you push down the warm feeling it ignites.

“Yeah,” you clear your throat and shift uncomfortably, bashfully. “It’s just... It’s what I want to do. Write about real people and real events. Give the silenced a voice. Which I know, it sounds kind of cheesy and idealistic and quixotic - but I don’t care. I just want to make a difference. Maybe win a Pulitzer Prize, I don’t know.”

His eyebrows furrow - maybe he doesn’t know what a Pulitzer is - but he nods thoughtfully. “I mean... Don’t really know what quixotic means, but I don’t think you’re being cheesy. Speaking of cheese, though...” his eyes flit over your shoulder.

Your waitress interrupts, setting down a large pizza with the toppings of Jake’s choice. He eagerly loads two slices onto his plate and continues his train of thought: “Tell you what: how about I give you a hand with the article? I’ll tell you what you need to know about football, at least.”

“You’d do that for me?” you ask, and you’re honestly shocked he didn’t just brush off your whole rant about your hopes and dreams, amazed that he’s even offered to help.

He shrugs and swallows the huge bite he’d taken. “‘Course - but in exchange, you’ll have to go to our games. You know, all my friends come to support me.”

You first open your mouth to object to having to watch football - then close it, sending him an incredulous look. “We’re friends?” you ask dumbly.

He shifts, looks the tiniest bit bashful, busies himself with the straw in his drink. “I mean... I’d like to be. Who knows, maybe you’ll be famous one day or you could help me with my English essays - ”

“- You want to be friends so I’ll cheer on you at games and tutor you for free?” you interrupt, narrowing your gaze.

But despite your tone being riddled with annoyance, despite the glare you’re now sending his way, Jake sends you an easy smile, serving himself another slice. “Nah, you just seem pretty cool.”

By another stroke of luck, you manage to pump out a puff piece about Jake Seresin - something along the lines of how the first time #25 threw a football was the moment he resolved to never back down after the first hit, to wipe the sweat and blood from his face and keep pushing forward. Joe is more than impressed with the quality of your work - almost surprised, you annoyedly observe - and agrees to run the profile for the following week’s issue, just in time for Westlake’s playoff game.

On Monday evening, you’re reviewing your interview notes with Sandra the Cashier at your kitchen table when suddenly, the landline rings. “Hello?” you answer, anticipating it to be one of your parents’ friends calling to gossip. The line is silent for a few moments, and you clear your throat to try again. “Anyone there?”

Suddenly, Jake’s laughter flows into your ear. “‘Never back down’?” he quotes through a wheeze, and you hold back a smile, this time letting yourself feel the butterflies that come alive in your stomach at the sound of his voice.

“You didn’t give me much to work with for your story!” you tell him with a small giggle. “So I managed to pull this together, and I’d say it’s a heart clencher - a tear jerker, even. Joe’s happy, at least.”

“He gonna let you write that other thing?”

“About the cafeteria workers? Working on it right now, actually,” you tell him, twirling the phone coil around your finger idly.

“Well darling,” Jake says and you feel your heart skip a beat at the sweet name, at the sound of mirth filling his voice, at the memory of his smiling eye crinkles that involuntarily flashes in your mind. “I’ll hold onto this profile, hang it in my gym locker. But let me know when they print that union thing. I’d like to hold onto a future Pyoo-litzer Prize winner’s first ever real story.”

“Pulitzer,” you correct him, and despite your writing hand hurting terribly from all the notes you’ve been scribbling and the slight twinge of a headache from your eyes straining, your heart feels full as ever as you chat with Jake - your new friend - into the late hours of the night.

AGE EIGHTEEN (wages earned and lessons learned)

Almost two years later, you find yourself seated across from Jake at your town’s fanciest Italian restaurant. It’s been a while since your waiter has checked in to take your meal orders, but his absence easily slips your mind as the two of you gossip while munching on garlicky breadsticks that are way chewier than you’d like.

After a lull in the conversation, you take a deep breath. “How’s your mom doing?” you carefully ask, taking a sip of your coke to avoid tacking on more words, to fight the urge to add more useless attempts at hopeful sentiments.

Jake shrugs, unbothered, nonchalant. “She’s holding up.”

You wait for him to elaborate, but he just drums his fingers on top of the white tablecloth impatiently, turning his head to glance behind him at the swinging door to the kitchen. “Have you... spoken to your dad?” you probe, and while Jake doesn’t react harshly like you expect, his hand momentarily freezes.

“No,” he finally says. “I don’t think I’m ready to talk to him.”

“Right,” you pause. “Do you think you ever will?”

Jake heaves out a sigh and turns back to face you, idly chewing at a hangnail. Your fingers twitch and you hold yourself back from reaching out to pull his hand away from his mouth. “There’s not much to say, really. They were married, and now they’re not.”

You nod slowly, taking another sip of your drink, briefly lamenting the fact that it’s now just melted ice with a dash of soda. “How are your sisters?”

Again, he shrugs. “Fine. I’m driving them around a whole lot. Kinsey won’t come out of her room, but that’s no different than usual. They won’t talk to him either.”

He’s silent, doesn’t seem to want to say much else, instead tries to play off his nervousness by taking another large gulp of his drink and shifting his eyes to watch the Cowboys game playing on the tiny TV behind the bar. But you can tell he’s gotten himself worked up by the way you can feel his foot tapping impatiently under the table, the way he presses his finger harder into his teeth, by virtue of knowing Jake so well.

So you change the subject. “Are we doing this every year now, then? A friendship anniversary?” you ask.

Jake visibly relaxes, almost looking grateful. The foot tapping stops, and he pulls his hand away from his mouth to sling an arm around the booth and send you a signature Jake Seresin smirk. “Of course - gotta celebrate the day you learned about football - ”

“- I swear, I’ll break your nose again with one later - ”

“With your aim? Please,” he scoffs, a goofy smile breaking the moment he makes eye contact with you.

You roll your eyes. “Plan B is always my fists. Anyway, how do you think we’ll even keep up every year while I’m at school and you’re at the Academy?”

“I’ll visit you at Columbia - and before you say it, shut up. You’re getting in, Miss Pulitzer. As for the Academy... Depends on whether I even apply.”

“Why wouldn’t you apply?” you ask, even though you’re sure you know the answer, ready to pour out words of affirmation, tell him that there’s no way they’d turn him down.

“Not sure if I’d get in,” - bingo, but he follows up with something that stuns you - “And I think I might want to stick around here for a bit. Take care of the family for a bit.”

You’re not sure what to say to that, exactly. Because you were prepared to jump into a supportive best friend mode: reassure him that he’s a shoo-in, remind him of his accomplishments, deliver your long-winded ramble of uplifting words that’ll make your mouth feel like you’re chewing cotton by the end of it. But that’s not what Jake needs right now.

“I don’t think your Ma would want you to do that, Jake,” you say quietly. “She wouldn’t want you to abandon your dreams just to take care of her.”

He stretches his arms back, rolls his neck out hard enough so that his joins sound like crackling rice krispies in the silence. “She’d never ask me to. But I don’t want her to have a hard time, make her shoulder the burden.”

“Knowing her, she wouldn’t want to unload anything onto you, Jake,” you tell him firmly, sitting up straight in an attempt to look more certain, strong. “You’ve wanted this for such a long time. Don’t let your dad ruin this for you - I know a part of you wants to stick it to him or something. But fuck that, Jake. If you put your dreams on hold, you’ll regret it. You have to do this for yourself.”

“Yeah... I guess,” he trails off, still sounding uncertain, but a little less subdued. His hand lifts up and he’s again gnawing at the raw skin on his fingers.

“You’ve really gotta stop biting your nails, Jake,” you tease, hoping it’ll relieve some of the tensions that somehow returned, and he rolls his eyes. “If you want to keep your mouth occupied -”

“- You offering? I tell you, it’s not like I haven’t thought about it -”

“Shut up,” you snipe, feeling the heat rush into your cheeks at the suggestion. You shake off your embarrassment. “How ‘bout chewing gum?”

“Hate gum,” Jake pouts. “Makes my jaw hurt.”

“You’re such a baby. Lollipops?”

“Charles would hate me,” he replies, and you internally roll your eyes at him calling his dentist by his first name. His sincere dedication to exceptional dental health and maintaining his teeth was sure to win him the best smile Senior superlative. “If your next suggestion is smoking -”

“- It’s not!” you glare. “How about toothpicks?”

“You want me to roll a sharp piece of wood in my mouth? Sounds delightful,” he drawls sarcastically, and you scoff, turning your eyes to look up at the ceiling.

“Better than sticking your fingers in your mouth all the damn time. What are you, two?”

“I’m a ten, thank you very much.”

“You’re insufferable,” you groan out, fighting back the urge to smile. “You won’t stay a ten if you rip your fingers apart though, Jake. You should give it a try. They have flavored toothpicks, too.”

He ponders this with narrowed eyes, pulls his hand away from his mouth to lay it flat on top of the table to examine his cuticles carefully. “Think they have cinnamon?”

“Probably. Would keep your mouth fresh too.”

“Oh, the ladies are gonna love that,” he laughs, smiling so big now that his eyes crinkle and it feels like someone’s opened a window in this dim restaurant, pushed the sun higher in the sky and bathed your whole body in sunlight. You laugh along with him, rest your elbows on the table to prop your head up and just look at him, appreciate him as a boy who offered to help you within the first hour of knowing you, a man who’s willing to give up his aspirations to care for the people he loves. Your best friend who stopped giving you butterflies a long time ago and now brings you a feeling of comfort, of warmth. Of home.

Suddenly, Jake reaches across the table, palm facing up. You eye it carefully, slowly sliding your hand into his. “You good?”

“Thanks for putting up with me for two years,” he tells you seriously. And you shake your head with a smile, can sense the emotions well up in your eyes, feel your heart beating faster.

“Of course,” you breathe out. “Thanks for always supporting me.”

“Always,” he parrots back. “Anything for a future Pew-litzer Winner.”

You huff out a wet laugh, and the two of you just sit there across from each other, smiling like idiots until finally, with your vision slightly blurred and your hand still squeezing his across the table, you glance around for your waitress who has yet to make an appearance. “You wanna just... go get some pizza?”

“God, yes,” Jake agrees, immediately moving to stand up. “Think we can find some toothpicks on the way?”

AGE TWENTY-THREE (she’s still 23, inside her fantasy, how it was supposed to be)

The October after you graduate from Columbia and Jake’s graduated from the Academy, you visit him in Pensacola in a bar that’s packed to the brim with patrons in Navy-issued khakis. You find yourself in a booth across from Jake, snacking on greasy bar eats and nursing some shitty beers.

“Aren’t you gonna introduce me to your date, Hangman?” a dark-skinned, intimidatingly handsome man in uniform leans against your table and looks down at you with a grin that could rival a hyena’s. You glance over at Jake, who rolls his eyes.

“Coyote,” Jake says admonishingly, flips a toothpick between his teeth, but goes on to introduce you. “This is my best friend from back home.”

You wave awkwardly, pondering where his callsign may have come from - unless that was his birth name, in which you’d love to have a quick interview with his parents. Coyote raises his eyebrows and slides into the booth next to Jake, subsequently pushing him closer to the wall and rests both elbows on the table. “So you’re Jake’s friend? With all the articles?”

You whip your head to look at Jake, who’s bearing a sheepish grin with his cheeks getting slightly pinker. His hand raises up to rub the back of his neck. “It’s nothing -”

“- You should’ve seen him during basic - had all these things pinned up on his wall, always reading your letters at breakfast with a puppy dog face. Honestly thought you were his sweetheart or something- Ow!”

Coyote’s rubbing his side where Jake elbowed him harshly, cheeks still red and teeth furiously gnashing down on the toothpick. Underneath the table, you can feel Jake’s leg start bouncing, and you shift your foot forward to lightly brush his, tap the side of his tenderly. He halts his movements.

“He’s just a great friend,” you clarify, beaming at Jake, who seems slightly less tense with his jaw unclenched. “Anyways, is Coyote your callsign?” your curiosity gets the better of you, and you figure it might be a good chance to get the spotlight off Jake.

“Sure is. Name’s Javy,” he smirks at you, then jerks a hand over at Jake. “Has he told you his sign?”

“Yeah, Hangman. Which is stupid, because he honestly sucks at the game -”

“- I don’t,” Jake hotly defends, sits up in his seat and crooks an accusatory finger in your direction. “You’re the one that does weird ass long words. No one’s gonna guess - what was it? Gerrymandering?”

Coyote attempts to stifle a laugh, but you let a giggle bubble right out of you. “I like to use it as a learning opportunity.”

“Here’s a word for you: buzzkill.” Jake retorts, and you scoff, holding back a smile, about to snark back when you feel your phone vibrate from your purse.

“One second,” you pull out your Blackberry, glancing over the email from your coworker at The Washington Times and tapping out a brief response.

“Hey sweetheart,” you hear Jake say and your heart skips a beat, a smile forming at the familiar name as you press send on your message. Your surging warmth is immediately extinguished as you look up from your phone and see that Jake’s not speaking to you at all, not even looking your way. Instead, he’s shifted his entire body to face a gorgeous woman who’s stopped by your booth and is currently looking at him with a sweet smile.

“Still on for Friday night?” she asks, and you envy how cool she sounds saying it, like there’s no doubt in her mind that Jake will say yes, against your better wishes.

“Of course, wouldn’t miss it,” he replies easily, the dimple on his cheek popping out, deflating you further.

She flashes a quick smile at you as well - no malice or threat in it whatsoever - and you wonder if it’s that obvious that you and Jake are friends, that you’re not on a date even though you’d both been seated in this booth for the better half of an hour.

Maybe she thinks you’re just here with Javy, who’s been watching the whole interaction with a smirk, eyes laser focused on you trying your hardest to keep your expression neutral. “You’re going out with Imani? What happened to Priya?” Coyote asks after the girl walks away, his pointed look at you unwavering.

Jake shrugs. “She knew I didn't want anything serious. So does Imani. It’s just drinks and dinner and you know... whatever comes next.”

They both share a chuckle and your heart clenches painfully. You’re no prude - you’re all in support of people having casual sex, and you’re glad Jake is forthcoming with these girls. He’s not breaking their hearts, and they seem content to just have one night with him and be done with it.

There’s just the tiniest whisper of anxiety that wonders if there’s something wrong with you for rarely engaging in hookup culture, for not feeling comfortable enough to have meaningless flings. The one time you took a step out of your comfort zone and hooked up with a stranger, your walk of shame felt like a daze - inside, you were empty, despondent. A part of you envies Imani and the mysterious Priya for being able to cast aside their emotions so easily, fall into bed with a stranger, step out the next morning without feeling like they’re missing a part of themself.

The little green monster in you also flares up at the realization that they’ll know Jake in a more intimate way than you ever will - in a way that you’ve only dreamt about a handful of times. Give or take. You’re not sure when you started seeing him in a different light, as more than a friend, more like the person you’d want to get old with and celebrate milestones besides the anniversary of you becoming friends - but it happened slowly, suddenly, then all at once. And now, your feelings just sit with you, tethering you to the impossible dream of knowing Jake as so much more.

All this to say, you can’t be angry with Jake or any of these women. It’s not a crime for him to want to sleep around. You just wish you had the courage to tell him it’s not entirely victimless.

“There’s quite a few girls back home who’d be shattered to hear this,” you tease instead, ignoring the way your stomach is dropping low, the way your appetizer is slowly creeping up your esophagus.

Jake rolls his eyes. “Always been a heartbreaker, darlin’, it’s an occupational hazard.” he tells you and you agree mentally, idly picking at the basket of cold fries on the table. “You’ll always be my number one girl, though.”

Ah, and the dream lives on.

AGE TWENTY-SIX (time went on for everybody else, she won't know it)

“Happy tenth anniversary to a spectacular, intelligent, absolutely phenomenal woman,” Jake toasts, grinning across from you at Malatesta Trattoria in West Village. Jake had insisted on treating you in celebration of your new job at The New York Times - did the research and made reservations all on his own, took time off and everything.

“Happy friendship anniversary to a guy who still forgets to pack his toothbrush,” you snicker, and laugh even harder when his look of pride quickly turns into a mock glare.

It’s been a full year since you physically saw him at your last anniversary dinner - Jake had been away on a longer assignment in Lemoore, and you’d been busy churning out inflammatory political op-eds for The Washington Times and applying to jobs in the Big Apple. The two of you called pretty regularly, but this was officially the longest the two of you had gone without seeing each other.

You thought it’d feel awkward, like you’d have to fumble to find your footing with him the same way you have to figure out how to balance when you put on roller skates, but it’s easy. The moment you stepped outside of your building to meet him, he’d rushed to lift you in a giant bear hug, like no time apart had even passed. And the whole night, the two of you chat about anything and everything- he fills you in on his assignment and about something he’s gunning for called Top Gun, and you tell him about an upcoming project covering creative renewal in Beirut - you both nod along as best as you can while the other speaks.

After your plates are empty and cleared out and you both have determined that you’re too full for dessert (although, the ice cream calling your name at your apartment might have you singing a different tune later), you both stand up to exit the restaurant.

The wine you had with dinner has loosened up your movements - typically, you have to move through the city streets with big strides and purpose - like you’ve got somewhere to be and you’re already ten minutes late. But with Jake, there’s no timetable, no place you have to hurry to reach. Right now, the only thing on your agenda is to stand next to Jake in the middle of the sidewalk outside of this fancy restaurant and appreciate the moments you have with him.

And figure out how the hell you’re getting home.

“You wanna call a cab?” Jake asks you with an arm wrapped around your waist to steady your swaying form, and you balk at the thought of having to pay a hefty fee just to sit still in a car and try to keep your spinning head from making you throw up. God, your tolerance has become abysmal.

“We can just take the F train back to my place. If you’re okay walking?” you reply fuzzily, looking up at him with a messy grin. Jake’s sweet expression catches you off guard - hazel green eyes locked on you, his sweet smile etching a dimple deeper into his cheek, like Michaelangelo himself carved it. Your breath hitches in your throat, and you become all too aware of the feeling of his hand squeezing your hip, the warmth of his forearm around your lower back, the way his chest is just barely brushing your shoulder and yet still manages to heat you up from head to toe.

And you know he’s only trying to keep you upright, probably just trying to gauge your level of drunkenness and assess whether you’re good to make the thirty minute walk plus subway ride to your home. But he doesn’t know that it’s not the three glasses of wine you had at dinner that’s intoxicated you this much, that’s made your mind feel lighter than air and your heart ten times fuller. It’s all Jake - Jake - who’s looking at you like you’re the only thing on his mind, the only person in the world, the only one who matters.

“Are you fine with that?” he asks, and the softness written in his features reminds you of all the times you’ve looked at Jake and found a new favorite thing to fall in love with.

The very first time you looked at him - really looked at him - you fixated on the way his dimple poked out while you regaled him with a story about how you exacted revenge on your friend’s two-timing ex by pouring your entire yogurt cup on top of his head. The way he threw his head back with his eyes squinted shut and hands clapping together made you feel more enamored with him than ever, had you scraping the back of your mind for more stupid jokes to make him laugh that hard.

Another time, you remember looking right at his nose and thinking about how much you wanted to plant a sweet kiss on the tip, found yourself wondering how it would feel pressed against your neck as you both drifted off for the night, and how the sound of his soft breathing beside you would be the most comforting, reassuring sound to fall asleep to.

This time, you’re completely mesmerized by the way the streetlights hit the flecks of green in his eyes, the way his pupils look slightly dilated, the way his gaze darts down for a split second to your lips and right back up to meet your heated look. If you weren’t drunk you’d fall right into the moment, lean right in and press your mouth to his like you’ve always wanted to, let his perfectly brilliant teeth clash with yours. Maybe see for yourself if you can taste cinnamon on his tongue.

But you are incredibly drunk right now, and that’s no way to kiss him for the first time. So you pull your head back ever so slightly. “I think I just need to walk off the alcohol for a bit,” you shoot him a sloppy grin, still managing to lose yourself in those fucking beautiful eyes.

Jake’s talking, murmuring something low in your ear. “You sure? Those shoes look like they hurt.”

You look down at your heels - and yeah, they’re fucking painful. These past few minutes of Jake’s inebriating presence has given you the briefest reprieve from the sharp pains shooting up your calves. You’re desperate to take them off - but you can’t recall when your last tetanus shot was. And even if you were up-to-date, no one could convince you that it’s safe to walk barefoot in the streets of New York. “No, I’ll make it. Need to walk off the wine.”

“You wanna wear my shoes?” Jake offers and you scoff.

“You wanna walk barefoot? What, do you think they sanitize and mop the sidewalks every night?”

“I’m wearing socks!” he defends and you roll your eyes.

“Still gross. Besides, you know what they say about guys with big feet?”

Jake’s eyebrows furrow, looks momentarily stunned as his eyes dart to his shoes, then return to your face. “Big dick?”

