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wongyuseokie · 11 days

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All Too Well | c.s.c

Summary: You thought you met the man of your dreams. He was everything you ever wanted, but what happens when that dream falls apart and when that man is no longer the one you recognise? You want to love him against all odds because you believe things can be better.

☆ 18+ minors dni |☀︎fluff | ☁︎ angst | ♕smut | ♥ completed works

Word Count: 21,190 words

Pairings: Professor! Seungcheol x Female Reader Genre/Trope(s)/AU(s): Established Relationship, break up au! Slightly (quite) toxic relationship, HEAVY ANGST, fluff, smut.

Content Warnings: There is an age gap between the reader and Seungcheol, but it’s not massive. He’s 30, and she’s 25, but it’s enough to cause problems. Seungcheol is a condescending little shit in this. Yelling, swearing, crying, arguments, toxic couple behaviours, mentions of an injury. Hospitalisation it’s nothing serious—mentions of blood. Smut Warnings: smut, unprotected sex (don’t do this). Fingering, oral (male and female receiving) shower sex, multiple orgasms, squirting and using sex as an apology. Authors Note 1: This fic will hurt quite a bit, but I like pain and write many of my experiences with my ex. It’s a form of free therapy, and it feels cathartic. Also, this story is fiction. Cheol is a fucking dick in this. This is a story that is not reflective of him or my impression of him. It is pure fiction, nothing else. Authors Note 2: Thank you so so much to my lovely @multi-kpop-fanfics for reading over this, my lovely @wooahaeproductions and @gyuwoncheol for beta'ing this fic for me 🩷 Authors Note 3: This is a Seventeen rewrite of an old Joon fic of mine, so if it looks familiar, that’s why hehe.

Taglist: @dkluvrsclub @wooahaeproductions @stayinhellevator @aaniag @seungkwansphd @tomodachiii @gyuminusone @bitchlessdino @zezedoesshit @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @noiceoofed @joonsytip @miniseokminnies @wonwoos-wineparty @persnyako @deobienthusiast @the-boy-meets-evil @gyuswhore @gyuwoncheol @shuadotcom @multi-kpop-fanfics @ourdawnishotterthanourday @thegirlwhoimagined @starlight-night0 @dreamsbloomout @aaasia111 @wongyuuu @ana-marais98 @gaslysainz @cherrylita @highvern Part of the Broken Illusions Stories

“Mia, I’m not going to go on Tinder to end a dry spell, nor am I going to sleep with any of the men here. They are all old and most likely married. I’m not keen,” you groaned to your best friend.

Mia had dragged you out tonight because she said that you had a dry spell that needed to be broken, but you were not going to submit to your hormones, and you surely were not going to submit to some random guy on Tinder with the worst possible pick-up lines.

“Look, I can take care of myself. Men are useless and self-obsessed,” you claimed before sipping your martini.

“Surely not all men?” A voice spoke, making you choke on your drink.

You wiped your face wiped it of what? quickly and turned around in your seat to face the voice’s owner. Your eyes widened like saucers upon seeing the man standing before you. You were speechless, and as your eyes scanned, trailed from his deep-set eyes, his impeccable build, and his thighs, thighs that you wanted to straddle and ride until you screamed his name over and over.

“Nope, all men,” you quipped, making the handsome stranger smile at you, revealing his deep dimples.

“Y/N’s been burned by useless men, men who’ve claimed to be all that and then fell short, so she’s quite cynical about most men,” Mia chimed. “Ow!” Mia yelped when you kicked her shin for oversharing.

“Well, how about I get you another drink?” The man suggested, and Mia grinned before hopping off her barstool.

“Great, you do that! I have an early shift tomorrow. Stay safe, Y/N,” Mia said, winking as she headed out of the bar, and you glared at her, knowing that her ‘stay safe’ comment also meant to use a condom.

“I’m Seungcheol.” The stranger introduced himself, and you nodded, turning around to face the bar as he sat down next to you.

“Well, you already know my name. My best friend did kind of yell it,” you deadpanned. You didn’t care how ridiculously handsome Seungcheol was. He could just be another man who could talk a big game and be useless.

“What would you like to drink?” Seungcheol asked, and you shrugged. “Surprise me,” you said. You made a mental note that if he got you some fruity shit, you’d leave him the second the words left his mouth.

“How about a Yuzu fizz gin and tonic?” Seungcheol offered, and you smiled at him, nodding.

“I can guess that if I ordered something you didn’t approve of, you would have left the bar by now?” Seungcheol joked.

“Well, now you’ll never know, will you?” You joked, making Seungcheol smile again.

“So why are you here? Trying to find Prince Charming?” Seungcheol asked with a chuckle.

“Oh, come on, be honest. I’m not one to judge,” Seungcheol encouraged, and a sly grin formed on your face.

“If you insist, then okay,” you started to say, inching closer to him, swallowing a gulp as you took in the scent of his cologne. It was musky, spicy, and woody all at once.

“I’ve been stuck in a painfully long dry spell, and my hand is exhausted. I just need to find someone to fuck me hard,” you answered nonchalantly, and you swore you saw Seungcheol gulp slightly.

“You’re telling me a woman as beautiful as you has not found a man?” Seungcheol asked as he moved away to hand you your drink. You took a sip out of the glass, smiling at the taste.

“Good?” Seungcheol asked, and you nodded.

“Would you like to try?” You asked, and Seungcheol shook his head.

“Maybe later?” Seungcheol replied, and you nodded.

“But to answer your question, it’s not about looks. For instance, a guy might be doing well, then he’ll say something obnoxious, and I’ll no longer be interested,” you explained.

“Fair enough, I apologise on behalf of my species. We often get too excited when we see a beautiful woman and act up,” Seungcheol clarified, making you grin. Seungcheol was incredibly handsome and sweet, but you didn’t feel anything. Nothing clicked. There was no instant chemistry; suddenly, you felt tired and bored and just wanted to be wrapped up in your blanket.

“Well, this was nice. Thank you for the drink, but I think I will call it a night,” you said, and Seungcheol simply smiled at you. You were relieved at how he wasn’t pushy or objecting to the fact that you wanted to leave so early. Most of the men you had met would get defensive or be less than understanding if you wanted to go before they got to cop a feel.

“Wait, how are you getting home?” Seungcheol asked.

“Walking home, it’s a twenty-minute walk,” you replied.

“Y/N, you can punch me if I step out of line, but no, you’re not walking home alone.” You sighed, but you didn’t mind entirely, plus you could kick him in the crotch if he acted up. You were cognizant enough to do so.

“Well then, Seungcheol, since it’s a bit of a walk, shall we play a game?” You asked as you both stepped out of the bar and started to walk.

“Seriously?” Seungcheol asked, grinning.

“Humour me, Seungcheol .”

“Fine then.”

“Great, let’s play twenty questions,” and you proceeded to ask. “How old are you?”

“30,” he replied.

“If it’s not too rude to ask you, the same?” Seungcheol asked, and you smiled before replying, “25.”

“I have another question if it’s not too crude?” Seungcheol asked, and you nodded at him to ask it. “When you said you wanted to be fucked hard, how hard?” You gulped; you swore his voice had gotten deeper and huskier since he left the bar. You chalked up your reaction to the cold air, playing tricks on your mind.

“If let’s say, hypothetically, it was me, how hard would you want me to fuck you?” Seungcheol continued , making you stop and turn to face him. His eyes were piercing and burned through any façade you had on tonight.

“Hard enough to make me forget my name,” you whispered, earning a nod from Seungcheol.

The rest of the walk was filled with silence, aside from a few questions from Seungcheol, but you couldn’t get the vision of him standing over you and asking you how hard you’d like to be fucked out of your head.

“Well,” you breathed out when your eyes landed on your front door.

“This is me,” you said, standing with your back against your front door.

“Wait, I have one thing I want to try but don’t worry, you still have permission to knee me in the balls,” Seungcheol teased, making you chuckle, only for a second, before his soft lips landed on yours. The kiss was so light it almost felt like nothing happened, but you knew it did because you felt your heartbeat out of your chest the minute his lips grazed yours.

“I always wanted to know what the Yuzu gin and tonic tasted like,” Seungcheol said smugly before moving away from you.

“Well, it was lovely meeting you,” Seungcheol said, leaving you speechless and breathless as he turned around and walked away from your front door.

“Seungcheol! Wait!” He turned around, smiling at you.

“Would you like to come in for a nightcap? We still have several questions left,” you suggested, hoping he’d say yes. Seungcheol grinned as he nodded, following you into your apartment.

Fifteen questions in, Seungcheol and you were on your living room sofa. You were cuddling into his side, your legs on his lap. Around five questions ago, Seungcheol’s hand started trailing your exposed thighs , and you had let out a few soft moans at his touch.

“Question sixteen for you, Y/N,” Seungcheol said, and you laughed at him.

“You kept count?” You asked, and Seungcheol nodded.

“I’m very detail-oriented,” Seungcheol replied, and you rolled your eyes.. Seungcheol’s hand stopped trailing your thighs; instead, he gently squeezed them.

“Tell me, how hard did you want to be fucked?” He asked again, and you quirked your brows at him.

“You already asked,” you replied breathlessly, and Seungcheol shrugged.

“Would it hurt to get details?” Seungcheol pressed staring right into your eyes. You would be lying if you said you didn’t start getting wet five questions ago, but now your core ached at his words.

“So hard that I can’t walk, so that I’m a mumbling and whimpering mess.” You said as you moved so that you were straddling Seungcheol. You gently moved your hips against his, and you felt his length hardening.

“Question seventeen for you. Why did you ask me for a drink tonight?” you asked as Seungcheol groaned and held your waist, stopping your movements.

“When I saw you in this dress, I couldn’t help but think about how I wanted to do nothing more than rip it off your body,” Seungcheol spoke, and you moaned at his words. His grip on your waist got tighter, and you were sure you would be bruised tomorrow, but you didn’t care.

“Question eighteen, Y/N, are you wet right now?” Seungcheol asked, and you smirked and proceeded to reply with another question.

“Question nineteen, Seungcheol, do you want to find out?” You asked, and Seungcheol’s eyes darkened with lust as he nodded,lifting the pushed-up hem of your dress so that it was at the waistband of your panties.

Seungcheol looked at you for consent, and you nodded, giving it to him. He pulled your panties to the side and brushed his fingers through your folds. Seungcheol moaned at your wetness, then moved his fingers to his mouth, and relished your taste.

“Final question, baby. What’s your safe word?” He asked.

“Peaches,” you replied.

“Peaches it is,” Seungcheol responded, content with your answer, he carried you to your bedroom to a night filled with absolute pleasure.

You woke up the following day to soft snores; you smiled softly at Seungcheol sleeping. Seungcheol looked incredibly handsome, even with his hair ruffled and mouth open as he snored lightly. You hated how you were romanticising this one moment, especially considering that it was the result of several drinks and very sexual questions that led him to your bedroom. Still, at this moment, you wished that this would be the view you could wake up to every day.

He was perfect. He was so sweet, loving, gentle, and kind all night long. You wouldn’t be opposed to having that type of care and affection regularly.

You decided to get out of bed and grab your oversized nightshirt as you headed to the kitchen, leaving your bedroom quietly not to wake him up andruin the little daydream you were happily living in.

You took a detour, making sure to head to the bathroom first, freshen up, and then head to the kitchen, where you made a cup of green tea for yourself and a cup of hot coffee for Seungcheol. In your hazy recollection of last night, you remembered Seungcheol ordering a couple of espresso martinis, so you assumed coffee would be a good idea.

You held the mugs in your hand as you headed back to your bedroom, smiling when you saw Seungcheol sitting up, stretching, and smiling sleepily at you when he turned his head to face you.

“Damn, and here I thought you left me,” Seungcheol joked. His deep morning voice made you feel warm, like the tea that warmed your throat with every sip.

“It’s my house,” you replied, smiling at him and handing him a mug of coffee.

“So, what do you do, Y/N?” Seungcheol asked. “Aside from rock my world,” he added, joking, making you roll your eyes at him.

“I’m a freelance web designer, but I just took a break to travel with my friends for a bit, and so I’m just getting back into it.I need to go out and hustle to get clients again,” you said, and you noticed an emotion you couldn’t decipher flash across Seungcheol’s features.

You assumed he was squinting at the morning sunlight streaming into your bedroom, but it was gloomy. Still, it was early, and maybe he was just tired.

“What do you do?” You asked, not wanting to dwell on your thoughts for too long.

“I’m an English Literature professor at Seoul National University,” Seungcheol said, and you couldn’t help but notice the hint of smugness that laced his tone. Still, then again, if you were a professor at the most prestigious universities in the country, maybe you, too, would behave that way.

“So, you’re like a nerd?” You joked and knew it fell flat, noticing how Seungcheol gave you no reaction.

“Is it still a thing to call people nerds? Youngsters these days,” Seungcheol mused, and you couldn’t help but again detect an undercurrent of an unpleasant tone that made you feel uncomfortable. You let it slide because you knew nothing about this man.

“I enjoyed last night,” you said softly, joining him on your bed, hoping to change the topic.

“I did, too. I didn’t think heading out for a drink after work would help me find you,” Seungcheol agreed.

“I, uh,” you fumbled. You wanted to ask if he would be willing to see you again, and Seungcheol got the hint.

“I want to see you again, and not just to repeat last night, but because I want to get to know you more,” Seungcheol said, and you beamed at him.

“Shit, I need to get home and shower and get to the university, but can I have your number? I’ll text you after my lecture today, and yes, I’ll text today itself because I don’t believe in the whole bullshit of waiting for a day after to tell someone you enjoyed their company. I guess that’s something I learned with age,” Seungcheol stated.

Then, you wondered if you felt Seungcheol’s age would be a motif you could never get rid of.

“Wait, so the buff hot guy, you ended up going home with him and fucking him?” Mia exclaimed obnoxiously loud in the supermarket, making you glare at her as you got a few disapproving stares from fellow shoppers.

“Oh, you need to work on your indoor voice. You will end up spilling my life story to the world,” you said, elbowing Mia, who shrugged.

“So well, was he the kind of dick you want inside you again, or what?” Mia asked as you grabbed some pasta and put it in your shopping cart.

“He asked me out,” you replied.“Well, sort of. He said he doesn’t believe in waiting a while to text, so he said he’d text me today because he enjoyed my company,” you clarified, and you saw Mia’s grin widen.

“What does he do?” Mia asked. “He’s a professor of literature and SNU,” you responded.

“Damn, I need your luck to get that kind of dick on a night out, a qualified dick, if you will,” Mia joked, making you laugh.

“I don’t know, he still hasn’t texted, and it’s nearly 7, and if he texts any later than that, it’ll just be for a hookup, and I don’t want to be a booty call,” you explained, and Mia nodded.

“Well, he’s a professor at one of the most prestigious universities. Maybe he got busy, and if he enjoyed your company, I’m sure he doesn’t only want sex,” Mia explained. You shrugged unsurely, and your phone buzzed in your pocket as if on cue.

Unknown Number: Hey, it’s Seungcheol. Sorry for not texting earlier like I said. Students had a lot of concerns, and it’s been a long day. I finally wrapped up, and if you haven’t made plans already, I’d like to take you out for a late-night dessert.

You smiled at your phone for what must have been too long, considering Mia decided to nudge you. “Fucking reply, you dork, and have him for dessert because that man must be sweet,” Mia teased, wiggling her brows at you, making you roll your eyes at her as you typed a reply.

You: Hey Seungcheol, that’s okay. Dessert? Colour me intrigued, where should I meet you?

Not even a minute afteryou sent the message, you saw the words “Seungcheol is typing,” flash across your screen, making you smile and feel giddy like a teenager having a crush.

Seungcheol: Send me your location, and I’ll pick you up.

You: Sure!

You: Location sent

Seungcheol: Perfect, see you in a few!

You grinned at your phone as Mia headed towards the check-out aisle. “Wow, he’s offering to pick you up, too. He��s already a keeper,” Mia stated, and you shrugged.

“How?” You asked, curious to understand your best friend’s logic.

“He’s going out of his way to meet you and pick you up; he wants to spend more time with you before the date. He isn’t simply telling you to meet him at a place. He is making the time and effort to take you out on a date after a busy day. That’s a good sign,” Mia explained, making you smile.

You and Mia had paid for your groceries and now were waiting outside. You were conversing with Mia when a sleek black Mercedes caught your eye. It was a sexy car, and your eyes widened when Seungcheol stepped out of the car and smiled at you.

“Sorry, I hope I didn’t keep you in the cold too long?” Seungcheol said, and you shook your head at him.

“Not at all,” you said shyly, earning a particularly hard nudge at your side from Mia, who noticed your shyness.

“I’m Mia, you must be Seungcheol,” she greeted, making Seungcheol laugh.

“I remember you, you’re trouble; you were the one who was kind enough to inundate me with Y/N’s sex life that night,” Seungcheol recalled, flustering Mia and you.

“Well, it worked out, didn’t it?” Mia countered, making Seungcheol smile, allowing his deep dimples to appear, making you smile too.

“Can’t deny that”, Seungcheol agreed, winking at you, making you smile even more, so much so that you thought your cheeks would break.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Mia said as she started to walk away.

“Wait, Mia, why don’t I drive you home before we both head out on our date? It’s cold and late,” Seungcheol offered, and for some reason, that stung. You don’t know why. She was your best friend; she’d never betray you, and Seungcheol, well, he was nothing to you right now.

Mia looked at you nervously, and you shrugged before nodding. “Yeah, come on, girl, it’s cold out. Besides, it’s not a long drive,” you rambled nervously, and Mia nodded as she approached the car.

Seungcheol was nothing but a gentleman, holding the door open for youfirst, letting you in the front seat next to him, and then moving to help Mia into the back seat, and you couldn’t help the ugly feeling of jealousy that stirred in the pit of your stomach.

Why would he help her after me? You thought and shook your head to rid yourself of those thoughts. You needed to compose yourself before Seungcheol joined you in the driver’s seat.

“Alright, Mia, why don’t you tell me your address?” Seungcheol asked, flashing her a smile. You forced another smile at your best friend, annoyed at how your emotions clouded your ability to be rational, but Mia was right. Seungcheol was a catch, and you didn’t fancy losing him to your best friend.

The entire drive to Mia’s apartment was filled with awkward silence, aside from a couple of jokes from Seungcheol and a few nervous giggles from Mia. You kept your gaze on the road ahead, refusing to engage in the conversation. You hated how your insecurities got the better of you and ruined a good time.

“Thank you, Seungcheol,” Mia said softly, and for a second, you wanted to roll your eyes at her when you heard how sickly sweet her voice sounded, but then you realised that’s what she always sounded like and that your insecurity nearly caused you to ignore your best friend. You could tell Mia had noticed too as she too kept stealing worried glances at you.

“Hey, I’d never, and I’m sorry I imposed tonight,” Mia said as she exited the car and stood by your window. You let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding and nodded.

“I know, I’m just sorry. I got insecure,” you admitted quietly, and Mia nodded before hugging you awkwardly.

“Have fun tonight. Remember, he wants to spend time with you. You’re not a second option,” Mia reassured, and you smiled at her, mentally noting to send her a long and apologetic text after tonight.

Seungcheol, ever the gentleman, walked Mia to her door and waited for her to go inside before hereturned to the car, sat in the driver’s seat, and smiled at you, which you half-heartedly returned.

“Okay, did you and Mia argue before I showed up?” Seungcheol asked, and you shook your head. “Then why did you act as if I overstepped by dropping her home?” Seungcheol questioned, and you sighed.

“Can I blame it on insecurities, and you can drop this?” You asked, and Seungcheol’s face softened.

“I want to spend my night with you, not her. How about I make it up to you over the best cake ever?” Seungcheol suggested, and you nodded, smiling at him.

The drive was filled with the music in Seungcheol’s car and lo-fi remixes, and halfway along the drive, Seungcheol broke the silence.

“So, this place is far, but I promise you it’s the best dessert place in the world. I know the owners, and I’ve known them since I was a kid, so they’re like family, so the food is legit,” Seungcheol rambled, making you smile.

“So busy day, huh?” You asked, and Seungcheol nodded as he moved one hand off the steering wheel to lace it with yours.

“Yeah, but seeing you made it all better,” Seungcheol replied, making you smile at him.

“Cute,” you replied, making him grin as he drove.

“What about you? How was your day?” Seungcheol asked, now properly holding your hand as he kept his free hand on the steering wheel and continued to drive.

“Well, I mean, it wasn’t particularly productive. I asked a few clients if they had any upcoming projects I could assist with,” you explained

“Well, you can’t be passive about it. If you want something, you need to chase after it,” Seungcheol explained and then winced slightly. “Fuck sorry, I’ve been with students all day, repeating this shit to them, and I automatically clicked into professor mode; sorry,” Seungcheol apologised, reaching gently to take your hand and bring it to his lips.

“You’re not exactly wrong, but maybe just keep the life coach’s advice for the kids?” You joked, and Seungcheol’s eyes lit up as he pulled into the familiar driveway of the bakery.

“We’re here!” Seungcheol exclaimed excitedly as he parked the car, getting out first and heading to help you.

“Oh,” you said, pointing to your grocery bag.

“Leave it here; it’s cool,” Seungcheol replied.

“Shall we?” Seungcheol asked as he closed the car door behind you and held out his hand for you; you took it, smiling as his large hand engulfed yours, making you feel safe.

“Is that who I think it is?” A voice called out from the bakery’s back, and Seungcheol grinned, hearing the voice as he replied.

“Halmeoni, it is. Cheol is hungry,” Seungcheol said playfully as he guided you into the bakery and a more petite older woman approached Seungcheol.

“Oh, you are getting buffer by the day, and I see it’s paying off. Who is this beautiful woman?” The lady asked, making you smile shyly.

“Y/N, she and I are here on a date, halmeoni,” Seungcheol explained, making you grin even more.

“Well, I’m glad to see you are dating again. After Yoona, I thought I lost you for good,” the lady added, and you felt Seungcheol’s grip on your hand tighten at the mention of Yoona. Lost him how?

“Halmeoni, not now, please,” Seungcheol warned.

“My dear, Y/N, how rude of me. I’m Minji Kim, but you can address me as Halmeoni. Why don’t you two sit? I’ll get you the specials?” Ms. Kim offered.Seungcheol nodded as he guided you inside to find a more secluded booth to sit in.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Seungcheol said softly as you sat down. You were about to counter, saying you weren’t planning to ask him, but you decided against it. It wasn’t your place. Not tonight, at least, not on a first date.

“This is our best-selling product and Cheol’s favourite,” Ms. Kim interrupted a couple of minutes later, as she placed a molten cake on the middle of the table and placed down two forks as well.

“Enjoy, kids,” Ms. Kim said before she disappeared.

“I know it looks simple,” Seungcheol started to say, “But this is the best thing ever. Open,” Seungcheol said as he picked up a forkful of the molten cake and moved the fork to your lips. You accepted the cake, letting out a hum of approval as the chocolatey taste filled your mouth.

“Fuck, that’s amazing,” you praised, and Seungcheol smirked as he took a bite for himself.

“Halmeoni says the love she pours into the cake makes it so delicious. She’ll never tell me her recipe, even if I beg,” Seungcheol complained, and you laughed at him.

“Isn’t that better? Some things are better left unsaid. It might ruin the magic,” you said, and Seungcheol smiled slightly.

“Ah, the childlike wonder, cute,” Seungcheol said, earning a funny look from you.

“Is that a problem?” You asked, moving your hand away from him. Seungcheol shook his head.

“No, I guess I have a very black-and-white view of the world, and sometimes I fail to account that other people don’t. I like that you see the world with all its beauty and colours,” Seungcheol explained.

“Well, stick around me long enough, and maybe you’ll see the world with a bit more colour?” you suggested, and Seungcheol shrugged.

“We’ll see,” Seungcheol said, and you gathered from his tone that he didn’t fancy discussing this issue further.

“Hey, you’ve got cake on your face,” Seungcheol said, leaning forward, and you assumed he’d wipe the cake off your lips. Instead, you were met with his soft lips. You melted against his lips as they moved against yours, only for him to pull away for a second and then find your lips again. You pulled away this time with a light smile.

“Halmeoni will have the worst impression of me if all I do is make out with you here,” you joked, and Seungcheol smirked.

“I agree. How about we finish this cake, and maybe I can show you how much I wanted to spend my day with you instead of lecturing my students?” Seungcheol suggested, and you couldn’t help how your expression changed.Seungcheol caught onto it as well.

“I didn’t ask you out only to have sex with you, I promise. I want your company, but I also want to be able to hold your hand and maybe steal a few kisses here and there. I’d rather do that in a comfortable setting and not traumatise poor halmeoni,” Seungcheol clarified as he placed another kiss on your lips, and you hummed into the kiss.

“Shall we?” Seungcheol asked, and you nodded.You stood up with him, placing your hand in his, and following him to the counter as he paid for the cake, much to your and halemoni’s protests. Seungcheol smiled as he walked out the bakery door, ensuring to wave to Ms. Kim. You felt yourself becoming more enamoured by his actions.

You concluded that Seungcheol could have a hard exterior, but soft inside, much like the lava cake. He could seem slightly unapproachable with his curt and short replies, but if you dug deep enough, you knew he was filled with nothing but love and warmth, and you were determined to get to know that Seungcheol.

You were determined that you could be that one for him, the one he’d let in.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Seungcheol asked as his voice took you out of your daydream of becoming the future Mrs Choi.

“I enjoyed tonight; well, everything tonight has been so incredible,” you admitted, and Seungcheol turned to smile at you, nearly running through the red light, making you laugh and gasp.

“Fuck, do you think being distracted by you is a valid reason for running a red light?” Seungcheol joked, and you shook your head at him.

“Nope, but I think it’s cute,” you said as you placed your hand on his knee.

“That impatient? We’re almost back at mine,” Seungcheol teased, and you rolled your eyes at him,pinching his knee a bit which made him laugh.