“Big shoes,” you deadpan. “And if I take one step in your big clown shoes, I’m faceplanting right on the sidewalk. You want that to happen? ”

“Clown shoes?” he repeats to himself quietly with an amused smile, then shakes his head, finally relenting. “Fine. But if you get tired, I’m not carrying you.”

“I’ll make it,” you insist.

“Jake?” you say thirty minutes later after traversing up the subway stairs, stopping for a moment to bend down and massage your ankles. Jake stops, shifts the paper bag with leftovers from one hand to the other and places his free hand on your back. He looks down at you with concern.

“Yeah?”

You pause for a moment, wondering if he’d turn you down, deliberating if you even feel comfortable asking him for a piggyback ride for the five minute walk back to your apartment. But the aching toe cramp that you’re trying and failing to stretch out drowns out your insecurities, silences your fear that he wouldn’t be able to manage. You remind yourself that he’s been bragging about his new squat record for weeks now, anyway. “Can you carry me on your back? Please?”

A sigh. Then, “Sure darlin’. Hop on.”

You wordlessly reach to take the leftovers from him and he turns away from you, couches down low enough to let you clamber onto him. With an arm secured under each leg, he extends to his full height and lifts you up onto his back.

“Alright?” he rumbles, and you nod wordlessly, wrap your arms around his neck and hook your chin over his shoulder. Your eyes flutter shut, and you breathe in his familiar cologne, some Tom Ford scent you’d gifted him a few Christmases ago. It grounds you, keeps your head from spinning even more as you relish the feeling of your ankles not supporting your whole body weight.

You feel the alcohol hit for a second wave, completely demolishing your self-control, unleashing your thoughts to race limitlessly, to see no bounds. At this point, your head is close to mush, your limbs feel like they weigh twice as much, and you think you’ll never let yourself drink rosé again. But you’re certain of one thing. “I think you might be the love of my life,” you murmur sleepily.

Silence. Jake doesn’t stop walking, doesn’t acknowledge it, doesn’t even say it back. So maybe you were too quiet, or perhaps you completely imagined saying it at all.

Because it’s unlike Jake to let you have the last word.

AGE TWENTY-EIGHT (I'm sure that you’ve got a wife out there, kids and Christmas, but I'm unaware)

“Have you ever thought about this?” Jake asks you, leaning back against his chair as he watches the happy couple swaying in the middle of the dance floor to an Ed Sheeran song - not your personal choice, but the rest of the onlookers seem to be incredibly moved by it. This year, your friendship anniversary coincides with your old roommate’s wedding, and after much pleading (and the promise of an open bar), Jake agreed to fly out to be your plus-one.

It surprised you how much you had to beg for him to come. At first, he had been hesitant, imploring you to attend the wedding instead of meeting him for your usual dinner. You didn’t hesitate to dismiss that idea - it’s been twelve years of celebrating, and there’s no way you’re stopping now. Not when it already feels like Jake’s been pulling back for the past year or so: calling less often, answering texts hours after you sent them, sometimes not even replying to your articles with anything aside from a little thumbs-up emoji.

At this point, it feels like this anniversary is all that’s tethering him to you.

“Have I ever thought about my wedding?” you ponder. “Yeah, sometimes. Don’t think I’d ever spring for something as big as this, but -”

“- No, no,” he interrupts, “you wouldn’t want to make a big fuss of it all, not a crazy big party and definitely not a five hundred person guest list. ‘Course I know that about you.” Jake smiles and shifts forward, leaning in close; you can just barely smell the sandalwood and vanilla musk of his cologne. He seems relaxed, finally looks content to be here - though you’re sure that’s all thanks to the top-shelf whiskey he’s imbibing. “I meant marriage, commitment, settling down. You think you’d ever want to do that?”

You purse your lips, gaze still locked on the newly wedded couple, appreciating the matching expressions of adoration written on their faces as they twirl around their guests. “Of course. Just haven’t found the right person who’s ready to do that with me.”

He scoffs. “What, like you’re struggling to find someone? You know, from the minute I walked into this banquet hall with you, I’ve counted maybe five death glares from interested parties.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you did,” you snort, tilting your glass up vertically to catch the last few drops of champagne.

“Sweetheart, I’d never lie to you. In fact, I think the redhead over by the bar is still sending daggers my way. And she’s hot, so I’m kind of turned on by it,” Jake adds seriously, and you roll your eyes. “Come on! I thought you were going to give Tinder a shot earlier this year?”

You snort again, this time feeling a little more jaded. “I did give it a shot. And all I found was guys holding up fish and finance bros asking for my snap. I don’t even have a Snapchat, Jake. What happened to just getting people’s numbers and having a normal conversation?”

“It’s a new era, all this online dating stuff,” he replies, crossing one ankle over his knee and interlacing his hands over his abdomen. “But I see your point, maybe Tinder isn’t the best place to find your forever partner.”

“Don’t know why I even bothered,” you remark and look over at him, momentarily allowing yourself to appreciate the way his tux fits over him. “Maybe if we’re both still single by the time we’re forty, we get hitched,” you muse, only half joking.

He chokes on his whiskey, coughing loudly with the liquor singing his throat. “Yeah, right!” Jake finally manages out with a laugh and teary eyes, and it feels like someone’s poured a bucket of ice water on you, wakes you up from the lighthearted banter you lost yourself in.

“Okay,” you narrow your eyes, heart dropping at the rejection. “Don’t sound too eager. I’m not down on one knee here or anything.”

“Sorry,” he apologizes but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He swirls around the remaining amber sea in his drink, slightly mesmerized by the mini whirlpool. “You know me though. Never settling down.”

You know you should take the sign to drop the conversation, but his quick refusal and blasé tone rubs you the wrong way. “Why? Because of your parents?” you hedge, leaning in to get a better look at his face, which has slightly hardened in the dim glow of the bulb lights strung across the venue. The extra bubbly you’ve consumed pushes you to question him, to finally figure out why he’s so resistant to letting himself be loved. “I know you’re scared you’ll end up making the same mistakes as your dad, but you know you’re not like him. Not in any way.”

He grits out your name warningly, arching a brow and gripping his glass tight. You run the risk of it shattering if you keep pushing. But that’s the least of your worries; right now, you’re blind with hurt. How can he just dismiss you like it’s nothing? How can he close himself off so easily?

“Typical Jake Seresin, you know?” you cut him off hotly, trying with all your might to keep your voice even through the haze of champagne. “Always so ready to let your daddy issues ruin your chances at happiness.”

He glares at you, knocks back the rest of his drink without even grimacing, doesn’t meet your gaze. Crunches the ice bitterly. “Get off your high horse, sweetheart,” he finally says roughly. “Stop pretending like you know me.”

You scoff, still not backing down. “You think after over ten years of friendship, I don’t know you at all?”

Another shrug. His leg starts bouncing incessantly. “People change, darlin’. You certainly have.”

You draw back, feeling like he just slapped you in the face. “What d’you mean by that?” you ask a little quieter, with a slight waver, still audible over Ed Sheeran’s ballad. Where’s he going with this?

He groans again, turns to look at you, but you don’t quite recognize the expression on his face. It’s menacing, hardened, darker than the amber liquid in his cup. “We do our separate things, sweetheart. We call a couple times a year and meet up on the same weekend to do the same dinner and yeah, that’s nice. It’s great. But that doesn’t mean you know me as well as you think you do. Quit grilling me - I’m not just a sad story for you to write about.”

His words punch you in the gut, sock you in the ear, send blood coursing angrily through your veins. Part of you wants to tell him off, unleash your fury, make a scene in the middle of this reception hall. Another part of you wants to storm off and leave him behind, but you’re not sure if you want to face the reality that he might not follow, might not chase after you with apologies and promises to soothe the burn from his words.

Slightly misty-eyed, you fight to reel your emotions back in, not wanting to draw attention to the two of you or make Jake feel like you’re guilting him. It feels an awful lot like using thimbles to catch roof leaks. Your strength comes back to you in slow, even waves: your heart returns to its normal pattern, your chest no longer heaves for air.

“You can’t say things like that, Jake,” you tell him, your voice surprisingly steady, rock solid. “You’re my best friend, and you can’t speak to me that way.”

His jaw ticks, his expression remains unchanged. “Sure, right. Sorry.”

The easy dismissal brings your anger back in a rush, yet gives you time to think about your next words carefully. “You’re such an ass, Jake,” you bite out, and maintain decorum, calmly push your chair back to stand up, send him a glare with all the furiosity you can muster before making a bee-line for the exit without looking back to see if he’s following suit.

You dodge fellow wedding attendees, snatching champagne from a waiter with a platter before knocking it back and setting the empty flute back down and continuing to make your way to the exit. Over Ed Sheeran’s second ballad, you can hear Jake quietly calling out your name, his footsteps right behind you.

As you burst through the doors, into the crisp outside air, you teeter for a few steps in your heels before leaning against a pillar, trying to contain your emotions, lest you say something silly or embarrassing or humiliating.

“Would you just wait? Would you let me talk?” Jake’s hot on your heels as he steps over the threshold.

“You’ve said plenty,” you throw back.

“Come on, darlin’, I didn’t mean it like that,” Jake says behind you, closer now.

“I think you made it very clear,” you grind out, turning on your heel and looking him straight in the eye. “You can’t smooth-talk your way out of this, Seresin. That might work on everyone else, but it’s not doing jack shit on me!”

He throws his hands up in the air, shakes his head. You eye how his fingers are twitching, how he’s chewing the inside of his cheek. “What do you want me to say? I’m just saying we’re not the same people we used to be -”

“- That’s fine!” you gesticulate dramatically, too overwhelmed with frustration to let your hands remain still. “But you don’t have to be an ass about it! You don’t have to minimize our friendship like this! God, Jake, what has it been? Twelve years? Twelve years of loving you, supporting you, celebrating anniversaries -” You cut yourself off, realizing what just bubbled forth from of your mouth.

Jake’s expression stays ablaze, but his spine stiffens, hands twitch twice before he clenches them, digging his nails into his palms harshly. You meet his heavy gaze, mouth slightly agape, mind running a million miles a second until it starts to decelerate, slows down gradually, then stops on one thought, one single thought alone.

“I love you, Jake,” you say. Like you’re stating a fact, common knowledge for everyone and their mother. The sky is blue, the world isn’t flat, and you’re in love with Jake Seresin.

He inhales, shaking his head, and looking down at the ground.

You falter, furrow your eyebrows, wonder if maybe he didn’t hear you. “I love you, Jake,” you repeat, this time a little louder, taking a step forward, closer to him. “I’m in love with you.”

Jake looks up, his face contorted into a look of pain, eyes void of its usual light. Inhales sharply. “I know.”

You falter. “You know?“ the words feel like marbles rolling out; you can almost hear the tiny plinks as they hit the ground.

“Yeah.”

”…How long?”

He swallows. “Since New York.”

You’re transported back in that moment, a montage of scenes from your tenth anniversary flashing through your mind like you’re in a cinema. You remember the night’s end in a haze: his warm body next to yours as you stumbled to the subway, you gripping onto his arm tightly with every lurch of the train, Jake carrying you on your back and you saying -

“Oh.” You shrink back, and the realization he’s held onto this for two years hits you like a truck. Jake is silent, hands now shoved into his pockets as he awaits your next few words. “And... you have nothing else to say to that?”

Jake lets out a pained groan. “Listen, darlin’, don’t get me wrong. I... care about you so damn much, but I can’t feel for you the way you want me to. We wouldn’t work.”

His words make you freeze and your anxiety screams out ‘I told you so!’ in a manner that echoes thunderously throughout your brain. This unrequited love is something you’ve always expected, always prepared yourself for, yet you never gave it much further thought to safeguard your heart.

You’re rapidly accelerating through the stages of grief - next, your anger comes back to you. First, in small rivulets that trickle down your spine - then as a rush of agony that feels an awful lot like the crash at the bottom of a waterfall. Your eyes burn with the tears you refuse to let fall, your palms already stinging from how hard you’ve dug your manicure into them - but is it fair for you to be mad at him? For not loving you the way you desperately want him to?

For the longest time, a small, tiny part of you hoped Jake would come around, decide to knock on your door, knock you back with a signature bear hug. That he’ll swear to be there always, love you the way you love him.

After tonight, you reflect, it seems like that might never happen. And quickly, you surmise that you’d rather have one part of him than nothing at all. So as you finally reach the stage of acceptance, you vow to treasure every moment of friendship with Jake Seresin.

“I understand,” you tell him, feeling like you’re miles away. “It’s okay.”

“You sure?” His eyes still rake over you with concern.

“Positive.” You do your best to plaster on the most reassuring smile you can.

“Sweetheart -”

“- Can we just talk about this later?” you interrupt, feeling defeated and embarrassed all rolled into one. There most certainly is more to the conversation - but all you want to do is prolong it for longer, preserve the fantasy in your mind that you can Jake are alright, that the past few minutes never happened.

He closes his mouth, nods, pushes his hands deeper into his pockets.

From inside, the music suddenly changes - still a slow ballad, but this time it’s Al Green, Let’s Stay Together. “I believe you stipulated that I had to dance to at least one song,” Jake holds out a hand, looking at you almost hopefully. As if the last few minutes hadn’t completely shattered your heart and sent the pieces flying away with the wind.

“Ah,” you say, feeling a wave of exhaustion overcome you. “You go on ahead. Think I just need some more air.”

Internally, your heart is deflating, sending slight tremors throughout your body. But you can’t have Jake know that, can’t have him feel even worse about this, won’t have him feeling an ounce of guilt for something so out of his control.

Despite your best efforts to hold it all in, a small tear escapes and slides down your cheek as soon as Jake’s back turns, and you feel like you might have kicked a pebble that’s about to precipitate an avalanche.

---

Jake calls you up a few days after, initially sounding like he just wants to check in until his tone takes on a more somber note, and your heart drops to your stomach. “Listen, I know we had a little bit of a heated... discussion at the wedding. And I just need you to know I really, really, appreciate you. And I’m sorry I can’t give you what you want, but I just want to make sure we can still stay friends.”

“Yeah, of course -” you stop yourself from readily agreeing, pause to reevaluate how you really want to take this moving forward.

Jake is the love of your life. That much is certain. And you’re not sure how willing you are to push aside your feelings, pretend your confession never even happened, just to go on with the guise that you guys are simply friends. Just friends. Holding off on love in hopes that he’ll come around.

If you’re being completely truthful, a part of you does feel empty without a person by your side, without a companion to walk through life with, without a partner to share all the moments of joy and despair and everything in between with. You’ve tried dating throughout the years - agreed to so many blind dates, worked up the courage to ask guys at the bar out. And somehow, you always run into the same problem.

They’re not Jake.

And it’s not like they’re not as funny as him, or as charismatic or charming or sweet as him. It’s not the fact that they gave you spearmint kisses when you’ve always craved cinnamon. It’s the harsh truth that no matter what, they always feel threatened by your passion for your job and your drive to succeed. Always find problems with you jetting across the world for different projects, and patronize you for saying you wanted to make a difference with your stories.

One Tinder date even mocked you for aspiring to win a Pulitzer - you’d promptly excused yourself to the bathroom and never came back, instead ending your night with a long phone call from Jake, who was six hours ahead at the time but more than happy to console you.

Jake’s always encouraged you, from the very first day at the pizza parlor to now. And the more guys you took a chance on dating, the less hopeful you felt about finding a future with someone as kind, as wonderful, as unwaveringly supportive as Jake.

Maybe it’s time to let go of the pipe dream.

“Actually, no. I don’t think I can move forward as just friends,” you rush out, and admittedly, it feels like you’re ripping off a bandaid but the sting feels more like an ache. “And don’t get me wrong - your friendship means the world to me. Even if you think we’re different people now. But it feels like nothing’s changed for me, Jake. I think for years, I’ve been holding onto the hope that you’ll come around and feel the same way. But after this past weekend... I think I need some space. Just so I can get over you, if you’re not changing your mind anytime soon.”

Jake’s silent on the other end of the line - the only indication that he hasn’t dropped off is the sounds of cars rushing on the other side. A part of you hopes he’ll take the bait you cast with your final sentence, that at the very least, he’ll consider reconsidering. You don’t think you’ll get that lucky.

“If that’s what you want.”

“It’s not,” you quickly reassure him while blinking away tears, feeling numb. “And I don’t want to be cliche and tell you it’s what I need, Jake - because believe me, sometimes it feels like I need you like I need a Pilot G2 pen or the sun. But I can’t live like this. I can’t settle for just having part of you because that’ll be agonizing for me.”

Silence on the other end. “I hope you understand,” you quietly add.

“I do, sweetheart. I’m sorry,” his voice is void of emotion. You try not to think too hard about it, try to transport yourself back to a better moment when he was right there in front of you with every feeling written on his tanned, chiseled face.

Deep inhale. “Bye, Jake.”

AGE TWENTY-NINE (I cause no harm, mind my business, if our love died young, I can’t bear witness)

These gentrified tapas places are a menace to society. You shift uncomfortably on the cold, sad metal excuse for a barstool. This restaurant is noisy - glasses clinking together, patrongs cheers-ing to various occasions, champagne bottles popping open. Yet, the sound of the entrance dinging open is the only thing that makes you perk up, has you involuntarily glancing up hopefully in an attempt to manifest a familiar handsome pilot walking across the threshold to join you on your anniversary. But to your disappointment, it’s only a bunch of drunk bankers stumbling out.

In the past year, you’ve found a number of ways to distract yourself from the pain of not having your best friend. As per Dr. Richard’s advice from your first therapy session, you tried your hardest to find comfort in solitude: catching films in the theater alone, wandering through new art exhibitions by your lonesome; you even attended a wine tasting in Brooklyn and ended up passing the time with a group of ladies who encompassed very similar energy to the Sex and the City Quartet (and you ended up getting some solid reassuring advice after you lamented your complicated friendship - Samantha’s carbon copy was all too ready to shit on Jake by the end of your tale).

All in all, you’re content to be scoping out this restaurant solo, trying their featured cocktails and appetizers and people watching. You’re trying your best to convince yourself that you’re okay being where you are right now. The only thought that puts a damper on your night, sets your pride back a little is the realization that this might be the first October thirteenth you’ve spent alone in thirteen years. It shakes to your core, makes you flag down a bartender for a whiskey neat, but you calm down, take a deep breath, and let it out.

Jake’s a different man, not the boy who sat in front of you in your beloved pizza shop with a crinkly-eyed smile, telling you “you’re just a cool person.”

In the same way, you’re most certainly a different girl than the one who sat in front of him with a ten-color shuttle pen and bright eyes, one who was just grateful he’d seen a companion in you to begin with.

You’re a strong, self-assured, career-driven woman now. You’ve been featured on a variety of articles ranging from the devastating 2016 US Presidential Election, to a Buzzfeed Guest Feature on what your favorite ink color said about you, to discussing culture and conflict in the Middle East. While Jake’s support from the very beginning was part of what motivated you, what spurred you on, you are the one who did all the hard work. You are powerful, driven, intelligent, sophisticated.

You’re also drunk, and dialing a number you know by heart.

“The number you have dialed is not available. Please leave a message or...”

After the beep, you steel yourself. “Hey, Jake,” you clear your throat, gripping your phone tightly in your palm and taking a deep breath. “I, uh... Just wanted to wish you a happy anniversary. Think it’s the first one I’ve spent without you in a while.”

You pause, look around at the tapas bar as you try to gather your thoughts, wistfully eye the empty barstool next to you.

“I know I said I needed some time before. And I’m glad you honored that - truly, from the bottom of my heart. Even though a part of me wanted you to change your mind and chose me over not having me. Does that make any sense?”

Your eyes catch on the bartender who’s cleaning glasses with a towel a few feet away from you, catch him shaking his head slightly.

“Do you mind?”you snap, and he at least has the decency to look a little embarrassed at being caught eavesdropping. Quickly, he flashes you an apologetic smile before comically pretending to hear a patron calling out their order and dashing across the bar.

You snort, shaking your head. “Sorry. Some asshole was just... Never mind. You would’ve hated this place, Jake. I mean, aside from nosy people, it’s got overpriced drinks with Edison lights hanging from the ceiling. And there’s no jukebox - they’re just playing top 40s hits over and over again. Like, this is the third time I’m hearing Shape of You and I got here less than an hour ago.”

Again, you pause, feeling embarrassed at your incessant rambling. Debate whether to blab about what’s been plaguing your mind since you woke up this morning. “Sometimes I wish I never said anything and that we could’ve just stayed friends. I just don’t think that would’ve been fair to me - because I meant what I said, Jake. I’m in love with you. Even if we’re different people - I would’ve loved getting to know every version of you.”

It feels like a breakthrough, saying the words out loud, realizing that things truly are going to be more different than they used to be. And for the first time, you don’t feel like you’re perpetually mourning a friendship, you don’t feel waves of anxiety that try to convince you that you conflated your friendship to mean more. You can breathe easily.