The drive back to Seungcheol’s place was filled with jokes and flirty remarks.Once Seungcheol reached his apartment, he couldn’t park the car soon enough and hurriedly helped you out,practically running to his apartment with your hand in his.

The minute you were inside his apartment, you took a second to take off your red scarf. You placed it on the coat hanger by the door and squealed in surprise when Seungcheol turned you around in his embrace, bending down to lift you into his arms and carry you over to his sofa.

You stared at him, confused. What did he want? Was it just sex? You wondered, and Seungcheol spoke, ending your worries within seconds.

“I just want to hold you like this, in my arms, look,” Seungcheol started to say as he adjusted his position so that you were lying between his body, your chin on his toned chest. “Maybe I’m moving too quickly, but I told you I don’t believe in all that bull shit of following rules. You’re the first person I’ve felt this comfortable with for so long, so forgive me if all this is too much because I can reign it in,” Seungcheol admitted as he stroked your cheek, making you smile.

You sat up for a second tokick off your boots, taking your position back, and laying on his chest. “I don’t need you to reign any of this in,” you reassured. Seungcheol was special; he was older, wiser, and something you had never had. You weren’t about to lose him for the sake of some social constructs relating to dating.

You always felt like people made up or exaggerated when it came to how love made them feel. You had friends, like Mia, who would act like they were on cloud nine or something when they were in love, and you never understood it. It wasn’t because you were traumatised as a child or anything, far from it.

You were a happy kid, but your parents weren’t in love. You knew that your parents stayed married for your sake, and while you would always commend them for that because you knew you could never do that, you never understood the point of pretending. All that to say, you never grew up with a perfect example of what love looked like, and after shitty hookups and your fair share of fuck boys and heartbreak, you gave up on the concept.

You didn’t hate love; you just assumed it was something inconceivable that others got, the lucky ones, and you, you didn’t think you’d ever get it. You had convinced yourself that for so long, until you met Seungcheol, until that first kiss with him.

Now, four months later, you watched your boyfriend working.

That was your man, your safe space, your home. Even though there were petty fights and arguments, you two would make it work because that’s what people do when they’re in love.

They fight for each other.

“Okay, I guess I’m decent-looking enough, but you’ve been staring at my face for the past ten minutes, with a smile on yours,” Seungcheol chuckled as he looked at you.

“Wait, I’ve been staring for that long?” You asked, feeling slightly flustered. Seungcheol nodded as he pulled you closer into his chest.

“What’s on your mind?” Seungcheol asked as his hand traced patterns lazily on your lower back.

“I just-,” you started to say.“Are you real?” You asked Seungcheol, who furrowed his brows at you.

“What?” Seungcheol asked

“I don’t know, I fuck. I never believed that I could have something like this,” you said shyly, and Seungcheol smiled fondly at you.

“Like what?” Seungcheol encouraged, and you took a deep breath to sit up and adjusted until you sat crossed-legged next to Seungcheol on the bed. He soon followed, sitting up, and leaning against his headboard.

“Like, I always thought love was a beautiful concept, but it was a concept that others would get, not me. I never thought I would find someone who would love me, how you do, how you make me feel when you kiss me, and how I feel when I hold your hand. Seungcheol, I feel safe with you, and that’s something I never associated with love. Love was always so unrealistic to me,” you rambled and paused to look at Seungcheol, who smiled fondly at you.

“That’s why I asked if you were real, or something I made up because I was so desperate to feel loved and to be loved,” you admitted.

Seungcheol placed his hand over yours. “You feel safe with me?” He asked.

“The safest. I feel like I’m floating. When I’m with you, I feel like you’ve taken me to a place so high, where there is nothing but love and safety,” you babbled, letting your feelings pour out and making Seungcheol smile widely at you.

“Fuck, then, this is not a good time to say this is it?” Seungcheol said, and for a second, you felt like you had come down from the proverbial cloud you were floating on.

“Uh, say, what?” You fumbled, and Seungcheol grinned at you before leaning over to kiss your lips softly.

“To say that I love you,” Seungcheol admitted, making your eyes widen.

“To be honest, I’ve been meaning to say it for a while now.I just didn’t know if it was the right time or too soon, and I didn’t want to scare you off or anything, but hearing what you said made me realise that I too have nothing to fear when I’m with you,” Seungcheol confessed, making you? at his words as you moved to crawl into his lap.

“You love me?” You asked.

“I love you,” Seungcheol repeated, and you beamed at him.

“I love you more.”

Four Months Later: The First Crack in the Glass

“How was work?” You asked Seungcheol one evening, and he groaned as he flopped into your bed, wrapped his arms around your waist, and cuddled you, making you smile. Your boyfriend might have been a big shot and a fancy literature professor, but he was a giant teddy bear behind closed doors, and in moments like this, you were reminded of it.

“You want to know?” Seungcheol asked as he sat up and stood up to take off his shirt and pull off his work clothes to change into a more comfortable pair of sweats.

“I was teaching the kids about Sylvia Plath,” Seungcheol said slowly.

“Oh, shit, I’ve heard of her,” you said absentmindedly, and Seungcheol let out a soft hum.

“She’s one of the greatest writers, and you’ve only heard of her?” Seungcheol asked. There was a hint of condescension in his voice, and you couldn’t help but feel like there was a hint of judgment from him.

“Cheol, tell me about her work,” you said, trying to push down the funny feeling his words left you with.

“I mean, what can I say? You smiled, watching him, listening intently as he fell into a soliloquy about Sylvia Plath’s writing. “The woman was troubled. Like any great artist, she used her pain to create beauty. She turned her darkest thoughts into the most beautiful words,” Seungcheol explains.

“Who’s your favourite poet?” Seungcheol asked suddenly, and you shrugged.

“I don’t know if I have one. Literature was something I liked, and I enjoyed everything I read. I don’t think I cared enough to love one author exclusively,” you replied, earning a grunt from Seungcheol.

“You couldn’t have liked it enough if you can’t even tell me a favourite author. What about a poem or novel?” Seungcheol pressed, and you glared at him.

“You sound like an arrogant prick,” you mumbled, and Seungcheol laughed and held up his hands in defeat.

“Okay, I apologise,” Seungcheol said, but the smile on his face made you realise that he didn’t mean it.

“I loved the play A Doll’s House,” you said, and Seungcheol’s eyes widened.

“You’re familiar with Ibsen?” He asked, unable to mask the surprise in his voice.

“Just because I’m not some fancy fucking professor doesn’t make me stupid,” you said, inching away from him, and Seungcheol let out a soft sigh.

“What did you love the most about the play?” Seungcheol asked.

“I guess, like Nora, I too feel like I always need to be a certain way and that people have an expectation of what and how I should be,” you admitted, looking down at your blanket, and you felt Seungcheol pull you into his arms.

“I hope that’s not because of my thoughtless remarks?” Seungcheol asked, cupping your face with his large hands, and you shook your head.

“No, but I guess just life. I just see so many people my age settling down, with a family and kids, and everything, and they have a steady job, and just everything,” you mumbled, and Seungcheol nodded, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“So? That’s their journey, not yours, my love. You will have all those things when it’s right. You don’t need to rush it,” Seungcheol said, and you smiled at him.

“That’s one of my biggest insecurities, and I don’t think I’ve ever voiced it, not even to Mia,” you confessed.

“I appreciate that you trust me with it and know that it’s a feeling that I’ll keep safe with me,” Seungcheol promised his words making you melt.

“You’re my safety net?” You asked, and Seungcheol nodded.

“Yep,” Seungcheol responded.

“Oh, babe, my friends wanted to meet you, so I asked them over to dinner at mine, join me? I want to introduce them to the woman, who, I quote, ‘makes me less of a miserable bastard’,” Seungcheol explained.

“I’d love to,” you replied.“Wait, miserable bastard?” You asked, unable to fight the slight grin on your face.

“When Yoona and I ended things, I was a miserable bastard,” Seungcheol explained.

“Um, not to rehash shitty memories…” you started to say, and Seungcheol’s soft smile turned into a harsh glare as he spoke.

“Then don’t. I’m not interested in talking about her, and it’s none of your business,” Seungcheol snapped, and you nodded, feeling embarrassed for even bringing it up or attempting to.

“There are some things in life we keep to ourselves, right? For all our lives, a secret we take to our grave, Yoona, is that for me,” Seungcheol explained, and you sighed in acceptance, wondering how awful that relationship could have been for him to be still so resentful.

“I get it. You’ll never hear her name from me again,” you vowed.

“Thank you,” Seungcheol breathed out.

“Fuck, does this dress look okay?” You asked, waltzing out of Seungcheol’s bathroom in a black cocktail dress. Seungcheol barely looked up as he placed the wine glasses on the dinner table.

“Cheol,” you huffed, and he looked up at you.

“My friends will like you; they don’t care about what you wear,” Seungcheol said, and you walked over to the dining table with a sigh

“I get that, but still,” you trailed off, and Seungcheol shrugged.

You were about to respond when the doorbell rang. “Cool, they’re here. Just be yourself. They’ll like you,” Seungcheol affirmed, and you sighed, nodding, as you watched him open the door for his guests.

“Jeonghan, Chan, Mingyu, and Joshua, this my love, Y/N,” Seungcheol introduced you proudly, waving towards you as the four men walked into the house.You smiled and waved at them awkwardly.

“Why don’t we get a few drinks, and then we can all get acquainted?” Seungcheol offered, and the rest agreed with nods and hums.

“So, what do you do?” Jeonghan asked.

“Well, I’m a web designer, so I do a lot of freelance work,” you explained, and Jeonghan nodded, smiling. “That’s incredibly impressive,” Jeonghan complimented.

“What do you do?” You asked, and Jeonghan took a sip of his wine before answering.

“I also work with your boyfriend, except I teach law,” Jeonghan replied, and you nodded.

You were about to reply when you were suddenly interrupted by Seungcheol. “Oh, Jeonghan, don’t bore her; she’s not into the academia,” Seungcheol said. You knew he meant no harm by it, but it made you feel like an idiot.

Did your boyfriend think you weren’t smart enough to converse with someone other than him?

“Well, everyone likes criminal law, murders, and stuff,” Jeonghan joked, attempting to ease the tension, as he noticed how your face fell with Seungcheol’s comment.

“I know, I love watching crime documentaries,” you added. “Same. What would you say are your favourites? Forensic files?” Jeonghan asked.

“Y/N, you know that watching a documentary on crime, especially an extremely overproduced TV show, does not mean you understand the details of the law. You watch crime shows because you find it cool, but Jeonghan teaches the law. He respects and appreciates it immensely,” Seungcheol added, and you baulked at his words.

“Ignore him, Y/N, this pompous literature professor thinks that if you don’t like Sylvia Plath, you’re a disgrace as a reader. Seungcheol can’t understand that while her work is untouchable, it’s too much, and that’s not a mark of one’s intelligence. Rather what they like,” Jeonghan said. His last words were directed to Seungcheol and were emphasised with a particularly intense glare at him.

“Cheol, why don’t you look after the kids? Yeah, I think Joshua said something about replacing all your vintage books with decoys,” Jeonghan offered, and you were thankful for his comment as Seungcheol stalked off to the kitchen.

Jeonghan looked at you sympathetically before motioning for another man to join you in the conversation. He looked younger, and he had a bright smile.

“This is Chan. He’s the baby of the group,” Jeonghan said, and you couldn’t help but think that his words were a dig at you, but you saw no malice in his voice. He just wanted you to meet another face.

You started a conversation with Jeonghan and Chan; this time, it was just about lighthearted topics. Thankfully, Seungcheol didn’t interrupt with a patronising comment.

“Dinner’s set!” Seungcheol announced, and you sighed. You finally felt better about what happened between you two earlier, but you decided to swallow your pride and join him at the dining table.

“No way you did all this, Cheol,” A man you vaguely remember called Mingyu mumbled, and Seungcheol laughed.

“True, my love here..” Seungcheol said as he moved closer to you and wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you in to kiss your cheek softly.

“She helped. I would have burnt the bloody house down,” Seungcheol said.You took a deep breath before nodding in agreement.

You decided you’d chalk up Seungcheol’s initial crappy behaviour to him just being nervous, and maybe he just wanted to save you from a boring conversation but just had a terrible way of executing his plan.

You’d let it go and try to enjoy the rest of the night.

Except, that didn’t go to plan. Several minutes into the conversation, Seungcheol’s grip on your hand loosened, and by the time dessert was placed, Seungcheol had his chair tilted so that his back was facing you and no longer looking at you or engaging you in the conversation.

You felt awkward. Everyone in the room knew each other except you. You were the odd one out, and your boyfriend seemed completely fine ignoring you, too. You didn’t want him to coddle you, but you didn’t expect him to turn his back on you.

You placed your hand on Seungcheol’s back once to get his attention, but he merely shrugged it off, and you felt tears threatening to spill, so you politely and wordlessly excused yourself, not that anyone noticed.

You excused yourself to Seungcheol’s study, where you found yourself a bottle of wine, and decided to sip that and stayed all night and didn’t emerge until after dinner and his friends left.

“Hey, I thought I’d find you here. Why didn’t you join us for dinner? I told them you came down with a headache, but I got to say you didn’t make me look good, doing that,” Seungcheol explained as he walked into his study, and you rolled your eyes at him as you took another sip of your wine.

“I just wanted to introduce you to my friends, and you just decided you couldn’t be bothered?” Seungcheol scolds, and you scoff.

“Why are you so pissed off?” Seungcheol asked as he sat across you, and you stood up and walked over to the window.

“I’m not pissed off. Who said I was pissed off?” You said sarcastically, and Seungcheol sighed.

“You’re acting pissed off,” Seungcheol added. You sighed before speaking.

“You acted like I was a fucking dumbass; what the hell was the comment you gave to Jeonghan? That I’m not into academia, or that I can't understand the law because I watch a Netflix show about crime? You made me look like a fucking moron,” you spat.

“Look, whenever I try to show you anything about my work, you get bored, and you either fall asleep or can’t keep up. I was trying to save you that with Jeonghan,” Seungcheol replied, and you stared at him in shock.

“I don’t fall asleep because I’m not interested. I fall asleep because you talk to me like a student. You lecture me; if you spoke to me about your work the way you do with your friends, with that same enthusiasm, then maybe I’d pay more attention, but you fucking don’t!” You shot back, making Seungcheol sigh.

“So, what was I meant to do? Let you try and have a conversation with Jeonghan about the law, something you know nothing about?” Seungcheol asked, and you nearly slapped the smug look off his face.

“Fuck you. You don’t need to have a master’s degree or prior knowledge about a subject to be interested in it and for fucks sake. I just wanted to get to know your friends, but whenever I tried, you intercepted the conversation with a comment that just made me sound like a fucking child,” you yelled at him, and Seungcheol groaned.

“This was meant to be a good night, and you’re making it all about you,” Seungcheol mumbled.

“Me? How? You barely acknowledged me, you turned your fucking chair around and didn’t look at me during dinner. You barely tried to include me. Your friends, they’re all older than me, and you made no fucking effort to include me,” you yelled at Seungcheol.

“You have a mouth. You could speak up. No one would stop you,” Seungcheol offered, earning a glare from you.

“Why would I fucking do that? Whenever I contribute anything, you show up to either call me an idiot, or when I do try to get your attention actively, you fucking shrug me off. Do you know how that feels?” You asked, your voice trembling.

“Fuck don’t cry. That’s not fucking fair. I don’t even remember the fact I shrugged you off. You can’t attack me for something I don’t even know about,” Seungcheol retaliated.

“Fuck can you just acknowledge that you fucked up a little bit? You’re making me feel so fucking stupid,” you choked out, and Seungcheol shrugged.

“I don’t think I’m making you feel that way. I think you’re making yourself feel that way,” Seungcheol offered, and you glared at him.

“Fine, then, if I’m so fucking stupid. Then, I should just let you be. I’m going home. I don’t want you to feel even more stupid with me around,” you snarled, slamming your wine glass down hard enough to startle Seungcheol but not hard enough to break the glass.

You stormed out of the room as Seungcheol helplessly followed after you. “Wait, Y/N, fucking wait. It’s late, please just stay until the morning, and I’ll drop you off; I can’t drive you home yet, I’ve had too much to drink for it to be safe,” Seungcheol argued, and you scowled at him.

“I don’t fucking need this. I can take a cab,” you said, grabbing your phone, and Seungcheol shook his head at you.

“Not a fucking chance, not so late, please; just let me sober up, and I’ll drive you back?” Seungcheol pleaded, and you gave in.

“I’m going to clean up,” you said, shoving past him and heading into the kitchen as you started to clean up the mess.

“Let me help,” Seungcheol offered, and you ignored him. “Babe, please, I’m fucking sorry, just let me help you?” Seungcheol asked again, and you failed to notice how close he was standing next to you. You bumped into him, managing to drench yourself in red wine.

“Fuck,” you hissed out as the tears threatened to spill over.

“Go, take a shower, I’ll clean up,” Seungcheol said, taking the glasses out of your hands, and you nodded as you silently walked back to the bedroom and stripped, putting your black dress in the laundry hamper and stepping into the shower.

You felt the tears stream down your face. As you washed up, you started to rationalise the fight in your mind. Maybe you had overreacted, or maybe Seungcheol just got caught up in the moment, hell you’ve been guilty of that yourself when you meet your friends, so why should you hold him to a different standard?

You stepped out of the shower, wrapped yourself in one of Seungcheol’s fluffy white towels, and headed out of the bathroom to find Seungcheol sitting looking forlorn on the edge of the bed.

“I’m fucking sorry,” Seungcheol mumbled, and you sighed as you leant against the wall.

“I may have overreacted a bit. I just wanted to feel loved, but I get it, time and place,” you said.

“I do love you, and tonight I acted like a fucking ass. I just wanted to impress my friends, and I did it at your expense. Can you forgive me?” Seungcheol asked.

“I can,” you said, holding out your hand to him, which he took and walked over until he was towering over you.

“How can I make it up to you?” Seungcheol asked as he placed a soft kiss on your lips, which you gladly reciprocated.

“Well,” you started to say as you undid the towel, letting it drop to the floor, and Seungcheol smiled at you.

“You want to make it up to me, Cheol?” Seungcheol nodded furiously. You reached down and placed your hand gently on the top of his head and moved his head so his face was at your cunt.

“Show me how sorry you are,” you said, guiding his head into your pussy. Seungcheol gently pushed your back into the wall. He lifted your leg and wrapped it around his shoulder. He started by placing soft kisses, gently kissing your cunt. He ran his tongue over your folds, moaning as he tasted your arousal.

“So sweet,” Seungcheol praised and dove back in with more desperation. He moved his tongue to your clit, and flicked his tongue against it. You moaned in approval, and he continued his movements.

He suddenly pulled his mouth away from your core, lifted you, and walked over to your bed. He laid you down gently, and his mouth found your cunt again. Seungcheol positioned himself on his knees at the edge of the bed, his tongue now reaching your entrance. He pushed his tongue inside you, and you mewled at the feeling. He shoved his tongue further into your cunt, and his hand reached your clit.

He rubbed at the swollen nub, and you soon found yourself cumming on his tongue. Your hips bucked against his face as you rode out your orgasm. As soon as you got down from your high, Seungcheol shoved two fingers into your pussy making you squeal at the oversensitivity.

He pushed his fingers deep inside of you until he reached a rough patch of skin, and you squealed. He smirked, and he started moving his wrist up and down, making his fingers repeatedly hit the spot inside you. It had you seeing stars.

Your second orgasm hit you harder as you felt yourself squirt for him. You were clawing at the bedsheet for support; the way he made your body feel was incredible. He latched his full lips around your swollen clit as he furiously pumped his fingers inside you, and a few short licks and you fell apart again.

You whimpered into the bedsheet, which was now soaking wet, and you reached your hands out for him. He smirked, and he pushed you back further onto the bed as he stripped himself. Seungcheol then climbed over and on top of you. He grabbed your legs and wrapped them around his waist. His hard cock was resting against your aching cunt. Just seeing his length made you delirious.

He was so thick the first time you had sex with him, you couldn’t even comprehend his thickness. He made you feel so full and had indeed ruined you for other men. His length was perfect, it was able to go deep inside you, and the thickness another word allowed you to feel so good. He filled you up. You bucked your hips against him, rubbing your wet folds against his cock, and he hissed at that. He pushed himself into you, and you moaned at the stretch.

His hands moved to unwrap your legs and positioned them around his neck. The new position allowed him to go deeper, and he pushed deep into your cunt. His thrusts were paced perfectly. Slow enough to make you feel every inch of his cock, and fast enough to make you moan.

“Harder, Cheol,” you whimpered, and Seungcheol smirked. He pulled out of you and flipped you over onto your hands and knees. He realigned himself and pushed into you.

You and Seungcheol always played rough and pushed each other beyond your limits. Your pussy was making obscene noises as you had cummed so hard. He picked up his pace, knowing he would not last much longer, and his grip went to your throat. You somehow found the ability to tap his hand, letting him know to choke you harder. You liked it, and so did he.

His grip around you tightened. He pushed into you, and you fell apart again. This time, you screamed into the pillow, and Seungcheol released not too long after you. He flipped you back over, laying you down on your back. He moved down again to your pussy, and licked and sucked. He moaned, tasting your release and his.

He always did this; he wanted to lick your pussy after cumming inside you. You didn’t complain. A few more licks and one final suck to your entrance, and you came once again. He placed the last kiss on your cunt and pulled you into his arms.

“I’m still so fucking sorry,” Seungcheol apologised, and you rolled over to place your head on his chest.

“It’s okay, just don’t do it again?” You said, and Seungcheol nodded, pulling you into a soft kiss as he held you until you fell asleep in his arms. The feeling of safety was still there, but why did it feel like there was a slight tear in the safety net that was your love?

You shook it off, thinking it was expected. Couples fought.

You two would be fine.

“Morning gorgeous,” Seungcheol mumbled the following day as he wrapped his arms around your waist while you made tea.

“Hi,” you replied, turning around to face him as he pulled you into a soft kiss.

“I want to talk to you about something,” Seungcheol said, and you looked at him nervously.

“Chill, it’s not a bad thing. Well it is, but it doesn’t affect us,” Seungcheol explained as he guided you into the living room and onto the sofa.

“Yoona, she was my first love, my first everything. Well, not everything, but she sure felt like it. I thought she and I would be together for the rest of our lives. I proposed, and she said yes, and somewhere along the road, everything went wrong. I found out she cheated several times while we were engaged,” Seungcheol explained as you held your breath.

“So, whenever she is mentioned, I get agitated because she ruined me and made me cynical until I met you. You make me happy, happier than I’ve been in a very long time,” Seungcheol explained, and you sighed, feeling terrible for him.

“I want to continue making you happy for a long time, Seungcheol. I won’t ever hurt you like her,” you promised, making him smile at you.

“I love you, and I’m sorry for last night. Look, there’s a cocktail party at the university next Friday evening. I’d like you there and want to show you off to everyone. I want to show off my girl,” Seungcheol said proudly.

“I’d like that,” you said, placing your lips on his plush ones.

You, too, would be fine. It was a slip-up, not a crack in the safety net—just a slip.

“Good god, I was starting to think that Seungcheol had kidnapped you or something,” Mia joked, making you laugh nervously as she entered your apartment and hugged you tightly.

“Why would you think that?” You asked, genuinely concerned about why your best friend had such a vivid imagination.

“Well, you’ve only spoken to me a few times within the four months that you and Seungcheol have been dating, and I say this with as much honesty as I can. Don’t become one of those girls that ditches all her friends once she finds a guy,” Mia joked, but you knew there was some weight to her words.

“Mia, that was in university, and it happened once. I’m not the same person anymore,” you defended, and Mia nodded.

“So why did you want me to come over, girls’ night, or trouble in paradise?” Mia asked, and how you chewed your bottom lip nervously was enough of a tell for Mia to sigh and understand.

“Why don’t you sit? I’ll grab the wine, and I’ll explain everything,” you explained another word, and Mia nodded as she kicked off her shoes and got comfortable on your couch.

You handed her a glass of cabernet and held another glass for yourself as you sat down on the sofa and started telling her about every detail for the last four months. It was going well until you finished recalling the details of last night’s fight.

“Wait, he did fucking what, and you fucking forgave him? Why because he made you cum?” Mia accused, and you cringed. You had just finished recounting the entire story of the dinner with Seungcheol.

“He made a mistake,” you mumbled, and Mia scoffed. “A mistake is forgetting to order dessert, not ignoring your girlfriend, or treating her like she’s a bumbling idiot!” Mia fired back, making you sink into your seat.

“Sorry, you need to talk to him about this. Sex is not an apology, and why did you forgive him? Did he just gaslight you into forgiving him? Is that what happened? Did he say that you’re being crazy or shit like that?” Mia interrogated, and you kept shrinking in your seat.

“Mia, shut up. Stop using such extreme words for him,” you whimpered. You didn’t like how loud her voice had gotten, and she sighed.

“He used sex as an apology. Y/N, do you not know how big of a red flag that is? And the fact that you gave in makes it even worse because you’ve now set the precedent that he can pull this sort of shit with you, and you’ll forgive him if he makes you cum hard enough!” Mia rattled off, and you wanted to smack her if it meant shutting her up. Instead of being rational, you decided to defend your boyfriend, even if it meant doing it at the expense of hurting your best friend.

“Mia fuck you. You were in a relationship with, what was that guy’s name, you remember, the one who cheated on you for four months straight, and you kept taking him back. You’re going to lecture me about being spineless in my relationship when you let a guy walk all over you for four months straight because you were so fucking desperate!” You snarled and regretted the minute the words left your lips because you saw how hurt overtook Mia’s face and how her lower lips trembled.

“I haven’t seen this side of you in a while. You were like this in university, where once you fell for a guy, you became blind to his every flaw and then lashed out at anyone who tried to tell you otherwise. You know what, Y/N, you know where I live. Find me when you decide to take off your rose-coloured glasses. I can’t bear the sight of you right now,” Mia said, placing the wine glass down on your coffee table and storming out of your house.

You felt awful, but Mia was wrong to assume that Seungcheol would use sex as an apology instead of actually apologising instead. You shook your head and sighed, finishing your glass of wine. You would reach out to Mia eventually.

“Fucking hell, you look beautiful, my love. I might just be the luckiest man alive,” Seungcheol praised as you stepped out of your bedroom.

You wore a red evening gown that exposed enough of your chest to be enticing but also respectable for a formal event at a university. You topped off your look with makeup that brought out your best features and slipped on red strappy heels.

“Shall we?” Seungcheol asked.You looked up at him. He was wearing a black suit, and you honestly wanted to skip the university party and have him take you right here. Now, as if he could read your thoughts, Seungcheol laughed.

“Don’t worry, you can rip this suit off me after tonight,” Seungcheol said, making you laugh too as you took his hand and headed to the party.

“Y/N! So lovely to see you again,” Jeonghan greeted when you and Seungcheol entered the venue.

“What about me?” Seungcheol joked childishly, making Jeonghan roll his eyes.

“Needy, isn’t he?” Jeonghan teased, and you laughed.

“But you love me,” Seungcheol said, and you smiled

“I do,” you said, making him smile backbefore he looked up, and he suddenly froze as his eyes fixated on a figure across the room.

“Cheol?” You asked, noticing how Jeonghan also looked tense as both men intently stared at the figure, now making her way across the room to greet them.

“Jeonghan, my favourite law professor, you know my students miss you dearly!” The lady joked.

“Yoona,” Jeonghan acknowledged, and you, like Seungcheol, felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room.

This was Yoona?

This was the woman that broke Seungcheol’s heart? This woman, who Seungcheol failed to explain, worked alongside him. She was a colleague of his. He saw her every day at work, and nowhere during the four months did he think to mention that he still worked alongside his ex-fiancé.

You also felt Seungcheol let go of your hand, and you could have sworn he inched away from you.

“Seungcheol, it’s so lovely to see you, and who might this be?” Yoona asked as her gaze turned to you, making you gulp and then pale in horror as Seungcheol could not answer for a second.

“She’s a friend,” Seungcheol mumbled, and you saw Jeonghan shake his head slightly, and you sighed at him, holding your hand to out to Yoona

“Pleasure to meet you. How do you know Seungcheol?” You asked, feigning innocence, and you heard Seungcheol fail to bite back a hiss.

“I’m a colleague of his, and oh, I guess we have some history, actually pun intended on that.I teach art history here. Are you a prospective student?” Yoona asked, and you stared at her and looked back to see Seungcheol ’s poker face staring back at you.

“No, I’m not a student. I’m amazed that you’d think that,” you replied, unable to keep the slight bite use a different word your tone had to it.

“Well, what do you?” Yoona asked, and you were about to answer when Yoona beat you to the punch.

“Well, you must be a fellow academic. Our Cheol here has a type,” Yoona said as she shot you a wink and waltzed away from the conversation, leaving you a mess and Seungcheol angry.

“Okay, I’m going to leave you two to it,” Jeonghan said as he rushed off too. You started to feel the room close in on you and you just wanted to leave.

“Would you excuse me? I need to make a phone call,” you said hastily as you ripped your arm out of Seungcheol’s hold and nearly ran out of the ballroom and outside to a quieter area of the venue until you found a secluded bench to sit on as you gathered your thoughts.

“I thought I’d find you here,” you turned around to see Seungcheol standing, staring at you withhis hands in his pockets and looking at you with an emotion you couldn’t decipher. Was it guilt or annoyance?

“That’s Yoona?” You asked, and Seungcheol simply stared at you.

“The Yoona?” You repeated, and Seungcheol sighed, nodding as he walked over to stand across from you. You could not look at him.

“What?” Seungcheol asked, and you let out a dry laugh at his ability to be so damn obtuse.

“This is the woman who broke your fucking heart. You work alongside her, and you never once thought to, oh, I don’t know, mention that she is not only your ex but your fucking colleague?” You snarled another word, and Seungcheol sighed.

“Grow up, adultshave to- what?” Seungcheol paused mid-speech when he saw you glaring at him.

“Do not fucking patronise me. This is not an age issue. Your ex,who at the mention of her name, you become a frigid bastard.You failed to mention that you work with her!” You repeated, raising your voice.

“What do you fucking expect me to do to? Run away? We met here, fuck, I’m a grown man. I can’t run from my problems!” Seungcheol shouted back, and you sighed.

“You don’t get it do you?” You choked out.

“No, because you’re acting like a fucking child, and I am not one. I need to deal with every situation, no matter how unpleasant it is!” Seungcheol spat.

“Fuck, shut the fuck up about being more mature because you’re not, not even for a fucking second. How the fuck do you expect to have a future with me when your past is there in front of your eyes every fucking day, and the worst part is that you never told me. You act as if I gave you this new lease on love, but now I don’t know if that’s something you can sustain because the woman who broke your heart is your colleague. What if one day she wants to try again? How do I know that I know that you won’t go running?” You rambled, letting a tear slide down your face.

“You’re being selfish and so fucking unfair,” Seungcheol retorted.“Do you not think so?” Seungcheol asked rhetorically

.“Fucking hell, I told you she cheated on me while I was fucking engaged. Do you think I have no dignity or some shit that I’d go back running to the woman who ruined me?” Seungcheol yelled, and you shrank into yourself.

“Can you just do what I do, and fucking grow up and realise that in life you need to put up with people who you may not what anything to do with, but that’s what being an adult is like?” Seungcheol continued to yell, each word piercing your heart.

“Oh, then again, what would you fucking know about being an adult? You are a 25-year-old with no fucking direction in life. You have no stable job or anything stable. In contrast, all your friends are either settling down, and you fuck, you sit at home with no motivation to go out and find yourself some work,” Seungcheol yelled, using your biggest insecurity against you.

“You have no fucking stability, and you act like a fucking child, so don’t you dare lecture me on how to behave,” Seungcheol spat and then sighed deeply when he realised what he said.

“Y/N-,” Seungcheol started to say, and you held your hand up to him.

“No, fuck don’t, Cheol, don’t you fucking dare. You used my biggest insecurity against me. Who the fuck does that, huh?” You asked, and Seungcheol sighed, looking down.

“As for stability, you’re right. I don’t have a ton, but if there was something that I thought gave me some semblance of stability, I thought it’d be you.I thought that at least it would you, but you aren’t my safety net anymore, are you?” You yelled, and Seungcheol looked down in shame.

“I’m sorry. I told you seeing her makes me turn into something else!” Seungcheol weakly defended, and you glared at him.

“No. Fuck you, you don’t get to do this. What about being an adult, huh? Being an adult means not getting set off by every situation that doesn’t favour you. Instead, it’s about finding ways to cope. It’s about setting boundaries, so your past doesn’t hurt you and hurt the people in your present,” you choked out the last word as Seungcheol took a step forward towards you.

“Y/N,” Seungcheol started to say, and you ignored him.

“Just fucking go back to your party. I’m going home. I’ll text you, but please leave me alone for tonight,” you said, pushing past Seungcheol.

“Please let me know when you get home,” Seungcheol said weakly, and you rolled your eyes at him.

“I said I would, didn’t I? Now, fucking move,” you spat, storming out of the garden and out of the venue as you waited for your Uber to arrive.

You had barely gotten home that night when you heard someone pounding on your front door. You groaned, knowing it was Seungcheol. You glared at the front door, hoping that if you ignored the incessant pounding, then he’d get the hint and he’d just leave, but Seungcheol was relentless. You knew that.

You sighed, walking to the front door and opening it to reveal your teary-eyed boyfriend.

“Baby, can I please explain?” Seungcheol asked, and you ignored him as you let him into your house, and he closed the front door behind him.

You started walking back into the house, Seungcheol trailing behind you. Once you were inside, you turned to him, and before you could say anything. Seungcheol dropped to his knees, hugging your waist, begging for forgiveness. You ran your hands through his hair.

“Cheol, it’s okay.”

Seungcheol carried you to the shower, where he helped you shower and clean. He helped you dry up and pulled you into his arms once you were both curled up on the bed.

Seungcheol ’s fingers were gently ghosting your cunt. You felt him turn you to face him; he captured your lips in his full ones. His hand finding your core, rubbing your clit, he did this till you fell apart. He repeated that almost four times until he pushed himself inside you till he came.

You couldn’t sleep that night. Only one question plagued your mind.

Since when did sex make up for an apology?

You woke up the following day sore and worn out. Not just from the fight last night that left you out and alone in the cold but also from Seungcheol fucking you into the mattress. You heard faint snores from him, and you took it as an opportunity to get some alone time. You wondered, did he think sex would make up for what had happened?

After showering and cleaning yourself up, you headed to the kitchen to make breakfast, subconsciously making breakfast for two. You were stirring the noodles waiting for the water to boil, when you felt two strong arms wrap around your waist. You felt Seungcheol place kisses along your neck, and you melted into his embrace for a second until the events of last night came back to you.

“Cheol, can you set the table up? I’ll get breakfast ready.” You said and you felt Seungcheol press a kiss to your cheek before running off to set the dining table. Once you made your way over with the contents of breakfast, you sat down and started to eat.

“Baby?” Seungcheol’s voice broke the silence, and you looked up to see him staring at you. His eyes were red, brimming with tears. You felt your heart clench.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry about last night,” Seungcheol started to apologise again; his voice was breaking as he tried to contain himself.

“Which part, Seungcheol? The part where you failed to introduce me as your girlfriend, or the part where you threw my insecurities against me, or the part where you told me to grow the fuck up?” You fumed.

“All of it, all of it,” Seungcheol said, standing up to kneel in front of you. “I fucked up so much, but,” Seungcheol started to say, and you interrupted him.

“If you think that fucking me last night made it better, it didn’t because now I’m wondering if you think sex is the solution to all our problems,” you said.

“Never, I just, I’m shit with words at times, and I knew that at least my actions could prove my love to you. It’s a shit thing to do, but I didn’t do it to distract you from last night,” Seungcheol replied.

“I want to talk about everything, but I want a breakdown of everything. First, why did you pull away from me when you saw Yoona? Were you embarrassed?” you asked, your voice breaking, and Seungcheol shook his head.

“Of course not,” Seungcheol replied swiftly, and you glared at him.

“Because all I do wonder if when you call what we have love, you never call it what it is,” you admitted, and Seungcheol sighed as he stood up.

“Come on, let’s talk on the couch,” Seungcheol offered, and you stood up, taking Seungcheol ’s hand as you walked over to your couch.

“I tell you, I love you,” Seungcheol said, and you nodded.

“You do tell me that you love me, but the way you do it is like it’s a secret,” you mumbled, feeling a tear roll down your cheek.

“I get that I’m younger, and I’m not some fancy professor with a huge savings account, but the way you act at times, you act like you are ashamed of me. Fuck, for Yoona to say that you deviated from your type to date me. What does that mean? Am I some charity case, where you’ll date a non-academic girl, and then later I’ll be a notch in your belt, a funny story to tell over Christmas, with your real wife, and everything?” You babbled as you broke into a sob, and you felt Seungcheol pull you into his arm as he hugged you tightly.

“You think about a future with me?” Seungcheol asked, and you scoffed.

“Is that all you took from everything I just said?” You asked.

“No, but it gave me hope. Look, Yoona brings out the worst in me, and you were right last night to tell me that as adults, we can let that jar us or act out because that’s life, right? Meeting people and getting to know people you may not like is life, but Yoona, at one point, was my life. She was my future until she ruined it. Every time I see her, I lash out because I’m brought back to the headspace that I was in when she cheated,” Seungcheol explained, pausing to take a breath.

“She reminds me of every insecurity I had, she takes me back to a very dark headspace, and instead of working my way out of that, I lash out because fuck, I’m scared that it’ll happen again,” Seungcheol admitted looking down.

“You think I’d cheat on you?” You asked.

“No, but you’re young, gorgeous, and still have so much ahead of you. I woudn’t blame you if you found someone your age,” Seungcheol mumbled, making you scoff again.

“I’m with you, aren’t I? Unless this is your plan? Pushing me so far that I no longer want to be with you? Is that what you’re trying to do?” You asked, and Seungcheol shook his head immediately.

“Then why the fuck is this constantly an issue?” You snapped, and Seungcheol winced slightly at your tone.

“I guess when I first started dating you, you were so different and, in a good way, a fresh breath of air, but everyone around me started joking that maybe you know it was just a fling because we are so opposite at times. However, as the months with you progressed, I know that’s not it.I know I love you, and I’m so fucking sorry that for so long I made you feel otherwise,”

Seungcheol paused to take a breath. “I love you, and I am serious about this. I want to make this work, I do,” Seungcheol admitted another word.

“Then stop lashing out at me and talk to me. Stop running away from me, run to me instead,” you said softly, and Seungcheol smiled at you.

“I didn’t mean what I said about you having no stability. It was so fucking shitty of me to use your insecurity against you. I just, fuck, there’s no excuse, I’m just fucking sorry,” Seungcheol apologised, his head hanging low.

“Yeah, that stung. Look, how about we take a week, cool off, and I guess catch up in a week?” You offered, and Seungcheol agreed.

“How’s this, I’ll plan a getaway for us, and I’ll cook us food too!” Seungcheol suggested, and you laughed.

“I’ll follow a recipe to a tee and have Mingyu monitor me?” Seungcheol proposed making you grin at him.

“Fine, but if I get sick from your food,” you started to say, and Seungcheol laughed.

“Then I’ll kiss it all better for you,” Seungcheol said lamely.

“I’ll see you in a week, my love, and remind you why you fell in love with me,” Seungcheol promised as he placed a soft kiss on your lips, and you smiled as you watched him walk away.

You let out a breath you didn’t realise that you were holding when he walked away. You nodded to yourself. You and Seungcheol would be fine, this was a slight tear in the safety net, but you two would be fine, you convinced yourself, for it was only a tiny tear.

“Hey,” you mumbled, embarrassed, as Mia opened her front door the following evening.

“What, have you come here to tell me I deserve no love or something?” Mia spat, and you felt like you had been slapped, and looked down in shame. You deserved that much.

“Mia, I fucked up. Can we talk, though?” You asked, holding the box of doughnuts in your hand, and she sighed, nodding as she let you in.

“So, what, I’m assuming the Mr. Perfectly Wrong fucked up again?” Mia mocked, and you sighed as you kicked off your shoes and sat on her couch.

“He was engaged in the past, and she was like his dream girl,” you said, unable to stop the way your voice trembled at recalling Yoona and realising how she was the opposite of you. She was dignified, elegant, older, wiser, or whatever other negative thought you tortured yourself with.

“She still works with him. They both teach at the university; he never told me, Mia. I had to find out because I met her at a university event,” you mumbled, unable to stop the tear that slid down your face.

Mia sighed as she sat down next to you, and you took it as a positive sign to launch into the story of the fight.

“Oh, that mother fucker!” Mia swore, and you flinched at her expression.

“Mia, he was hurt,” you mumbled, and she scoffed.

“How many excuses do you want to give this piece of shit? I get that love is blind. I fucking do. You cruelly pointed it out to me, but let me tell you something, my love, he’s blinded you. He’s no good for you. He’s condescending, judgmental, rude, and worst of all you keep forgiving him when he gives you half-assed apologies!” Mia ranted, making you look down in shame.

“Is that who you want to fucking be with?” Mia asked. “A man who keeps you like a secret, aman who acts like you’re a kid, a man who talks down to you?” You sighed.

“Maybe it’s just a bad spell. He’s not like this, ever,” you defended, and Mia groaned, rubbing her forehead.

“This man, I don’t care how good the sex is or how amazing the good moments are. The good moments aren’t enough to mask that he is inherently flawed and has a complex. A complex that he will project onto you, and you will struggle to try to meet the ideal woman in his head. Still, you’ll try all your life because that woman doesn’t exist, and not to be unkind, but it’s because that woman will never exist for him. He doesn’t know what he wants,” Mia explained, calming down as she sat down next to you.

“He said he loved me,” you mumbled weakly, and Mia nodded.

“I’m not denying that he cares for you, but his ego comes before you, Y/N. You will bend over backward for this man, and you have, but see if he even bothers to put in an ounce of that same effort that you put into this relationship,” Mia continued , and you glared at her.

“You know what? I didn’t come here to be yelled at. I get enough of that from him!” You seethed, and Mia frowned at you.

“There, right there, if you can’t even figure out what’s so fucked up about that sentence, then I don’t know what even to tell you,” Mia said.

“We’ve hit a rough spot, but we’ll be fine,” you shouted, almost as if you were convincing yourself more than Mia.

“You know what, I’ll be here when this illusion is broken,” Mia mumbled, standing up, and you took that as your cue to leave.

You stormed out of Mia’s house and drove straight to Seungcheol’s.

“Baby?” Seungcheol asked when he opened the door and saw your downcast expression.

“What’s wrong?” Seungcheol asked, and you shook your head at him.

“Can I stay here? I know we’re meant to meet at the end of the week, but I just need you,” you asked.

“Of course, my love, you know where everything is. I just have to grade one more paper. Then I’ll join you?” Seungcheol asked.

You were so worn out from the week's dramatics that you quickly showered, changed into one of Seungcheol ’s shirts, and headed to bed. You curled up in Seungcheol ’s bed. You smiled when you felt him join you later that night, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist.

Protecting you, never letting you go, he was your safe space.

You woke up the following morning to something stroking your thighs, and you opened your eyes to see Seungcheol ’s head placed between your legs. He was kissing your inner thighs, slowly making his way to your cunt.

You moaned as you spread your legs, placing them onto his shoulders. Seungcheol ’s luscious lips wrapped around your clit.

As he sucked, his pressure was perfect. He pushed in two fingers and thrust them in your cunt, as he sucked on your clit. He licked and fingered until you came around his fingers. Occasionally, he would run his tongue up and down your wet folds but always go back to your cunt.

“Morning, princess,” Seungcheol greeted as he hovered over your body and captured your lips in a sweet kiss. It felt like the first time you slept with him.

Passionate yet soft, you felt loved, and that was not something you felt in his embrace for a while.

“Morning, handsome,” you mumbled sleepily as Seungcheol pulled you on top of him. You felt his cock hard and waiting. You moved and sat up and slowly sank on his length.

“Fuck!” You let out a groan of pleasure. He felt so good inside you. You lifted your legs and started moving your hips, riding him. You felt his grip tighten on your thighs as he helped you ride him.

You wanted to see him fall apart underneath you. You trailed your hands to his fingers, and your nails grazed his nipples, making him buck into you. You moaned as his hips pushed his cock deeper inside you. You kept riding him until you felt him still and released inside you. You sighed, feeling his warmth fill up your cunt. You hadn’t cum yet, and Seungcheol knew that.

“Princess, over here,” Seungcheol motioned to your mouth, and you moved, legs shaking as you sat on his waiting tongue. Seungcheol, as always, licked you clean of his cum.

You both were still in bed in the afternoon, simply embracing and kissing each other, when Seungcheol spoke, breaking the silence.

“So, do you want to make the trip a little earlier?” Seungcheol asked, and you looked at him, smiling.

“Can you take leave on such short notice?” You asked.

“Baby, it’s reading week for the students, so yes, I don’t need to worry about them for now. I want to focus on us.”

~~A Trip Upstate~~

“Got everything?” You asked Seungcheol for the fifth time. You had to stop yourself from laughing as your boyfriend kept going back and forth between his apartment and his car, forgetting something with each trip.

“Wait, oh, for the fucking love of god. I forgot the car keys,” Seungcheol groaned as he ran back into the house, and you laughed at him some more. You were still laughing when he came back.

“Hi,” Seungcheol said sweetly as he wrapped his arms around your waist, capturing you in a warm hug.

“I like seeing you like this, happy and laughing,” Seungcheol said, making you smile at him.

“Well, you make me laugh and happy,” you admitted, placing your chin on his chest and looking up at him.

“I’ve been fucking that up a lot, but I promise you, this time I won’t fuck up. I love you, and I need to get back to showing you that it’s not an empty promise,” Seungcheol spoke, and you reached up to pull him into a soft kiss.

“I love you, and thank you,” you mumbled against his lips.

“Shall we, my love? There’s a nice cabin I want to take you to upstate, and it has our names written on it,” Seungcheol said , and you nodded as he helped you into the car.

The drive up to the cabin was filled with jokes, laughter, and a few kisses here and there. It felt normal. Like you finally got your Seungcheol back, like all the fights could be forgotten because he was back to normal here. However, that hope ended the second you and Seungcheol started fighting over how to cook a dish.

“Why are you so mean about this? I’m helping you; you don’t even know how to peel a fucking onion!” You snapped at Seungcheol, who was crushing the microwavable rice packet.

“I might not know how to peel a fucking onion, but at least I’m not a 25-something that has no fucking direction in life!” Seungcheol spat back, making you exhale deeply.

“Y/N,” Seungcheol started to say, and you glared at him.

“No, Cheol, what the fuck, what the actual fuck? You’ve been using my insecurity against me twice now, and what-do you think each time you apologise, I’ll come back crawling? Or something? I’m tired of this, and I’m,” you took a deep breath to collect yourself.

You would not let Seungcheol see you fall apart, not when he was the reason behind the tears.

“We’re done,” You stated calmly, glaring at Seungcheol, who didn’t dare follow you as you walked away,.You grabbed your overnight bag and called an Uber, heading out of the cabin.

You weren’t sure if you had properly ended the relationship between the two of you, but you were tired of constantly giving him the benefit of the doubt, and for him to only shatter it the second he felt remotely attacked.

1 Month Later: The Breaking Point

“Don’t you fucking dare,” you mumbled to Mia, who had picked you up from the floor of your house last night. You had called her on your way back home, and thankfully she didn’t ask many questions, and just tried to help you.

Since you left Seungcheol, you didn’t know where you two stood. He made no effort to contact you, so you just assumed that since you yelled. “We are done,” at him, that you were.

Seungcheol took the hint and left you, but what pained you the most was that he could never run after you.

You craved his touch, his voice. You wanted him, but his lack of effort made you think he wanted nothing to do with you. Were you just a waste of time for him?

You thought that what you two had was a masterpiece, or what was that before he tore it all apart? Or was it you? Were you the one who tore it all to pieces?

All that to say, you had held yourself together, well, or at least you could put on a happy face. You just plastered on a fake smile and went on about your day. You put your efforts into your job out of spite.

You wanted to prove to Seungcheol that you weren’t some bumbling idiot, but instead, you were a 25-year-old with things going for her. You wanted him to see you wanted him to be proud of you, but he wasn’t here to see it. Maybe he never cared.

Your breaking point was this afternoon. You had just secured a huge contract, and just as you had signed on the dotted line, you wanted to share it with Seungcheol. You froze mid-text when you realised that he wouldn’t care. He wouldn’t care if you had done something remarkable because you two were done, so why should he care?

So, you started bawling at home and shakily dialed Mia’s number, and that’s when she came to your rescue. She came to find you when you were at your lowest, and you felt guilt engulf you. You had defended Seungcheol to her, insulting her viciously, but she never batted an eyelid.

“You know most people say thank you,” Mia joked, and you sighed.

“I am thankful, trust me, more than you know. I know you want to say I told you so, so go for it,” you snapped, and Mia shook her head as she helped you sit on the couch.

“He lost the one real thing he had. That’s not on you. He never fought enough for you,” Mia explained as she pulled you into a gentle hug, which made you blubber and, thus, make you cry more.

“Nothing, nothing from him, for a fucking month, Mia! Nothing. I thought he loved me and saw a future with me and all that bullshit, but he did not fucking bother, not once, to even be like, are you okay? Nothing, he just, fuck, wait, I think my phone is ringing in the bag. Can you help me grab it?” You asked, and Mia nodded, scrunching her nose at the private number.

“I swear if it’s that fucker calling through a random ass number to get to you, he’s going to get the living lights smacked out of him,” Mia threatened as she handed your phone to you.

“Hello?” You answered.

“Hello, Miss Y/N. We have been given your number as an emergency contact. Do you know Mr. Choi Seungcheol ?”

“I’m sorry. Who are you?” You asked, your voice trembling. What happened to Seungcheol?

“Sorry, I’m Nurse Lee. I’m calling from the Seoul National Hospital. We have been given your number as an emergency, so we are calling to ask if you could come down and sign a few things for us?” You sighed in relief, but only slightly.

You got into your car, not caring if you got a fine for speeding. You reached the hospital and parked, running in your heels to the main lobby. You frantically explained that you got a call and were quickly ushered upstairs to the wards.

You heard laughing and opened the door to see your ex-boyfriend laughing with the doctor. His eyes widened as he saw, and just like that, his laughter faded. The doctor noticed your presence, and he waved you in.

“You must be Y/N. Thank you for coming here. We just need to discharge him, and we need you to sign a few forms for him.” You nodded, still confused, “I’ll be back in around thirty minutes. I’ll let you two catch up.” The doctor left the room and left you both alone.

“Cheol?” You said softly.

Seungcheol wasn’t looking at you. You walked to his bedside when you saw there was enough space. You sat down slowly and held his face in your hands. He reluctantly looked at you.

“What happened?” you asked. You let go of his face so he could talk.

“It’s not a big deal,” He said. You rolled your eyes.

“It is, especially if you’re in the hospital.” You countered.

“Don’t laugh.” He said, warning you. You nodded. “So, long story short, I may have dropped a knife on my foot.” You looked at him, perplexed.

“How?” “I was cooking, and it was going well. Then the knife slid off the counter and onto my foot. I didn’t lose a toe, just a lot of blood. So yeah, by the time I got here, I passed out from blood loss, and I guess that’s why they called you.” He blurted in one go, and you tried to stifle a laugh.