“I think I’ve realized that the person I am today is all a conglomeration, a constellation of every interaction I’ve had with other people. And for the most part, I am who I am because of our friendship, because of your presence in my life. So a part of me is finding it hard to let go of that and move on without you being so ingrained in me. But I’m trying. I’m going to therapy, at least,” you smile optimistically, wiping away the first tear you’ve let yourself shed today.

“So rest assured, I’ll be okay without you, Seresin. In case you were worried. But no matter what, this day will always remain special to me. You’ll always be special to me.”

AGE THIRTY (and it’s been so long, but if you ever think you got it wrong, I’m right where you left me)

You don’t realize it’s the day of your anniversary until you catch a glimpse of the date on your phone, realize why you felt like you were missing something the entire day. At first, it sends a wave of anxiety over you, makes your stomach swoop like you missed the last step on the staircase.

But as best as you can, you remind yourself that taking on this special day alone is part of your healing process, that sometimes we create our own heartbreak through expectation, and that it’s just a matter of managing your hopes, assuaging your guilt, honoring your friendship by yourself for the second year in a row.

It’s taken time, but you’ve made your peace with the fact that Jake won’t be playing as active a role in your future as you’d hoped. Maybe you two can just be the type of friends who send each other Christmas cards and call on your birthdays. Years later, maybe you’ll finally settle down and find someone who will support you just as well as Jake did, who will treat you kindly and see you as more than a friend to hold hands with from time to time and look at your lips sometimes and give you piggyback rides when you’re too drunk. If you have kids, maybe you’ll have Jake over to meet your family, oblige him to regale them with tales of your friendship, send gift cards for their birthdays and talk about his time in the Navy - if they’re interested in hearing about Uncle Jake’s career path.

That’s all. You settle for keeping him in your footnotes, for cherishing the memory of who he used to be.

Even if you’ll always be in love with Jake, that doesn’t mean you have to wither away waiting for him.

In the middle of catching up on some editing and shooting out some emails from the comfort of your plush couch, your phone rings with a familiar name proudly displayed at the top. Immediately, you narrow your eyes, wondering if he’s remembered or if it’s some weird fluke that he’s calling you on today of all days.

“Hello?” you answer cautiously.

“Hey, darlin’,” you hear Jake’s easy tone flow through the speakers, and despite all the growth you’ve endured, despite all the lessons you’ve etched into your heart, your brain turns to mush.

“Hi Jake,” you force out, feeling as nervous as you did that day you interviewed him at the pizza place. At times like this, you wish you had your old landline from back in the day so you could coil the cord around your fingers idly, distract your nerves momentarily from the fact that this is the first time you’ve heard his voice in two years. “How’ve you been?”

“I’m alright,” His voice is stilted, slightly muffled. Sounds just as easy as you remembered it, “Just... Remembered what today was.”

“It’s Saturday.” The quip rolls off your tongue before you can think any better of it - and you cringe inwardly at how rude you must have sounded. “I’m sorry, that was...”

But Jake’s chuckling on the other end, a delightfully warm sound, one that pulls a surge of pride from deep within your chest. “Yeah. You're not wrong.”

And just as quickly, it fades into the awkward silence - the kind you never used to have with Jake. Mentally, you flow through all the happenings in this past year, think about where his Ma told you he’d been last.

“How’s San Diego?” - “Can you buzz me up?” you both speak at the same time, and his answer makes you freeze, makes time suspend for a few seconds as if you’re floating outside of your own body.

“I’m outside your building, I think. Unless your Ma sent me the wrong address, which admittedly, I’d deserve but - "

“- You’re in New York?” you ask, still in shock, finally feeling in control of your muscles and limbs and words. Hurriedly, you scramble off your couch and swipe up your empty tea mug, then rush to your kitchen to deposit it unceremoniously into your sink.

You hear the sound of a car horn beeping on the street echoing both in real time and on the line, further sending your heart into a frenzy. “Yeah - you do live off 65th, right? I’m sorry, I don’t mean to just pop in like this - ”

“No, no, it’s fine,” you breathe out, making your way to your front door with your phone still sandwiched between your ear and your hand. “I just... Wasn’t expecting company.”

He snorts on the other end. “S’not like the Queen of England is coming. It’s just me.”

“Somehow, I think that’s worse,” you muse, leaning against your hallway wall and hovering your finger over the button to let him in. If hearing his voice has put you this much on edge, you can’t imagine what it’ll do to you if you see him in person.

“Maybe so,” Jake agrees, and you can practically hear the forlorn smile in his voice. “Mind letting me up, though? Just wanted to talk. In person.”

The reality of the situation crashes down on you - that Jake’s practically been AWOL for the past few years, that your friendship has felt one-sided and exhausting to try and keep up with, that you spent your last anniversary alone and sobbing into your cellphone So a part of you wants to turn him down, hustle him out of your safe space - but your heart pounds rapidly with its demands for answers, your brain implores you to hear him out.

Without a second thought, you push the button and hear the resounding buzz on Jake’s side, followed by a “See you soon, sweetheart.” The line clicks.

Mind going a million miles a second, you turn to glance at your reflection in the hall mirror that you’ve procrastinated hanging up for months now. You level a determined look at yourself, brush some crumbs off your sweatshirt and smooth some flyaways before pushing your shoulders back, standing up tall and proud in an attempt to exude confidence.

Three heavy knocks sounding out at the door immediately makes your look turn panicked, sending you stumbling over your feet as you reach to grab the doorknob and pull it open to reveal Jake Seresin standing in your narrow apartment hallway.

Not even five seconds have passed and you’re already annoyed with him. He’s still mind numbingly handsome: tall as ever, blonde hair still infuriatingly shiny and soft, green eyes catching the dim evening light, glimmering back at you like gemstones. It makes your stomach swoop, brings the butterflies fluttering back into your chest from where you’d banished them.

Asshole.

“Hey,” he greets, quirks up a corner of his mouth into a half smile that would normally have you swooning if you weren’t already frozen.

“Hi, Jake,” you manage out, eyes raking over his figure just to convince your mind that he’s really there, actually standing just a few feet in front of you. Shaking away the doubts, you step to the side, gesture for him to enter your apartment.

It’s not the sound of his footsteps that convince you, nor is it the brief brush of his arm as he sidles into your narrow apartment hallway or the unreal sight of how he fills up the space and how his shoulders stretch from wall to wall. It’s the familiar heavy scent that hits you - tobacco and vanilla - which makes your cheeks flush, your heart skips a beat.

He’s really here.

Gathering your wits, you follow him into your cramped living room, grateful that you’d done some vacuuming and tidying up that morning in an effort to banish all the anxieties and ruminations that come with this special day. “Feel free to sit anywhere,” you find your voice, snatch up an oversized throw to make some room on the couch.

He nods, turns around to assess your space thoughtfully before settling himself into the cushions.“I got your voicemail,” he tells you. “From last year.”

Oh. It suddenly feels bitter, leaves a sour taste in your mouth. “You didn’t call back?” you hedge, immediately going on the defense. Instead of sitting down next to him, you elect to slide into the armchair furthest away from him, an attempt to shield yourself from him. An attempt to avoid making the same mistake twice.

“I was going away on assignment the next morning,” Jake explains quietly, patiently. He meets your disbelieving look with somber eyes. It only slightly alleviates the pressure building in your chest. “And... honestly, I didn’t want to worry you. It was one of those missions. The kind I wasn’t sure I would come back from - like, where they’re telling us to call home and lay down all the cards.”

You pause for a moment, absorb his words and feel a twinge of hurt upon the realization that you weren’t kept in the loop, that you never even knew you stood a chance at losing him. Before the emotions can rattle you too much and send you spiraling with anxious thoughts and what ifs, he explains further..

“I thought I would spare you the details, spare you from having to prepare to lose me. I was okay with that decision up until the moment one of my engines failed and my jet was going down - and the one thing that flashed through my mind was that I wouldn’t get to talk to you again, or see you, or how when you win your Pulitzer you wouldn’t be able to call me to tell me the news or how I wouldn’t be able to hang up the print of your winning piece next to your union one,” his voice is shaking slightly, and you know if you even attempted to reply your words would quiver just as much. In this moment, you’re trembling with your hands folded over your eyes to hide the tears brimming.

It’s a mix of sadness and anger and disappointment and you try your best to hold off on the tornado, but it rips your soul to shreds the more you realize the gravity of the situation. “You’re fucking kidding me,” you grit out, pressing your lips together to barricade the sobs. Your hands are tightly wrapped around a throw pillow, squeezing and kneading out your frustration on it. You can barely stand to look at him. “Took you a near death experience to call me? You think I haven’t already put myself through the fucking wringer after feeling so guilty for cutting you off just because you were too scared to love me? And you almost died?”

“I’m sorry,” Jake repeats, at least sounding sincerely apologetic.

“I appreciate that, Jake,” you reply bitterly, then defeatedly toss the pillow to the side. “When did you even get back?”

His jaw tenses slightly and he sighs, and you immediately feel triumphant for successfully frustrating him, as petty as it sounds. “Few months back. And I’m sorry for not calling you. I wanted to as soon as I got back, but I wanted to say all this face to face. And it took some time for me to figure out my shit, but I’m here now, if you’ll hear me out?”

All you can do is nod, purse your lips and let him say his piece - there’s no pressure to forgive him or fall into his arms.

“I think you were right,” Jake continues seriously. You dig your nails into your palms anxiously. Under any other circumstance, you would have loved hearing those words from anyone else. Not now. Not Jake. “You were right to call me out when you said I was letting the fear of becoming my dad hold me back from chasing what I want.”

As your anger slightly dissipates, you think back to that moment - about how those were just a few of the words you wish you could snatch up out of your past and make them disappear. Your breath hitches. “I was a bit harsh - "

“- But you were right,” he interrupts. “And I think that’s another reason why I shut down, because you know me so well. After all these years, I think you know me better than I know myself.”

You nod, not sure what exactly to say to that. It’s not like you can explain to him that you were so incredibly taken by him, that you held onto his every word and agonized over interaction in hopes of really getting to know your best friend.

Jake goes on: “And you have to know that my dad broke Ma’s heart like it was nothing. Married for twenty years, dated for five years, friends for another ten years. Even after you add all that up, it’s still not enough to keep them together. He still went for the first temp who waltzed into his office, still fucked with both of them for months on end. If my parents couldn’t keep it together, how could anyone else?”

You’re stunned, frozen in shock before you manage to gather your strength, pick up your thoughts and hurl them right back at him. Screw this defeatist attitude he’s picked up. “You have to understand that’s the nature of some relationships, Jake. Sometimes they’re not meant to last forever, sometimes people change - "

You halt, feel a wave of déjà vu. The words on the tip of your tongue sound eerily familiar to something that’s replayed in your mind for the past two years, and a couple puzzle pieces start to fit together. “Is this why you were spouting all of this bullshit at the wedding? About us changing?”

Suddenly, he launches up from the couch, walks two steps across the room and pivots on his heel to walk the two steps back in an attempt to furiously pace. He groans out exasperatedly, rakes a hand through his stupid perfect blond hair. “I mean... Yeah. It made sense at the time,” he admits. Briefly, you wonder when his nervous tics changed in the past few years, when did he switch from bouncing his legs under tables to wearing a path into carpets?

People change indeed. In more ways than one.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” you tell him matter-of-factly, and there’s no sugar-coating your words anymore. He makes a sound, as if he’s about to feign offense, but you power through. “People change all the fucking time, Jake. How the hell are we supposed to grow and become better versions of ourselves if we stay stagnant? Where’s the fucking story in that?”

You huff out a laugh, don’t even wait for him to reply before continuing on a rant. He’s stopped pacing now, is looking at you, but you’ve sprung up to your full height to look at him straight on, deliver your words as firmly as you can.

“People change, Jake, especially when they’re in relationships - it’s a matter of adapting, supporting them and loving your partner through it. And like, let’s be clear: I’ve changed a lot, too. Physically and emotionally - but I’m okay with it because I realize it’s made me become someone my sixteen year old self would be stoked to meet. And not just because I live in the city or because I have, like, two Montblanc pens - but because I’m working on these stories and they fly me out wherever to interview people, and I know I haven’t sent my stuff to you in a while, didn’t think you’d still want to read it - ”

“- I’ve kept up,” Jake interrupts. You stop in your tracks, tilt your head to the side as you process this. “I wanted to read them.”

“You have?” you ask dubiously, doubtfully. Hopefully.

“‘Course,” he affirms, sends you a reassuring smile and stands up straighter, takes a step forward. “I mean, not while I was overseas, I read up when I got back. I really liked that one about the Obamas’ portraits. Thought that was pretty cool. But the one about the grassroots movements for peace in Afghanistan got me thinking. Like, obviously I was assigned there for a while, but didn’t really consider other things happening there - Actually, I had some questions for you, but we can talk about it later...”

“Oh. Sure.” You’re slightly shocked at the confession, at the small vision that flashes through your mind of Jake typing your name into Google and catching up on your stories, determinedly following your career even during the most unstable moment in your friendship. It sparks hope in you, sends a wave of hope crashing down on you forcefully. “Wow. I didn’t think you… That means the world to me, Jake.”

He’s quiet for a moment, excitement reverting back to a somber contemplative expression. “I understand what you’re saying about change,” he says hesitantly, rocks back on his heels. “And I think I’m starting to understand what you meant in your voicemail about the... conglomeration stuff. Loving every version of me. Because I really feel the same way about you.”

It’s ambiguous, a little mysterious, his words a little stilted and broken, and you replay his words over and over to try and dig up the meaning behind them. But he’s taking another step towards you - if you reach out, you can certainly reach up and run your finger across the small bump in his nose from that football all those years ago. Hold his cheek in your hand like you've always wanted to.

“I don’t know when it happened,” he’s saying, and it makes your heart thud a million miles a minute, makes you want to pinch yourself. “I can’t remember it for the life of me. But I think about the moment I realized it - when you said it to me four years ago. And I regret not saying anything back every fucking day.”

Your heart stumbles, crushes up against the front of your ribcage as it tries to peek out at the man you’ve loved since you were seventeen. “Oh, Jake,” your response rolls out along with two tears down your cheeks.“ It’s okay - “

The scent of vanilla tobacco hits you first, then his chest as he pulls you into a giant bear hug that envelops you in a warmth that could put both the sun and Texas bonfires to shame. Your face is pressed into his jacket and he’s talking, saying something that you don’t really register until you tilt your head up and dig your chin into his firm chest.

“I’m in love with you, sweetheart,” the words burst forth. His hand’s resting gently on the small of your back - the warmth of his palm radiates comforting heat through your body that only multiplies as he pulls you into him. You stabilize your hands on his shoulders, crane your neck to look up at him and map out every part of his face - from the small lines in his forehead to the slope of his nose to the slight redness in his cheeks. “It’s okay if it’s too late, if you’ve moved on. I just don’t want to lose you again, don’t want to risk not talking to you, can’t - ”

“Of course I’m in love with you, stupid man,” the words come to you as easily as breathing does. The smile that spreads across his face brings back your favorite eye crinkles, carves a dimple into the corner of his mouth, makes it feel like you’re bathing in sunlight. And Jake wastes no time, doesn’t even hesitate before he’s breathing out a question and you're nodding tearfully and then he's cupping both of your cheeks gently and surging forward to press his lips to yours.

Jake tastes like cinnamon, just as you’ve always suspected. Aside from that, nothing about the way you love Jake is predictable. Nothing is ever steady, nothing is ever expected. Every moment with him brings forth a new set of revelations that drives you crazy, tears you to pieces. And somehow, it’s all incredibly worth it, worth the brief heartbreak, worth the years of hoping and waiting for him to join you. Because in the end, he made it. In this moment, it feels like everything is just right.

#hangman x reader #jake seresin x reader #hangman imagine #jake seresin imagine #tgm fanfic #mine

3K notes · View notes

forever-rogue · 1 year

Note

if that rb was asking for requests…. kisses that start out passionate but grows more delicate + brushing lips together, lingering for a moment, catching your breath, with eddie? love your writing So much you never miss 💗

AN | Friends to lovers! Pining! Misunderstandings! It’s all here 🥺🥰

Warnings | Mild Language

Pairing | Eddie x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 3k

Masterlist | Main, Eddie

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“You’re drooling,” you jumped at the sound of Steve’s voice, almost dropping the hot chocolate you were currently sipping on. You turned and offered him a very pathetic little glare that only caused him to laugh.

“I was not drooling,” you insisted haughtily, “I was looking at the books on that top shelf.”

“I didn’t know Eddie was a book,” fuck. You were so screwed - Steve had caught you red-handed and he would never let you live it down. He might have been your best friend, but he certainly wasn’t afraid to give you a hard time, “it seems like you’re super into reading these days.”

“Steve,” you looked at him with the best puppy dog eyes you could muster up, “please don’t say anything. If you love me, you’ll let it go.”

“Fine,” he sighed dramatically as he bit into his chocolate croissant. Crumbs flaked all over his sweater, which you instinctively brushed away. What you didn’t know was that that happened to be the precise moment Eddie looked over at the two of you. A deep frown settled on his pretty features, “you should just tell him, you know?”

“Tell him what exactly?” you grabbed a napkin and wiped at the corners of his mouth. He made a small sound of content as he swallowed his bite.

“That you’re in love with him!”

“Shut up, Steve!” you hissed, looking around to make sure no one had heard him, clamping your hand over his mouth. Thankfully, no one so much as looked in your direction. You let out a small sigh of relief, “I’m not in love with him! Maybe like..o-or something like that.”

“As if,” he pulled your hand away and raised an eyebrow, “you’re in love with him, he’s in love with you. So…why not finally make a move?”

“Because you’re wrong,” you exhaled deeply before hanging your head. If only what Steve had said was true. It would have made everything so much better, “he’s not…no. He’s just my friend, just like you. And that’s all that either of you will ever be.”

“Excuse me,” Steve scoffed, “I am your best friend. Get it right.”

“The bestest of all time,” you promised softly, reaching up and gently touching his face, “don’t know what I’d do without you, Steve.”

“Suffer,” he teased, but you knew that he was probably right, “luckily you’ll never have to find out.”

“Good,” you let him wrap you up in a tight hug, relaxing into his touch. Besides being a fool, Steve always knew what to say, he was just kind and golden-hearted in that way. But…he might have had a bit of an ulterior motive to his hug. Unlike your obliviousness, he was fully aware of the fact that Eddie had been watching the two of you like a hawk.

If he couldn’t get you to confess your feelings, maybe he could get Eddie to. If Eddie was jealous enough of Steve, surely he would be pushed into saying something. Right? Right. Steve happened to be a naturally affectionate person, so it wasn’t unusual for the two of you to be touchy-feely. He was just going to ramp it for as long as it took.

Steve Harrington had a plan.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Movie night this week was at Steve’s house. How perfect…and totally planned. Not just by Steve this time, but naturally Robin had to put in her two cents and the chaos duo that they were came up with a grand idea.

You were in the kitchen, getting snacks when Steve came in and joined you. The kitchen was open to the living room and you could see everyone starting to get comfortable for whatever movie Nancy and Jonathan had picked out. Mostly, your eyes were glued to Eddie, watching as the pretty boy talked to Dustin. He'd caught your eye a few times and exchanged soft smiles with you, but you just couldn't bring yourself to go over to him.

"Hey babe," Steve was being a little loud, louder than he normally was, but you just chalked it up to the fact that the house was buzzing with the whole gang, "what'cha getting for snacks?"

"The classics," you stated as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. Steve stood behind you and wrapped an arm around your midsection, resting his chin on your shoulder. You warmed up to him, both of you fans of physical touch and leaned into his touch, "popcorn, chips - two different kinds since the kids are picky, pizza has been ordered, and there's plenty of sodas!"

"You're the best," Steve whispered, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. He looked into the living room quickly to make sure Eddie was looking over. Thanks to Robin's little idea of sitting across from him and chatting so he'd be forced to look your way. Steve turned his head and hid his face, trying not to laugh out loud, "the absolute best."

Everyone made it through the first movie without issue, save for Max falling asleep for a little bit, head resting on Lucas’ shoulder. They were too cute for their own good sometimes. But a bathroom and refuel of snacks break was called and you decided to go to the backyard to get some fresh air for a few minutes. It was pretty outside, the stars were out and the moon was full, and everything felt so calm and tranquil, which was a far cry from what you normally experienced; naturally you had to take advantage.

You heard the sliding glass door open and expected it to be Steve or Robin, but ended up locking eyes with Eddie. Your breath hitched in your throat as you smiled softly…unfortunately he didn’t return the smile, only offering you a stiff nod. You walked over to him, instinctively reaching for his arm and out a hand on his strong bicep.

“Hey,” your heart was beating nervously as you looked at him, soft eyed and honeyed smiled, “everything alright?”

“Yeah,” he insisted, relieved (and disappointed) at the loss of your touch on his arm. Your expression faltered, not quite sure why he seemed so distant with you. He’d been distant lately, you realized. How very strange, “‘s alright.”