“Seriously?” He said, but you could hear the smile in his voice. His heart warmed at the sight of you smiling. It had been so long since he was the reason for your smile.

“I’m so sorry, but why were you trying to cook?” You asked.

Seungcheol ’s laugh faded, and he paused. “I noticed a lot about me that I’m not good at. Cooking is at the top. I felt as if I could attempt to conquer that maybe I can do more in life,” Seungcheol looked down at his hands covered in wires. You touched his thigh, making him look at you.

“You are good at so much,” you countered, and Seungcheol shook his head.

“Professionally, maybe, but my personality? No. Nothing great there,” Seungcheol said, resignation lacing his tone. You opened your mouth to say something, and Seungcheol spoke first. “I’m not saying this to guilt-trip you into taking me back. After you broke up with me, I started seeing someone,” your hand jerked away from his thigh, which confused Seungcheol until he saw the heartbreak on your face.

“No, Y/N. I meant seeing a professional,” Seungcheol said, laughing.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, unsure what you were apologising for.

“If you think I’m even close to being able to move on from you, you’re insane.”

“Come on, let me drive you home?” You said, Seungcheol nodded.

“I appreciate it, thank you.”

While driving, something occurred to you, and you had to ask. “Cheol, um, how come I was your emergency number? Last I remembered, you said it was Jeonghan?” Seungcheol blushed and scratched his neck.

“Uh, well, it’s embarrassing now, but I changed it three months into us dating,” his confession, making you almost drive through a red light.

“Why?”

“Ugh, I sound so stupid because we’re not together, but I guess I wanted you to know I trust you. I know my actions during our relationship were deeply contradictory to that. I also knew that you would be the one for me.”

“The one? In three months?” You asked.

Seungcheol smiled fondly at you. “Can you pull over?”

Seungcheol fished out his wallet, looked for something, and pulled out a small silver ring.

“Seungcheol, what the fuck?”

“Trust me; it’s not a proposal. I don’t think I’ll be that lucky. I just thought it was something I should get after three months. I wanted to give this to you, but then I hurt you so many times after, and each time, we tried to make it work, and I kept on fucking it up for us. It was a promise ring that I’d never hurt you again, and I guess I failed.” Seungcheol admitted, and you noticed a tear fall down his face.

“Why do you still have the promise ring?” You asked.

“Wishful thinking, I guess?” Seungcheol replied.

“I miss you,” you mumbled, and Seungcheol heard you.

“We can try again,” you offered weakly.

“No, not yet. Let me learn. Let me be a better man for you. If I can’t, then know you deserve so much more,” Seungcheol spoke, and you smiled softly at him.

You resumed driving. Upon reaching Seungcheol ’s house, you pulled up and helped him out of the car and into his apartment. You laughed when you saw the floor covered in blood. It was not a normal reaction, but the backstory was quite amusing.

“Hey, Cheol, why don’t you lie down? I’ll clean this up for you?” You said.

“No, I can manage,”

You glared at him. “Trust me,it’s safer that I do this,” You laughed as you watched him hobble to his bedroom. Thank goodness he didn’t live in a multi-story house.

After cleaning up, you found Seungcheol sitting in his bed, playing music and softly humming. You knocked on his door. Seungcheol smiled and waved you in.

“Hi.��

“Blood’s gone,” you said, and he patted the space next to you, and you sat down on the bed next to him.

“Thank you. Somehow, you’re always cleaning after my mess.”

“Seungcheol, don’t,” your voice firm.

“I cannot even begin to tell you how sorry I am. Fuck, come here,” he patted the space in front of him. You carefully moved and sat between his legs so as not to hurt his bandaged foot. Seungcheol pulled your hair to the side, kissing softly on the nape of your neck.

“Just please, don’t break me apart again because I don’t think I’ll recover anymore if you do,” you pleaded, and Seungcheol turned you around in his embrace so that you faced him.

“Never again, I promise,” Seungcheol promised. bullshit

“Okay, so where is your boyfriend?” Mia asked, venom dripping off every word, and you rolled your eyes at her.

“He probably got caught up with work. Can you fucking let it go?” You asked, and Mia shrugged.

“I’m just saying, for a man walking on thin fucking ice, he better at least bother with his girlfriend’s birthday party,” Mia stated before walking out of the room to place balloons in another part of your apartment.

You sighed, knowing she was right, but Seungcheol was busy. Maybe he’d be late, but he’d show up. You kept telling yourself this until midnight when he never showed up, but you were several drinks in and had enough liquid courage to storm over to his place, which is precisely what you did.

You hailed a cab and made the drunken journey to his.

Your conscience was warning you. You paid no attention.

Yousure as hell ignored it for long enough. You could continue to do so.

You knocked on the door, and the door opened to reveal a shirtless Seungcheol in a pair of black sweats. You had lost all sense of rationality, and at this point, you didn’t know what was right or wrong.

“Y/N?” Seungcheol asked, confused, as would anyone. He couldn’t help but take in your appearance, how your cleavage left little to the imagination, but he knew the reality was better, how your heels made your ass seem even rounder. Your face was beautiful as always, but your mascara had run slightly, and your nose was red.

“Can I come in?” You asked. He nodded quickly, letting you in and closing the door behind him.

Seungcheol slowly guided you to the sofa, and he sat down, waiting for you to sit beside him. Instead, you straddled him, your legs on either side of his hips.

“My birthday. I got a crappy, “happy birthday” text from you, and you don’t show up to my party. What the fuck is wrong with you? This is not the attitude from someone who wants another chance,” you fumed, and Seungcheol stared at you sighing. He had no excuse, none whatsoever.

“Y/N, I—” You shut Seungcheol up with a kiss. You rolled your hips against his crotch, and you could feel that underneath his sweats, he was naked. No boxers. You could partially feel his cock against your lace-covered cunt.

“Y/N, I, what’s going on, fuck,” Seungcheol stopped speaking as you started sucking his neck, gently grazing your teeth against his neck andmaking him whimper for you. You felt his cock harden fully underneath you. You pulled away from his neck for a moment.

“Cheol, at this moment, I need to forget that I’m mad at you,” you admitted, and Seungcheol sighed before nodding as his grip on your thighs tightened.

“I’m not saying no; you don’t need to apologise, and you don’t need to leave, but we need to talk when we’re done,” Seungcheol added.

“I will.”

“Good.” Cheol stood up from his position and carried you into the bedroom. And he noticed your makeup had smudged and brought you to the bathroom. He placed you on the counter, his lips immediately finding yours. Kissing you, his lips pulled and sucked on yours. You moaned, allowing him to slip his tongue inside your mouth.

Seungcheol deepened the kiss. His hands found the straps of your dress; he pushed them down. You hissed as your breasts met the cold air of the room. Seungcheol helped you out of the dress, leaving you in your soaked underwear. He groaned at the sight. His hands went to your legs, pushing the heels off your feet, his lips never leaving yours. He moved his hands to your underwear and pulled it off. He groaned when he saw how wet you were.

He pushed his sweats down and undressed; he stood erect and naked in front of you, and you took a moment to drink in his appearance. Seungcheol guided you into the shower, and you let out a moan, when you felt the warm water hit your skin. Soothing you, you felt Seungcheol turn you around and push your back against the wall. He placed kisses down your neck, his lips finding your breasts. He sucked and nibbled your nipple as his other hand massaged and squeezed and tugged the other breast. Cheol moved his body down yours as his lips found your cunt.

Seungcheol placed a soft kiss. He gently lifted a leg and wrapped it around his broad shoulders. He pushed two fingers inside of you, groaning at how wet you were, where he could practically taste your arousal. He angled his fingers inside you and started to finger you, and his lips found your core, as he ran his tongue against your folds.

He pulled your clit between his teeth, gently grazing the swollen bud. You whimpered. He replaced his teeth with his plush lips. Wrapping them around your clit and sucking as his fingers pounded into you. He kept his movements up until you came. You tightened against his fingers, and your clit throbbed in his mouth as he helped you ride out your orgasm.

Seungcheol gently unhooked your leg from his, and you sank to your knees. You pushed against his toned abs, and his back hit the shower wall. You wrapped your lips around his cock; he was thick. While your hands wrapped around the remainder of his length, you took him and started to suck him. He let out a low growl and a strangled whimper as you continued to suck him. You grazed your nails along his thighs and whimpered, bucking his length into your throat, making you gag slightly. You kept sucking until you felt him still and releasein your mouth.

You smirked as Seungcheol was panting. He pulled you two on your feet and into a sweet kiss. He cleaned the both of you up, his hands finding your face and washing the smudged mascara off your face. He guided you out of the shower and to his bed. You moaned as you felt the soft sheets against your naked body.

Seungcheol couldn’t get enough of you. His eyes drank you in. His mouth was desperate to taste you again. He approached you, lifted your legs, and placed them on his shoulder. His mouth found your cunt again. He started by placing soft kisses against your cunt, knowing where to lick you.

He wasted no time. He dove straight in, his thick tongue flicking against your swollen clit. Your hands made their way into his hair. He pushed in three fingers this time. He lapped at your arousal while you whimpered in oversensitivity. It didn’t take much after that for you to cum on his tongue.

Seungcheol rubbed his cock against your wet folds several times and then pushed in. You hissed as the stretch was quite intense after two orgasms, but he felt so good. You tugged on his hair, making him look up at you. You brushed your thigh against his hardened length, and he wasted no time.

“Move”, you whispered, and that’s all it took for Seungcheol to lift your legs and place them on his shoulders, allowing him to hit deeper inside you. His thrusts were rough, and each time, he would withdraw only to push back harder and deeper.

He leaned down and captured your lips in his. You melted into the kiss while he pounded into your cunt. You were a mumbling and moaning mess underneath him. You felt yourself clench around this length, making him groan into the kiss. He pushed a few more times until you fell apart on his cock.

He pulled out of you gently and laid down beside you.

You woke up a few hours later, not realising you had fallen asleep.

You woke up to at least thirty texts and missed calls from Mia, and you sighed, stepping out of Seungcheol’s bedroom to call her. You quickly told her what happened last night, and Mia could only relay her disappointment.

“Do you not see how far gone you are, Y/N; you’re making excuses for him. People like him don’t do this just once.”

“He was busy and couldn’t make it,” you explained, and Mia scoffed.

“Y/N, I’m telling you as someone who has been through something like this. He will leave you broken.” You scoffed, and your following words were nothing but pure venom.

“Mia, you had a relatively hot boyfriend, and he dumped your ass. So I guess you’re not too different to me since the only thing you’re good for is looking the way you do. You couldn’t keep him either..” You kept your voice stern and firm.

Mia groaned. “I won’t ever say I told you so, but when the inevitable happens, you know where to find me. I’ll listen because I know you won’t.” With that, Mia hung up.

You sank to the floor.

How did a loving relationship with your boyfriend leave you so drained and lashing out at others to defend him? What went wrong?

“Hey, did I interrupt something?” Seungcheol asked, startling you, and you stood up, shaking your head. You didn’t want to get into it with him right now.

“Here,” Seungcheol said, handing you a coffee mug, and you nodded, taking it.

“You’re right. My actions last night weren’t of a boyfriend trying hard to prove that he’s worthy of being with you,” Seungcheol explained, and you rolled your eyes.

“I’m tired of hearing you apologise. I need you to show me that you’re fucking sorry,” you said .

“What about a date tomorrow? There’s a gala at my university. Don’t worry, it won’t be like last time, I promise,” Seungcheol begged, and you sighed, nodding.

You weren’t exactly sure what made you want to give him a second chance, but maybe because you loved him or the idea of him, you weren’t entirely sure which one. You just knew that regardless of what the situation was with you two. With him, it still felt like home somehow.

DIVDER:

You and Seungcheol walked hand in hand to his gala; this time, he wasn’t distant, curt, or moody. He was jovial, greeted everyone, and introduced you until Yoona entered the picture.

Seungcheol wasn’t flirting, but he sure as hell didn’t bother to hide how happy and excited he was to see his ex, considering he spent nearly 45 minutes talking to her. You stormed out of the venue and waited by his car until he noticed.. oblivious to your anger.

“Waiting long?” Seungcheol asked, and you scoffed.

“I’m amazed you remembered I existed. You seemed to be taken by Yoona. I thought I was a distant memory,” you mocked, earning a glare from Seungcheol.

“Let’s just go home, yeah?” Seungcheol asked, and you nodded, following him into his car.This time, he didn’t help you in.“When the fuck did I give you a reason to think I’d cheat? How many times do I need to fucking tell you that Yoona and I are done?” Seungcheol bellowed suddenly, and you sighed.

“That’s not the fucking point!” You yelled back, and Seungcheol sighed, loosening his tie.

“The point is that you always gloss over our problems, you always act like I’m a child or something, and you never tell me the truth. When I get mad, you act like I’m insane even to be upset. Do you know how that fucking feels?” You yelled, and Seungcheol glared at you.

“Not my fucking problem thatyou don’t understand how the fuck relationships work, or maybe you’re too fucking immature to make one work,” Seungcheol hissed as his grip on the steering wheel only got tighter.

“This is so fucking rich coming from you considering the fucking fact your ex dumped you, and yet you’re so obsessed with her that you didn’t care that she cheated on you. Instead of spending the night with me, someone who loves you, you cosied up to someone who walked all over you!” You yelled.

“Y/N, get out of the car before I make you!” Seungcheol yelled, making you whimper at his tone and words.

“Seungcheol, please, I’m so sorry,” you were begging, but Seungcheol ignored you. He leaned over and opened the car door. You looked at him; his eyes were trained on the road ahead.

“Seungcheol, please don’t do this,” you begged. You knew you couldn’t change his mind, but you were scared. He didn’t seem to care. You reluctantly exited the car, gently closing the door behind you. Seungcheol wasted no time, and he sped away, drove off, and left you alone in the dark.

You were freezing, and your outfit did nothing to counter the cold. You let out a sob, your feet in absolute agony from the heels, and your mind an emotional mess. You pulled your phone out of your purse to call someone. You called Seungcheol, no response. You sighed more. Seeing as he would ignore you the entire night, you called the last person you could think of.

“Y/N? What? It’s two in the morning. What do you want?” Mia’s voice was hoarse and laced with sleep. You tried to reply but couldn’t help the whimper that escaped your throat.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Mia asked, her voice now concerned.

“I don’t know where I am, and it’s dark and cold. I’m so sorry for disturbing you. I shouldn’t have—”

“Y/N, stop, pin me your location. I’m coming to get you,” You sobbed out a thank you and sent her your location.

Around twenty minutes later, you saw a car enter the empty street, and it screeched to a halt suddenly. Mia stepped out with a coat and ran towards you. She wrapped the coat around your body. She didn’t ask questions; she just guided you to heris car.

“Let’s get you home,” Mia said. She was fuming, but she was scared that if she yelled at you now—which she surely would, she’d break you into two.

“Do you want me to come in?” Mia asked as she pulled up outside your apartment, and you shook your head.

“I just need time alone, but thank you, Mia,” you said, who nodded as she watched you leave the car before waving to you and driving off.

“Baby! You’re safe!” You turned around to see Seungcheol running after you, and you sighed as you walked into your apartment. Seungcheol followed you, and this scene was one you knew all too well.

“You threw me out of the car!” You yelled the minute you were inside the apartment.

“I was scaredI’d say something worse if you stayed. I was trying to mitigate further damage.”

You rolled your eyes at him.“You’re a fucking moron.”

“I am, but I came back, I—” you interrupted him.

“For what? To apologise?” You asked, and you hated that hope still coated your words.

“No, because I can’t do this anymore. I can’t, you’re acting so fucking immature, but we’re not good for each other. I need someone who gets me. I can’t coddle you every five seconds because you got your fucking feelings hurt,” Seungcheol said, finality lacing his words.

“So, if we were closer in age, we would have worked?” You asked, and Seungcheol sighed, nodding.

“I’ll send someone for my things, and I’ll mail your things back to you by the end of the week,” Seungcheol mumbled as he walked out of your apartment.

He left as quickly as he came into your life. You’d experienced heartbreak before, but nothing like this. You wanted to die. You tried to stop feeling because the pain manifested into physical pain as you felt your entire body go numb and limp. You couldn’t handle it, and you felt all too much all at once.

The Reeling

It had been two weeks since Seungcheol broke up with you and after he returned your things to youin a box with no goodbye letter and nothing to give you any semblance of closure, you impulsively booked a train ticket to see your folks

If Seungcheol didn’t want to coddle you, you tried to find comfort in the two people you knew would.

“Y/N?” She was confused by how upset you were. Your mother practically yelled when she saw you at the front door, and you burst into tears the minute she saw you and hugged her.

“I missed you,” you cried into her arms while she was happy to see you.

“Come in. Why don’t you go to your room freshen up?” You nodded.

“Hi, stranger.” You said, scaring your father, who was too engrossed in a crossword puzzle.

“Y/N!” He yelled, standing up to hug you.

“Oh, who’s ass do I need to kick for you crying?” You shook your head.

“No one, I just missed you guys,” you lied, and your parents nodded knowingly.

“Freshen up, honey. We’ll be right here with food and a drink?” You nodded at your mother and headed to shower

“Seungcheol,” You answered your phone that was ringing. You had just gotten out of the shower and were drying your hair.

“Uh, hi. Sorry, I wanted to pick up my hoodie. I left it at yours, but you weren’t there, and I just wanted to check when you’d be back so I could get it?” Seungcheol asked, so casually, so casually cruel.

At least he was honest. You knew nothing was left there anymore,

“I’m visiting my folks; I’ll send it to yours when I’m back,” you said, keeping your tone neutral and devoid of emotions.

“Cool. Thanks,” Seungcheol said, hanging up before you could get a word out.

You broke down again. He called you, only to break you all over again.

“So, it’s a boy problem? It’s got to be,” your father mused after dinner. You two and your mother were in the living room, sipping wine and catching up.

“I was a fucking idiot. I gave him a chance after chance,he walked all over me, and I let him because I loved him,” you whined to your parents, who smiled sympathetically at you.

“I would rather you didn’t call yourself that. I didn’t raise one.” You smiled at your dad’s attempt to be funny.

“Well, I was,” You sighed, sipping the wine. You decided you’d tell your parents everything aside from the ridiculous amounts of sex that led you up to this moment.

“Why did you want to try so hard to keep him?” Your mother asked, and you shrugged.

“Because I loved him, or so I thought I did, but love shouldn’t hurt this much,” you mumbled. “You know what? I was right when I believed that love is this huge thing that doesn’t exist, and aside from you two, I don’t see it anywhere.” You said, and your parents smiled softly,

“Honey, love isn’t easy. It takes so much effort and time to get it right, and even then, you can screw it up.”

“Then what, I screwed up?” You accused, and your mother shook her head.

“No, you tried and broke yourself into two to become someone he wanted. That is the furthest thing from love. It’ll hurt, but one day, when your paths cross again, you’ll be able to smile at him with no malice and thank him for putting you through hell because you’ll know what you never want again,” your mother explained, pulling you into a tight hug as you sobbed.

“He couldn’t even be bothered to attend my birthday,” you mumbled, sniffling pathetically, and your father nodded.

“That’s not a good sign, if I’m being honest, isn’t it meant to be fun, a birthday party?” Your father asked, and you could only shrug.

“Get your hair done or something,” your mum suggested the following week.

“Why?” You asked, and your mother smiled at you.

“Well, isn’t that what everyone does after a breakup? Get their hair done, and you’ve been moping for a week. Go outside, go and see the colourful world out there,” your mother said, kissing your forehead.

You laughed but decided to take up your mother’s advice, and soon enough, you found yourself in a hair salon.

“So, how do you want your hair done?” The stylist asked as he started to towel dry your hair.

“I’m not entirely sure, but something that screams I’m doing good and happy.” The stylist smiled.

“A few highlights and waves?” He suggested, and you grinned. You relaxed into the chair as the stylist worked on your hair.

You smiled at your appearance in the mirror. You felt fresh. You still felt pain, but the new hair did do wonders. You’d never understand the logic, but it helped, only for a second, until a voice stopped you in the shopping mall.

“Y/N?” Your blood ran cold, and you’d recognise that voice anywhere.

“Yoona,” you muttered, turning around as you faced her.

“Did you change your hair? I like it. It looks lovely!” Yoona smiled.

“Can I help you, Yoona?” You asked, not having the energy to pretend to care.

“I heard you and Cheol broke up?” Yoona said, and you cringed at her use of his nickname.

“Why, are you waiting to dig your claws into him?” You snapped, and Yoona shook her head.

“Look, I have no defense for what I did to him, but I’ll say this: There is an idea that Seungcheol has in his mind. Even if I didn’t fit that mould, should I have cheated? No, but it wouldn’t have mattered because I would never be enough for him, and neither were you. He has a version of a woman in his mind, which doesn’t exist. You dodged a bullet, my Y/N,” Yoona narrated as she walked off, leaving you speechless.

It was on your walk that all the puzzle pieces fit together. Yoona wasn’t wrong—granted, an unreliable source—but her words weren’t exactly wrong. You bent over backward to appease Seungcheol, but nothing was enough, and if Yoona, his “ideal girl,” failed to meet his idea, then what was his ideal?

A never-needy, ever-lovely jewel whose shine reflected on him? Was that all he ever needed: someone to make him look better?

You smiled, turning back to see Yoona walk into another shop. Maybe she was right; it’d take a while to reconcile and face the trauma of dating Choi Seungcheol, but you knew it wasn’t you anymore. You could have been carved by the gods themselves, but unless that god were Seungcheol, you would never be enough for him, and somehow you were okay with that.

You just needed now to heal, mend old relationships, and find yourself again, but you were a soldier who came back from war half her weight. You needed to regain strength from this, heal, and become someone who had learned from this.

You could do it. You’d get older and wiser, while his lovers would be the same, wide-eyed and keen until he tore them to shreds when he realised they weren’t the one.

You could move on. You’d be fine.

The Healing: 2 Years Later

You were fussing over your speech for the fifth time that day.

“Girl, it’s fine, you’ve worked your ass off for this app. I can’t believe you got SNU to sponsor this. You’ve grown up!” Mia said dramatically, making you laugh.

You two were okay again; it took a lot of healing, but you two were okay because you didn’t hurt anymore.

You were at the launch of your newest app, a website for students and teachers to connect quickly.You wanted to pitch it to SNU, and they agreed.

You had finally finished your presentation when your eyes locked with his.

You flashed him a smile, and he returned one.It was like nothing you imagined at that moment. Nothing hurt anymore; he was a painful memory, but he was your past.

You would sometimes wonder if the love affair between the two of you maimed him the way it maimed you, but you also figured that you could live without getting that answer from him.

You’d be okay. You weren’t okay then, but you are okay now.

You were okay before you met him, and you’d be okay after him.

#seventeen fic #seungcheol fic #seventeen angst #seventeen smut #svthub #kvanity #all too well: c.s.c

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thelargefrye · 3 months

Text

February Filth Fest : DAY TWO : CHEATING / CREAMPIE … mature one - shot

pairing : gangster!seongjoong x f!reader

genre : smut, high & low au, strangers to maybe lovers, pinch of angst if you squint

word count : 2.6k

warnings : language, cheating (your bf cheats on you so you cheat on him🤷‍♀️), so douche boyfriend, smoking, a little drinking, kind of fighting, little crying (but in a good way, promise)

smut warnings : unprotected sex, implied threesome, creampie, pet names (doll, princess)

honorary suffer tag : for my bestie braincell @sanjoongie

your boyfriend cheats on you, so you seek out the two most feared men in your district for revenge.

DAY ONE ↤ HiGH&LOW: MATZ ↦ DAY THREE

"you want us to do what?" seonghwa's eyes feel like they are piercing through your body as he stares down at you, eyebrow raised. you obviously surprised him, but he's too calculated to actually show that surprise. he's a feared leader within the sword distract, he can't afford to act surprised.

"i want you guys to help me get revenge on my boyfriend," you repeat yourself, showing him and his partner, hongjoong, that you are dead serious.

"revenge?" hongjoong says as he stands up to move towards you. he bends down to where you're eye level, an evil smirk overtaking his face. it makes you consider whether you should have even come here, but you can't back out now. that bastard of a boyfriend needs to pay. "what kind of revenge are you looking for doll?"

"he's cheating on me," you say looking at hongjoong and its his turn to raise an eyebrow at you this time. hongjoong turns his head to look at seonghwa, the eldest of the two clenching jaw as he rolls his neck. his 'matz' tattoo proudly on display as he does so and you can't help but to lick your lips.

seonghwa exudes a display of power that you have never truly experienced before, and that's probably what makes him so feared among all the different gangs. which was exactly why you wanted him and hongjoong to help you with this revenge.

"cheating, huh?" seonghwa says, reaching into the inside of his jacket pocket and pulling a pack of cigarettes. he takes one out before slotting it between his lips and effortlessly lighting it with his lighter. you note the metal and detailed design on his lighter, custom made.

"and how would you want to get this revenge, doll?" hongjoong asks, grabbing your chin and making you turn your attention to him.

seonghwa blows out a puff of smoke from his lips the smile time you look at hongjoong with a grin of your own. "i'm glad you asked."

the music was loud as you walked through the club. so loud that you could feel the bass vibrating through your entire body. the lights of the club were flashing a mix of vibrant colors and you almost started to strain your eyes.

and not to mention how packed it was in here, you rarely went clubbing for this very reason of not being a huge fan of packed crowds of sweaty, drunk people. usually you would have had someone's elbow in your ribs, but tonight was different. people parted the way like you were royalty.

well... it wasn't because of you, but the one who had their arm draped over you. you were pulled closely in seonghwa's side, your body leaning into his. hongjoong was leading the two of you, a lot of people moving out of there way and you noticed a few odd looks some club-goers gave you.

which you honestly wouldn't blame them. you were wrapped around one of the most dangerous and feared men in the city and walking through a club with two of them. you would give yourself a weird look too. but you really, you didn't have time to think about these people. there was only one person who needed to see you.

your douche soon-to-be ex-boyfriend.

you soon found yourself in the vip section, looking down at the dance floor, your eyes scanning everywhere for your boyfriend. hongjoong came to stand next to you, arm around your shoulders as if he was also looking.

"do you see him?" he asks, and you're surprised you can hear him from how loud the music was.

"i don–

right as you're about to say no, that's when you spot him, wrapped around a girl as they grind against each other and it makes you cringe a little.

"right there! in the black button up," you say pointing at him and hongjoong lets out a chuckle as he pulls you against him.

"you could definitely do better than him, doll," he says. "the girl is pretty," he begins to add and you can't a wave of uneasiness crash over you, but before it could drag you under hongjoong adds, "but you're prettier. especially in this dress seonghwa picked out."

you turn to see him grinning at you and he cages you between the railing and himself. you run a hand down his chest, his bright orange fur coat standing out even against the flashing club lights. and you had to admit he was right, the sequin red dress that seonghwa picked out did not only make you look hot, but you felt like it too.

funny how these two men could make you feel something your boyfriend never could. your eyes flicker behind hongjoong to see seonghwa sitting on the leather seating, cigarette between his lips as he takes a long drag, his eyes locked on you and hongjoong. you felt a chill run down your spine and goosebumps cover your whole bond thanks to his stare alone.

"shall we go have fun now that we found him?" you ask hongjoong with a tilt of your head and hongjoong can't help but let out a small laugh.

"i knew there was a reason why i liked you, doll, that feistiness gets me going," he says, grin on his lips before he's leading you down the stairs.

like seonghwa, hongjoong was quick to drape his arm around you, showing you off as people parted for the two of you, mainly him. he lead the two of you over to the bar, the bartender immediately seeing hongjoong and coming over to get your orders. while you two waited, you looked around and spotted your boyfriend at the other end of the bar with some of his friends.

you felt an odd rage course through you knowing that he was having the time of his life partying, drinking, and cheating on you. while he thinks you're at home and waiting for him to return. you feel hongjoong's arm move from your shoulders to your waist. you turn away from looking at your boyfriend to hongjoong who's already grinning at you. he slides your drink over to before taking a sip of his own.

you quickly down your drink, "i have to use the bathroom," you say before slipping away from hongjoong; however, hongjoong stops you before you get too far away from him.

"go to seonghwa if i'm not here, okay?"

"okay," you say and he gives you a smile before letting you go and turning back to his drink while also ordering another from. and so you make your way to the bathroom.

when you exit the bathroom, you begin to make your way back to the bar, back to hongjoong, but before you could get too far you are stopped. a hand grabbing your wrist and a little too aggressively pulling you back. you let out a surprise yelp as you're turning around and coming face to face with your boyfriend.

"holy shit the guys were right," he says looking at you with surprise all over his face. "i didn't believe them and then i saw you at the bar with... with kim hongjoong. what are you even doing here?"

"what do you mean? am i not allowed to party like you?" you ask, pulling your wrist away from him, an eyebrow raised.

"that's not what i mean," he says, letting out an annoyed sound, "what are you doing here with some gangsters? everyone saw you came in draped around park seonghwa like you were his girl."

"because she is my girl, bastard," you see your boyfriend go pale at the voice behind him and you both look behind him to see seonghwa standing there with a bored expression.

"what are you talking about? i'm her boyfriend! not some thug like you!" your boyfriend says, trying his best to sound intimidating. however, it takes a lot more than a puffed chest to intimidate seonghwa.

"really?" seonghwa says with an annoyed laugh as he rolls his neck, his tattoo standing out boldly in the moment. "you claim to be her boyfriend, yet you're here with another woman instead of her. she's not yours anymore fucker, she's mine. princess," he says, now addressing you, "go get hongjoong. we're leaving."

you nod your head, but before you could get away your ex grabs you by the wrist, stopping. "you're not leaving with these punks until we ta–

he's cut off when seonghwa grabs himself by the collar and shoves him away from you. you notice a burning fire in his eyes as he stalks towards your ex who begins to back away scared by seonghwa. but then seonghwa stopped and turned towards you once more, "princess, go get hongjoong," he told you again and this time you went without anything stopping you.

"hongjoong, seonghwa wants to leave," you say, tugging on his orange fur coat. hongjoong sets his drink down before getting up and following you towards where you left seonghwa and your ex. you tell hongjoong what happened and you notice the grin the takes over his face.

seonghwa meets the two of you outside the club and you notice his knuckles are a little red and busted. however, you choose not to comment on them. instead you watch as he lights another cigarette, taking a drag before blowing the smoke out. his eyes look up to meet yours and can't help but feel something run through and straight to your core.

"your boyfriend is gonna get his shit out of your apartment tonight," seonghwa says as he guides you to get into the car – you honestly didn't notice the car too busy drooling over seonghwa.

"ex-boyfriend," you say, turning to him as you climb into the car and slide over for him to join you. hongjoong rounds the car and gets in on the other side of you. hongjoong says something to their driver before he leans back.

hongjoong wraps his arms around your waist, "i've never been more happy to hear that a word more in my life." seonghwa lets out a laugh at his partner's words. "now we can have you all to ourselves, right doll?"

"right."

you let out a moan, feeling your eyes rolling into the back of your skull as seonghwa pounded into you. you felt your thighs burn from how he has you folded in half and hands gripping the flesh of your thighs tightly. you're pretty sure he'll marks later, but you don't really care now nor will you later.

seonghwa also lets out a series of moans and a few stuttered curses as he continues to thrust into your pussy. his cock stretching your walls out and filling you up as his tip continuously hits your sweet spot. you sling your arm around his shoulder and neck as you let it run down his back, raking your nails down him as you do so.

you feel seonghwa's lip press against your neck leaving open mouth kisses before pulls away to lick up your neck before he's sucking on the skin.

"h-hwa," you moan out as seonghwa moves to sit up slightly in order to thrust harder into you. "fu-f-fuck! so good~"

"you really doing a number on our doll aren't you, hwa?" hongjoong from behind the two of you. hongjoong had fucked you first, cumming in, and kissing you until your lips bruised before he slipped out of you and off your bed to rest in the chair by your desk.

he had a cigarette between his lips when he came to stand behind seonghwa, promptly smacking his ass and making the elder of two turn and send a glare. hongjoong only laughed at his partner before grabbing seonghwa by the back of the neck and crashing their lips together.

even through the kiss, seonghwa's hips didn't falter as he kept a steady pace. when the two separated, seonghwa seemed to have gained some extra energy as he continued to drill into you. his thumb coming down to vigorously rub at your clit and you couldn't help the moans and whines that escaped you.

"f-fuck, you feel so good," he grunts out as he wraps his arms around your body and rolls the two of you over so you're now on top. you feel seonghwa's hand run through your hair before gripping it harshly and crashing your lips together. his tongue enters your mouth and you note it tastes like smoke and whatever drink he had at the club.

when he pulls away as you feel his hands roam over your body, groping different parts of you as he begins to harshly thrust into you from below at an almost unthinkable pace. to be honest you had never felt this pleasured before, your ex never making you feel the things both hongjoong and seonghwa have made you feel.

you can't but bury your face in his neck, tears welling up in your eyes at the overwhelming feelings that this man is making you feel.

"hm, do-does it feel g-good, princess?" seonghwa asks, feeling your walls clench around him. he voice becomes rather breathy, his thrust getting longer as he grabs your ass.

"s-so good," you say, voice shaking and you silently cry from how it all feels. and then like a wave pleasure washing over your body, you cum. you let out a loud moan-sob mixed with seonghwa's name and you also pumps his cum inside you.

your mind is fuzzy as you lay on top of seonghwa, both of you sweaty and out of breath. your body stuck to his thanks to the sweat and also how you don't have the energy to move.

you feel your bed dip next to you and seonghwa before a hand comes to rest on your back, running up and down before gently pulling you off and away from seonghwa. his cock falls out of you and you whine at the emptiness; however, hongjoong's hand comes down to spread your pussy lips apart and showing off your cum-filled cunt.

"god, look at pretty our doll's pussy is," hongjoong says pressing a kiss to your temple. you look to see seonghwa looking at the both of you with grin on face before he's sitting up and moving to sandwich you between himself and hongjoong.

"why are you crying princess?" seonghwa asks, hand coming up to brush the tears away. you won't lie, his softness surprises you. his eyes that are usually cold and hard are now soft and his voice is gentle in a way. soothing. you didn't even know you were fully crying.

"hmm?" hongjoong cranes his head to look at you, a pout now on his lips as he looks at you. "what's the matter doll?"

"i guess all the emotions from today and from my ex cheating on me has just finally hit me," you confess with a small laugh. "i had never felt so much pleasure before, so i guess it just overwhelmed me... in a good way."

"your ex never made you cum?" seonghwa asks, reaching over to grab a cigarette before lighting it. he rests next to you and hongjoong, against your headboard and smoking. you crawl a little bit away from hongjoong in order to sit at the end of your bed.

"figures," hongjoong says when seonghwa passes him the cigarette. "spineless fucker, imagine the poor girl who's stuck with him now."

you can't help but let out a laugh as you watch the two of the most feared men in your city share a cigarette and gossip between each other about you ex. it sure was a funny sight to see honestly.

you watch seonghwa talk a long drag before putting the cigarette out, "come here, princess. you don't have to worry about that bastard and his no pleasurable dick anymore."

you smile, nodding before crawling between the two men and immediately laying your head on seonghwa's chest as hongjoong hugs you from behind. "thank you, joongie, hwa."

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hongcherry · 4 months

Text

you're my tomorrow | j.ww

At first, you didn't think anything of it. Jeon Wonwoo was just a customer. However, his daily visits to your bookstore café started to become the highlight of your days. The little conversations here and there made you happy. It's because of him that you always look forward to tomorrow.

☕️ Pairing: customer!Wonwoo x cafeOwner!Reader

☕️ Rating/Genres/AUs: PG; Fluff with a sprinkle of angst, slice of life; Strangers to lovers, cafe au, non!idol au

☕️ Warnings: Reader is smaller than Wonu, ultra soft boi and supportive wonu *swoons*... can't think of anything else but ofc lmk otherwise

☕️ Word Count: 5k

☕️ Author's Note: Thank you to @justsomekpopstuff for giving me this plot idea! I def got carried away and wrote way more than I thought I would lol. I hope you enjoy it! Everyone thank JJ for the storyline ✨ Also, thank you Jess (@the-boy-meets-evil) for beta'ing and giving me amazing suggestions for some edits! 💗

Happy holidays to all (if you celebrate)! Stay safe and have a nice time 💖

seventeen masterlist | main masterlist

Monday

When the door chimes a little after eight at night, you know it’s him.

He strolls in, usual glasses perched on his nose and jacket layered with a few specks of snow. His hair isn’t styled, soft waves adorning his head. He looks like the average person who’s winding down from a long day at work. From the two and a half months you’ve known him, this is his usual state on Monday nights.

Wonwoo entered your cozy bookstore café nearly three months ago. His order rarely varies, and sometimes he orders a drink he could get anywhere else. Yet, for some reason, he always comes here.

And throughout those months, you’ve realized you always look forward to his presence.

“Busy evening?” he asks while stepping up to the counter.

You’re in the middle of packing a pastry for another customer and quickly hand off the bag to your coworker.

“More so than usual; it’s finals week,” you reply with a small smile.

Wonwoo glances around, nodding as he takes in the sight of many tables occupied by people with textbooks, laptops, and notes scattered around them.

“I don’t miss those days,” he chuckles.

“I don’t either,” you agree. “So, what can I get you today?”

Wonwoo peers up at the menu behind you. You wonder why he does so since he usually rotates between three drinks.

“A hot chocolate,” he replies.

“Oh?” You can’t hide your surprise.

He grins, tilting his head slightly. “Should I have ordered something else?”

“No!” you hastily say. “You can order whatever you want.”

He pulls out a bill that exceeds the cost of the order and slides it to your side of the counter.

“Just thought I’d try something new for the holidays,” he explains, then leaves to find a seat.

“Wait!” you call out, bill in your hand. “You paid too much!”

If Wonwoo can hear you, he pretends he doesn’t. He continues his journey and ends up in the corner next to a window by the bookshelves. He retrieves a book from his bag, opening it where his bookmark rests.

Your hand falls to the counter with a heavy sigh. You guess you’ll give him his change when you give him his order. Normally, you’d call customer’s names or numbers for pick-up. But Wonwoo is different.

Wonwoo’s one of the rare customers who gets his order hand-delivered.

After completing the transaction in the system and making his drink, you grab his change from the register and walk to his table.

“One hot chocolate,” you announce and set the cup down along with his change.

“I’ll take the drink,” he says and brings it closer, blatantly ignoring the cash next to it.

“Wonwoo,” you say.

“Yn,” he answers, eyes flickering up.

There’s a small smirk on his lips that makes your insides churn.

“You overpaid,” you simply state.

“So?”

You move his money closer. “So, take it back.”

Wonwoo slides the money back to you. “Consider it a tip.”

“You know we don’t take tips here,” you say, moving it again.

“You should. You all work hard.”

“People are already struggling as is. If they can find solace in a little place like this, that’s all that matters.”

Wonwoo rests his hands on top of yours, which is still on the money, and slides it back to you.

“Then consider it a holiday present. From me to you,” he smiles.

His hand feels warm on yours. Your eyes move down, but you wish you hadn’t.

His large hand nearly covers yours, making you feel small yet protected. You can tell from his build that he’s strong and fit. You wonder what it’d be like to get a hug from him.

“I—” you struggle to speak.

“It’d make me happy.”

You sigh, nodding hesitantly.

He slowly removes his hand. “Thank you.”

“N-No problem,” you say, gathering the change and pocketing it. “Enjoy your book and drink.”

“Thanks,” Wonwoo replies and picks up his book. He holds it up with one hand and uses the other to sip his hot chocolate.

You make your way back to the front, trying to ignore the lingering warmth on your hand and the feeling in your chest.

Tuesday

Wonwoo shows up at the same time but orders one of his usual drinks. It's a different book than yesterday and judging by the similar cover, it's probably the next one in the series.

Ever since Wonwoo “gifted” you money, you’ve been trying to think of something to get him. It’s a little tough considering you don’t actually know him. You know he works a duty-heavy job and that he lives nearby. You know he has a lot of friends despite him being so quiet. Although you’ve never seen Wonwoo and his friends in the same room, they often come with him to the café in duos or trios.

You also learned he’s an avid cat and gaming lover.

You were surprised about the latter.

“Is he also a student?” one of your new coworkers, Sebastian, asks thirty minutes after Wonwoo’s arrival.

You wipe off the cup in your hand and set it on the counter, calling the number associated with it.

“No, he graduated already,” you reply and watch him practice making a drink.

“You seem to know him. Are you two friends?” he wonders.

You lean against the counter. “I don’t think so. He’s just a regular here, so I’ve learned a few things here and there.”

“Ah,” he replies and hands you the finished drink.

You take the drink and start taking a sip to see how well he did.

“You should ask him out.”

You choke on the drink, eyes wide as you reach for a napkin to wipe your chin.

“T-That wouldn’t be appropriate,” you stammer.

He laughs and takes the drink from you. “He’s not working here, and it’s not like you’re paying for him to come by. I don’t see how it’s inappropriate.”

You sigh, knowing he has a point. It’s not that you’re not attracted to Wonwoo, but it feels almost out of line. Plus, you’re not sure if you like Wonwoo, or just like the thought of him. You haven’t been in a relationship in years and would be lying to say you don’t miss having a partner.

You miss being able to share life memories with someone.

Wonwoo’s handsome. He’s kind, funny, caring, and fit—not that that’s a big deciding factor, but it sure is a bonus. Though, do you just want someone with those attributes, or do you want him?

“Just think about it,” Sebastian suggests and greets a new customer.

Your eyes drop to your feet in thought.

Part of you worries you’d make it awkward if he says no. It’s not like you are friends, so you won’t be ruining a friendship, but you enjoy seeing his face every day. His simple presence is one of the highlights of your days.

Plus, you don’t even know if he has a partner already!

You groan, putting a hand over your forehead as you try to organize your thoughts.

“Bad night?” a familiar voice asks from over the counter.

You drop your hand to see who it is.

Wonwoo stands with his empty cup and saucer, book tucked under his arm.

“Ah, uh, not really,” you reply sheepishly. You can’t disclose the true reason for your state; you’ve never been the best liar either.

“Well, I hope whatever is troubling you passes soon,” he says and holds out his dirty dishes.

“You could’ve left them on the table,” you say, grabbing them from his grasp. Your fingers touch his, and it’s difficult not to feel like a silly teenager in the movies, especially with your current predicament.

“I know,” he smiles, “but I wanted to tell you bye, and you seem busy.”

You set the items in the sink before addressing him again. “Still… But thank you anyway.”

“The drink was great, as always.”

“Thanks.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” he says, slowly stepping away from the counter.

You smile, nodding. “See you.”

His eyes linger on you before he turns and exits your café.

Wednesday

Wonwoo comes and goes as usual. It’s a busy night and you’re unable to speak to him much. It’s not the first time that has happened, so he doesn’t seem bothered by the lack of interaction. Regardless, you wish you could’ve spoken to him more.

That night was spent browsing the internet for the perfect gift for Wonwoo.

From gaming headsets to the top-rated books on Goodreads, you felt like you scoured every possible present for him. But none of them satisfied you.

It wasn’t until you came across bookmarks in your recommended section that you decided what to get him.

Maybe a bookmark was too boring, but you figured it was the safer option.

You spend over an hour searching for the right bookmark, but again, you come up short. They’re either too flowery, too plain, or too cliché.

In the end, you opt for making your own.

You find some DIY bookmark kits online and place an order. Trying not to second guess your decision, you call it a night—going to sleep as you brainstorm what to put on the item.

Thursday

“Do people actually read these books?” Wonwoo asks during your break, which you decided to spend with him.

Your gaze follows his to the wall lined with several bookshelves.

You chuckle, “Sometimes.”

“You said you got these books donated?” he asks, recalling an earlier conversation you had when he was a newcomer.

“Most of them,” you hum.

“Does your offer still stand?” he asks.

You turn to him with puzzlement.

He smiles. “You said I could take a book if I left one.”

“Oh,” you laugh out of embarrassment for forgetting. “Of course.”

Wonwoo nods and then stands up. He takes two steps to his right, then carefully plucks a book from a high shelf. He replaces the empty space with his own book.

Something about the simple act has your heartwarming. Or maybe it’s the way he’s so gentle with the books as if they’ll cry if moved too aggressively. You wonder if he’d touch you as carefully, if given the chance. Would you find comfort in his caresses the way you think the books would if they were personified?

Wonwoo sits in his seat again, perching his glasses higher after they slide down.

“Have you read this?” he asks, twisting the book so the cover faces you.

You analyze it for a moment, but the title doesn’t ring a bell.

Shaking your head, “Unfortunately not. I haven’t had the chance to read in a long while.”

“I guess running a business is time-consuming,” he teases lightly.

“How do you find the time? Didn’t you say your work is hard, too?” you ask.

He leans back in his seat, book resting in his lap.

“I make time,” he simply says. “I found it’s important to make time for things I care about.”

He’s staring at you in a way that makes you think there’s more to his words than he lets on.

“T-That’s a good habit, I suppose,” you say.

“When was the last time you did something for yourself, and not the café?” he questions.

Your brows furrow in deep thought. You thought the answer would come easily, but it doesn’t.

“I—I can’t remember,” you answer with your gaze down, a little dejected at the self-reflection.

Wonwoo sits up and leans toward you. He lowers himself until he can snag eye contact.

“Don’t be too harsh on yourself,” he reassures. “I know what it’s like to bury myself in my work.”

“You probably think I’m pathetic, huh?” you laugh awkwardly.

Wonwoo shakes his head.

“It’s good to be dedicated to something. Your efforts are clearly visible,” he gestures to your crowded café. “But at the same time, it’s also good to not burn yourself out.”

You nod in agreement. “I’ll try to be better.”

“Not for me though. For you,” he says.

You offer him a kind smile that he returns. “For me.”

Friday

Wonwoo doesn’t come at his usual time.

You finally finished his gift last night and are eager to show it to him. You try to suppress your excitement, but it’s difficult to calm your mix of emotions.

As you made it, you realized it was the first time doing something non-work related. Usually, you’d be researching new recipes, doing finances, or simply sleeping. Last night, however, you were doing something personal.

Wonwoo’s words from yesterday ring loudly in your ears.

It felt good to take a break from work.

It felt good to feel like an actual person and not some workaholic machine.

Some say people come into your life for a reason. Maybe you’d still be stuck in your cycle, if not for him.

You wish he were here.

Wonwoo’s usually a punctual man, so being this late sends uneasy nerves coursing through you. But, the idea of him not showing up at all is even more worrisome.

Perhaps he’s working overtime and will be here soon. He’s never missed a day.

Yet, as minutes turn into hours, you begin losing hope.

Excitement transitions into worry. This isn’t his typical behavior. You don’t have a way to contact him either.

Is he hurt? Does he need help? Did you say something wrong yesterday? Did he finally decide he doesn’t like your café anymore?

Perhaps you’re too caught up with giving him your gift that you’re overreacting. It could simply be a late, late night at work for him.

He’ll be here.

Even if he just grabs his drink to go, which he’s done in the past, he’ll be here.

The bell chimes as your last coworker leaves for the night.

Wonwoo’s present sat abandoned in your locker throughout your shift. There’s an odd discomfort in your chest as you stare at it now.

You’re not sure if it originates from being unable to gift it and see Wonwoo’s reaction, or if it’s because he never showed up.

Probably a combination of both, but more so the latter.

It’s uncanny to not see Wonwoo every day.

You had never thought about how you’d feel if you didn’t see him constantly. He was just always there. Always so reliable that you didn’t feel the need to consider what if.

What if he stopped showing up? What if you never saw him again? What if he no longer was a constant in your life?

You swallow the lump forming in your throat.

It’s a harsh reality to know he’s not required to visit. He can leave any time he wants. He can stop visiting your bookstore café at any moment.

There’s a strange thought about you not being good enough for him. Though, you’re not sure what that has anything to do with his absence.

Why would it matter if you weren’t good enough for him? He didn’t come to the café for you.

Did he?

If it was you he wanted, couldn’t he ask you out? Perhaps not as a romantic date, but as friends?

He never has, so he must not want to know you beyond the café. Meaning, he doesn’t come to it solely for you.

But, what changed for him not to show up tonight?

Unsettled with your thoughts, you decide to distract yourself with the final tasks you have to do before you leave.

However, the ride home is filled with more endless thoughts about Wonwoo.

Saturday

You come to work with less bounce in your step than usual.

The world outside seems dimmer. It feels as if the skies are going to be consumed with clouds and rain is going to fall. However, a storm was not in the weather’s forecast.

“Are you getting sick?” Sebastian asks.

You force a smile onto your face for the customer in front of you, handing them their order before looking at your coworker.

“No, why?” you wonder.

“You don’t seem well. Did you not sleep well last night?”

You wish you had, but you tossed and turned constantly. You didn’t think Wonwoo’s absence would affect you so much, but your mind kept wandering to every possibility for his no-show. In the end, you just gave yourself a headache.

“No,” you sigh, “but don’t worry about me.”

You try to smile again, but you’re sure Sebastian can see through it.

“Want me to close up tonight?” he offers.

“Don’t you have a big essay due tomorrow?” you question, remembering how stressed he sounded a few days ago.

“Yeah, but—”

“I’ll be fine,” you insist.

Huffing, he nods and grabs the cup from your hand. “Then go rest for a bit while I finish these orders.”

You purse your lips, contemplating arguing. In the end, you relent, moving to the backroom’s couch and plopping down.

You’ve been scrolling through your phone for ten minutes when you hear a familiar voice.

“Is Yn not here today?”

“Oh, she’s not feeling well, so she’s taking a break. Is there something wrong with our service?” Sebastian answers politely.

You shove your phone in your pocket and head to the door. There’s a small window that you peep out of.

You catch a glimpse of Wonwoo’s frown before he speaks again.

“No, everything’s fine. Will you tell her I hope she feels better?” he asks.

Sebastian nods slowly. Although you can’t see his face, you can see the cogs turn in his head.

“Oh! Ooh! You’re that guy.”

Wonwoo looks confused.

“I’m sorry?” Wonwoo replies.

“The guy that always comes in—”

Not trusting Sebastian to keep his matchmaking attempts at bay, you push through the door.

“Wonwoo,” you greet, trying not to seem too eager that he's here today even though you are.

Wonwoo’s eyes drift past Sebastian to see you. Instantly, his mouth begins to lift.

“Hey, you,” he says lightly, sweetly. “I heard you’re not feeling well.”

“Ah, I’m fine. Seb’s just overreacting.”

Sebastian narrows his eyes at you in a glare.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” he scolds.

“I’ve rested enough,” you shoo with a hand.

“Ten minutes isn’t long enou—”

“Seb, do you mind attending to the customers behind Wonwoo?” you interject.

Sebastian eyes you before grumbling under his breath—something about you being stubborn—then greets the next customer.

You move down the counter to an empty space.

“What can I get you?” you ask Wonwoo.

He shakes his head. “Actually, I just wanted to talk today, if that’s okay. I won’t be long.”

You want to say he can take as much time as he wants, but you hold back.

Concern creeps from the shadows around you.

Is he going to tell you he’s leaving forever? Does he not like your drinks anymore? Did he find somewhere better? Someone better?

“O-Oh, yeah, okay,” you mumble and maneuver around the counter.

You lead Wonwoo to his usual corner, next to the window and the bookshelves. It’s a little quieter here.

You both take a seat from across each other.

You fidget in your seat, nerves making you angsty.

“Are you sure you feel okay?” he asks.

“Just tired, nothing to be worried about,” you smile.

Something in your chest warms at knowing he cares about your well-being.