“Eddie,” did you have to sound so sweet and innocent when you said his name like that? It made him want to melt into a puddle at your feet, “are we okay? I feel like you’ve been..off lately. Did I do something?”

His big brown eyes widened as he looked at you in disbelief. You had no clue - no clue that he was desperately in love with you. So much that it made his heart ache every time he saw you and Steve together. Either you were a great actress, or you were really so blind. You must have - you were dating Steve after all. A thought that never ceased to grind his gears. He shook his head and tried to play it off, “no, sweetheart, you didn’t. I’ve just been…busy.”

“Busy,” you repeated softly and he just nodded, avoiding your eyes, “oh.”

You sounded so heartbroken at his obvious lie - you were. He looked at you and shrugged lightly, giving you a small, but apologetic look, “sorry.”

What exactly was he sorry for? Sorry for being in love with you while you dated his friend? Sorry for being lovesick and heartbroken over you? Sorry for being scared and running away from you? Realistically it was all of the above.

“Okay,” your lips formed into a pretty, plump pout. Eddie wanted nothing more than to kiss it away, to kiss you until it was all better, to kiss you until you realized that you were it for him. You rocked back and forth on your heels for a moment before gently pushing past him, “I’ll see you around, I guess.”

“Wait, sweetheart - “ but you were already gone and back inside, closing the door behind you. You hadn’t waited for him to say anything else, already feeling the tears stinging at the back of your eyes. You didn’t want him to see you cry, so you opted to run away and let the tears roll down your cheeks in peace. Eddie groaned at him, scrubbing a hand over his tired over, “fuck.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It had been just about a week since the fiasco at movie night. Not that anyone besides you and Eddie were privy to that piece of information. The two of you had avoided each other like the plague since, neither of you ready to fully discuss what had happened.

This particular night found the lot of you at the county fair, ready to indulge in overpriced and overly fried food, games, and rides. Plus the baby animals, that part was always one of your favorites. The younger kids had split off, promising to meet up at the front when it was time to leave.

That left Nancy and Jonathan, with the couple wandering off on their own, and you, Steve, Robin, and Eddie. Of course. But - the little chaos duo had another plan up their sleeves.

Robin tugged on Eddie’s sleeve and motioned with her head in the direction of the food area, “ready to try every single disgustingly fried thing?”

“Duh,” Eddie didn’t hesitate to high five her and trail after her, turning around to give you and Steve a small wave. The fact that he saw Steve’s arm around your shoulders made him scowl; it was so painfully obvious. Mission accomplished.

“Hey,” you turned to the boy and reached for his hand, “can we go and look at the baby animals first? I don’t wanna go too late in case they need to sleep!”

“I…” the look he gave you was nothing but fond affection. He took your hand and laced your fingers together, nothing new or foreign to either of you, “I would love to.”

You made a small sound of delight before pulling him along with you. The cherry on top was that you opted to take the quickest and most direct route to the stables, which just happened to be right through the food stalls. This moment was practically writing itself at this point.

Robin could barely hide her glee when spotted the two of you, making sure to move around Eddie so he would see the two of you. And did he ever - he was practically glaring daggers at Steve.

“She looks pretty tonight,” Robin commented innocently as she looked after you, “her dress is cute.”

“Mhmm,” he agreed through gritted teeth, “sure does.”

“Yeah,” Robin sighed wistfully, “she’s got great style, and she’s pretty. But also so smart and kind like…that’s dream girl status.”

“I guess,” yes, he wanted to scream, yes. You were his dream girl; you had been since the day he’d met you. He’d just been too much of a wimp to make a move and lost to you King Steve. He wanted to punch himself at the idea.

“Well,” she looped her arm through his, “maybe one day, she’ll meet her dream man.”

“Too bad she’s already met him,” Eddie couldn’t help it. He wanted to pout and be sad, and he figured if anyone understood, it would be Robin. She looked up at him and raised her eyebrows, internally screaming at the fact that their plan was finally coming to fruition, “his hair’s stupid.”

“What are you talking about, Eddie?” she asked softly, doing her very best to keep an innocent look on her face. So much for having no acting skills, she thought, take that Steve.

“Steve,” he sighed in exasperation, trying to cut some of the bitterness out of his voice, “she’s dating Steve! She’s in love with him. Her dream man.”

“Eddie,” oh yes. It was all coming together, “she’s not dating Steve. They’re best friends. They’ve known each other since they were like five-years-old - they’re more brother and sister than anything.”

“What?” Eddie’s eyes almost bugged out of the sockets as he tried to wrap his mind around what Robin had said. Surely…there was no way. No way that Eddie Munson might actually have a chance with you, “but they’re so…touchy?”

“That’s just how they are,” she shrugged as she moved up in line and placed their order while the boy seemed to malfunction, “they’re affectionate people. All touchy-feely. But trust me, Steve Harrington is not her dream man.”

“So…” Eddie held his face in his hands, heart beating wildly, “where did they go?”

“Knowing her, probably to see the baby animals,” Robin shrugged, trying to contain her excitement. Eddie nodded before turning on his heel.

“I gotta go!” and he was off and running after you without anymore. Robin sighed in content as she grabbed the plate of food and made her way over to an empty table to wait for Steve.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It wasn’t but a few minutes before he joined her, looking giddy as ever. The two of them high-fived, “I saw Eddie coming so I just kinda ditched her. I’m sure the rest will work itself out. Operation Lovestruck is a success!”

You hadn’t even noticed that Steve had left your side, enthralled by the little lambs and sheep. They were all clambering for your attention, which you eagerly gave them, crouching down and petting their soft fur. It wasn’t until a shadow loomed over you that you realized you hadn’t been paying attention.

“Steve-” you stood up but found yourself face to face with Eddie. His face was a mix of excitement and nerves as he smiled softly at you, “oh. H-hey Eddie.”

“Hey,” his voice was too soft for his own good, “can we talk?”

“Yeah,” your worst fears started swirling around your mind. He was going to end his friendship with you. He was going to call out for being a creep over him. He was going to tell you that he despised you. It had to be something bad, right?

You followed him out of the stables and to the back, where it was more quiet and secluded. He stopped and turned to you, soft brown eyes studying you intently; no one had ever looked at you like that before. Your stomach was practically bursting with butterflies as you tried to find something, anything, to say. You were left speechless as you looked back at the pretty boy.

It happened before you knew it. Eddie’s warm, gentle hands cradled your face as he leaned in and kissed you. You accepted his kiss, eagerly and happily, closing your eyes and leaning into him, wrapping your fingers delicately around his wrists. He was kissing you like it was the last thing he would ever do, like it was the only he ever wanted to do. You melted like putty in his touch, letting him kiss you dizzy.

You parted for just a moment to catch your breath, exchanging shy smiles before he pressed his forehead yours. But you wanted more; now that you had a taste you never wanted to let go. You captured his soft lips with yours, kissing him gently and softly, in no particular rush but wanting the intimacy of closeness with him.

“I really like you,” he whispered after a few moments of blissful silence in which you exchanged a few more soft kisses.

“I kinda figured,” you teased, “after the whole you know, kissing me thing.”

“I thought you were dating Harrington,” he confessed and you looked at him in confusion before breaking into a fit of giggles. A pretty blush colored his cheeks, “don’t laugh! It’s not that far of a stretch.”

“Steve? Eww,” you laughed and that helped him to relax, “he’s like my brother, I’d never…no.”

“Fuck,” he breathed out in relief as he reached up to touch your face, his thumb gently brushing over the apple of your cheek, “if I knew that I would said something a lot sooner. I just-”

You cut him off by kissing him again, catching him by surprise as he gasped lightly before kissing you back. You really liked kissing him, “you know, the funny thing is Steve kept pushing me to tell you how I feel.”

“How do you feel?”

“I really like you,” you echoed his words and brought the biggest smile to his face. He could get used to hearing that, “do you wanna go and look at the baby animals with me and then stuff our faces with fried food?”

“On one condition.”

“Name it.”

“I get to kiss you more,” there was a cheeky little grin on his face as you pressed a kiss to his cheeks, “lots more.”

“Definitely,” you promised and reached for his hand, “now let’s go! We gotta see the babies before they have to go to sleep!”

Oh yeah. Eddie Munson was a sucker for you.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson one shot #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn x reader

2K notes · View notes

from-izzy · 6 months

Text

you: my favourite scene | tbz kim sunwoo

» PAIRING: tbz kim sunwoo x fem reader/original female character » TROPE/AU: friends 2 lovers! non-idol au! (high) school au! » GENRE: fluffy fluff, bit (?) of angst, sunwoo is super loving, understanding and patient, hurt and comfort » WORD COUNT: 5562 » ESTIMATED READING TIME: ~20 mins » WARNINGS (lmk if i missed anything!): heavy mentions of food, disordered eating, brief mentions of abandonment, topics on mental illness (implied depression and anxiety)

this was my first story i ever uploaded on tumblr! this gained 88 notes (8 rbs, 80 likes) and that number is still so massive to me. i remember seeing my very first like notification and i was so surprised that it happened within around 12 hours of when i first uploaded it (pretty sure it was midnight tho so i couldn't be as chaotic as i would have really been)

but here it is again!

def better grammar and punctuation (i seriously dk how i let those mistakes passed when i first uploaded it). i did do some editing, replacing dialogue/thoughts to narrative sentences because i didn't want to necessarily post a story that i wasn't proud of (and also because i wanted to keep my stories similar to the original ones before so...yeah).

please remember that all your struggles are valid and i sincerely hope that the world around you is a place full of love, hope and kindness. never feel inferior with asking for help. i believe that asking for help is one of the bravest things ever.

When your roommate texted Sunwoo as a final choice, the boy didn’t hesitate to rush over despite it being extremely early in the morning. He didn’t spare his friends a response when he logged out of the game and ended the call, sprinting over in his pyjamas and a random jacket from his hanger. He probably woke his sister up but he didn't care about the consequences at the moment.

About a year ago at the classroom, Sunwoo walked back to get his wallet, cursing to himself as he had to line up once more at the back of the line and his stomach was not having it after skipping dinner the night before. He caught your friends sighing and was incredibly frustrated at you for not taking care of your health. Sunwoo knew the situation was serious and was about to leave, holding in his anger until after school, not wanting to disturb Choi Jiyeon, his seatmate and new friend. His worries took over when her cries were louder and he approached the scene.

They were pretty much strangers at this point. School had only started for a month and they only got to know each other then. Sunwoo didn't know what took over him to approach the same group back then.

Jiyeon didn’t expect the sudden appearance of the boy, her eyes crying as she kept on denying her friend’s request to go eat something. Jiyeon loves her friends but unfortunately, they are not too understanding of her situation. So when she craned her head up to silently plead at Sunwoo through her tearful eyes, he made up an excuse as they both left the classroom. That day Jiyeon told him about her struggles and Sunwoo remembered promising to himself that he would research and stay by her side; as a seatmate.

But now the following year, Jiyeon's roommate opened the door for Sunwoo, smiling weakly as she gave an acknowledgment nod to the guest. He knocks on the familiar bedroom door before introducing himself and entering the room.

"Heard from a little birdie that you haven't eaten in a while." This situation isn't new for either of them; heck Sunwoo has seen her tearful eyes, full of tears so many times, yet it still breaks his heart to pieces whenever he gets the news from her close friends or roommates that she hasn't been eating for the past couple of days.

The first time it happened again after the day in the classroom, Sunwoo panicked and had a tunnel view to just get food in her stomach, believing that was the most important thing. He didn’t expect the next episode to occur so early and he has not researched the topic very well at that point. But as time went on, Sunwoo learnt certain signals from her, what she's comfortable with as well as to just provide her comfort in the hard time.

When Sunwoo opens the door to the bedroom, he sees the fully covered figure under the blanket, gulping his sadness down. It’s the scene that he hates the most: You just lying down, lifelessly in bed, crying and fighting alone. You would never call him no matter how much he’s offered and it made him worry more as time passed. "Jiyeon…it's Sunwoo."

Sunwoo could see that she heard him, shuffling slightly as a reaction, "Sunwoo?" she whispered too gently for him to hear. Unlike his previous visits where she would make the effort to make eye contact with him, Jiyeon kept herself hidden as the past month, she has established her own feelings towards her friend.

Sunwoo nods even though Jiyeon can't see it. The bed sank a bit as he sat on its edge, "Is there anything that you were maybe wanting for the past few days?"

"I don't know…"

Sunwoo's heart clenches at how dry and lifeless her voice is. Before he knew it himself, Sunwoo slowly pulled down the blanket much to Jiyeon's surprise and she sat up to try and get the big fabric over again when Sunwoo pulled her weak body into a hug instead.

"You're so cold…" Sunwoo held onto Jiyeon tighter than ever, arms around her shoulders, resting his face on the crook of her neck.

Jiyeon's breath hitches at his warm breath against such an intimate place, "S-Sunwoo…" that only led him to tighten his grip on her upper body even more.

"Please let me get something for you…" He couldn’t bear seeing her suffering alone like this.

Jiyeon thought long and hard about something that she is able to put into her mouth easily, also thinking about her ability to swallow the food without feeling guilt, "I…guess I want some meat mixed with vegetables…like the ones inside of dumplings…but I don't want the dumpling skins…"

Sunwoo's face visibly lit up at the mention of the food she wanted, nodding excitedly at the request. He pulls away, smiling at Jiyeon and repeats her order once again, "Ok! I'll be back! Just stay here and I'll be rig---"

"No wait, don't go!" Before Sunwoo could fully let go of her hand that he had excitedly shaken earlier on, Jiyeon clasps her tiny hands on one of his hands, pulling him back down to the bed, "I don't want to be alone…"

"Hey, you're going to be fine." Sunwoo's expression softens again when Jiyeon looks up at him desperately and fearfully. With a soft act of comfort, he uses his other free warm hand to caress her cold cheek, "If you want me to stay, I can order delivery. Is that a better plan?"

Jiyeon nods, tears flooding her eyes at the way Sunwoo was so delicate about the whole situation. She slowly crawls over to the edge of the bed with the blanket rolled up on her hands, going closer next to Sunwoo.

The boy just observes her movements until she sits next to him, taking note of her shivering figure and pale face. Carefully taking the material from her hands, Sunwoo stands up and wraps the fabric around her shoulders, tucking the edges in to stop warmth from escaping.

To Sunwoo, Jiyeon looked like an extra adorable burrito and he couldn't help but blush profusely at the endearing sight. He bends down from his standing position, tucking stray hairs behind her ears, "Do you want me to make the call here or outside?"

"Here…" one of her hands escaped from the warm environment, "could you…hold my hand?"

"Of course, I will."

Sunwoo kept his word, giving reassuring squeezes and thumb brushes on her hand during the whole call. He tried his best to keep the food names short and concise, not wanting Jiyeon to be stressed by the whole situation. When the phone hung up, Sunwoo sat down comfortably on the floor in front of her, still holding her hand, "It'll be here soon."

A comfortable silence envelops them both as they stare into each other's eyes attentively. If she didn't read him wrong, Jiyeon could see sparks of life and happiness in him, as well as comfort and warmth in his eyes. The sight made her heart beat faster though she also worried that her crush on Sunwoo made her delusional about something that wasn't there in the first place.

When Jiyeon downcasted her gaze, she missed the way Sunwoo slightly frowned as he pouted a little, "I'm sorry…" She couldn’t finish her sentence verbally but what she wanted to really say was: sorry for wasting your time and money on me when you could be using it for other things. Why couldn’t she say it? It’s not as if Sunwoo would look down on her in any way. He would’ve done so ages ago if that was the case.

But no.

Sunwoo stayed by her with those gorgeous, patient gaze and that smooth, comforting voice. That did scare her because she fell in love with Sunwoo even more and giving her heart to someone else, is a big gamble. With that, she stayed quiet because she had a feeling that if she ever said anything, he would smile awkwardly, tap her shoulder timidly and walk away without another doubt.

"For what?" Sunwoo didn't get an answer when he realised that Jiyeon started crying, her mind filling up with horrible thoughts and ideas, "Jiyeon." He jumps up from his cross-legged position, crashing his body to hers once again, "I have no idea what you're apologising for but you haven't done anything wrong, so don't apologise."

"Sunwoo…I--" She struggled heavily to form any sentence in her head, let alone in real life. Sunwoo hushed her, cradling her face between his palms, "I just can't…"

"Can't what?" Sunwoo whispers back. Even if his tone was stable, his heart started beating fast at the possibilities behind her words. The words would have ranged from the smallest to the biggest of things and Sunwoo didn’t even want to begin to think of the possibilities. While Jiyeon only shakes her head, not answering his question explicitly, he just nods, opting to give her physical comfort like before, "I'm just going to get the food alright? It should be outside the door."

Jiyeon couldn't answer, feeling numb and tired as the tears just kept flowing down. Sunwoo himself was on the verge of tears. He recalls the day when he was late to the first day of last year when the new student became his seatmate for the school year. Sunwoo knew the moment she flashed her smile that his heart would be in deep trouble yet, he still introduced himself with an entrancing smile anyway.

"I'm not going to leave you alone." The said girl widened her eyes when she heard the slight voice crack in his sentence, seeing how tears pooled in his eyes, "I promise you that I won't. I'll be right back."

"Please come back soon." With shaky hands, Jiyeon couldn't help but cradle Sunwoo's cheek, brushing his skin with her thumb delicately.

"Close your eyes and count to forty-five. I'll be back in front of you when you open your eyes." With a nod and her voice starting, Sunwoo dashes for the door before relocating to the kitchen, washing his hands and peeling off the dumpling skins, putting them aside for him to eat later on. Putting the filling back into the container, he sits down on the floor again whilst catching his breath and when Jiyeon opens her eyes, he's surely there with a comforting smile.

Jiyeon wrapped her arms around her body tighter when Sunwoo smiled warmly at her, "You're actually back…" A lone tear fell off as she worried herself over and over again, "You came back…"

But the thing is, Sunwoo has always come back over and over and over again.

Sunwoo frowns at the comment, feeling his heart clench at the way you were most definitely worn out from your fight. Unlike previous days when she would smile back and thank him, it seemed like there was something definitely on her mind today, "You know I'll always come back for you right?"

"Yeah…" though it felt unsure. Sunwoo wasn't sure what made her so hesitant but he couldn't help the hurt to flash against his eyes as he nodded at her words dejectedly, "I'm going to give the container to you, alright? As always, I'll sit behind you, back to back and just wait for you, okay?"

Her gut swirls with anxiety and suddenly the white, somewhat translucent takeaway container didn’t seem scary to her anymore. But the boy that held onto it while thoughtfully reciting the plan that they have always adhered to? That made her look away.

"Sunwoo, I think you should go this time…" The fear took over her and she blurted the sentence before she even knew it. All the thoughts that freely swarmed in her head suddenly collided against each other and Jiyeon bought her blanket to cover the lower part of her face.

"W-What?" With no clear answer from the girl, Sunwoo's frown deepens and he gulps in nervousness at her words, "How about if I wait outside? Hm? Is that a better plan?"

"O-Outside…?" She recalls a random day after school when they were both playing basketball together.

"Yah Kim Sunwoo!" Jiyeon fell into a fit of giggles when Sunwoo engulfed her back to his chest with his arms around her waist tight, swaying her around to keep her away from the ball, "This is foul play!"

"Whatever you say!" Sunwoo kept her in his hands for a little more, smiling brightly as the basketball bounced further away from them. When their laughs die down (though their smiles haven't), he turns Jiyeon around to face him. He grins, the corner of his lips stretching widely to the sides.

Jiyeon couldn't do the same however, the comments from her friends that she's falling in love with Sunwoo filled her head. She didn’t really know why she kept on brushing it off. Jiyeon always believed that love would come and she would always tell herself to accept the feeling. But when reality strikes, it feels like all the pep talks and preparation vanished without a trace. Nervously with wide eyes, she looked up at the mischievous boy who only looked at her with a fond smile, "Sunwoo." she whispered to him.

"Hm?" For the first time in a while, he lets one of his arms around your waist go, only for it to fix your hair up a little bit, waiting for your response. Sunwoo lets himself bask in the feeling of being close to Jiyeon, loving how physically close they could be without feeling awkward; or at least that’s how it felt to him. Undeniably, Sunwoo knows he has fallen in love with the teenage girl and though the feeling scared him, he allows himself to let go of his fears at least just this once.

"If, just if, one day I told you that I can't hang around you anymore,” Jiyeon finally looks up at his slowly concerned gaze, “what would you do?"

"What would I do?" Sunwoo crashes his eyebrows together in confusion, "Well, I mean I don't need to think about this because it'll never happen though! I'm too awesome for that!" He finishes with his widest, signature grin.

Jiyeon laughs at the very Sunwoo-like response before continuing, "Just an ‘if’…you never know what could happen in the future."