“Hm. Alright,” he replies a little skeptically.

“Is everything okay with you?” You try to change the subject. “You didn’t come in yesterday.”

Your voice trails off, not wanting to show how concerned you were about his absence. However, Wonwoo can sense it regardless.

He smiles, though the small lift at the corner of his mouth tells you he’s amused with your attempt to hide your worry.

“Did you miss me?” he wonders.

Your eyes widen a bit. “I—Well. I just noticed you didn’t come because you always come, you know?”

He nods with a subtle smirk still on his lips, yet it fades after a few seconds.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come,” he apologizes sincerely. “One of my friends was in the hospital.”

Your heart drops and guilt kicks in. It’s not that you didn’t consider the possibility, but you had been more focused on him not liking you or the café.

“Goodness, I’m sorry to hear that. Are they okay?” you ask, frowning.

“He had to get surgery, but he’s fine. Just a little grumpy and whiny,” he chuckles.

You feel better hearing his small laughter.

“That’s better than being in pain, I guess,” you reply.

“Yes,” he concurs. He waits for a beat then continues, “I wanted to ask you a question.”

You tilt your head.

A question. That sounds better than some statement about not seeing you again.

“Okay,” you say.

“When we last spoke, it was about you not having enough time for stuff outside of work,” he begins.

You nod to show you’re following but don’t cut in.

“Well, there’s this small event tomorrow. It’s nothing fancy, just some walking around. I wanted to know if you’d like to go with me?”

Your heart races as he speaks. You’re stumped for words. It’s as if you’ve subconsciously been waiting for this, but now that the time has come, you’re too nervous to answer.

“You can decline,” Wonwoo assures.

Although you’re anxious about the idea of meeting outside of the café, you don’t want to miss the opportunity.

“N-No! I mean, no, I don’t want to decline. What time? Where?” you hurriedly say before he can take back his offer.

He grins and holds out a small piece of paper.

You take it, turning it over to see scribbled numbers. You guess it’s his phone number.

“I can pick you up after work. You close early tomorrow, right?” he asks.

You nod, trying to hide your smile at him remembering your café hours. Though, since he visits frequently, you guess it shouldn’t be that surprising.

“Dress warm, okay?” he adds.

“Okay.”

Wonwoo stands from his seat, and you follow.

“Get some more rest tonight, Yn,” he says softly.

“Y-Yeah. I will,” you reply.

Although you’re no longer fretting over reasons for his no-show yesterday, you’ll be worrying about tomorrow now. Still, you’ll try to sleep—maybe even drink some tea or warm milk. You’ll try for him.

Sunday

Wonwoo comes to the café a few minutes before you close. He’s dressed in a fluffy hoodie layered with a light brown trench coat. He looks so…soft and warm.

Before you depart, you make a drink for each of you. He tries to pay but you profusely veto his offer.

The ride to the event is quiet except for the random music being played from his stereo. You’re unsure how long the ride is, but you don’t care. Even if you’re not speaking, it’s nice being with him in a new environment. It’s nice to see a different side of Wonwoo. And part of you hopes he likes seeing a different side of you too.

The event is free, but since donations are strongly encouraged, you and Wonwoo slip a few bills into the plastic reindeer before stepping onto the lit-up walkway.

People of all ages are enjoying the event. The walkway is wide enough to accommodate a couple of people at a time, but it’s still crowded. It forces you and Wonwoo to bump shoulders several times, and each time, you both apologize.

You notice a few minutes into the walk that he seems tenser than usual. You’re not sure of the reason, and he doesn’t seem inclined to disclose the answer.

You try to distract him by pointing out different features—from big blown-up Santas to mechanical reindeer moving up and down. However, it doesn’t seem too effective.

Wonwoo’s steps eventually begin to slow. He never comes to a complete stop, but with his slow speed, a lot of people pass by. Eventually, there’s a gap in the crowd and his body relaxes.

He must not be a fan of crowds.

“Can we sit for a bit?” you ask, not really needing to rest but there are picnic tables with fake candles on them nearby that are less crowded.

“Sure,” he says.

You guide him to an empty table and sit across from each other.

“Thank you for taking me here,” you smile while glancing around. “It’s so pretty.”

The area is filled with multitudes of holiday decor. There are so many lights strung that you don’t need streetlamps to see. It’s rather magical to see it all. It’s a shame you can’t see this all year round. But then again, it might lose its effect if you see it constantly.

“I’m glad you like it,” he replies.

His eyes drop to your hands clasped on the table. There’s a slight shiver in them.

Suddenly, his hands are covering yours—warmth instantly shooting up your arms from his touch. He says nothing as he rubs his thumbs along your cool skin.

You want to say something; however, it doesn’t feel like you have to, so you just stare at him, a small smile on your face while you bask in the warmth he’s providing.

“How does it feel?” he questions after a few minutes.

You open your mouth to say “good” and to thank him for taking away your coldness, but before you can, he speaks again.

“Getting out, I mean. How does it feel to get out of the café?”

“Oh.” Your face heats rapidly. Thank goodness for your slow reaction. “It’s refreshing.”

Wonwoo hums, nodding.

“Should we walk around again, or should we go? I don’t want you catching a cold,” he says.

“I’d like to see more if that’s okay,” you admit.

“It’s more than okay,” he reassures.

He starts to stand, but you grip his hands to stop him. He stares down at you bemused.

“I have something for you,” you explain.

He sits back down, hands leaving yours when you pull away to retrieve something from your bag.

It’s a small black box with a purple bow on it, albeit the decor is a little squished from being confined to your small bag.

“What’s this?” he asks and carefully brings the box nearby.

“Since you gave me a gift this week,” you say, referring to his tip on Monday, “I got you one as well.”

“You didn’t—”

“Need to? I know. But, I wanted to. And I worked hard on it, so accept it, please?” you say lightly so as to not sound too serious.

He smiles and nods, lifting the lid.

Inside is the bookmark you made him. On the bookmark’s center is a cat with a game controller. It’s simple, but that’s the best you could do with your lack of drawing skills. Attached to the bookmark is a purple tassel.

“You made this?” Wonwoo asks in amazement.

“I’ll only admit to that if you like it,” you say out of nervousness.

Wonwoo laughs and glances at you. “I like it a lot.”

“Then yes, I made it.”

His gaze shifts to the item again, examining it closely for a bit. Then, he sets it back carefully in the box and puts it in his pocket.

“Thank you,” he says earnestly.

“Of course,” you smile.

You and Wonwoo walk around for twenty more minutes before you call it a night. Throughout the entire walk, he held your hand in his free pocket. The warmth from his body combined with his sheltered pocket made your hand clammy. You felt embarrassed at the fact, but Wonwoo refused to release his hold. Truthfully, you didn’t want to let go, but you also didn’t want him to be disgusted at the feeling.

Wonwoo drove you back to your café where your car was.

You tried to demand he stay in your car since he parked next to yours, but he still climbed out.

You stare at his eyes which are framed by his glasses; his cheeks are slightly rosy from the temperature. His dark hair dances softly in the wind. He looks so handsome.

Wonwoo leans forward and connects his lips ever so softly against your cheek. You have the urge to turn your face and capture his lips with yours, but you don’t.

There’s something romantic about going slow.

Wonwoo pulls back with a kind smile.

“You look beautiful tonight, Yn,” he whispers, breath ghosting your face.

You can’t stop the smile forming on your face even if you tried.

“And you look handsome,” you reply.

Wonwoo mirrors your grin.

“Get home safely, alright?” he instructs.

You nod. “You too.”

You unlock your car and climb inside.

Wonwoo lingers outside, watching with his hands in his pockets.

After starting your car and rolling down your window, you lean out and prop your head on your arm that’s resting on the edge.

He bends slightly to see you better, a small grin on his mouth. His face isn’t too close, but it’s closer than it should be for an average person. But, Wonwoo isn’t average.

He’s quiet for a while, and you take the time to observe his features again. Your heart is thumping loudly in your ears. The desire to kiss him resurfaces.

Maybe you’re starting to like Wonwoo. Not just because he’s attractive, kind, funny, and caring, but because he’s Wonwoo.

Wonwoo, who’s been a frequent customer at your café for months.

Wonwoo, who’s always been supportive and kind.

Wonwoo, who’s slowly capturing your heart.

“So, I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asks with a smile still on his face.

“Yeah,” you say, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Because of Wonwoo, you’re always looking forward to the next day.

For my “shy/silent” readers, I’ve created a feedback form where you can share your thoughts on my fics in a more anonymous and private way. ^-^

taglist: @musingsofananxiouspotato, @christinewithluv, @lockburn-castle, @iammisstora, @maknae00, @morklee02, @kittyhui

In story divider credit

©️hongcherry // DO NOT REPOST OR MODIFY Please consider reblogging if you liked this work to show your support. Feedback/commentary is always welcomed.

#kvanity #kdiarynet #svt fluff #svt #svt fanfic #wonwoo fanfic #wonwoo fluff #wonu fluff #wonu fanfic #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo x you #svt wonwoo #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fluff #seventeen oneshots #svt oneshots #seventeen fanfic fluff #svt fanfic fluff

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keerysfreckles · 6 months

Text

stay here - mike schmidt

pairing: mike schmidt x f!reader

warnings: use of y/n and she/her pronouns (no movie spoilers bc i haven't seen it yet im just obsessed with mike) fluff! fluff! fluff! like one makeout scene but thats it

enjoy!

to say babysitting michael schmidt's little sister, abby, was easy would be a lie. mike called you earlier that day, right before his shift started, and asked if you could look over abby until he got home. at the end of the call he mentioned his hours were shorter, and earlier than normal, so he wouldn't be home too late.

it was currently eleven pm. abby's supposed to be in bed by ten-thirty, and nothing was working. y/n tried calming her down with a disney movie. she even colored with her in her makeshift fort in her room. but nothing worked, she was as hyper as ever.

"abby, please! we both know you're going to be tired tomorrow and you have school," y/n pleads.

"but i'm not tired," abby groans, rolling over dramatically on the couch.

"you know what? fine. i'll just tell mike you weren't listening to me," y/n sends abby an evil smile. abby perks up, and sits up to lean on the arm of the couch to look at y/n.

"no! no no no! he said if i was good all week he'd buy me something from the store."

y/n crosses her arms and leans against the hallway wall, opposite of the couch. "looks like you're going to have to listen to me afterall."

"but i'm still not tired," abby groans again, but walks over towards y/n.

y/n looked down at the girl in front of her. she saw the small bags under her eyes, and noticed her eyes kept closing every so often.

an idea popped into y/n's head, "why don't you go lay down, and i'll be in in ten minutes, yeah?"

abby nodded, confused by the request, but still nodded nonetheless and walked down the hallway and towards her room. y/n watched for a moment before abby was fully inside her room. she knew abby was most likely to fall asleep once her head hit the pillow. now she only had to kill two hours until mike would be home.

y/n and mike have known each other for three years. y/n moved into the one story house that was unoccupied in mike's neighborhood. the town wasn't used to newcomers, so of course y/n was the talk of the town for her first two weeks there.

it wasn't until a month later when y/n was on her morning run on a saturday, and had bumped into michael. she was instantly confused when she noticed he was in his work uniform, and on the way back to his house. the two made light conversation, and ended up at y/n's that night for a movie marathon.

about a month after that, mike knocked on y/n's front door, and properly asked her if she wanted to go on a date with him. of course the girl agreed, and that was the first date of many for the couple.

which leaves y/n in the position she's in - babysitting abby.

when mike and y/n officially started dating abby interrogated the girl. asking her a bunch of questions, some more personal than others, which mike quickly interjected. abby gave mike the idea of having y/n watch over her, instead of having to pay random strangers. mike obviously agreed.

y/n settled herself on the couch and put on a random horror movie that was on tv. she couldn't even get past the opening as her eyes closed and her body went limp from tiredness.

she grabbed the blanket at the other end of the couch before fully letting sleep embrace her.

the only time y/n woke up was when she heard the doorknob rattling. she turned slightly, to look over the back of the couch, and saw her boyfriend walking through the doorway.

"shit, were you sleeping?" mike asked, taking off his jacket and throwing it by the front door.

y/n sat up and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, "yeah, but i can go. abby's asleep so i did my job pretty well," she chuckles.

"thank you again. and you know you can stay babe, i don't mind the comapny," michael smiles.

y/n couldn't help but notice how on edge mike looked as soon as he walked inside.

"are you okay?" she asks softly, still sitting on the couch.

mike nods as he sits down beside her, "yeah, just a long night." he leans over and kisses her cheek, causing y/n's cheeks to turn pink.

"do you want to talk about it?" y/n moves her leg to rest her chin on her knee, as mike's eyes glaze over the tv screen before turning fully towards his girlfriend.

"william was just on my ass before my shift, and vanessa had so much energy tonight, i just couldn't handle it. and it felt like time was going so slow tonight," mike's voice was quiet. y/n could tell he had a rough night as he rubbed his eyes.

y/n leans forward and turns off the tv, making mike slightly confused. "is there anything i can do to cheer you up?" y/n stands in front of mike and holds her hands out. he immediately takes her hands in his as he stands with her. mike leans forward and kisses y/n's forehead.

"can you just stay here tonight?" mike's voice almost seems desperate, as if y/n's presence was the only thing keeping him going right now.

y/n nods, "i'll always stay if you ask me to," she smiles as mike closes his eyes and rests his forehead against hers.

"was abby okay tonight?" mike asked, pulling away, but still keeping their hands connected.

"she was good, until trying to get her to go to bed. but you didn't hear that from me," this caused mike to let out a small laugh.

the couple, with one of their hands linked with each other's, went down the hallway. mike stopped y/n and opened abby's bedroom door quietly. y/n stood beside mike and held onto his arm with her free hand, resting her cheek on his shoulder.

the pair were met with abby sleeping under her blanket. small snores escaped her lips. y/n leaned up and kissed mike's jaw, before whispering, "c'mon, i know you need sleep just as much as she does."

y/n pulls mike into his room, which was at this point their shared room. mike had two drawers of his dresser specifically for y/n, vice verse in y/n's room. mike stepped into the bathroom and they both got ready for the night, in the most comfortable clothes they own.

y/n was already laying down under the sheets once mike came out of the bathroom. even laying there, he thought y/n looked so effortlessly beautiful.

"why are you staring at me like that?" y/n asks as she watches mike slide into the bed next to her.

"what? i can't stare at my pretty girl?" mike leans forward and kisses y/n on the lips, as he brings his left hand to her cheek. he rolls over, so his right arm is on the mattress, as he hovers over y/n. her hands move to his waist, slowing moving to his lower back.

their lips molded with one another's, and y/n could almost sense the stress leaving mike's body.

mike barely pulled away, leaving little to no space in between the two, "i love you so much."

y/n smiled, "i love you too."

she leaned up to kiss him once more, and mike playfully rolled his eyes while moving to lay down beside the girl. mike loved falling asleep while holding onto y/n's waist, because he knew she was safe.

#michael schmidt #fnaf #fnaf movie #mike schmidt #abby schmidt #mike schmidt imagine #michael schmidt imagine #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x you

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moni-logues · 16 days

Text

What the cat dragged in

Pairing: Lee Know x reader (afab, she/her)

Genre: smut, angst, strangers-to-lovers (kinda); 5+1

Summary: You followed Minho home because you had nowhere else to go. Then you kept following... all the way into his heart, but not his bed.

aka five times you and Minho don't fuck and one time you do.

Content: reader is 16yo in the first section (nothing sexual or romantic happens but there are suggestions of it), couple of references to human/sex trafficking; the gang are useless crime idiots but this is only barely relevant; interrupted foreplay; attempted car sex; unprotected piv sex; fingering; a lot of kissing tbh

Word count: 13.5k

A/N: SO this whole thing actually started HERE in JUNE (jfc, I thought I'd been thinking about this since like, October or something but, no no, a full ten months!!!!). It has drifted from that somewhat but that was its beginning and, honestly, I'm kind of stoked about this fic. I really like how it came out and it's my FIRST MINHO. It's taken me SO long to get around to my bestest evil catdad.

Huge thanks to @violetsiren90 for beta-ing! and also for reading it half-finished when I really needed some encouragment. AND for the title

*~*~*

FIRST

“Why don’t you fuck off?”

The voice came from behind you. It was low and cold and threatening. It was directed at Shindong, the man in front of you, whom you were sure was this close to offering to take you home. You whipped around to see who had uttered it.

Your immediate thought was that he was too short and too slight to be walking up with that level of aggression. Your second thought was interrupted by the spark that shot up your arm when he grabbed your hand. You’d have pulled it back, but his grip was solid and your arm didn’t budge.

“What the fuck do you want, Minho?” your companion replied, all the charm sliding off his face, replaced with a loathing, arrogant sneer.

“I want you to fuck off.”

“She yours? Might want to keep a closer eye on her; she was just about to come home with me.”

The stranger’s hand squeezed yours, so hard it started to hurt. He offered nothing in response.

Both men continued to stare at each other. Shindong had inches on Minho – both height and breadth – and you couldn’t believe your eyes when you saw him hesitating. He flicked his eyes between you and Minho.

“What if I want to fight you for her?”

“What if I told you she’s not legal?”

Shindong hesitated, moved just a fraction backwards, no longer leaning in, looming over the two of you. He rolled his eyes and gave a heartless chuckle.

“Not worth the fucking bother,” he muttered as he walked away.

Minho, still a stranger to you, still holding your hand, who hadn’t even looked your way, pulled you sharply by said hand, storming off and taking you with him. You followed him into one of the warehouse’s many dark corners. He kicked out the couple who were two clothing items shy of a citation for public indecency, and only then did he let you go. Only then did he turn his dark, flaming eyes on you.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you asked.

Shindong had been your lifeline. What did this guy think he was playing at?

Your vehemence took him off-guard, surprise flashing across his face, until his scowl returned, worse than before. You understood now why he made Shindong hesitate. His gaze was fierce, penetrating, his jaw set, his mouth a taut, grim line. You would never show your hand to anyone, but a cold droplet of fear slithered down your spine. You straightened it, rolled your shoulders back, lifted your head. You wouldn’t let him intimidate you.

“Do you know him?” he asked, voice still low, still threatening.

Not personally. Not until that evening. But people like him came with a reputation that preceded them. A reputation that you were relying upon being based in fact. A reputation that had spread all around your school and beyond, but that you had heard from a source close to the truth. It was close enough that you were able to find him here, in a part of town you’d never been to. It was close enough that you were able to pick Shindong out from this crowd. Close enough that when you approached him and he laughed at you – young, naïve, foolish, all of those things you were sure he thought – you were able to drop his cousin’s name and he suddenly took you seriously. That was what you had been hoping for. A connection was all you needed to keep you covered for a night, at least. Just one would be something.

And then this guy showed up.

“I was about to.”

Minho’s top lip curled, just a fraction, his nose barely wrinkling with the movement, but you got his meaning. Disgust. He could be as disgusted as he liked; that wasn’t your problem. Your problem was that his disgust had led him to chase away your only lead.

Or was he? Was Shindong your only option?

You changed tack. Realised that maybe you had another now. Minho, whoever the fuck he was, had approached you as if he knew you and scared off the competition. That must have been it. Despite the way he glowered at you, absolutely no interest or desire lurking behind his dark eyes, you figured you had nothing left to lose.

You relaxed a little, pouted your lips, played up to the damsel in distress he might have thought you were.

“But if he’s so awful, I guess I can only thank you,” you said, making your voice soft, your eyes a little wider. You lifted your lips in a tiny, shy smile and then put a hand to them, your thumb and index finger tugging a little on your bottom lip, hoping it made you look small, nervous, sweet.

He gave you no reaction. He continued to glare, his stance unchanged, unmoving. So you moved. You stepped towards him: shy, little bird steps, until you were so close that he moved backwards.

“Thanks for looking out for me. Your name’s Minho, right?”

His eyes tightened minutely. He didn’t reply.

“I’d like to thank you properly,” you said, sliding your body into his, pressing just one finger against his chest. You fluttered your lashes up at him.

His face changed immediately. Eyes wide, mouth dropping, and he was stumbling backwards, pressing himself against the wall.

“What the fuck are you doing? What are you, fifteen?”

Embarrassment licked your cheeks like flames and your scowl returned.

“I’m sixteen!”

“Wow, big age. My mistake. By all means, let’s fuck, Sixteen.”

His sarcasm was biting but you hadn’t given yourself up yet.

“Don’t you want to?” you asked, innocently. “You must have sent Shindong away for a reason. If not this, then what?”

He let out a sigh so aggrieved it was almost a shout. He rolled his eyes.

“Jesus Christ, where are your parents?” he asked, but it was muttered, almost under his breath and you didn’t know if you were supposed to answer. You did anyway.

“Dead.”

His lack of reaction grated. He didn’t flinch. There was no surprise, no guilt on his face. He had robbed you of Shindong and now he had robbed you of your fun: getting a reaction out of people as a poor, orphaned, little Annie was as close as you got these days. Then again, he wasn’t a well-meaning aunt or nosy teacher. He knew what this place was; he knew, or at least knew of, Shindong. Maybe your hand-grenade was, here, little more than a snap.

“And this is your great life plan? Offering sexual favours to predators?”

He gestured widely to the room behind you, and you could only assume he did not mean to include himself in that group.

Actually, it was your plan. Kind of… Insofar as you had any sort of plan at all. You would not be telling him that. You kept your mouth shut tight and jaw clenched, refusing to look down, to be the one to break the eye contact.

“You know he’s a fucking bad guy,” he said, more softly than he had said anything so far but the hard edge remained.

“And what are you, my hero?”

“Absolutely fucking not. I do not want to have anything to do with whatever mess you are making of your life, but I’m not about to let that cunt take off with a child.”

“I am not a child!” you shouted, right in his face.

He took it, impassive, unimpressed even.

“That’s exactly what a child would say.”

You wanted to hit him. You wanted to smash him in his beautifully sharp jaw, or break that perfect, delicate nose of his. You were just about not stupid enough to try. How did he even know you were young? You knew you didn’t look it; you were always getting told you looked older than you were. How did he know? Why did he care?

“Go on then,” you said, darkly. “Leave. If I’m not your fucking problem, why don’t you fuck off?”

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t move.

“Worried I’ll get murdered?”

You lifted your hands to your open mouth, eyes widened, a mockery of fear.

His face and tone were flat when he responded.

“There are things worse than death.”

Then he pushed past you and out of the door.

You took one shaky breath and walked after him before you could talk yourself out of it. You decided that, one way or another, this guy owed you and it was time to collect.

You followed him, not too closely, but not exactly hiding it, for over a mile. You wondered, at one point, if he was trying to lose you, if he was actually heading to his destination or just trying to outlast you. You’d show him. You were a long-distance runner at school; you were extremely confident you could keep up.

So confident, in fact, so determined were you not to lose him, that you were too slow to notice him slowing, to notice him stopping, to very nearly not stop yourself walking into him.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he asked, not turning to look at you.

“I’m walking here.”

“Stop following me.”

“I’m not following you.”

He raised his eyes skyward. He stood for a moment and you stood, too, waiting for him to continue – walking or talking, you didn’t know which. He finally turned around and looked at you, everything about him a little softer than before. Not soft, but softer.

“You can’t follow me,” he told you slowly, emphatically. “I am not looking after you. I am not your fath-“

“I don’t have a fucking father.”

He scoffed.

“Yeah, that much is very clear, Sixteen.”

“I’m not sixteen!”

He frowned.

“That’s what you told me.”

“That’s not my fucking name! Stop saying it like I’m a child. How old are you anyway?”

“Old enough to know better.”

“What does that mean?”

“Go home, Sixteen.”

“I don’t have a home.”

“Well you can’t have mine.”

He turned on his heel and continued walking, a little faster this time, increasing his pace to a jog as he crossed the road. You knew he hoped you wouldn’t be able to follow, that the flashing green man would disappear before you could make it, but you’d been underestimated before.

After another mile or so, you saw him take his phone from his pocket and put it to his ear. You couldn’t quite hear what he was saying but you thought it sounded like Japanese. Was he Japanese?

It hadn’t missed you, the knowledge that you had no knowledge of this man. You understood that you were, as far as you knew, in as much danger following him home as you had been going with Shindong. But you literally had no other options. It was follow this guy somewhere or wander around on the street all night; it was too cold to stay out. You hadn’t thought beyond that when you’d left your house earlier that day. Hadn’t thought much at all, except about getting out.

Now you were out. Mission accomplished. And you had no idea what to do next.

You almost missed him ducking into a narrow side street, but you caught the door he rushed through just before it shut. He disappeared from view through another door, off to the left of the dingy, dimly lit corridor you found yourself in. You stalked up to it – it wasn’t even fully closed – but something made you hesitate.

Suddenly the fear that you had been suppressing all night raised its head. Was this a lion’s den? A serpents’ nest? Was Minho playing some kind of long game, saving you from Shindong so you would trust him, so you would follow him here, so he could…?

“Are you going to fucking stand out there all night?” you heard a voice call from inside. It had to be Minho’s but you wouldn’t have bet on it.

You fixed your face, your scowl reappearing, and kicked the door open with excessive force.

It was just a bar. Just him, sitting on a stool with a beer in his hand, and one other guy, standing opposite, looking at you with his eyebrows raised in the way a parent does when they catch their child doing something naughty.

“You break that door, I’m going to make you pay for it,” he said, in an accent that you knew wasn’t local.

And, just like a defiant child, you slammed it shut without breaking eye contact. He turned to Minho.

“Thanks, man. You had to bring home a fucking streetrat.”

“I am not a streetrat,” you spat.

“No?” Minho chimed in. “Then where’s your home?”

“Fuck off.”

“I really wish you would.”

You sat down in a booth just off to your left and stared him down.

“She can’t stay here,” the stranger said to Minho, as if you were no longer there.

“I didn’t bring her; she just came.”

He, the newest stranger, looked between you and Minho for several seconds. He was looking at Minho when he spoke again.

“One night. That’s it. And she’s your responsibility.”

He heaved a box full of empty glass bottles into his arms and wandered away, through a different door, mumbling something about ‘strays’.

“Who was that?” you demanded as Minho continued to sip at his beer.

You realised that you hadn’t actually been introduced to him either. And he hadn’t asked for your name. You wondered if he would now.

“None of your fucking business,” he answered, finally moving from the stool to walk behind the bar.

He opened the cash register and took bags from a cubby just below it. He produced a tiny pencil from his pocket and tore off a strip of the receipt roll. He took out the cash and started to count. You watched his lips move silently as he flicked quickly through the notes, pausing to drop a stack onto the bar and write a number down. He picked up the next stack and repeated.

“Don’t even think about it,” he warned, not looking up, not even, apparently, pausing in his counting. “Even if you got your urchin mitts on it, you wouldn’t make it to the door.”

You believed him, but you weren’t planning some kind of move. You didn’t need his money. You were just watching.

You watched until all the notes and all the coins were accounted for, until they had been put into bags and those bags into a box and Minho turned to follow his friend. You stood from your seat and went after him.

There were two doors, you realised. Minho took the left. It led to an office. The other guy must’ve taken the right because the room was empty except for furniture and, in the corner, a safe. Minho dumped the box before it and turned to you.

“Turn around.”

“Worried I’ll crack the code?” you asked with your eyes rolling back in your head.

“Just turn around.”

You did as you were told without a fight because, at that point, there was nowhere else to go. You couldn’t admit defeat and walk out of there; you weren’t sure that Minho wouldn’t make you do just that. It was a knife-edge, being the obnoxious, vile brat that you were. You’d stormed past boundaries before but, well, look where it got you. You were tired and worried enough now to decide you would stop pushing your luck. It had been stretched far enough already.

There was a second of silence before you heard the beeping of the buttons pressed and the shuffling of bags, the clink of coins, the thunk of a bigger, metallic something against the walls of the safe. He didn’t tell you when he was finished, didn’t say you could turn back around. He just walked past you, out of the office, turning the light off as he went. As soon as you were out of the door, he shut and locked it.

You followed him back to the bar and he did the same thing: turned off the lights and held a door for you (not politely, not because he was being nice), following you through it and locking this one behind him, too. You walked to the end of the corridor and he gestured you down some wooden stairs that creaked as if they would break under your weight. He turned the corridor light off, too, and locked the door at the top of the steps.

This was it. You were locked in. There were at least two locks between you and escape. When Minho shoved past you to the left and opened yet another door, your stomach sank a little further. Three locked doors. He didn’t hold this one for you but he didn’t slam it in your face either, so you rolled your shoulders back, put on your game face and walked through.

You almost regretted it when you saw where it led. It was possibly the worst place you had ever seen. It wasn’t messy, but there was something dirty about the room anyway. Outdoor furniture inside; everything vaguely brown in a way that you didn’t think it had been fresh out of the box; everything tired and worn and sagging; the naked lightbulb dim and humming as it shone; the fridge, scratched and dented and shoved into a corner, also hummed, managing to sound as well as look tired. It was bleak. It was grey. It made you feel like things were crawling on you and you’d only just stepped foot in it.

You half expected your feet to stick to the floor when you took a few steps forward. They didn’t but the carpet was so old and worn that you had no idea what colour it was originally; in places, you could see the floorboards clearly through the threads.

Minho pointed to the sofa.

“There,” was all he said.

Then he disappeared out of the room. You gingerly sat on the edge, wondering if you should be more concerned about your health or your safety. Maybe you were sheltered here, but you pictured a thousand and one diseases squirming on the cushions. It wasn’t fair to, because you could see that it was cleaned. The room wasn’t filthy; there were no crumbs or water rings on the coffee table; there was no rubbish littering the floor; the sink was empty and a stack of plates and bowls stood beside it, washed if not yet dried. Minho was clearly diligent.

Minho and whoever else lived here. There were too many doors leading off this room for him to be here alone.

Your curiosity was stopped in its tracks when he reappeared with a pillow and a towel. He threw the pillow wordlessly at one end of the sofa and then he raised the towel a little.

“I don’t have any blankets. Don’t get cold.”

You scoffed a laugh and were grateful that he ignored it. You weren’t indignant; you weren’t being a brat this time. You were dismayed. You couldn’t believe it. A house with no spare blankets. You were going to sleep under a towel. You glanced around you for a final time, tears pricking in your eyes, fingers at your lips, picking nervously. You weren’t going to die here, you told yourself. Probably. You were probably not going to die here and that was all you needed.

You stood up, turned off the light, tested the door handle (not sure if you wanted it to be locked or unlocked), then returned to the sofa. You took off your shoes, took your bag from your back and hugged it tightly to your chest. You lay in the dark, in a stranger’s horrible house, alone, tired, more vulnerable than you would ever admit. You cried silently, reluctantly grateful for the towel, until you fell asleep.

SECOND

“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to everyone! Happy birthday to you!”

You only got one birthday a year. The whole group of you. There wasn’t enough to stretch to everyone getting an individual birthday, an individual cake, a day off. So the middle day of the year, 2nd July, was chosen and you all had a birthday together.

One cake, one candle each, six people blowing them out. Most unsanitary, but, by now, there wasn’t much you hadn’t shared so a little spit didn’t even register.

You were too drunk by far, which was stupid really. It wasn’t even your first time drinking legally (because your real birthday wasn’t until later in the year), so there was no reason for you to behave as if you had never had a drink before. You should have learnt a little self-control.

But it was your birthdays. So you kept having one more and one more and one more. As did everyone else.

“Nineteen!” Minho called as he fell into the booth next to you.

“I thought I was Sixteen?”

He shrugged.

“You do still act like it.”

You shoved him, almost hard enough to push him off his seat completely. He shoved you back.

“Shut up, Minnie.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, plotting death for using the nickname he loathed above all others, and you sent a simpering smile back at him.

“You’re a little squirt, anyone ever tell you that?”

You rolled your eyes.

“You, literally all the time, because you are for some reason desperate to sound like the oldest grandpa in the room.”

He let out a growling sort of cry, dramatic because he’d also had too much to drink. Then he stood.

“BYE, Sixteen!”

If someone didn’t know the two of you, it would seem as if nothing had changed in the time since you met: both antagonistic, unlikable, as hard as you could make yourselves, forced together and barely tolerating it.

Those who did know you, however, knew that things were very different now. Minho had, reluctantly, taken responsibility for you and, when you had grown up just enough to realise what that had meant, you felt all your hard resolve melt.

They had very little, this ragtag bunch of kids (barely older than you) but they shared everything between them. Never quite enough to go around, money from legitimate enterprises never stretching far enough and having to be supported by money from less than legitimate means. You were a liability. In every sense. The only girl, a stranger, certainly not (at that time) a criminal. But Minho took responsibility and the others let you in.

When you had learnt to see past your own nose, you saw the myriad ways in which they took care of each other. The silent, invisible way Minho cared for his friends. For you. You hadn’t forgotten the sting of electricity you’d felt when he held your hand way back when. Before you’d even seen him, before you knew his name, before any of this. You felt it all the time now. You were a live wire for him.

No one in the group was stupid enough to refer to you as siblings or even joke that you acted like them. Your feelings for Minho were your most closely guarded secret but that didn’t mean everyone didn’t know. You were pretty sure even Minho himself knew. Not that he would ever act on it. He pretended not to notice, you thought. You had pushed close to the edge of being kicked out enough times to know that some things were still precarious. To know that he would never risk his weird family by acknowledging there was anything more than friendship between you. If it even was between you. He had given you very little reason to believe your feelings were reciprocated. So you did your best to ignore them.

They became a fact of life. Like the fact that Minho was the only one Chan trusted to count the cash (not because the others weren’t trustworthy; they just weren’t accurate). Like the fact that Chan had the final say on everything. Like the fact that he would never abuse that authority and act for anything other than the wellbeing of the entire group. It just was.

And it wasn’t like you were stupid enough to pine. You had some pride. Plenty, in fact.

You stood from the booth and sauntered to the bar where your sometime-boyfriend, Johnny, was getting another drink.

“Babe,” you whined, draping yourself over his back, hooking your chin over his shoulder.

“Babe,” he whined back, copying, mocking.

“Entertain me, I’m bored.”

“It’s your party.”

You pouted and forced him to join you on the makeshift dancefloor. You refused to notice that Minho left it as soon as you joined, his face dropping, looking only at Johnny and never once pleased about it.

Chan had cut off the booze supply hours ago and the sun was thinking about raising its head above the horizon, which meant that, far from being wasted and happy and giddy and passing out in your bed, your hangover was already crawling in and you were tired and irritable. Johnny had pissed you off sometime before the booze dried up and then pissed off entirely before you’d begun to sober up, so you’d spent the smallest hours of the morning making your bad mood everyone else’s problem.

Everyone except Minho. Because whilst you were always determined, at these moments, to needle him, to want to get under his skin, to want to scrape it back and spit on it, he was never there. He managed to avoid your venom and, even when he didn’t, seemed immune. He would just slow-blink at you as if he were looking through you and turn away. It boiled your blood and he knew it.

You stomped downstairs to the same shithole basement you’d walked into two years ago. Everyone else had either left or gone to bed already, you thought. You expected it to be empty. It wasn’t.

“Fuck sake, Mouse,” you spat, using your usual nickname, his preferred one (… preferred being too strong a term; it was the one he allowed you to use without retaliation). “Why are you sitting on your own like a fucking loser?”

“You know he treats you like a fucking loser?”

He turned to lean over the back of the sofa, looking tired under his eyes but energetic within them.

“Fuck off,” you returned. “As if you give a shit who I date.”

“Date? That’s what you call it?” He scoffed, deliberately, exaggeratedly, as if you wouldn’t otherwise have recognised his scorn. “He treats you like dirt.”

“You would know.”

He was on his feet and in front of you before you could blink.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

You’d had about enough of it, you decided at that moment. Not enough sleep, too much alcohol, and just enough of this bullshit. You grabbed the front of his T-shirt and pulled him with force towards you. You took him by the back of the neck and kissed him, hard and like you meant it. Because you did. It only took him a second to push you back, hands firm on your shoulders, holding you away from him. His face had lost his usual mask – the blank, passive, flat-eyed one that he used to stare people out with unnatural stillness – but he was still keeping you out; it was guarded, flashes in his eyes being stamped out with every blink, his jaw held tight and his mouth shut.

“That’s what I fucking mean, Minho,” you hissed.

“How dare you?” he hissed back, voice so low in his throat you almost couldn’t hear it. “You have no fucking idea.”

His blinks weren’t quick enough this time to hide all the anger burning in his eyes.

“No idea of what? What?!”

His lip curled and he let you go. He let his guard down around you more than he should have: shrugged you off and turned his back on you. You took both palms and pushed him. He tumbled forward, catching his foot on a side table, pulling it down with him as he hit the floor. Cat-like in his reflexes, he was on his feet before the table had stopped rocking. He charged straight at you and continued until you were pressed up against the door, until he was pressed up against you.

“You want a kiss?” he asked and every part of you should have been screaming yes, because you did.

You did want a kiss, but nothing about this was how you wanted it. It was a threat, not an offer. You’d been threatened with worse. You jutted your chin out a little, always standing up, never backing down.

“You going to give me one?”

His eyes flicked towards your lips, hovered there a second, like he was really thinking about it. They stayed there a little longer and doubt was picking up speed on its race to your consciousness. You thought he wouldn’t. You thought he would. You still couldn’t predict his behaviour. You thought you had him pinned and then he flipped you. You always thought you had him on the ropes, but you never really did.

You were impatient, tiring of this, doubt and insecurity and embarrassment swelling up inside you and you opened your mouth to tell him to go away, to fuck off and die, to do something vile to himself. It was at that moment that his eyes met yours again, for a split second that sent a streak of ice through your blood, and then his mouth was on yours.

You had never once looked a gift horse in the mouth, but even if you had wanted to, even if you had decided before he did it that you would push him off, return his rejection, you couldn’t possibly have done it now. His lips were soft, his hands still tight around your arms. He crowded you further against the door, your bodies pressing together as he swiped his tongue against your bottom lip, asking for entry. You gave it to him. Your hands snaked up his chest and into his hair; it was softer than you’d expected, silky. For a moment, you were disarmed by it. Soft. He never let his softness show if he could help it. Only rarely. Only when he felt safe enough to let his guard down did it ever come creeping out from its hiding place. But here it was, sprouting from the top of his head. Here it was, pressed against your lips, brushing your tongue. You felt weak at the knees.

As far as kisses go, it was the best you’d had. Fire and ice fighting: goosebumps erupting on your skin as it flushed hot, making you shiver. His mouth was warm and wet and sweet and you were desperate for more, knowing that he was kissing you just right and that you weren’t doing the same. You were too eager, too greedy, too needy. This wouldn’t be enough. Couldn’t be enough. Just his lips on yours, his tongue rolling with yours, his hands still pinning your sides. You couldn’t stop here. You had to have him. All.

You whined when he pulled back, when his grip on you loosened, and you opened your eyes expecting his to be soft and liquid, to be those sweet, round boba eyes he didn’t show enough of.

They were hard and flat. He moved away from you in one, long step and back was that impassive blankness he loved so much.

“Happy fucking birthday,” he said.

He stalked off to his bedroom and shut the door.

You stayed, glued to the front door, shaking. With anger, probably. With embarrassment, maybe. With something akin to heartbreak, but you would never admit it. The roaring in your ears, the screaming of invective at both yourself and Minho in your head so loud that you didn’t hear the sound of a key in the lock, weren’t aware that someone was trying to get in until they were shoving at the door, pushing you with it.

“What the fuck?” came a quiet whine from the other side of it as he slowly pushed you away and got the door open. “Why were you trying to keep me out?”

Jisung’s hamster cheeks were full of kimbap, the other half of the roll still in his hand, and his eyes were wide with that cute, pitiful look he carried off so perfectly.

You ignored him. You stomped into your bedroom and slammed the door as hard as you could.

THIRD

Despite having your own bedroom (graciously offered up by Changbin and very ungraciously accepted by you), privacy in the small basement flat was an issue. Which is why you were huddled in the farthest corner of it, fists stuffed in your mouth, crying as quietly as you could in the dead of night.

You lived with five men, but you had not yet found someone to date who would take the threat of them seriously. They did make threats, on occasion, when they had to. Because you had not yet found a man who could treat you as anything more than shit but you had, apparently, found the least bothered and most unfazed men in the city. The one before last had barely flinched when all five of them had battered down his door to come for you, when you had finally managed to get a message out that he was keeping you there.

You never found out what happened to him. You didn’t ask and no one told you.

This one hadn’t been that bad. That was the problem. You had thought he was nice. You had thought (as you had so many times before) that he might actually be the first to treat you right.

You were wrong. So, you were crying in the corner of your room. You didn’t always cry. In fact, you didn’t often cry. Rarely, even. It meant that, when you did, the floodgates opened and you found it hard to stop. You found it almost impossible to breathe, desperately snatching air between sobs. Your head was already pounding, your face aching. It was total and complete the way it overtook you. So much so that you didn’t notice the presence of another person until they sat down beside you.

You gasped, as much as you could amongst your shaking, shallow breaths, and were only slightly comforted that it was him. He said nothing. He pulled you towards him and held you like that until the storm had passed.

You continued to sit in silence as your tears dried on your face, as your heartrate settled and your breathing became even. He didn’t make a move to let you go and you didn’t make one either. You were tired. You were sad. You were, though you wouldn’t admit it, a little bit heartbroken. This bit of comfort was exactly what you wanted.

You didn’t want him to say anything. You didn’t want to hear it. That you’d done it again. That you’d never learn. That, somehow, you were gullible and easy to fool despite the fact that you had been hardening yourself against vulnerability of every kind since you were a child. That men just found a way to get beyond your defences—that bad men found a way. The good ones didn’t find you at all.

“His loss,” was what he said.

You lifted your head, tears still clinging to your lashes, drying on your cheeks. He had that look on his face that he saved for you: the soft, sweet one he gave you when you’d earnt it or when you needed it. The one that made your insides curdle, that even now made your heart skip a beat, that you wanted to fall into forever, that had sealed your fate so many years ago now. He blinked slowly at you, cat-like as always, and brushed your hair from your face.

You opened your mouth to speak but nothing came. Your voice was trapped in your throat because he was still looking at you like that but his eyes kept flicking down, then back up, then down again at longer and longer intervals until he closed them completely and brought his lips to yours.

You didn’t have to think twice. Didn’t have to think at all. Your body did the thinking for you. Your hands pushed into his hair and your legs pushed you up so you could slot them down either side of his hips. His hands found your waist and then the soft skin on the other side of your t-shirt.

This was nothing like the first time. You remembered it all too well: the electricity, the anger, the volcano of feelings you’d tried to suppress rumbling and threatening to erupt, to blow the lid off the equilibrium you’d found. The hunger, the desperation, your own neediness spoiling it all.

You weren’t desperate anymore, for his approval, for his love, for whatever he would give you. You wanted it all, would lay yourself on the floor and kiss his feet if he asked, with no hesitation, but you always knew he wouldn’t ask. You’d got used to that.

Except now he was kissing you – he had kissed you – and his hands were squeezing at your waist and it was slow. Controlled. Deliberate. There was nothing accidental about the way his tongue rolled over yours, the way his teeth bit at your bottom lip, the way his hands pulled you lower on his lap, pulled you closer to him until there wasn’t so much as a breath of air between you.

“Mouse,” you murmured, quietly into his mouth.

He shook his head minutely, a tiny hum swallowed by you when he pressed your lips together again. No talking. Fine. You didn’t need to talk. If he kept kissing you, kept touching you, you wouldn’t need to utter another word again. But you couldn’t stop the little gasp when he sank his teeth into the sensitive skin of your neck, the moan rising in your throat when he ran his tongue over the same spot, hurting then soothing. Like always.

It made your brain turn fuzzy, static wavering in your mind, as all your conscious thoughts turned to liquid, melting into Minho’s mouth, swallowed down by him, eaten whole.

Then the front door slammed hard.

“Guys!” Chan shouted, in a way that he never did.

You heard him pounding on doors, opening them, starting with Changbin and Hyunjin’s on the right.

You sprang apart like two north magnets, instinctively repelled by one another, just in time for Chan to burst through the door and scan the room for you, too wired, too stressed to register that it might have been weird for you to be sitting on the floor like you were, certainly not noticing your kiss-bitten lips or heavy breathing or the way Minho’s hair was ruffled like it had just had a fist in it.

“We’ve got to go,” Chan announced. “Like, right fucking now.”

FOURTH

No one wanted to up the ante. No one wanted to start getting involved with the organised crime lot. Your crime was… disorganised. It was local. It was just you doing the things you needed to, skirting around the law to survive. It wasn’t really crime, not if you squinted hard enough. Then the police raided the bar (which was illegal in pretty much every way that mattered) and you had nowhere left to go.

There was just enough of the trust your parents left you (which you got access to at 21) to secure a new apartment (one that was not underground) and a small buy-in with a group of much larger, older, more experienced criminals. There was very little else you could’ve done at that point. Or so you all told yourselves.

The apartment was an upgrade in every way but size. It was newer and above-ground which meant it stayed warm and didn’t get damp. It had windows which let the sun in. It had enough room for two sofas so everyone could sit comfortably. It had a gas hob which really only Chan and Minho cared about, but they cared a lot. It had two bathrooms with reliably hot water and good pressure. It did not get power cuts. It did not always smell musty. It was not brown and beige and grey. But it did have fewer rooms to be parcelled out between you all.

The last one had four rooms that served as bedrooms. This had three. Between six. There had been furious arguments and endless straw-pulling and no one was happy with the results. It took a few weeks but eventually things shook out as they always should have.

You shared with Minho because he was the only one who was willing. You both had reputations for being scary (in totally opposite ways: you the raging bull to his still, fathomless water); you loved to take your bad moods out on one another; he was the only one you ever willingly let see you when you were sad and small and vulnerable. Besides which, no one else would dare try to take the space at your side from him. So you shared a bedroom: two twin beds on opposite sides of the room, because Minho refused to sleep in a bunk bed and you refused to sleep together in a double. There was little room for anything else.

You complained about the sleeping arrangements almost daily. You loved the hot water and the sunlight and the not-mouldiness of the apartment, but some days, you couldn’t bear the way you couldn’t get away from Minho.

You’d thought you had it bad. This was even worse.

Four days. Four days, so far, staying (squatting) in a vile, empty, dilapidated villa apartment, staring out of a window, waiting for something to happen. Just you and Minho and one room. For four days and counting.

It was Minho’s turn to watch and he sat at the monitor, diligent, hard-working, as always, whilst you were supposed to be catching up on sleep. Instead, you were lying on what passed for a bed, tossing an apple into the air and catching it, over and over and-

“You going to stop that?” Minho asked, with his trademark tone: both light and threatening.

“Nope!”

“Want me to make you?”

You flicked your eyes over to him: he was studying the monitor seriously, but you were sure he had been looking at you.

You hadn’t spoken about that night. Partly because you hadn’t had the time. You’d jumped up from the floor of your bedroom, grabbed as much stuff as you could fit in the first bag you could find and the six of you had legged it, making it out just in time to watch the police cars roll up and trash the place.

“There was so much fucking money in that safe,” Chan had said, plaintively, staring at the sky. That was when you’d offered up yours.

You had had to find somewhere to live, and fast. You’d all had to find jobs, something to do, some way to make money that wasn’t connected to the bar. You had been passing like ships in the night, meeting only to argue about shower time and sleeping arrangements. Then Changbin had come home with a suggestion. You’d argued about that, too, but in the end, it was unanimous. Go in with the bigger boys or – well, there was no ‘or’. That was the point.

So you and Minho were working recon. You’d pulled the short straw in more ways than one. It was the longest you had spent together. Ever. Confined for days in this space.

On the first day, he refused to talk to you at all.

On the second, you made everything into an argument because at least you could get a rise out of him.

On the third, he had seemed to thaw. Something had softened and you talked, like friends, like you used to. You laughed and joked and it wasn’t so bad.

Now it was the fourth day and that ice had returned. He had frozen over, doubled-down on silence. No sooner had you had warmed up than he was giving you frostbite, chilblains. Whiplash. Those ten words were the first he’d spoken to you all day.

“No,” you answered. “I don’t want you to make me.”

You paused, wondering if the words you were considering were a sign that you were going mad, that being cooped up in this space had sent you a little doolally. The unbearable nothingness of your days passing like sludge forcing all those hidden thoughts forward, with nothing to distract you from them. The words were certainly risky, but Minho had shown his hand. He had kissed you. Like he meant it. And you knew he would’ve continued to kiss you had Chan not interrupted. He’d have continued to do a whole lot more than just kiss you.

And you were bored.

“I want you to fuck me,” you said plainly, catching the apple in front of your face and turning to look at him.

He was still studying the monitor. Nothing on his face gave anything away: surprise, disgust, lust, laughter. Nothing. You were used to that.

“We’re on a job.”

“Yeah, and it’s boring and nothing is happening and who fucking cares? I would rather have sex.”

He sighed and rolled his head to look at you.

“Really, Sixteen? Now is the time you want to bring this up?”

“Stop calling me Sixteen.”

“I always call you Sixteen.”

“You always call me Sixteen when you want to put me in my place or make me feel like a child. I’m not a fucking child anymore.”

“I know you aren’t.”

“Then why won’t you fuck me?”

He laughed and your blood began to simmer.

“There’s more that I look for than just ‘is not a child’.”

“Don’t try to act like you don’t want to.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to.”

“Well then, shall we?”

He smirked and the glint in his eye was new to you.

“We’re on a job.”

“Stop saying that!” you cried, stalking the three steps from your side of the room to his.

You manoeuvred yourself into his lap, blocking the monitor from his view, and took his face in your hands.

“We’re on a job and nothing is happening and nothing will continue to happen for ages yet, so why don’t we make it a little less fucking boring?”

You knew he wanted to. Could see his pupils dilate. Watched his eyes flick to your lips and your chest and back up. This might have been all he wanted: sex and nothing more. You didn’t know. Weren’t interested in having that conversation. Were convinced that it didn’t matter either way. If he only wanted sex, you would give it. Give it until it was too late and he was in too deep to come back out. Hadn’t worked before but there was a first time for everything.

But even that was beside the point. You were desperately bored and bored of being desperate for him and there was one stone that would kill both those birds.

“Mouse,” you said quietly, keeping your voice low, as you placed a kiss on his jaw, as you spread your knees a little wider, sinking lower into his lap. “Come on.”

His hands were on your thighs, neither encouraging nor discouraging, just holding tight. He didn’t respond as you continued to press kisses to his face, to his neck, grinding your hips over him slowly. You could feel his pulse beat fast, noticed the way his breathing was getting heavier, his fingers dipping deeper into your skin, until it hurt. Until he stopped pretending he was going to continue to work, stopped pretending that he could resist you.

“Fuck,” he gasped, his voice hoarse.

He gripped the hair at the back of your head and pulled you from his neck, tumbling you both to the floor. You didn’t want it to be fast, but you’d take it any way he’d give it. So when his hands pulled at your t-shirt, you let him take it off as you unclasped your bra. He didn’t give you time to fumble with the hem of his top, to discard it for him; he dipped his head straight down, swirling your nipple with his tongue, sucking it into his mouth; he rested his weight on one elbow and his other hand descended. You were grateful you had no buttons, no zips to contend with, just the loose, elasticated band of a pair of leggings that had seen better days. Minho’s fingers slipped beneath it and he circled his fingers around your clit, the fabric of your underwear dulling the sensation only slightly.

This was moving even faster than you’d expected but you’d been waiting so long already. Blood rushed to the surface of your skin and your breath began to shudder. Underwear now pushed to the side, you gasped when Minho ran a finger through your folds, shivered when he moaned at what he found there. He brought his lips back to yours but you turned away to let his name drop from your open mouth.