"Well," Sunwoo didn't even want to think about it; a day where you would push him away indefinitely. He’s definitely thought about it, no doubt. Most of the situation was about how he would confess and it would ruin this friendship that he could never dream of letting go, "it'll depend on the situation but I would wait for you. If it's just during that certain time when you need immediate space, then I would wait outside for you or something. But if it's long term," His hand that was playing with your hair stops, cupping your cheek gently as he looks longingly into your eyes.

Sunwoo knew at that point that he was indeed very much in love with Choi Jiyeon. Days of questioning have finally brought him this realisation and he smiled radiantly with the thought in his head. Jiyeon gives a confused frown but slowly starts to relax it to a smile when Sunwoo��s thumb caresses your blushed cheek softly.

Sunwoo enjoyed this moment where it felt like you were the only ones in the world, all the surrounding noises blurred out from your attention. His thumb that rested on your cheek unknowingly moved back and forth as you enjoyed the soothing act.

Sunwoo's action made the world around Jiyeon stop momentarily. With that beautiful, deep, loving gaze, she waited, "If it's long term?"

He sighs out, "Look, I don't even want to think about the long term. But I know, and I know for sure, that I'll wait for you."

"You…will?" Jiyeon breathlessly confirms as Sunwoo nods with a small tiny smile and half-lidded eyes.

"I will. I’ll always wait for you. So don’t worry yourself over such a thought."

"Promise?" Just like little children, Jiyeon holds up her pinky between their faces, waiting for Sunwoo to link them together.

He chuckles before sealing his words with the old ritual, "Promise."

Jiyeon squirmed at the promise that she practically forced him to make. Yet Sunwoo still kneeled before her with his hands under her smaller fingers and hands. His hands became colder by the second as his grip became just a tiny bit tighter, hopeful for a positive response.

Your response, however, cut his heart like a knife, "I think…you should just go home, Sunwoo…"

The last class before lunchtime commences with the students waiting and hustling about the room, waiting for the teacher. Jiyeon’s seatmate talked to her friends from the row in front, telling her the menu her mother packed for lunch, and her friend responded with something similar.

The discomfort grew too familiar for her and Jiyeon wanted nothing but for the seat to swallow her, hoping that something would protect her from hearing such words about the one thing she couldn’t stand the most at the moment. Or she wished that she could run away like she did instantly when morning break started. When the strict teacher finally came, she couldn’t be any happier at how his booming voice made the whole class quiet instantly and Jiyeon gulped down harshly as a thankful tear came out from her.

In the opposite classroom, Sunwoo clenches his phone underneath his table as his bank account balance is shown once more. He stares at the higher number, furrowing his eyebrows at the transaction made into his account. Further information shows that Jiyeon was the one who did the act and he scoffs in confusion and dumbfoundedness, “What the hell is she doing?”

Sunwoo thought that he knew Jiyeon well: where she would go when she was happy, when she was sad or when she was struggling. But the earlier morning break proved him otherwise as he ran practically through the whole school to find you, both for the relief of seeing you as well as to ask what was in your mind the other night when you said those hurtful words to him.

Looking to his left, where he could see the girl on the other side through the classroom windows, he sees the tired look on her face and that signature lip bite that she always does when she's in a hard time. The class was about to end in three minutes and Sunwoo was going crazy about how impatient he was to run into the other room. He made sure his headphones were connected to his phone, turning up the volume a little bit to hear that it was connected properly without being caught by the teacher in the act.

When class is dismissed, he bumps and squishes through people from both classes to a desk in the middle of the class. Girls were entranced with his presence and the boys were greeting the social boy. However, Sunwoo had a really small tunnel vision, only running to a downcasted figure that when approached closer, was just her trying to hold in the cries with her hands on her ears to block out the noises.

Sunwoo comes around to the side of the desk, his phone and the neck of his headphones in one hand. Amongst the still bustling area, he’s surprised at how much he can hear Jiyeon's shaking even though it actually was really quiet. That made him realise how tense and angry his facial expression would’ve been, his heart softening when he heard her struggles.

Carefully, Sunwoo stood behind Jiyeon, picked a random song and tucked it away in his pocket. His left-hand wraps around her tense wrist softly, lowering it down to her lap, whispering words of comfort before engulfing her left ear with his headphones. He did the same with the right ear afterwards, carefully observing how her body slowly relaxes at the tune.

Sunwoo thought that he knew Jiyeon well: in this situation, he could relax that he actually did.

He waits patiently for her to come back to the present, sitting down on the table directly behind hers as he watches the song change from his phone screen for the next fifteen minutes. Sunwoo feels the pain once again: the pain that he couldn’t take away as he could do nothing but wait for her to acknowledge his presence. Upon last night’s events, Sunwoo was contemplating just leaving his phone on her desk and walking away as he didn’t know how glad she would be with him near her. The thought doubled the pain in Sunwoo’s heart and he decided to click the phone to sleep. Before he could put it on Jiyeon’s desk, however, her body visibly relaxed and Sunwoo widened his eyes and froze, knowing that she’s fully calmed down now.

Jiyeon’s crying eventually ceases, opening her eyes with a final sniff. Usually, when she did let the light back into her eyes, Sunwoo would be in front of her, flashing that beautiful smile of his that she had come to fall in love with. She couldn’t help but feel disappointed that she didn’t see the usual scene. Her hands come up to both sides of the headphones, pulling them down to rest the headband on her neck shakily. She knew all too well that even when she was crying with her eyes tightly shut, it was Kim Sunwoo.

It was Kim Sunwoo that came to her rescue and made her feel safe once again.

It was Kim Sunwoo who waited for her to calm down when everyone knew how much he cherished his break time and food.

It was Kim Sunwoo who made her fall in love all over with him once again.

Jiyeon just stared down at her undecorated nails, pretending to find something interesting about it. In reality, she was just biting her lips, shutting her eyes back and forth in an internal battle to look back at the figure behind her. Her shoulders slumped unconsciously as she recalled her passive actions to Sunwoo the day before, basically kicking him out of her apartment. Jiyeon mulled over her actions the whole night, knowing well that it was so unfair that she pushed Sunwoo out when he most probably rushed over to help.

“Thank you.” Jiyeon says clearly to the person behind her. Sunwoo heard her gratitude clearly, nodding softly still with an incomprehensible face as he just looked at his shoes below him. Noting no response from him, Jiyeon twists her upper body back to see the dejected Sunwoo. Her heart clenches at how he didn’t make the effort to even look up, wishing even more now that he would at least flash her a smile. But that is too much to ask after what happened and Jiyeon knew that, “Sunwoo, I---”

“Why did you send me money?” His tone wasn’t welcoming at all, icy and cold as if he hated the girl. The students that were in the classroom were no more when they heard his tone, quietly packing up and walking away, not wanting to get involved in the drama; though of course, they’ll talk about it outside the classroom.

“I-I just…” Jiyeon stammers, gulping her nerves down. She notices how Sunwoo clenched his fists. The one that held his hand was clenching so hard that his phone was waiting for him to confirm if he wanted to shut the device down, “For delivery last night…”

“You’ve never paid me back. Why now?”

“O-Oh..I can transfer more. I’m sorr---”

Sunwoo scoffs, his whole face grimacing in anger, “That’s not what I meant.” His fiery orbs finally met down with Jiyeon’s red ones, her tears still escaping here and there. All Sunwoo wanted to do at the moment was wipe Jiyeon’s remaining tears, cupping her cheek and pulling her warmth to him. But not now. It’s not the right time, “Jiyeon, I don’t understand why you pushed me away. Of course, if you need space that’s fine. I would always give it to you if you need it, without a doubt or question. In fact, if you need it right now then I’ll leave. But that’s not the only thing you did. You transferred me money and you think that I’m asking for you to pay after all those times?” He stopped for a second, a million sentences running in his head that he rehearsed last night alone in the confused darkness.

“I just…haven’t been able to pay it back.” Jiyeon didn’t know what else to say. She adjusted her position, turning her body so that the left side of her body was facing him, her foot hitting the rear chair leg. Sunwoo didn’t miss how her small fists were now side by side together on her thighs as she stuttered to find some words, “S-So…yeah.”

“Yeah?” After a short time to finally breathe after his long rant, Sunwoo managed to ground himself back, his emotions no longer heated. But now, his heart weighed heavily at everything between him and Jiyeon, “Don’t pay me back.” Sunwoo’s voice wavered, turning his head to the side, trying to control his emotional state, “I did all those things because I care for you, Jiyeon. I care about you so much that it physically hurts me when you’re crying alone, fighting alone like that. You never let anyone in and although I want to say that ‘it’s alright’, I also want to say that it’s not. You have me. Jiyeon, you have me. But you just pushed me away.”

But it’s hard, isn’t it? To show the side of yourself to someone that you desperately try to hide. It becomes even harder when you try to hide it from someone you like, “I think…” Jiyeon whimpers at the words she’s about to say, contemplating to say it. Is she really going to push him away like this? Will she ever be able to let go of the fact that Sunwoo won’t be her friend anymore? Will she be able to let go of Kim Sunwoo in general? Her heart beats for Sunwoo but her mind is telling her that with all the love Sunwoo receives, why would he ever pick her?

Sunwoo raises himself off the table with the intention of walking away and giving Jiyeon some space. Looking down at the top of Jiyeon’s head, he couldn’t help but blurt out a bit of his feelings, “You don’t know this but I’ve never had a crush on someone before.”

The sudden new topic made Jiyeon lift her head up to face Sunwoo. Unexpectedly to her, Sunwoo was already looking down at her with absolute adoration when he said his words. Jiyeon gasps lightly when Sunwoo starts to lightly tear up, “S-Sunwoo.” Forgetting her earlier thoughts, her body reacted first, standing up to be in front of him, “Hey…why are you crying?” Testing the waters very carefully, Jiyeon slowly raises the back of one of her hands to wipe his cheek.

Sunwoo, of course, lets her do so. He takes notice of her warm hands that completely contrasted yesterday, feeling comforted as he lets out a relieving breath and a small chuckle. Both of her hands were resting on Sunwoo’s cheek so gently, with her thumb wiping motion on his cheek, that he felt like his whole body was being wrapped comfortably by her. He just kept on staring at Jiyeon’s worried expression and the way her lips were throwing out words of comfort, “How am I supposed to ever walk away from you when I’m so in love with you?”

Jiyeon flinches at the sudden confession and before she could back away, Sunwoo quickly places his palms over hers back to his cheeks firmly. His eyes look weak due to his own tiredness from not being able to sleep soundly yet full of strong love for the woman in front of him, “W-What did you just say?”

Exhaling softly at the way Jiyeon looks so unsure, Sunwoo repeats his main point differently, “I’m confessing my feelings for you.” Her once confused parted lips, found each other once again as she searched Sunwoo’s eyes and all over his face for any lies, “I’m not playing with you, Choi Jiyeon. I can see the reluctance in your face.”

“Sunwoo, you have girls lining up for you,” Jiyeon whispers to him, her tone convincing him that something is wrong. “Waiting for you. Girls who are so much easier to be with. Girls that won’t push you away. Girls that won’t make you run out of the house at midnight. Girls that are…not a burden.” In denial, Jiyeon shakes her head, “You don’t lik---”

“Is that what you think you are to me?” Sunwoo counters her calmly, “A burden?”

“I’ve always been a burden all my life. Why do you think my parents left me?” Jiyeon lost all the strength in her arms, and the only thing holding her hands on Sunwoo’s cheek was all his effort, “My grandparents are loving but their lives would’ve been so much easier if I was nev---”

“Mine wouldn’t,” Sunwoo interjected. Whatever it was that she was about to say, it was something to put down her self-worth and he couldn’t handle such things coming out of her. Lowering both of their linked hands, Sunwoo intertwines Jiyeon’s hands with his, “You don’t know how much energy you give me every day. How much motivation you give me throughout the day. How loved and cared for you make me feel.” He shrugs, ignoring the loud beating of his heart, “But now I guess I’m finally telling you.”

The apprehension in Jiyeon’s eyes made Sunwoo comfortingly smile, hoping to ease some of her anxiety. Just like what Jiyeon did towards him earlier, he lets go of one of her hands to rub his thumb on her cheek. It was silent as they were comforting and seemingly communicating with each other through their loving gaze at each other. And so when Jiyeon lets out a small smile, Sunwoo beams brighter than ever, “I like you, Kim Sunwoo.”

“Then date me. Date me and let me love you back.”

Jiyeon blushes at the straightforward statement. Sunwoo flutters his eyes shut as she brushes the hair away from his face, “You won’t regret this?” she breathes the question softly.

Sunwoo shook his head, gently placing his forehead on Jiyeon’s, “Not if you won’t.” He responded in a similar manner.

“Sunwoo.” Jiyeon turns to her side and glares at her boyfriend who has been staring at her for the last three minutes. Not only did it distract her studies but the way that he looked at her so mesmerisingly made it hard for her to even breathe at this rate, “Stop looking at me.”

Sunwoo kept an innocent smile, pushing his face further forward, pressing a quick peck on her lips, “Why?” He playfully asks.

“You said you were hungry! Go get some food!” Jiyeon pushes Sunwoo away by the shoulder, the male dramatically pushing himself back, “Don’t be dramatic!”

“Fine fine, I’ll go.” Sunwoo drags out the last syllable in the sentence, frowning and slumping on his chair a little bit before standing up with his phone, “Do you…want anything?” Jiyeon could only smile softly as usual, stopping her vigorous typing on her computer at his question.

It’s been more than three years since their relationship started and Sunwoo has been so patient in her journey that every single time he carefully asks the question, Jiyeon could feel her heart melt and fall in love with the boy more and more each time, “Give me a kiss before you go.” She puckered her lips to him, tilting her head up.

Blushing furiously at the unexpected request, Sunwoo buffered before leaning down to hug his lips with her familiar ones. His hand was on Jiyeon’s nape, softly holding her head in this intimate moment. Jiyeon melts even further with his attentive actions, smiling widely in the kiss. Before completely pulling his hand away, Sunwoo brushes her hair out from her forehead to press another kiss. Leaning away to face each other with rosy-tinted cheeks, he asks once again, “Anything else?”

“Make sure you have a safe trip there and back.” Jiyeon presses a kiss on Sunwoo’s cheek before ushering him to go. But he didn’t do anything as he just kept on staring at his girlfriend who reflected the same glimmering look of love in her eyes towards him. Sunwoo’s hand, which still didn’t leave her nape, prevented her from turning away, “ Kim Sunwoo, stop looking at me! I'm not that nice to look at…"

It wasn’t Sunwoo’s plan to stare at Jiyeon for that long. He’s just naturally attracted and so in love with her that he didn’t realise that she was the only thing that he would search for in a whole hall of people, with different colours and different noises. Choi Jiyeon finally let her walls down as they overcame life’s challenges together hand in hand. Kim Sunwoo couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have her. "You will always be my favourite scene to look at."

navi/masterlist!!

tags (send a dm/ask if you would like to be here!): @deoboyznet 📢❤️ @k-labels 💙🤍 @k-films 🤎🎞️

68 notes · View notes

https-furina · 4 months

Text

2023 is coming to an end and while this blog has yet to hit one year old, it’s gathered its fair share of mutuals. it’s only fair to give you all some thanks and appreciation before the year closes. if you’re not here i apologise sincerely, i’ll make sure you are on next year’s list.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ mika — @mikacynth

hi mika !! i’ll start with you. i know we haven’t interacted much since you went to university (i hope you’re doing super well !! please take care of yourself) but i wanted to thank you for being one of my first mutuals on this hell site. you were super friendly and you always randomly drop cursed genshin memes in the server <3

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ mae — @maehemthemisfit

mae, i don’t know where life has taken you but i miss you a lot. it was so fun trying to figure out dango anon and you made me laugh countless times, i just hope you’re doing well <3

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ bell — @blue-b3rries

ew it’s bell (i’m JOKING) hi sweetheart !! you literally never fail to make me laugh in the network server and you always come out with really random things. it’s okay, maybe next christmas we’ll get you a dictionary /lh i love you !! /p <3

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ inky — @lemeowade

inky !! my favourite artist ever !! we don’t actually interact too much on tumblr now (i do like a lot of the stuff you rb tho) because we talk a lot on discord now. it’s nice to have someone that checks in occasionally and i absolutely love when you show your art !! it’s clear you’re making progress with it and finding your style and i love it so much. you’re gonna do fab things sweetheart <3

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ amai — @amaiaqt

one of my favourite writers ever and a fellow cyno simp !! i miss you a lot and it shows because i always get excited to see you in my inbox. i hope life is treating you well and that we get to see you more in the new year <3

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ general — @watatsumiis

hi general !! i’m sorry we didn’t interact as much anymore but you’re so sweet and fun to talk to !! i love your writing and i have the best time reading your tags on people’s art because i’m like “damn. that’s so me” and also you always reblog the best art?? it’s wild you keep my dash alive <3

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ aly — @soleillunne

who are you? anyways hi wife !! i send you appreciation letters whenever things get tough so i’ll dull it down here a little. thank you for being probably my closest mutual, talking to me daily and always sending tiktoks to each other. if you dare think about leaving me, i’ll find you. in every lifetime <3

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ari — @n3r0-1417

another person that i’m super sorry we don’t interact as much anymore ): you literally never failed to make me laugh and you 100% have permission to kill me at any time, just don’t tell aly. i hope we can interact more in the new year and i hope it treats you well too, you deserve it <3

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ yui — @ilyuu

yui !! wow i’m really failing on interacting with some of you but whenever you’re on my dash it’s pure chaos?? even with no context i can’t lie it’s funny. i picture it like when the scooby doo gang are running and you see all the different shots and stuff. anyways, 2024 better treat you good !! <3

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ kiri — @kirimoochi

the last time we interacted you wasn’t doing so hot on some fronts and i really hope things have improved for you, sweetheart. you deserve the world and whilst i love your alhaitham & kazuha works, i know a lot of them came from your heart and i hope you’re healing. i pray the new year is kind to you and that things are going better <3

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ bori — @bboricha

hi bori !! we’ve only interacted a few times because i find it sooo funny when you randomly appear on my dash talking about leon kennedy (because honestly, same) but i hope there’s chances we interact more in 2024 !! fun fact, i followed you for your 5swirl stuff and 1k special (i actually remember what content made me follow you hahahelpme) but i stayed because… relatable. here’s to more interactions !! <3

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ yume — @yaminohimeyume

oh boy.. hi yume !! you know i could sit here for hours appreciating you right? whenever i log into genshin i check to see if you’re online so i can say hi !! i love helping you with bosses, domains or even exploration but even when we just talk and i don’t join you, it’s nice to have a conversation with someone. you’ve provided me with plenty of distractions this year but in 2024 our goal is to build your characters HAHA i love you !! /p <3

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ aya — @miuzki

my neuvillette !! i miss you so much, i hope you’ve been doing well and not overworking at all. i know you haven’t really been in touch with genshin towards the end of this year but you’re always welcome in my messages, yknow? i love your writing so much (i still re-read that comfort piece you wrote for me all the time…) please take care of yourself and i hope you have an amazing new year <3

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ yukari — @ryuryuryuyurboat

is that.. is that my favourite child?! hi ryuu !! i don’t exactly remember how we met. you kinda just appeared in my life one day but it felt like i’d known you forever. you’re an absolute joy to know and you constantly bring a smile to my face !! i’ll c6r5 morrigan first though. have a fantastic new year (and you will not be getting rid of me) <3

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ lili — @lillonvia

oh my gosh !! my chihuahua !! every time we talk i have the best time ever i can’t even lie like that one time we randomly started reciting the lyrics to california girls and how you started playing on eu server for me. it’s a little crazy with the timezone difference but you’re the amber to my collei and you deal with me torturing you with my genshin va knowledge (did you know cyno is izumi from horimiya?) i love youuuu /p <3

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ dumbi — @dumbificat

well well well, if it isn't the cutest mf to ever exist >///< it's my co.. parent-in-law? i don't remember because i just remembering rizzing you (oops.) but hey dumbi !! i'll be fr i was always a little nervous/scared to interact with you but i really wanted to and then you joined the network and i minorly lost my mind.. thank you so much for all the smiles and laughter you've brought in these past few months and also for your writing that i am very happily married to. oh and all the fun i get to have helping you explore on eu <3 thank you for letting me join you sometimes. i really hope we get to interact more in 2024 and here's to hoping the new year treats you well!! i love youuuu /p <3

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ heia — @heiayen

heia. my child. my sweet, funky bean. i love you /p but also. fuck you for how much you make me absolutely lose my shit when it's late for us and i have to be quiet so instead i'm wheezing in bed until i'm crying. chaos hours are the best and you are genuinely such a sweetheart to be friends with. i hope we get to interact more in 2024 (you have no choice) and that it treats you well !! but also, 0.5 stars to the ayaka uber but 10 stars to the network's ooc reporter. mwah! i love you (again) /p (you still need to read to me in some blankets ehehe) <3

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ coco — @hwaitham

hi hi coco !! we haven't interacted that much (and i'm typing very formal for this post it feels out of character for me) but i've loved your works for sooooo long !! and you and haitham are so cute i just wanna. AAAA you deserve the world and i genuinely hope everything you ever want comes true in 2024 because you just deserve it. if it doesn't, i'll start barking up some trees ehehe. i love you!! /p i hope we get to interact more in 2024 <3

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ raine — @to-kazuha

oh, it's you /j hi sweetheart <3 2023 has been very all over the place for us but here we are, ending (and starting) another year together !! even if you don't think so, your writing is amazing and i can't wait to see you grow and get more comfortable with it (practise makes perfect!) and also how can i forget that you're my personal miko main.. life would have been a very sad experience if you hadn't came to me on anon in my old blog <3

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ clara — @umgatochamadopercyval

clara !! you're a very recent mutual so i can't say i have a lot to write (we'll be changing this in 2024 !!) but you are an absolute gem to know. your asks never fail to make me smile and now even your messages !! you're a sweetheart and you deserve a lot of good things. i hope 2024 brings more sagau isekai to my dms and a lot of joy to you. never stop being you !! <3

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ yza — @yzashaven

hi yza !! we've not been able to interact for a while ): but i'd like to appreciate you for all the times you've came to my inbox with angst, i love you so much for it /p and i still have an angst draft with your name on it because of an idea you came into my inbox with !! your writing is so good and i really hope we get to interact more next year. happy holidays sweetheart !! <3

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ honorary mentions — @jingyuansbird, @honeykaes, @nervocat & @bunicate

happy holidays & happy new year to the four of you !! i would love to appreciate you all but i can only go as far as praising the absolute hell out of all of your works !! you're all fantastic writers that i love to pieces and i hope that the new year treats you all well !! here's to more interactions so i can write you all paragraphs next year (cries) <3

signed with love, serafina.

#signed with love 💌#https-furina

47 notes · View notes

venusvity · 3 months

Text

정윤아 … … ( I HAVE KNOWN. )

❝If I got rid of my demons, I’d lose my angels.❞ ― Tennessee Williams, Conversations With Tennessee Williams

CHARACTERS : JUNG YOONAH … KANG JUWON … SON JINHWA

WORDS : 3.7K

WARNINGS / NOTES : Therapy. Mentions of Murder, Depression, and PTSD. Abusive and weird obsessive boss. Discussions of an abusive relationship. If I missed something let me know! This piece is old, I've reworked it, and am really pleased with how it turned out! I believe this would take place in either 2019/2020 but this is set in the past! I just wanted to put it back into the universe :) Thank you so much for reading! rbs, comments, and asks are always appreciated ♡

“Do you want to be here, Yoonah?”

Yoonah looks around the therapist’s office, sighing through her button nose before nodding.

“Yeah.”

Doah’s pen skates across her notepad, causing Yoonah’s eyes to fall down to it. She barely said anything, why is she writing?

“Are you in a relationship right now?”

Yoonah has to think about it. She thinks about it for a few beats, eyes scanning over the door as she waits for the words to come to her. Doah waits. Even if Yoonah doesn’t speak, she gets paid. She’ll let her take her time.

“Yeah, I’m seeing…men.”

“How many men?”

A pause.

“One,” Yoonah looks towards the window now, “And a half.”

“And a half?”

Yoonah smiles towards the door where outside sits a man, waiting for his appointment to start. He’s different from the boys she usually talks to. When they were in the waiting room, he talked to her passionately about the book he was reading, she doesn’t remember what book but she remembers the beaming smile on his face when talking about it. His name is Juwon. He’s in a band. He’s a vocalist and plays bass. Yoonah likes him. She wants to spend more time with him.

“I’m working on one.” Her words make Doah chuckle through her nose, writing that down before looking up and at Yoonah.

“And the one you’re not working on?”

“Jinhwa.” It’s a simple answer, causing Doah to nod. She writes the names down but never looks away from Yoonah.

“And would you consider that a healthy relationship?”

Yoonah opens her mouth to say something but nothing comes out. It takes her a second, staring out the window, counting the droplets of rain that hit it. She gets to fifteen before she finally has an answer.

“Not really.”

Doah nods, jotting that down.

“Let’s start there,” Doah hums, finally, putting her pen down. Yoonah feels like a weight is lifted when the pen is put down. She swallows, looking towards the door again, shifting in her seat. She hates talking about herself, her problems, her relationships, all she’s been through, she hates it all. It feels so selfish.

“Why don’t you think that relationships is healthy, Yoonah?”

Yoonah takes a deep breath through her nose, looking up now before back at the gold doorknob.

“Jinhwa…is my boss,” Doah’s writing again, it’s making Yoonah’s fingers twitch, picking at her ripped jeans. “But he loves me. I love him too. I’m not dumb though. I know, like, fucking your boss won’t have, like, the best relationship dynamic.” She’s talking more but it’s to defend herself, to defend Jinhwa. She’s fighting a one-sided battle because Doah doesn’t say anything, just nods.

“But I’m a grown woman. I can make my own choices and I want to be with him even if it is inappropriate. I don’t care,” Yoonah continues, still fighting a battle with no competitor. It’s like she’s arguing with herself but not really. Doah nods, tilting her head at Yoonah.

Doah nods, hooded eyes scanning over Yoonah’s appearance, motioning to her own hair with her pen.

“Is that why you cut your hair? Because of something he did?”

Yoonah looks down at the now decent-sized hole in her jeans, swallowing when she thinks of what she deems the first domino. It wasn’t all Jinhwa’s fault, she had been spiraling for a while at that point, sure, they were getting bad again but there were other things that contributed to her tipping point.

“No,” She sounds uncertain because she is. Did she chop her hair off because truly hated her reflection or did she chop her hair off because she wanted Jinhwa’s attention? As she thinks harder about it, she doesn’t know. “I don’t know.”

“Yoonah, do you feel safe around Jinhwa?”

“Sometimes,” She hates how fast she answers and she hates how uncertain she sounds. She’s a good liar, she knows she is, but she’s never been so backed into a corner in her life.

“And when do you not feel safe?”

Silence. Longer than normal.

“Does he hits you?” Doah prods. Yoonah crosses her arms across her chest.

“I don’t care if he hits me.”

“So he does hit you?”

“No,” Yoonah pauses, “He’ll grab me sometimes.”

“Is that when you feel unsafe?”

“Sometimes.” She’s answering quickly now, out of spite. She’s mad. She doesn’t want to be here, she doesn’t want to talk about her life or relationships with a stranger, she doesn’t want to do it.

“What does he do when he grabs you?” Doah asks, raising her brows. Yoonah decides she’s talking too much, giving Doah too much ammo like this is some war and not a therapy appointment but she keeps going. This is the one place she feels like she could keep going and never face any repercussions.

“He yells at me.”

“What does he say when he yells at you?” There’s a silence between them where the women just stare at each other, one tapping her pen while the other digs her nails into her own sides.

Jinhwa only yells at her when she “goes off the deep end” or whatever he calls it when Yoonah starts expressing her emotions to him. She’s never been good at expressing her emotions even when she was a child her mother would tell her stories of the hour-long fits Yoonah would have because she didn’t get what she want or because she didn’t understand something.

“He…He just yells at me. I don’t know.” Yoonah sounds smaller, looking down at the ugly grey carpet.

“When does he yell at you? What leads up to that?” Doah asks, her brows softening, giving her a more compassionate look.

Beneath the facade she’s built, Yoonah’s heart is gentle. She is kind and cares for others even when their best interest is to her detriment.

Yoonah shrugs. She doesn’t want to do this anymore. She doesn’t feel say talking about Jinhwa like this. It feels like he’ll find out what she’s saying and use it against her. The silence is thick and long between the pair. Doah looks up at the clock with a sigh

“I’ll see you next week.” They still have 30 minutes left in their session but Yoonah always left early. It’s not her dime this is on. She doesn’t care. She leaves without a second thought. Doah knows she’ll be back, she always comes back, this is mandated by her company, Yoonah has to come back if she wants to keep doing her job.

Yoonah walks down the hallway and into the waiting room where she hopes to maybe see Juwon before she leaves but it’s an empty room. It makes her sigh, pressing the back of her hand against her teary eyes as she quickly walks out of the office and towards the black car that waits out front for her.

SESSION 002

Juwon is a beautiful boy. He had big black eyes and short black hair that looked silky to the touch. He has a famous face she’s seen before, she knows he’s in that group with that boy in it. Juwon hasn’t spoken much about his group or his friends for that matter, she doesn’t even know if he’s friends with the boys in his group.

He mainly talks about his family. His father more specifically and how he wasn’t a nice man before he passed. Yoonah tells him that he can meet her dad one day, her dad is nice to everyone and would love to meet Juwon.

Yoonah likes Juwon. She likes him a lot.

“He sounds…insufferable,” Junwo laughs, shaking his head as Yoonah nods.

“He is.”

Juwon looks amused but bewildered, brows furrowing at her response.

“And you’re still with him?” Juwon asks, causing Yoonah to think for a few beats, looking up before shrugging.

“We’re, like, still together. We sleep with other people a lot.” She doesn't mention that Jinhwa doesn't know about most of them.

“Who have you slept with?” Juwon asks, genuinely curious. His curiosity makes her laugh again.

"A couple of people..." Yoonah sings jokingly, laughing to herself as flashes of people she's slept with appear in her head. She can't remember their names, but she remembers how their lips tasted.

Juwon makes an amused sound at that, laughing softly as he looks down at the book in his lap.

“You’re very interesting, Yoonah,” Juwon tells her, making her smile sweetly. Interesting. She can’t remember the last time she’s been called interesting. It makes her chest warm.

“You’re wasting your time with that guy, Jihan?”

“Jinhwa.”

“Ah,” Juwon doesn’t seem interested in his name, “Men like that don’t change. Don’t waste your time.”

Yoonah learns more and more she hates when anyone who aren’t herself talks about Jinhwa. They never have anything good to say, they just tell her to leave. She gets it. She’s just tired of hearing it.

“I know,” Yoonah answers dryly, causing Juwon to look up at meet her gaze. They lock eyes for a few beats before Yoonah raises her brows, unimpressed. “All men are like that though.”

Juwon shrugs, not moved.

“Yeah, maybe, but not all men will have you mother their child,” Juwon says simply, brows raising as well as if he’s mimicking her. It makes Yoonah laugh through her nose, looking down at her hands, and sighing softly. She hates it when people are right about Jinhwa. She hates being wrong in general.

“Got me there,” Yoonah says as she kicks the agergous looking carpet under her feet. She looks up at Juwon once again. Neither of their therapists had come out yet. It makes her brain spark to life, biting the inside of her cheek as she smiles.

“We should leave.”

“Leave?” Juwon repeats. Yoonah nods.

“Yeah, we can walk somewhere.”

“But our managers–”

“We come back before they come,” Yoonah shrugs. It’s clear she lives more on the edge that Juwon does. She stands, putting her hands out to him, smiling sweetly. “It’ll be fun! We can be each other’s therapists.”

Juwon laughs up at her, smiling. He’s beautiful when he smiles, Yoonah thinks as she fights the urge to take his face into her palms.

Juwon hesitantly takes her hands into his, standing up.

“Let’s go.”

SESSION 003

“Tell me about your childhood,” Yoonah says as she and Juwon sit in a meadow adjacent to the park that's a few blocks away from their therapists’ building. Juwon laid his jacket down for her to sit on. He’s a true gentleman in Yoonah’s opinion.

Juwon’s eyes widen as his brows go up, sighing and shaking his head.

“Um, not great,” Juwon starts, laughing softly as he picks at a blade of grass. He tears the blade of grass to shreds. “I had a sister. She died when I was four. That’s when my mom said my dad started,” he twirls his finger next to his head, shaking his head, “Losing it. She thinks he blames himself for her death. It was a car crash and he was driving, so, I bet he did but he never talked about it. He was just…fucking mean,” Juwon shrugs, plucking another green blade of grass. Yoonah rubs her lips together as he speaks, watching his fingers nimbly move against the blade of grass, shredding it to pieces.

“Is he why you’re going to therapy?” Yoonah wonders, causing Juwon to scoff, shaking his head.

“No. My company said I needed to after what I saw,” Juwon says like she should know what he’s seen. She does know. All of Korea knows. It’s tragic and she can’t imagine going through what Juwon went through. Juwon shrugs. “And they’re right. That’s not a…Not a normal thing to see.”

A pause.

“It really does mess with your brain. ‘Seeing someone die,” Juwon adds, like he’s acknowledged his own trauma for the first time. “I honestly thought I was doing fine until my company stepped in.”

“What were you doing to make them step in?” Yoonah wonders, still watching his hands. She wants to hold them but she doesn’t reach towards him, not yet.

Juwon shrugs.

“I just…slept all day. I just laid there like I was in a coma or something,” She looks up when he speaks, looking at his face to see his sad gaze. He has naturally sad eyes, she thinks. It makes her reach over, taking his hand into hers, offering him a smile when he looks up at her.

“Now look at you,” Yoonah beams, causing him to smile lightly, looking over her soft features. “You’re sitting in a meadow with a pretty girl, talking about your life,” Juwon laughs softly at her words, head dropping as he squeezes her hand, nodding.

“‘Making great progress,” Juwon jokes, plucking one of those little white weed flowers, and putting it out to her. Yoonah smiles at the flower and then at Juwon, taking it in and putting it behind her ear still smiling.

She feels good.

SESSION 006

“You haven’t made any moves on me.”

Juwon looks up from his book and out into the endless dancing sea of grass they sat in before looking down at Yoonah, who lay in his lap.

“Do you want me to make moves on you?” The man asks, moving his hands out and to the sides so nothing is obstructing his view of her. Yoonah looks up at him with those soft round eyes she whips out every once in a while to keep men on their toes. It does the trick every time, making Juwon smile down at her softly.

Yoonah shrugs.

“Yeah.”

Juwon chuckles at the simplicity of her answer, folding the corner of the page before shutting his book and setting it down next to him, tapping her shoulders. She pushes herself up to where she’s sitting in a similar criss-crossed position as him, turning herself around to face the boy with the soft brown eyes.

Now Juwon is the one with the soft gaze, staring at Yoonah like she’s some goddess sent from above. It makes her smile brighter, putting her hands out in the space between them for him to take. It takes him a second but he slowly reaches out, slotting his fingers between hers’.

“Feels like forever since I’ve held a girl’s hand,” Juwon tells her which makes her giggle softly, looking at their hands then back at his face.

“Really?”

“Yeah, we used to be…really busy so I just,” His thumb runs over the back of her hand, smiling fondly as he squeezes her smaller hands, “Never had the time.”

“Oh my god,” Yoonah leans forward, causing Juwon to raise his brows curiously, “Are you a virgin?” She whispers, half joking half serious. It makes Juwon’s jaw drop, scoffing then laughing at her, looking minorly offended.

“No! Oh my god––Yoonah, I went to college, you know?” His eyes are wide and he’s talking passionately, smile clear as she giggles at nearly every word he says. “I’ve had sex. God, I’m twenty-six. That’d be embarrassing.”

“You’re twenty-six?” Yoonah asks in shock. She thought he was her age. He isn’t far off but still, he looks young for his age. Juwon nods, humming.

“Almost twenty-seven,” He adds, looking her over before nodding, squeezing their hands again. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-three,” Yoonah answers simply, tilting her head at him before her eyes drop to their hands as she pulls them to her chest, over her heartbeat. Juwon watches her move their hands with a small smile before his eyes go back to her face. “I turn twenty-four in July though.”

Juwon nods, humming.

“We’ll have to celebrate.”

“Yeah?” Yoonah quips, making Juwon chuckle softly, nodding.

“I’ll take you out. Get you a balloon.”

“Just one?”

Juwon laughs again, deciding to be a bit bold and pulling her hands to his lips, kissing her knuckles. Yoonah smiles at the sweet action, her heart beating a bit faster when he holds their hands to his chest now. She can feel his heart beating. It’s beating fast but the rhythm is relaxing.

“I’ll get you twenty-four of them,” Juwon says, making Yoonah bat her lashes at him. He’s so sweet, so pure, Yoonah can’t stop herself from thinking she’s in love with him.

Maybe she is. She isn’t sure yet.

THE OFFICE.

Jinhwa clears his throat as Yoonah sits across his desk, looking down at her phone in her lap. She looks up a few seconds later, smiling at him before raising her brows at him. Jinhwa looks her over, a soft smile on his face before he looks down with a sigh.

“You haven’t gone to the last three of your sessions.”

Doah is such a bitch, Yoonah thinks but her face doesn’t falter, she just keeps smiling at him. She looks like he hand-picked the stars and put them in the sky himself. It works on every man she’s involved herself with.

“I don’t–”

“I’m not stupid, Yoonah. I know you’re leaving with that boy,” He taps the side of his head, “the disturbed one.”

“Don’t talk about him like that.” Yoonah snaps. There’s a defensiveness she carries for Juwon. He isn’t disturbed. He’s just depressed. She wonders if it’s their age difference or if Jinhwa thinks he’s a psycho. Jinhwa’s from a different time, she gets it, but she doesn’t care. The man sighs, putting up his hands in faux surrender.

“Whatever. Either way, he’s interfering with your treatment–”

“He’s not. I make him leave with me.”

A silence. Jinhwa sighs.

“I’m switching your appointments from five to three,” Jinhwa dismisses simply. Yoonah doesn’t argue, just sighs through her nose. There’s no use in arguing, just grin and bear it, Yoonah thinks, scratching the side of her wrists.

“And I’m…” Hesitation is never good, it makes Yoonah tense and look up from her hands.

“I’m putting you on a dating ban. Effective immediately. You’re getting too reckless with the men you pick up.” Jinhwa says as he slides over a piece of paper, dropping a pen in front of her as well. Yoonah looks over the paper with wide, almost frantic eyes, then back at him, her scratching getting harder.

“What?” Yoonah whispers, “What is this?”

Jinhwa sighs again.

“It’s a legal document that says you acknowledge–”

“A contact. You want me to sign a contract?”

Jinhwa clears his throat at being interrupted, it's clear he’s getting agitated but keeps his composure. He knows Yoonah all too well at this point. Her reaction was to be expected.

“–that says you acknowledge you are under a dating ban until you complete your treatments and if you break this agreement,” he points to a block of text that Yoonah doesn’t look at, her hard gaze staying on him and him only, “you and your group will suffer the consequences.”

Yoonah swallows, shaking her head––A soft gasp leaves her lips when she feels a prick on her wrist. Her eyes look down to see a small portion of skin scratched raw, skin pink and shiny. It makes her stomach twist, putting her hand under her thigh with a sigh. She finally shakes her head.

“I don’t want to sign it.” Yoonah says sternly. Jinhwa grunts, he sees that coming. He reaches down, pulling a thick pile of papers out and dropping them in front of her. He flips through them until he’s on at least page twenty, pointing to a highlighted block of text.

“This? Right here?” He’s speaking to her like she’s dumb, voice condescending yet kind. She hates it, the look of content on her face only growing. “Says if you don’t sign anything I want you to sign, you’re in breach of your contract. I’ve been really leanate with you, Yoonah. Because I love you,” His hand is on her cheek now, making her bottom lip tremble slightly, gaze still hard and angry, “And I want what’s best for you. Anyone with a brain would’ve dropped you by now but I haven’t and I won’t. You owe me this one small thing, don’t you think?”

Yoonah turned her head away, sniffling before looking down at the papers that sat on his desk, shaking her head.

“It’s not fair, Jinhwa.” She says quietly, keeping her gaze down. Jinhwa coos at her, petting her black hair softly before taking her cheek back into his hand, stroking her full cheek softly.

“Nothing is, Yoonah.”

He leans back in his chair, taking her original contract off the table and back in his drawer before nodding towards the contact and pen in front of her.

“Just finish your therapy and you go back to seeing your mentally ill boyfriends,” Jinhwa dismisses, waving his hand as Yoonah takes the pen in her hand, sighing. She reads over the contract slowly, really reading over the conditions. She points to the fourth paragraph of text, lips twitching.

“Does this say I can still have relationships just with people inside the company?” Yoonah asks, looking up at Jinhwa. He’s smiling, nodding, hands crossed in his lap.

“Yes. Yeah, it does. It only makes sense.”

“Makes sense?”

“Yeah,” Jinhwa shrugs, “No one knows what happens inside the neighborhood or company building. It’s just easier if you keep your relationships within the company.”

Yoonah stares at him. The gears are turning, making her brows pinch and her head tilt slightly.

“Is…Did you just put that there so we can keep seeing each other?”

Jinhwa shrugs. His intentions are clear in Yoonah’s eyes, leaving an uneasy seed in her stomach. She hates the idea that Jinhwa feels the need to take such measures to control her. She hates that he can take such measures and she just has to go along with it.

She promised her group wouldn’t suffer for her mistakes ever again. She isn’t going to hurt their careers over something so small and trivial. She loves and cares for her girls too much to let that happen––She loves her team too much.

With a deep breath, she puts the pen on the dotted line and lets it glide across the paper in the shape of her name.

#╰ * VENUS : scenarios ⧽ burn it to the ground .#ficnetfairy #fictional idol group #fictional idol community #kpop fanfic #idol oc #kpop oc #fake kpop oc #kpop au #idol au #kpop addition #idolverse #oc girl group #bts addition #fake kpop girl group #fake kpop idol #oc kpop group #stray kids addition

32 notes · View notes

nonstoplover · 2 years

Text

more moments to remember ~ pierre gasly (pg10)

my masterlist | my f1 masterlist

pairing: pierre gasly x single mom!reader

summary: short stories of happy memories with pierre and his newfound little family | this is pt.2 to this fic, but it can be read as a standalone piece

words: 5.7K

warnings: basically dad!pierre, kid has a name (Austin), pierre with a kid (*-*), mainly only pierre and austin with reader often missing from the scenes sorry not sorry, not betaread

a/n: i became so caught up in the idea of pierre with a kid (my baby fever isn't helping me rn) that i couldn't stop thinking about situations in which i want to see pierre and austin interact, so i just had to write it. also, i got a rb where they said they need more of pierre and austin (same) and it gave me the final push to write it. so thank you kodzusficrec, this is for you <3

tbh i literally cried a lot writing this. yes, pierre himself has this effect on me. especially when he's with a kid.

reader, please don't be a ghost, all feedback is well appreaciated, rb or comment!

taglist: formulapierre

It all starts after a race when Pierre's very first thought is instinctively to call (y/n) and Austin, just wanting to hear their voices before anyone else's. It's only been a week since she agreed to give the two of them together a chance – it took quite a bit of convincing from Pierre's side, but he was always fully determined to achieve his goals, and this time it wasn't any different.

He knows why she hesitated so long, she's been scared that her being a mom already changed everything. It did change things, but only in a good way. Ever since meeting Austin, the little boy has been Pierre's ray of sunshine even on the darker days, even only the thought of him, something (y/n) was probably too scared to notice. Scared that it would only make things difficult, him being a race car driver and them just being... them.

In her mind, he deserves something else, not a single mom with an always over-excited kid. And on the other hand, Austin has already lost one father – though without knowing him in any way –, so the last thing she'd want is for him to experience loss again, in case things didn't quite work out with her and Pierre. Especially since Pierre was his role model in life, his favourite F1 driver. Who knows how bad he would take it if one day Pierre left?

Ever since Austin was born, (y/n) only went out with a couple of guys, and no one stayed long enough for her to introduce them to her son. This was completely new. Still, Pierre's determination and him having a solution and answer to every question or fear she voiced, it all eventually led to her finally agreeing to give it a try.

Now it's been a week, and he's already so absorbed in the small family that the first people he wants to talk to as soon as he gets out of his car is them two. It's a feeling in his chest and his mind that he wants to remember forever. If he could somehow immortalise it, he would.

That's when the thought pops in his head that he should keep a list of things, moments that he never wants to forget – a separate note in his phone's notes app dedicated to (y/n) and Austin.

"What if I fly out tomorrow and we can meet again?" Pierre suggests when he's finally able to FaceTime the young woman.

Her surprised eyes momentarily freeze on the screen due to bad connection, then her almost disbelieving chuckle enters his ears through his earbuds. "You'd want to do that? You have a race weekend next week as well, don't you have to be there soon?"

"I can manage to be with you for a little while," he shrugs with a soft smile on his face – something that is just always there when he looks at her, he can't help it. When he sees the doubt still being apparent in her expression, he's swift to add, "I really want to see you again, coeur."

It only takes this one sentence to melt her resistance – and honestly, she wants to see him just as much, he's proven to be the best company she's had in a very long time, with him life seems better, easier, and way more fun. She feels like a teenager with a crush, experiencing slowly falling in love for the first time, as if she's not a mom already, as if she went back in time to when it was simple just going on dates with nice guys.

It's just that she doesn't want to cause him trouble with having to fly out to her when he has a race so close ahead. But with that sentence and that smile she can't fight it anymore. She simply says okay with a wide grin.

—

The second thing Pierre eagerly types in his special note is when he meets Austin in person again, the first time after that particular race he holds so close to his heart, when he first had the chance to really have a conversation with (y/n) and her son.

She's been reluctant to let the two boys meet again sooner, not wanting to cause unnecessary hurt for her son – she had to be sure things work out with Pierre in the first place, with his hectic schedule and being away so much, she had to be sure that the initial connection they both felt with the other wasn't just some projection of her desires, something she only imagined.

Well, turns out things definitely work out with him, actually a lot better than she could've ever expected it. They have so many things in common, their personalities matching as if it was meant to be.

When Pierre enters the apartment, following her steps, he can feel his heartbeat going fast. It's ridiculous, he hasn't been this nervous even when he met (y/n) for the first time after that race. And he knows the little guy likes him. Why is he so anxious then?

It all disappears though when he stops in the doorway she led him to, the one that leads to the living room, and Austin looks up from his spot on the carpet where he's been playing with toy race cars. For one moment he's just looking without a reaction, but then he springs into action. The absolute joy that appears on his tiny face as his eyes fully take in the driver is enough to calm Pierre down in an instant.

"Pierre came back!" Austin screams, probably directed at his mom who's standing at the side of the room, talking with the babysitter who's just getting ready to leave. (y/n) glances to the side, right at the boy, smiling wide from seeing his happy, excited expression.

The kid jumps up from his spot, leaving the cars behind without a second thought, as if they didn't even exist and he hasn't been in the middle of a race just a couple seconds beforehand, and he rushes towards the man, throwing himself against Pierre's legs, grabbing onto them tight, like he's afraid that if he didn't hold them strong enough, the driver would disappear.

It's such a warm welcome, Pierre can feel his heart filling to the brim with happiness, nearly bursting from it, and suddenly he's not sure if he can ever leave the little boy again – if yes, then it's definitely only for the feeling of getting another welcome similar to this once more when he comes back again.

—

When he experiences a happiness this huge – almost unbearable – again, it's the time he realises he's started to come to (y/n)'s apartment as if it was his too. There's no nerves anymore as he gets closer to the building or the front door, no standing around on the corridor slightly afraid to knock, then waiting for the door to open whilst smoothing out the nearly invisible wrinkles on his shirt.

Now he just gets out of the car and walks inside, calling out her name as he does so to announce his arrival. It's almost like coming home.

And then Austin bursts out of the bedroom, both his small hands full with those toy cars, his favourite toys, telling Pierre to go follow him to the living room because they have a race to do, a rematch to last time's race. He's yet to notice that the man always lets him win, he seems to think Pierre's only good at driving real cars, and not the tiny toy ones.

The man doesn't mind the slightest, he might have a really competitive personality, but as long as he can watch the young kid enthusiastically push around the miniature Alpha Tauri race car Pierre got him – he honestly struggled to see Austin play with a Red Bull and a Mercedes, something that (y/n) found very entertaining – he can actually enjoy coming in second (and last).

That one car actually became the boy's most favourite, most treasured toy, as soon as he tore the wrapping paper off and his (y/e/c) eyes fell on it. "It's like I'm you! I will always win from now on whenever I play with my friends, because it's your car I'm with!" the kid exclaimed, so sure in himself, and out of nowhere Pierre noticed tears blurring his vision.

Anyway, since Austin keeps on winning again and again, whenever he plays with Pierre, his mom or even the babysitter, his conviction has yet to break still.

—

Then comes the very moment that almost makes every happy moment he's ever had in his entire life suddenly seem less thrilling.

Pierre has decided to bring them with him one weekend to the upcoming race – and only had to reason with her for a surprisingly short time. He knows how much Austin would enjoy being in the paddock, and he himself would be more than happy to have the two of them there.

He knows it was the absolute best decision he could've made, not just when he sees the clear, genuine delight on the kid's face as he tries to take in everything around him with wide eyes, but also when he leaves to change into his race suit and comes back to find Austin proudly showing his Alpha Tauri toy car to Yuki. His teammate is smiling contentedly, asking questions from the little boy, with (y/n) watching from the side.

But the best part comes when he takes them around some more, Austin sitting in the crook of his arm so he won't get lost in-between the dozens of people rushing around the paddock and also to make sure that he gets a better view at everything. It's crazy how well the boy fits there, on his arm, as if he was meant to be there – it makes Pierre feel more than delighted, and somehow also very proud.

He doesn't even need to hold the kid with two hands anymore, like he did that very first time he held Austin like this, many moons back, for that first picture taken of the two of them – one that has since been followed by many, many more. Pierre comfortably balances the boy on his arm, his free hand reaching out in search of (y/n)'s fingers so he could intertwine them with his own.

A couple people Pierre knows better around the paddock and who are not in a hurry, approach them on their way and strike a short conversation. Not many people knew up until now that Pierre had a girlfriend – and even less that he even had a kid now.

"And who are you, little boy?" one of them asks, smiling sweetly.

Pierre glances down at the boy's face to see if he'll answer or he has to do it for the kid. "My name's Austin," comes the reply with that adorable self-assured, high-pitched voice Pierre came to adore so much in the past weeks. "I came to watch my dad race."

And this is the sentence that makes Pierre nearly drop the kid. He can hear the small gasp that escapes (y/n) at her son's announcement, and his heartrate is so high he thinks even during the races he's never experienced something like this. Glancing up at the man they've been talking to he notes the surprise in his eyes just as much. It's safe to say none of the three adults here expected such a reply – but Pierre would and will never correct it, or add any further explanation.

It's genuinely one of the most delighted he's ever been. Austin called him his dad.

—

From then on they spend even more time together, Pierre flying out any time he can to be able to be with them, with his son, or arranging for them to come meet him if he really can't get away from his tasks.

And that's how the next addition comes to his special note. One early summer day (y/n) manages to convince the kid to go out to the nearby park instead of playing with his cars at home – only with Pierre's help though. Austin seems to pay attention to his dad more now, dad somewhat taking mom's place in the top position in his eyes, but (y/n) doesn't mind. Not even the slightest bit. Her son finally has a father.

So she helps the boy get dressed, tying his shoelaces carefully so they wouldn't come undone in the predictable running around he would no doubt do. She tells them to go ahead as she locks the door, grabbing the bag she's packed with some water to drink and snacks to have in case they get hungry while out.

She catches up to them on the street, approaching the two while watching gleefully as Austin jumps around, telling some story to Pierre. The driver glances back above his shoulder to check if she's coming and flashes a smile her way when their eyes connect for a couple short seconds before his attention turns back to the kid.

Her hand slips into his immediately – it's become an instinct by now for both of them, and she falls into rhythm with her boys. Pierre reaches out without tearing his eyes away from Austin, grabbing onto the strap of her bag to take it from her, wordlessly insisting that he'll bring it instead of her with the motion of his hand gently pushing away her protesting palm she's held out in front of her.

As soon as they arrive to the park, Austin's off to the playground, befriending the kids already there without a problem – a quality (y/n) has always envied, never being someone herself to make friends easily. But maybe it's simpler for children.

They sit down on a closeby bench, immersing in their own discussion without the kid being there to direct the flow of conversation with his own stories. They talk about the past races and the upcoming ones, her being a Formula One fan since her teenage years helping her knowing quite a lot about the sport and understanding most of the things Pierre shares with her about strategy and about the car itself. And whatever's past her current knowledge, he's always more than happy to explain everything, making sure he speaks understandably but without making her feel dumb for not knowing.

When a couple hours has passed and the time comes to go back home, Pierre calls out Austin's name, the two adults standing up and gathering their bags, (y/n) checking around the bench once more to make sure they don't leave anything there – there was one time a year or so back when she and Aust accidentally left one of his toy cars underneath a bench, and he wouldn't calm down until she rushed back the same way they went home to find it for him, and it's something she never wants to experience again.

As Austin arrives to his parents, his tiny hand reaches up and moves against Pierre's palm, fingers clasping around the man's hand so casually as if that's completely normal – but he's never done it before, and so the naturality of the movement makes it even more special for the driver.

(y/n) turns back towards the boys to find Pierre grinning so wide it reaches from one ear to the other, and all of a sudden she just wants to grab his face and kiss him until they're both out of breath. He's just so amazing. The best father to her son she could've ever asked for, even if he's not the man who actually helped create said boy.

Austin's small fingers press into his skin and Pierre holds the child's hand delicately but tight enough that the connection wouldn't accidentally end by a sudden movement made by either of them. The little boy then turns his head towards his mom, grabbing onto her hand too, and even though Pierre enjoys having her touch on his skin as much as possible, holding her hand whenever they're walking somewhere, right now he doesn't mind at all that he can't do just that.

They're walking home like a real family.

—

When (y/n)'s birthday is coming up and she plans a night out with her best friends, it's the first time Pierre babysits Austin. The first time it's only the two of them. (y/n) didn't want to leave him like that, with a tiring job like that to do, and he even had the option to join her, but eventually he told her that she deserves some time spent with her friends, and her friends only, and since he loves being with Austin so much, it would never feel like a job looking after him.

That's how early in the evening she gently presses a kiss on Austin's head as he's sitting on the couch, then walks to the door with Pierre by her side. She says a quick thank you, for what is probably the hundredth time that day, and he softly shuts her up by capturing her lips with his own.

"I love you, mon chéri, have fun," he mumbles against her lips and feels them curl into a smile before she pulls away, saying back the same three words and moving out the door into the night.

"Okay, kiddo, what should we do first?" Pierre asks as soon as he's back in the living room.

Austin simply points at the controller that belongs to his favourite car race game, and Pierre happily joins the boy on the couch to spend the following hour or so with the two of them racing each other, trying to go faster and faster to gain more points.

When they grow tired, eyes having been focused on the swiftly changing screen for so long, they eat dinner – some leftover from lunch –, then decide to bake a surprise cake for (y/n) for the next day. Aust has a very clear vision about what he wants to make, trying to explain the best he can to Pierre how the cake should be in the form of a Formula One car, and preferably the same colours as an Alpha Tauri one.

It's not easy collecting every ingredient from around the kitchen and pantry, the two boys have to check almost every cupboard and cabinet, Austin sitting on Pierre's arm most of the time to be at the needed height so he can get the things they want.

A recipe is open on Pierre's phone, the screen getting more and more dusty by flour and powdered sugar as they keep on touching it with dirty fingers, right until it gets a bit difficult to read the words of the next step and he has to carefully clean it with a clean spot on the fabric of his already pretty stained shirt.

When the batter is ready, they look at pictures of race car shaped cakes online to use as inspiration and help, but eventually decide that it's way above their cake baking skills so they decide to make a normal, rectangular cake instead, and to only draw a race car on top with the coloured frosting. In the end that becomes quite the challenge all the same, both of them trying their best to make their own drawings – one car each – recognisable, but not being very successful in that, they have to admit.

With the frosting left Austin has the idea to sign the cake (as if we're giving our autograph to a fan, papa!), and they scribble something resembling their names in-between the two terrible-looking cars. Aust has the tip of his tongue peeking out from between his lips as he's concentrating deeply to not mess up the letters, having only learnt how to write his name not long ago.

When they're finished and have put the cake in the fridge, they go back to the living room to watch a movie, and even though Austin chose it and has been utterly excited throughout the first ten minutes or so, he gets more and more quiet as time passes, and eventually he falls asleep, his head laid on Pierre's lap. The driver carefully reaches out to grab the folded blanket from the armrest of the couch and covers the boy with slow, gentle movements in order to not wake him up.

(y/n) comes home not much time later, and taking off her shoes she hears some distant noise coming from the living room so she moves that way, thinking she'll find her boyfriend in there. She was right, he's sitting right there on the couch, but as the credits roll on the screen with some soft music playing in the background, his head is leant back against the headrest, eyes closed and lips slightly parted as he's fast asleep.

Noiselessly she pulls out her phone from her purse, snapping a photo of her two favourite boys in the world sleeping soundly on the couch, Pierre's hand resting on Austin's shoulder as he still lays on his lap, the little boy's hand wrapped around two of the driver's fingers. It's one of the most heartwarming sights she's ever seen, her boys sleeping so peaceful and contented, completely knocked out.

The picture immediately becomes her new lockscreen, one that would keep on making her smile every time she glances at it – and one that makes a cute blush appear on Pierre's cheeks and neck when he sees it the next morning, but not without a wide smile taking over his features all the same.

—

There soon comes the first time Pierre goes to pick Austin up from school by himself, first of many, and another addition to his favourite memories. As he gets out of the car, he can already hear the kid screaming the word dad – something he still hasn't gotten fully used to, so it still makes his heart skip a beat –, standing just outside the front door, next to his teacher and a couple of other children who are waiting for their parents.

Pierre jogs up the stairs leading to the door, immediately greeting the teacher. The woman smiles at him saying nice to meet you, then Pierre squats down to check if Austin is fully ready to leave, shoelaces tied and jacket properly zipped. He impulsively presses a kiss to the top of the kid's head as his hand grabs the small backpack hanging from Austin's shoulder.

"So you're the famous dad Austin always talks about," the teacher speaks up again, making Pierre look up from his crouching position before straightening himself, a bit of nerves creeping into his bones. "If only half of what he says is true, you're doing a fantastic job," she chuckles.

Pierre's heart feels like bursting. It's the first time he's ever been complimented in the role of a dad. Blood rushes to his cheeks as he murmurs a thank you, averting his eyes in his embarrassed happiness – still the woman can't help but notice how he somehow stands taller all of a sudden, his shoulders squared from hearing her praise.

After saying goodbye, Pierre holds his hand out to signal to his son to grab it and they make their way back to the car, Austin clearly super excited that his dad came to pick him up – he loves it when he can sit in the back with Pierre driving. He always pretends that they're in a Formula One car, racing – and in the end winning, of course. It doesn't matter to him that Pierre doesn't actually go even the tiniest bit above the speed limit. He's an F1 driver and that's all that is important.

Getting to the car Austin climbs into his seat and Pierre fastens the seatbelt carefully around him, making sure it doesn't fall in a place that would make it uncomfortable for the boy, his fingers now moving just as professionally as (y/n)'s did once back in the parking lot next to a race track, with Pierre watching on from her side, not having a clue about what the future held – only hope.

He then moves around the car to sit in the driver's seat, and as he's settling down, just about to start the car, something appears in the corner of his eye – Austin holding out a big piece of paper from his seat in the back towards him.

"What is this?" Pierre asks as he takes it from the boy.

"I made it!" the kid announces proudly. "We had to draw a happy memory we have with our family and I chose this."

Pierre's eyes move from the image of the boy in the rearview to the paper now in his hand and his breath hitches. Obviously it's not a perfect drawing, anyone could see it was made by a few-year-old kid, but it's still easily perceptible what it portrays.

He sees the figures of three people on the colourful drawing, two bigger and one small in the middle, all three holding hands. To their right, there's something that looks very much like his real-life race car, in the background probably a garage at the paddock, with Austin's crooked letters at the top saying Alfa Tauri. Pierre makes a mental note to teach the kid later how the team's name is spelled correctly, but for now he just savours the feeling overtaking him watching the drawn picture.

A happy memory with his family, and Austin chose this.

"Hey, Aust, can I keep this?" Pierre turns around in his seat to look at the boy, already thinking about how it would definitely go on his fridge, somewhere he could look at it all the time and remember this very moment.

"Sure," the boy nods with a serious look in his eyes. "But it has a price."

"Oh yeah?"

"You have to buy me ice cream on the way home and you can't tell mom."

Pierre has to bite the inside of his cheeks to repress the chuckle that's threatening to burst out, expecting nothing less from the kid. "You got it, petit."

He's definitely his mother's son.

—

As the end of the season is slowly coming to an end, Pierre decides to finally make the next move in his relationship with (y/n). One night as they're having dinner in a small restaurant, out on a date night with Austin spending the night with her parents, in the middle of a casual conversation, just as he's listening to her ramble on about the dessert they're sharing and without his eyes ever leaving her (y/e/c) coloured ones he reaches up with one hand, placing something on the table right in front of her.

(y/n) glances down mid-sentence, curious about what he's placed there, and she nearly drops the small fork she's been holding in the air with another piece of the dessert balancing on top, what she wanted to say immediately forgotten. Lightly coughing because she nearly choked on some crumbs, her eyes take in the shiny key with a dark blue ribbon delicately tied around it, with a simple name tag hanging from the end of it saying her name.

"Are you– what–" she mutters, seemingly unable to form a complete sentence.

"Would you move in with me?" Pierre asks as simply and naturally as if he's only asking whether she enjoys the dessert or not.

Her wide eyes are still trained on the key, still somewhat in shock by the sudden turn of events. They haven't even been together for a year and he'd want them to live together? He wants to live with Austin?

"I've been thinking about it for a long time, don't worry, ange, I'm sure I thought about everything," he reasons before she could voice her possible doubts and fears, reading the way her eyes move as an open book and knowing what's going on in her mind. "I truly want you and Austin to be around all the time, without any of us having to fly to somewhere else. It's enough time spent apart that we have to do because of my job, I don't want the rest of the time we could finally spend together having to be wasted away because we live apart."

She honestly feels as if all her vocabulary left her, no words in her mind anymore that she could use to somehow answer him. Her eyes get glossy with tears as a disbelieving grin appears on her lips. Pierre watches on with racing heart as the most beautiful sight unfolds in front of him.

(y/n) nods vigorously, trying to compensate the loss of words with the movements of her head, grabbing the key with slightly shaking fingers. Blinking away the teardrops she looks deep in his eyes, pressing the key to her chest, somewhere above her heart.

"I would love to," she speaks finally when words seem to come back. "And I know that Aust would love it more than anything too."

—

When their one year anniversary comes, they use the next race-free weekend and go for a little getaway trip on the northern French countryside, Austin now spending time with his other grandparents, Pierre's parents in Rouen – the little boy stealing their hearts about five minutes after arriving when Pierre first took his new family home to introduce them during the summer break of last year.

The couple spends the day after their arrival sightseeing in the nearby villages, walking hand in hand and enjoying the feeling of not having to rush anywhere for once, and then they cook pasta for dinner together. Even when they have the chance to eat at restaurants, they rarely do, somehow the act of cooking together is far greater joy for both of them most of the time.

Before sitting down at the dining table right next to the window, with the colours of the gorgeous spring sunset seeping through the lace curtain and pouring onto the table, Pierre pulls out a candle from his bag, placing it carefully on the table and lighting it as (y/n)'s giggles fill the air. "What a romantic soul you are," she remarks joyfully.

"Is it too much?" he glances up from his task grinning.

"Nope, never," she replies with a single shake of her head.

They peacefully eat dinner, a comfortable silence hanging over them for a couple minutes only broken by the jingle of the cutlery mildly hitting the plates with each bite they take of the delicious dish.

"Actually, I wanted to–"

"I think this is the perfect time–"

They start talking at the same time, both of them bursting into a soft fit of laughter when they realise how in sync they really are.

"You go first," Pierre smiles, motioning for her to say whatever she's wanted to just a minute earlier.

(y/n) clears her throat, placing her fork down on the side of her plate. "So, as I was saying, I think this is the perfect time for me to give you something." With that she leans to the side and reaches into her handbag that's been laying on the ground next to the dining table, his eyes following with slight confusion. Didn't they agree on no anniversary gifts?

Without another word spoken, she hands something small wrapped in brown paper to him above the table. Pierre eyes her for a moment, letting his fingers wrap around the object without him actually paying attention to the movement of them, but he can't read anything from her (y/e/c) orbs.

He slowly looks down and starts unwrapping it, right until the paper falls down – nearly landing in his remaining pasta – and he lets out a gasp. In-between his fingers there's a pregnancy test. A positive pregnancy test.

"Is this–?" his eyes shot up to her face, now split in two by her absolutely gorgeous grin.

"Yes," she lets out a giggle. "We're gonna have a baby."

"A baby," Pierre repeats in slight disbelief, tears gathering in his eyes.

"You're going to be a father, for real this time."

This sentence breaks him from the trance he's been in and he lets out a cheery whoop, jumping up from his seat and rushing to her side, falling to his knees by her chair. His hands gently grab the sides of her face and pull her in for a heated kiss, the wet, salty stains his rolling teardrops made on his skin brushing against her cheek.

Ever since he became a stepfather to a toddler, he's been dreaming of having his own child with (y/n) – dreaming of how the said child would look like, with her elegant, perfectly shaped nose and his piercing icy blue eyes. And now his dream will actually come true.

Mid-kiss one of his hands leaves her cheek and comes to a rest on her belly, wanting the baby in there to feel a connection with their father no matter how impossibly tiny they still might be. When they break apart in need of oxygen, (y/n) giggles once more, eyes gazing down at the way he's softly pressing his palm into her stomach.

"Austin's gonna be a big brother," Pierre notes dreamily.

"Yes, he will," she replies joyously.

As the driver slowly stands back up again to return to his seat, she speaks up again. "What is it you wanted to say?" Pierre has to force his mind from going a hundred miles an hour from this beautiful piece of news to think back to a couple minutes before, having completely forgotten that he was about to say anything in the first place.

Then he suddenly feels the small box pressing into his thigh inside his pocket and everything comes back to him. "Oh, I actually planned on making this evening special and beautiful and memorable, but I guess you already succeeded in that, mon ange," he chuckles.

Nevertheless his fingers move inside his pocket and he pulls the box out, putting it on the table between them, in the meantime opening it so she can immediately catch a glance inside. Now it's her turn to gasp, her eyes landing on the simple yet dazzling ring nestling inside the little velvety box.

"I wanted to ask you a question," Pierre continues, even though half of his mind is still somewhere else – in the not so far future, his inner eyes picturing himself with a newborn baby in his arms, the young woman, his wife laying on the hospital bed, exhausted and with her hair messy but still looking perfect, smiling blissfully happy up at him. "Mon amour, will you marry me?"

.::the end::.

my masterlist | my f1 masterlist

573 notes · View notes

sagesolsticewrites · 2 years

Text

Release (Reunion Part 4) | Austin!Elvis x fem!reader

It might be time to get out from under the Colonel’s thumb.

a/n: here it is! The 4th and final part! Thank y’all so much for sticking with me through this story, I can’t describe how much it means to me 🥺 I do have ideas for a sequel if anyone’s interested! I’d love to hear your thoughts 🤍

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: a couple swear words, it does get a bit suggestive towards the end, I think that's it? As always, please let me know if I missed anything!

Please like/rb if you enjoyed! 🤍

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Masterlist | add yourself to my taglist!

“Bobby Kennedy’s been shot!”

You stand next to Elvis, teary-eyed, as he clutches your hand like a lifeline. The two of you are directly in front of the tv in his dressing room, surrounded by the crew, all of you stunned as you absorb the news.

“We’re ready on set,” someone says quietly among the crowd. No one pays him any mind.

“Steve,” Bones says, “we gotta get back to work.”

Steve steps up, muting the tv.

“Listen,” he says, “I, uh, I just wanna say that… that this nation is hurting. It’s lost, y’know, it… it needs a voice right now to help it heal.” He gives the room a watery close-lipped smile, voice tight, “We have to say something.”

He turns and looks at your husband. “You have to make a statement, E.P.”

You turn at the sound of the curtain being pulled back as the Colonel enters the room.

“Mr. Presley does not make statements.” he says incredulously, working his way through the crowd, “He sings ‘Here Comes Santa Claus’ and wishes everyone a Merry Christmas, and good night.” He punctuates his statement with the push of a button, turning off the tv.

The crowd leaves, Steve and Bones giving you and Elvis each a comforting pat on the shoulder as they exit.

Elvis steps away to change out of his outfit for the special, leaving you and the Colonel alone in the other room. You sit down on the couch, ignoring him, and turn the tv back on, making sure to turn the volume up so your husband can hear the news coverage.

“Poor Mrs. Kennedy,” the Colonel sighs several minutes later, “it’s a tragedy. But, it had nothing to do with us.”

Elvis looks up, incredulous. “It has everything to do with us,” he says, stepping into the room.

“I just do not think we should be making speeches,” the Colonel explains, “about politics and religion—”

“Dr. King was shot 8 miles from Graceland while I was out here singin’ to turtles,” your husband scoffs, cutting him off. “And now this, and all you can think about is how many goddamn sweaters I can sell?”

“I am a promoter, that is what I do,” the Colonel says lightheartedly.

“And I’m Elvis Presley, that’s what I do!” your husband retorts, slamming the Coca-Cola bottle he’d grabbed on the desk with such force that it splashes onto the lighted mirror.

“Oh… Mr. Binder has certainly got inside of your head with all of his hippie friends,” the Colonel replies quietly. “You actually think that you singing your old songs dressed in black leather, sweating, mumbling incoherently to the audience was a good show?”

“Colonel, I know when I’ve excited an audience,” he replies with a subtle wink in your direction, showing off that confident smile he’d been missing for far too long.

“That was not a real audience, my boy,” the Colonel says matter-of-factly. “There was a sign flashing ‘applaud’ telling them when to clap for you. This entire jamboree was an embarrassment.”

He stands up from his chair, moving to stand beside Elvis. “You have embarrassed the sponsors, you have embarrassed yourself, you have embarrassed me. Now you can sing whatever songs you and Mr. Binder choose for 55 minutes,” he says dismissively, “but at the end of the show there will be a Christmas song. Or else we will be sued. No,” the Colonel amends, “you will be sued for breach of contract because I will no longer be the promoter of your career. I will have to leave you.”

Elvis only hums in response, face expressionless as he moves past the Colonel towards the door.

“Now I have convinced our friends at Singer Sewing Machines to come back tomorrow for ‘Here Comes Santa Claus,” the Colonel says. “I will see you in the morning, Mr. Presley. Oh, and as I recall,” he calls as Elvis steps out of the room, “Dr. King said rock and roll music contributed to juvenile delinquency.”

Elvis doesn’t deign to give a response as he closes the door, leaving you alone with the Colonel.

“How dare you.”

The Colonel turns to you as if he’d forgotten you were there, looking surprised at the outrage showing on your normally calm and collected face. You step forward, poking him in the chest.

“You have done nothing but manipulate him to try to shape him into whatever will make you the most profit— those damn movie musicals, this stupid Christmas special sponsored by sewing machines of all things? You dare to come in here and claim that those people out there were clapping because a flashing light told them to? Threaten to leave my husband after everything he’s done for you? You have no respect— none!— for the talent my husband has, and I for one would appreciate it if you left. Please.” You finish, nostrils flaring, and you feel as though you could burn a hole through the Colonel’s smug face with the fiery anger in your eyes.

The Colonel’s eyes narrow imperceptibly, his voice cold. “I have done nothing but care for that boy, Miss Y/N. I would strongly advise against saying anything like that ever again.”

You scoff in astonishment, “Care?! You’ve never cared about him; from the moment you saw him all you saw were dollar signs; a carnival attraction. My husband is a talented man who can hold his own in this business. We don’t need you. My Elvis doesn’t need you.”

“I know you want him all to yourself, but he will always need me, Miss Y/N—“

“No.” You cut him off, the condescension in his tone only succeeding in making you angrier, “You’re the one who needs him. And we both know that you’re absolutely terrified of the day he figures that out.”

You storm out, leaving the Colonel frozen in place trying to process your outburst.

After taking a few deep breaths to calm yourself, you head home, knowing that Elvis was going to be staying late at the studio to prep for tomorrow.

•••

Unbeknownst to you, Steve went back to Elvis’s dressing room to try to talk to him about making a statement. He got there in time to see Elvis storm past him, looking like he was in no mood to talk, and then he heard your entire altercation with the Colonel.

Not knowing what to do, he decided it was best if he stayed out of it for now and returned to the control room to shut everything down.

He’s about to flip the last few switches when he hears Elvis singing the saddest rendition of “Here Comes Santa Claus” he had ever heard. He turns on the mic.

“We’re… pretty set for the number tomorrow, right E.P.? It’s pretty familiar territory?”

There’s a moment of silence, and then: “A reverend once told me, when things are too dangerous to say…” Elvis says, and Steve can see the spark of an idea in his eye, “sing.”

Steve, Bones, and Elvis work through the night on a new song, and only when Elvis is about to leave does Steve remember what he overheard earlier that night.

“E.P., hold on a second.”

Elvis stops in his tracks. “What’s up, Steve?”

“Look, I stopped by your dressing room earlier— I was gonna try to talk to you about making a statement, but you didn’t exactly seem in the mood to talk by the way you walked outta there,” he says with a dry laugh, “and I, uh… I overheard something.”

He proceeds to explain what he heard of your conversation with the Colonel. Elvis nods, listening intently. It was one thing to have flickers of thought like that for himself, but for you to outright say it all, to see the big picture… he realizes something has to be done.

“Thank you for tellin’ me, Steve” is all he says before he turns and walks away, a plan forming in his head.

•••

The next morning, you arrive at the studio with Elvis. He had talked with you about his new song and his plan for filming today and you were completely on board, you couldn’t be prouder of him.

He had also talked with you about the conversation you and the Colonel had.

“I’ve had thoughts of droppin’ the Colonel for a bit, I’ll be honest,” he had admitted, “but to hear it the way you said it, all laid out with the big picture, I—“ He faltered for a moment, grasping your hand, “And then to hear the way he spoke to you… I’m firin’ him right after the performance today, I promise you baby.”

“I don’t want you rushing into anything, honey,” you had replied, concerned.

“Don’t worry, my love, I’ve got it all figured out. He won’t have his claws in me— in us anymore after today.” he had said, squeezing your hand reassuringly.

You stand near the set, decorated to look like a page out of A Christmas Carol. The Colonel surely loved that, you think, but he’s about to be very disappointed. You beam with pride as the cameras frantically turn to Elvis as he steps in front of the lighted sign and begins performing his new song, “If I Can Dream”, with more emotion than you’d ever seen in him.

The cameras cut after his performance and he turns to you, chest heaving. You run to him, and whisper as he wraps his arms around you, “That was incredible, baby.”

“Couldn’t have done it without you, darlin’” he whispers back, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

The tender moment is interrupted by the Colonel storming down from the control room.

“Mr. Presley!” he shouts, face livid, “Was I not perfectly clear that there was to be a Christmas song today?”

“You were,” Elvis responds calmly, “I just thought that this was a smidge more important than sellin’ Christmas sweaters and sewing machines. Oh and by the way, Colonel,” he adds nonchalantly, “you’re fired.”

“I— what?” The Colonel looks genuinely confused for a moment, and you almost feel bad for him— before he opens his mouth to snow your husband yet again. “My boy, you don’t mean that! I’ve been with you through everything, we—“

“Yes, and I think it’s time we went our separate ways.” Elvis says firmly, “Especially after how you treated my wife.”

The Colonel blinks, then turns to you, his face nearly purple with anger. He hisses, “You did this, you—“

Your husband steps in front of you protectively. “Oh no, she didn’t do nothin’. You’ve had your claws in me since I started out and I am sick and tired of it. This was just the final straw. Security,” he calls “could we get this man escorted from the premises, please?”

The Colonel is escorted out, and Elvis turns to the control room, calling out, “Now I’m not sure if you fine folks from Singer Sewing Company are still here, but I’d still like to perform a Christmas song for y’all, seein’ as you came all the way here. Also, I’d very much like to avoid bein’ sued by y’all if I can help it,” he jokes. He performs a very sweet rendition of “Here Comes Santa Claus” (the irony is not lost on you with that one) before rushing everyone back to his home.

The two of you sit in your room, curled up in bed together while Jerry, Steve, and Vernon, along with a team of lawyers, try to figure out how to get the Colonel out of your lives for good.

“Y/N, my darlin’, my angel,” Elvis says quietly, “I’m so damn sorry about that damned evil man. You should never have had to put up with everything he did—“

He’s been apologizing for far too long today. You shake your head, “No, Elvis, I… I sensed something was off about that man the moment I met him, I should’ve said something sooner…”

“No, sweetheart, no,” He cups your cheek, turning your face so you’re looking into his eyes. His voice takes on a serious tone, wanting to make sure you hear and understand every word he’s about to say, “You did not deserve that, not even one bit of his bullshit. I love you darlin’, more than words can say, and I cannot thank you enough for sticking with me through this entire thing. I truly cannot thank you enough, my darlin’. I love you forever and always.”

Speechless, you pull him in for a kiss, tears brimming in your eyes as you wonder how the hell you got so damn lucky.

•••

Elvis enlists Jerry to be his new manager, and continues working very closely with Steve and Bones as he plans his world tour (“I’m 33 years old and I’ve never been out of the country, ‘cept for the service,” he had lamented to you when the idea first came to him.)

He’s absolutely thrilled at the idea of performing for crowds in Europe and Japan, and even more ecstatic at the idea of having his own plane to fly him there. The “Evelyn” is his other pride and joy, he jokes, second only to his actual daughter.

One day, in the midst of packing to leave Graceland for the first stop on the tour, Vernon and Jerry come running in, looking frantic.

“Dad? Jerry? What’s wrong?” Elvis asks, concerned.

They turn to where you and Elvis are standing by the car. Jerry gestures for Vernon to speak first.

“Well, son,” he begins, “I got a call this morning from… from the Colonel. Saying somethin’ about ‘we still owed him for everything’ and started rattling off numbers and prices for things he wanted us to pay for. I went and got Jerry right away.”

Jerry takes this as his cue to speak, “The lawyers went over the papers and said that he wasn’t entitled to anything like that. I think he’s still assuming that we haven’t bothered with a lawyer, seeing as he’s making demands like this. But anyway,” he shakes his head, getting back on track, “I did some digging, and it turns out Colonel Tom Parker doesn’t exist. His real name is Andreas van Kuijk. He fled from Holland a while back and created this entire fake identity. He’s a con man. Always has been.”

“He’s… what?” A mix of confusion and anger dawns on your husband’s face as he furrows his brow, trying to make sense of what they had just said.

“Dad, did you figure out where he was callin’ from?” He asks after a moment of absorbing the news, suddenly all business.

“Uh… I think it was the Stardust?” Vernon replied, naming the popular hotel and casino in Vegas.

“Let me guess,” you speak up, noting the determined glint in his eye, “we’re making a stop on the way to LA?”

He nods. “Yeah, baby. I wanna talk to this bastard.”

Between all of you, you’re somehow able to organize a quick pit stop in Vegas on the flight to LA, and you accompany Elvis to the Stardust.

You find the old man sitting alone at a row of slot machines, putting coin after coin into the machine. He looks up as you approach, and a surprised smile spreads across his face.

“My boy! You’ve returned! I hope there are no hard feelings—“

“I ain’t here to take you back, you snake.” Elvis hisses. “My father told me you called. You seem to think you still got your claws in me.”

“Well, my boy, I am just trying to be an honest businessman and get my money’s worth. You owe me quite a bit from all the years we worked together.”

A laugh tears from your husband’s throat, “An honest businessman? Really? After what we’ve learned about you? You haven’t said an honest thing to me in your life, not even your name. Oh that’s right,” Elvis sneers, seeing the Col— van Kuijk’s eyes widen just the slightest bit. “We know all about you, sir. All the lies you’ve told. Are you even from Holland, or is that another lie?”

“Does it truly matter where I am from?” he says smoothly, “I discovered you! I made you! You would be nothing without me!”

“How dare you, you toad.” Elvis spits, “I may have gotten my start with you, I’ll grant you that, but— well. I believe my wife told you this before: I. Don’t. Need. You. You made 50% of everything I have ever made since I started out and you think you can come back here and bleed me dry? No, sir,” he says with a dry laugh, “You and I are done entirely. Have a nice life, Mr. van Kuijk.” He spits out the name of the conman like it’s a curse word. Before van Kuijk can say another word, he grasps your hand and leaves, content in the idea that that will be the last conversation he ever has with him.

Back on the plane, you and Elvis are alone. The others elected to drive and meet you in LA, and it turned out his father didn’t necessarily like flying, so there’s no one around to bother you as Elvis continues showering you with affection, telling you how much he loves you and how grateful he is that you gave him the push he needed to finally get rid of that old conman in the first place. He’s pulled you close, and his hands snake around your waist as he says, as if the thought had just come to him: “Darlin’, have I ever thanked you properly for that?”

“…Yes?” you reply, confused. “You just said thank you to me at least 20 times in the last 10 minutes, honey.”

“No, darlin’…” His grip on your hips tightens the slightest bit, and you finally notice the look in his eyes as he moves to plant kisses down your neck, murmuring against your skin between each one, “have I ever… thanked you… properly?”

You can only whine as he reaches a particularly sensitive part of your neck, your hands winding into his hair, and you feel his lips curl into a smile.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he breathes, moving his attention to the other side of your neck, one hand snaking back to slowly, slowly, slowly undo the buttons along the back of your sheath dress, “‘M gonna make sure you know exactly how grateful I am for everything you’ve done for me.”

Your husband is extremely thorough in his appreciation of you as you fly off to LA, and everything, finally, is as it should be.

~The End~

Taglist: @queenslandlover-93 @anangelwhodidntfall @austin-butlers-gf @butlersluvbot @killerqueenfan @kittenlittle24 @beauvibaby @kingelviscreole @justjacesstuff @sweetheartlizzie07 @coldonexx @londonalozzy @kaycinema @annamarie16 @adoreyouusugar @djconde58 @mirandastuckinthe80s @luke-my-skywalker @tubble-wubble @apparently-sunshine @kisseskae @whotfatemywaffles @gyomei-tiddies

#austin butler x reader #austin!elvis x reader #elvis x reader #austin butler #austin butler fic #elvis presley x reader #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler imagine #elvis biopic #elvis (2022)#elvis 2022 #elvis baz luhrmann #my writing

444 notes · View notes