“Mouse...”

“Shut up,” he said firmly as he sank two fingers into your slick cunt and stole your breath with another kiss.

You couldn’t talk but you could moan. Could whine. Could whimper as his fingers moved inside you, as he ground his palm against your clit, as he made your thighs twitch and walls spasm. You tried not to lose your mind completely, to stay grounded, to stay present now that this was finally, really, actually happening. You reached your own hands down to Minho’s trousers; he hadn’t got the no-buttons, no-zips memo and your fingers fumbled with both. They shook with adrenalin as you popped the button through the hole and dragged the metal zip down. You pushed them away from you, off his hips, and had one hand in his boxers when the crackle of the walkie-talkie cut through Minho’s moan.

You both froze.

“Minho? What’s happening? Chan said they’re on the move?”

You glanced at each other, for one more frozen second, and then the world lurched into overdrive. Minho clambered to the monitor with his trousers around his ankles and, as soon as he saw the screen, started swearing viciously, tugging at his clothes and throwing your t-shirt back at you.

“What’s happening?” you asked, breathless for all the wrong reasons now.

“They’re clearing out,” Minho reported into the walkie-talkie, ignoring you but answering your question anyway. “Two loads have left, a third on its way.”

“Shit! How did you miss it? What the fuck were you doing?”

“Nothing! We lost the feed for a minute but it came back quickly and then they were already moving.”

He shot you a glance, something between panicked plea and angry admonishment. It wasn’t often he was caught on the hop, wasn’t ever. You, however, were used to being on the wrong side of things, so you re-dressed quickly and had already started packing your shit up. No matter how sideways this went, you could take two positives from it. One, you wouldn’t have to stay locked up here with Minho any longer. Two, he definitely, definitely wanted to fuck you.

FIFTH

You still hadn’t talked about it. You continued to share a bedroom, sleep there every night, wake there every morning but you had not once discussed the twice now that you had almost had sex. You were waiting for him to bring it up, even though you knew he never would. He wasn’t a coward, not ever, but if there was one word to describe him it was loyal and you knew he would protect your group with his life. And that also meant not pursuing whatever it was that was between you. Because it was a risk. It could jeopardise the stability of what you had established—what Chan had established long before you ever came into the picture.

But you were digging your heels in this time. You’d already come on too strong. Your pride was being wounded with each day that passed, with each day that he continued to pass you up. You’d crack first. You knew you would. You always did. Minho was unbreakable. You weren’t. But you wanted to pretend, for at least a little while, that you could be. That you could be impenetrable, too.

“Shit shit shit shit shit,” Junho repeated as he slammed into the car, instructing Minho to drive before the door was even shut.

Minho didn’t need telling twice.

“Where to?”

“Safe house,” he gasped, ragged breathing setting your teeth on edge.

You didn’t ask what had happened. What had gone wrong. That didn’t matter as much as getting out. Getting Junho out. You were disposable, still. You knew that. Even Minho. You were runts; you also still had something to make up for given what happened on your last assignment. So you travelled in silence. Junho in the back, breathing heavily; you didn’t turn around to see if he was ok. You didn’t want to know. You assumed he wasn’t but as long as you could hear him breathing, you knew he was alive.

Minho was facing forward, eyes scanning the roads ahead, reflexes allowing him to run red lights without accident – in this part of the city, no one would stop a flashy car like this for speeding, for driving recklessly. That was what they all did. His jaw was tense, eyes tight. He looked calm but you could see his little legs kicking under the water. You knew him well enough by now.

You didn’t keep your eyes on the road. You kept them on him. Felt like someone needed to be watching out for him, too – not that there was anything you could have done to be helpful anyway. There were always two in the getaway car. That was the rule and you didn’t ask why because you didn’t want to know the answer.

As a teen, you had thought you knew everything. You were old enough now to know not only that you knew nothing but also that you preferred it that way. Need to know basis. For everything. All the time.

Minho slowed, driving more carefully as the car left the city, winding across hills, negotiating turns that you’d have driven straight over, plummeting you all to a miserable death. He turned the headlights off at the mile marker he’d been told about, one that you’d already forgotten, and crawled, slower still, up to the house, blanketed in darkness, hidden by an overgrown and untended garden.

Junho grunted.

“Thanks. Wait until I give the signal then get the fuck out of here. Do not go anywhere you’ve ever met with us. Ditch the car when you can; destroy the plates.”

He didn’t wait for a response. You watched him stagger away and then waited until the light in the top right room flicked on and off and on and off again.

Minho put the car in reverse and slowly backed out. At a further mile marker, he turned the lights on. He continued to climb, driving away from the city still, until the car reached the top of the hill. The lights from the city were so bright you almost didn’t need the headlights at all. It didn’t feel a safe place to stop. Too visible.

Then Minho slowly and quietly backed the car into nook on the hillside. No doubt worn away from years of cars trying to pass each other on the narrow road, it barely contained the car, but it put it in some shadow and no one would hit you.

He turned the engine off and let his hands fall to his lap. His head tipped back against the headrest and he sighed.

“You ok?”

You asked him all the time and he never gave a serious answer because he always was. And if he wasn’t, he certainly wasn’t going to talk about it. But you asked all the same.

He nodded then turned to you.

“You?”

You laughed nervously, suddenly feeling the last twenty minutes as the adrenalin began to drain.

“Kind of feel like I could hurl.”

He laughed too and nodded again.

“I feel like I want to sleep for a thousand years but also like I could run a marathon,” you continued.

“I feel half-dead already but also fucking invincible.”

He held his hand out and it trembled. You clasped it between yours and held it tight. He smiled; from where you were sitting, it looked like a smirk, but then he turned more fully towards you and it wasn’t. It was sweet. His eyes were gleaming. Your mouth dried.

“Half-dead, huh?” And you knew you were going to say it. You always knew you would be the one with which it would raise its head. “How about a little dead? A little death, even?”

“Sixteen…”

His voice had that warning tone to it but the gleam in his eyes remained and you’d broken the seal now. Were going to push this as far as he’d let you.

“Mouse…”

You saw him waver. Absolutely, definitely, were certain that he was considering it. Until a car came over the crest of the hill and its headlights flashed in at you; at the same moment, Minho’s phone buzzed from the cup holder it had been thrown in. You jumped. He jumped. Whatever moment there had been was gone now.

Minho took his hand from your grasp and checked his phone. Then he put the car in gear.

“We’ve got to get out of here.”

You expected it to be quick. Expected it to be simple. It turned out to be neither. You had managed to destroy the plates and were very near clear of the car you’d now abandoned when you, once again, found trouble (‘why did it always have to be you?’ you had asked yourself fleetingly as Minho shoved you towards your own piece of shit car that had been waiting for your getaway; he had not waited for you to be fully seated or your door to be closed before he slammed a foot on the accelerator and squealed off). The two of you were screaming around corners, tearing out of the city in whichever direction provided the easiest escape. With the headlights off and the city lights streaming into the distance, you could barely see the road in front of you, had no idea how Minho was still driving straight. You trusted him with your life and it was just as well, because it was in his hands. His, yours, and potentially everyone else’s, too.

The summer sun was minutes away from popping its head above the horizon when you were finally able to return home.

You sat in silence for a few moments. You had moved beyond exhaustion into this kind of frayed, wired alertness. You felt your eyelids dropping even as your heart still hammered. Minho’s hand found yours.

“Mouse,” you said, letting the rest of it fall away unspoken.

“Yeah,” he replied but you didn’t know if that was his answer. “Just give me a minute.”

You were too tired to argue so you let silence fall again. You were almost dropping off, head just beginning to nod, when he tugged on your hand.

“Come here.”

You turned. You leant. His other hand cupped the back of your head and pulled you closer. He kissed you. Electricity crackled and a surge of energy rushed through you. It was happening again. He was kissing you. You couldn’t let this time pass by.

You scrambled in your chair, forgetting to undo your seatbelt, being pulled back by it and swearing coarsely when your lips broke from his. You clambered over the gearstick and the handbrake and fell with one foot heavily in the footwell as Minho slid his seat all the way back. You didn’t have time to care about the jarring in your knee or the bump on your head as it hit the roof. Could barely feel it. Didn’t matter.

Well, it didn’t matter until it did. Until there wasn’t really room enough for you to straddle him. Until you were pressing yourself up against the roof so there would be room for him to get his hands to his belt. Until you lost your balance and fell backwards, landing with bump on the steering wheel, which blared out into the dark dawn street.

“Fucking hell,” Minho muttered. “Get in the back.”

More willingly than you ever had, you did as you were told. He moved his seat forward again, all the way, and you watched him climb through to you, hands reaching for him. It was no less awkward. Not enough room to lie down. Still not enough height to sit. Not space enough between the back and front to kneel. It was messy and uncoordinated, grabbing for anything, taking what you could get, knocking into the window and falling off the seat, kicking and elbowing each other in a tangle.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Minho roared, in an uncharacteristic display of frustration. “No use. Not happening.”

He sat back and sighed, trousers undone but still around his hips. He pushed his hands through his hair and you tried to settle demurely next to him, smoothing your own hair, zipping up your jeans, swallowing hard as you fought to accept that he was right. It was not happening. Not here. Not now.

You stared through the car window and were sure you could’ve punched straight through it. You wanted to. It was the window, Minho, or yourself. Couldn’t effectively punch yourself. Knew you wouldn’t dare hit your mouse. Your fingernails pressed sharply into your palm as you squeezed your fists tightly.

A hand covered yours. Gentle. You looked at Minho and there he was: your secret, soft guy. You unfurled your fingers and he linked them with his own.

“Come on,” he said quietly. “Let’s just go home.”

FIRST

You tramped into the apartment, bringing your bad mood with you. Everyone was sick of it by now – you were sick of it, but you couldn’t shake it.

Minho was avoiding you. That much was clear. He had been avoiding you since you tried and failed to fuck in the car. You didn’t know why because you didn’t care. You had reached the end of your tether with the universe. Three times now. But still no cigar. You wondered – asked yourself a hundred times a day – what it was going to take to make this happen.

Frustrated didn’t even begin to cover it. You could go out and hook up with whoever you liked. You could get yourself off just fine. But it ran so much deeper than that. If you pulled at the thread, it tugged on your heartstrings, all tangled up in knots. It hurt. It pulled at something so deeply interwoven with your very being; all anyone had to do was follow it to its source and they could destroy you. All anyone had to do was cut it and they’d cut you, too.

You didn’t like that. Hated it, in fact. Hated that all this tugging and wiggling had opened up a hole and you could feel your vulnerability exposed. You could feel weakness leaking out of you, seeping from your pores, visible to the naked eye, for anyone to see.

It made you bitter. Made you angry. Made you lash out even when you shouldn’t have. Because you were always on the defensive. Even now. Especially now.

You knew the others were talking about you. About Minho. About the two of you. Knew it from the awkward silences when you walked in a room and the furtive glances and the group chat that had grown curiously quiet, leaving you to assume that there was a separate one you weren’t a part of.

You were beginning to lose your patience and you were not starting with a plentiful supply.

You lay on your bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to calm your rage. You had woken with it, just like every other day this week, and it would not leave you. You breathed slowly and carefully and tried to think of difficult and boring things.

You thought only of Minho.

Then he opened the door. He hesitated – you could feel him standing there, assessing – and then shut it, leaving you alone. As the door clicked, you felt that tug. You felt the knots tighten, so impossibly tight now that the joins weren’t even visible. You jumped up and threw yourself through the door.

“Stop fucking ignoring me!”

You hadn’t meant to shout.

Minho turned and looked at you. His stillness enraged you further. He didn’t say anything.

“Are you going to fucking say anything?!”

“What do you want me to say?”

“ANYTHING! You haven’t spoken to me for weeks! You literally walk out of rooms if I’m in them! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“You think this is easy?”

His voice was cold and sharp as steel. His head cocked lightly to the side and his eyes narrowed, peering at you, looking inside you.

“You think I want it to be like this?-”

“I don’t know what you fucking want!”

His nostrils flared. This delighted you. He was annoyed and you loved it.

“Not once,” you continued, still shouting because you couldn’t rein it in, “have you ever fucking told me. Not once have you ever actually said what you want! That you want me. Do you? Fucking do you? Because I don’t fucking know anymore! Every time we get close, you get further away from me! I’m not a fucking yo-yo, Minho. You can’t play with me-”

“Play with you? You think I’m playing? What part of this is a game?”

His voice was rising now, too, his perfectly blank mask slipping.

“It’s never been a game, Sixteen! Not once in the entire time since we met has it been a game! How are you still not getting it? Junho almost fucking died and if he had, it would have been our fault! We all almost ended up in prison because of the fucking bar. The night we met you almost got yourself trafficked! It’s not a game! You act like life is so fucking simple! It’s not!”

“IT IS! It can be that fucking simple! Stop overthinking! Stop taking everything so fucking seriously!-”

“It is serious! That’s what you don’t get!”

He was close now, had been inching closer and closer, and he was looking down at you, his eyes black as pitch, his jaw tight, his breath struggling through clenched teeth.

“You don’t get it and you never have.”

His voice was quiet, back to that steel that sent a chill down your spine.

“Everywhere you go, I look out for you. Everywhere you are, I am responsible for you. It’s been nine fucking years, Sixteen, and you are everywhere I go.”

Your vision tunnelled, stomach fell to your feet. You had to look away and hated yourself for it. You never flinched. You never backed down. You were never the first to retreat. Except for him. You couldn’t bear to look in his eyes, to see what loathing and disdain they held for you. Your embarrassment was on your cheeks already and pricking in your eyes.

Then his nose nudged yours and he took more steps forward. He pushed you slowly against the wall and you cursed yourself for retreating to it.

“You are in my life and in my bedroom and in my fucking head,” he whispered. “All the time. All the fucking time. And I haven’t been able to do shit about it because you are my job. You are mine to protect. Everyone knows it. Everyone knows I would burn this place to the ground for you. I would scorch the earth. I would drain the sea. For you. Don’t you get it? When it comes to you, I’m a fucking liability.”

You risked it. A glance. Lifted your eyes for less than a second but you had to do it again. Had to stop there, be sure you were really seeing what you thought you were.

Soft, round, liquid eyes. An openness in his face that he hadn’t let you into before. His mouth was still a grim line, turned down at the corners so slightly, had it been anyone but you, it would have gone unnoticed.

“Mouse...”

You tried to whisper but could barely manage that, his name creeping out on a hoarse gasp.

He moved his face closer to yours, lips almost touching.

“Don’t you get it?” he repeated.

You got it. Because everything he said was true for you, too. You’d started out as a liability, for sure, but you had continued to be one because Minho was your north star. Not Chan. Not the group. Not whatever sense of purpose you might have derived from the life you had cobbled together. If he said jump, you wouldn’t ask a thing. You would jump. You’d been following him since day one and, then, it might have been desperation, a lack of options. Now... well, there was still desperation: a desperate need for him, a desperate desire to be wanted by him, kissed by him, touched by him. You had other options. Options you would never take, not as long as he existed. You would stop existing before you ever thought of leaving him.

You nodded, feeling more like a foolish, vulnerable 16-year-old than you had when you were foolish and vulnerable and 16.

He sighed, breath sweet with the pudding he could never resist, and you were closing your eyes, tilting your chin up, expecting him to give in.

He turned away. You watched him, mouth agape in disbelief, as he pushed his hands through his hair.

“FOR FUCK’S SAKE!” you screamed, bringing your hands down on his back in something that was half-shove, half-slap.

He had whipped around before you could lower your arms and you found your wrists caught in his hands.

“You don’t fucking stop, do you?” he hissed.

“Why would I stop?! I don’t want to stop, Minho! And nor do you! You can’t say you don’t! Because I KNOW. I KNOW you want it. I know you want me. And I’m fucking throwing myself at you. Take me! TAKE ME!”

His eyes were hard and dark. His fingers pushed so tightly into your wrists that you could feel your pulse against them. He was breathing heavily, nostrils flaring but lips shut tight, pressed together in a thin line.

“Take. Me,” you repeated, level and firm, not sure if he would, but sure that, if he didn’t, things would never be the same again.

You couldn’t do this a fourth time. Couldn’t put yourself in his hands, have him take you, and then... Not. And then stop. And then act as if you didn’t exist. That thread between you, tied up in your heartstrings, was taut, stretched, at its limit. And so were you.

The pause was painful. Excruciatingly long. Adrenalin coursed through you, making you hot, making you shake, making your heart beat so hard against your ribs you thought they might break. Thought your heart might break. Hadn’t been willing to admit how fragile it was but it felt like venetian glass now. You could already feel the cracks forming, the web extending, the shards-

He kissed you. Pulled you roughly towards him by your wrists and kissed you. Put his hands on your hips, then slid them under your top, and still kissed you. He was kissing you. It took a few seconds to slip back into your body, to feel it, the soft petal of his lips against yours, the sharp bite of his teeth, the wet warmth of his tongue. You forgot your shattering heart and grabbed his T-shirt, using it to pull him closer, to drag him into your shared bedroom.

Not that he needed dragging. You stumbled over each other’s feet as you tried to kiss and walk and grope all at once. You tumbled backwards onto his bed and took the brief separation as an opportunity to lose your top, to unclasp your bra. Your hands were in the waistband of your joggers when Minho climbed over you, topless now too, breathless as he mirrored your actions, pushing his trousers and his boxers over his hips. He huffed a frustrated sigh as you giggled, as he stood back up to take them all the way off, to kick them off his ankles and take yours away, too.

He didn’t give you time for admiration, for appraisal. He lay his body over you and his lips pressed against yours, quickly, firmly, before trailing them across your jaw and down your neck. He was every bit as vicious as you thought he would be, teeth nipping at your sensitive skin, sinking into your soft flesh. You wanted him to mark you, wanted the proof of it to last. You scraped your nails down his back and he hissed when you broke the skin. Hissed but didn’t complain. Hissed and moved his mouth lower, swirling his tongue around your nipple, sinking his teeth into that, too.

When you tugged on his hair, he pulled off, looked at you, his face an open question. You shook your head.

“It’s fine,” you panted. “I like it. I just want to pull your hair.”

He laughed and clamped his teeth over your breast again, harder this time, so you keened and your back arched into him. You twisted his roots in your fist and he moaned, eyes flicking up to yours as he kissed across the valley of your chest.

“Do that again.”

“Fuck,” you gasped, tipping your head back, doing as he had asked and tugging hard.

The ache you felt for him had ballooned inside you, taken up all your hollow spaces. There was your flushed skin and your fluttering heart, your rushing blood and your deep, persistent ache for Minho. Nothing more. Nothing less.

“Mouse,” you whispered, voice tight with desire. “Touch me, please.”

You never asked. You didn’t beg. If you liked a guy, you let them do what they wanted with you, and if you didn’t, you took what you wanted. It was always one-sided.

But this wasn’t. It was Minho. It was the fathomless depth in his eyes as he lay his mouth all over you. It was the slip of his fingers through your soaked folds as he sucked sweet bruises against your neck. It was the sound of a moan caught in his throat when you wrapped your fingers around his hard, leaking length. It was mutual. It was reciprocated.

It was burning you up, hotter and sweeter than you’d ever felt before. His fingers sinking into your core made you shudder with delight. The twitch in his cock as you brushed your thumb over his head made your mouth water. The sound of his mumbled sweet nothings pressed against your skin, whispered in your ear, licked straight into your mouth, made you dizzy.

“So soft,” he said. “So wet... Fuck, you’re so fucking beautiful... I’ve wanted this for so long... Wanted you...”

He used your name, your real one, the one he didn’t learn (didn’t ask for) for months after you met. You returned the favour, ‘Minho’ tripping from your lips, until he shook his head.

“Mouse,” he murmured, mouth still pressed against yours. “‘Mouse’ is yours.”

“Mouse,” you echoed and he nodded before kissing you so that you could say nothing at all.

You barely spoke, couldn’t catch your breath enough to form the words, couldn’t engage your faculties to find any to say. Minho spoke, though, more than you had ever heard him speak: praise and exclamation and remembrance and, yes, even admonition, but it was all so sweet, syrupy, dripping from his tongue like honey. You’d never heard him speak like this before, never had him melt in your hands or in your mouth, never felt him as easy and pliable as this.

It wasn’t just his body. It wasn’t just the perfect smoothness of his warm, soft skin. It wasn’t just the stretch, the fullness, he made inside you, the insistent rhythm of his hips thrusting his cock tightly into your slick, waiting warmth. It wasn’t just his wet, sugary mouth, at your lips, at your jaw, at your clavicle. It wasn’t just all these things he was doing to you, all the things you were doing to him.

It was his open eyes, round and shining and fluttering closed as your walls clenched around him. It was the tenderness in them, the depth he was letting you see, for more than just seconds at a time. It was the gentle tracing of your face with his fingers, even as he fucked into you, even as his teeth drew blood beneath your skin. It was Minho, the entirety of him. Yours. Finally yours. Finally giving in to you, giving himself to you.

You got it. You had said you did and you had, but now, beneath him in his bed as he loved you, you actually understood the magnitude of it. His feelings for you. Yours for him. Held back behind a dam for so many years and now, the dam had broken. Now came the deluge that would flood the world, could drown everyone in it.

To hell with them, you thought. To hell with anyone else. You found what you needed almost a decade ago. He found you. You found each other, somehow, by some miracle.

When the pleasure swelled up in your core, toes curling, back breaking, you cried out with all the breath you had in your lungs, felt tears sting in your eyes, and the following inhale wobbled and shook. Minho paused, pressed his forehead against yours, kissed you lightly, didn’t have to ask the question out loud.

You nodded and kissed him again, then again, each time hungrier than the last. You didn’t want to stop. Didn’t want to feel anything but this, but him. He moved slower now, though, hips rolling smoothly, lips not leaving yours, even when he spoke, even when he murmured how fucking good you felt, how much better than he’d imagined, how hard he was trying not to come, how he didn’t want this to end.

You couldn’t take it. Thought you really would cry, thought you would collapse entirely under his weight, under the weight of everything you’d been carrying around, all these feelings: all this love and fear and frustration. He pushed you to the edge again without even trying, your red thread thoroughly tangled, inseparable now, and pulling a greater ecstasy from you than you had ever known.

He couldn’t hold out either, his final, sharp thrusts filling you with his sticky release. You held him there, as close as he could be. He kissed you, so light it was barely there, his fingers grazing your face as he pushed the hair from your brow.

“Mouse,” you choked, tears threatening your waterline.

He kissed you again, that little butterfly kiss; you’d never seen him be this gentle.

“Sixteen,” he whispered and, for possibly the first time, it didn’t sound like disdain, didn’t come accompanied by a smirk or an eye-roll; it was hushed and secret and just for you.

As it had always been.

You lay on his chest, bodies pressed together in the small, single bed, as they would have been even if the bed were bigger.

“I want some water,” he said, lips against your forehead before he manoeuvred himself out from underneath you. “Want a drink?”

You nodded and he smiled down at you as he fetched clean underwear and pulled a T-shirt over his head.

You watched him go, watched him open the door, and then heard the sound of party poppers, whoops, and applause.

The apartment was empty. Had been empty when you entered your bedroom. In the midst of everything, you had failed to notice the gang return home. They had not failed to notice you and Minho.

“Fucking finally!”

“You mean, they finally fucked?”

Laughter resounded from the living room. Minho turned around, closed the door, and climbed back into bed without a word.

#skz fanfic #skz smut #skz x reader #lee know x reader #lee know smut #lino x reader #lino fic #lino smut #minho x reader #lee minho #minho fanfic #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #lee minho fanfic

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pagannatural · 2 months

Text

2.03 Bloodlust

-Sam flirts with Dean by telling him (and the Impala) to get a room. Meanwhile he’s looking at Dean like this and the two of them are, literally, getting a room.

-Sam tells the bartender “we’re looking for some people” and the bartender says “sure, hard to be lonely.”

Sam blinks wide, grimaces. Dean looks at him, assessing. Sam looks down and then at Dean while he says “yeah, but, um…” slowly, then he regroups and pulls out a fifty, “that’s not what I meant.” There’s a sexual implication to being lonely and looking for someone at a bar, and the brothers share a very loaded look about it. It’s like this bartender accidentally hit on a truth.

Sam has been lonely for Dean. He’s been trying to get Dean to talk to him and spend time with him since their dad died, and Dean has been shutting Sam out emotionally. Sam knows Dean is lonely for him too, even though he won’t say it.

-Sam notices something is off when Dean says he’s been itching for a hunt. He and Dean also make prolonged eye contact after Dean kills a vampire and his face is spattered with blood, and Sam notices Dean is unsettled. They give each other strength just by staring into each others eyes. Sam’s always paying attention to Dean.

-Dean also notices right away that Sam’s off and asks him if he’s okay. Noticing Sam, for him, is less watchful and more like noticing the orbit of his own moon. Gravity’s off, something’s up with Sam.

-Sam went from correcting Dean every time he used Sam’s nickname to “he’s the only one who gets to call me that.” It’s so possessive, like he’s saying I’m his not yours. Dean notices and smiles to himself. Then he says “Sammy remind me to beat that buzzkill outta you later” you’re gonna do what to him later?

-Sam’s development from telling Dean he has to let him go to identifying him as the only one who can use his nickname is also the change from Sam seeking distance to Sam acquiescing to being Dean’s.

-Dean tells Gordon a story about killing a monster at 16 while Sammy waited in the car. He didn’t need to mention where Sammy was, he wasn’t a part of the story, but he has a condition* that makes him talk about Sammy to strangers whenever he’s not there (*wretched, soul-crushing love).

-Dean tells Gordon he always thought of his dad as indestructible. Now he’s questioning everything about his dad’s teachings and realizing the version of John in his head is not the only one.

-Sam says he sees through Dean’s fake smile and knows how Dean feels, because he feels the same way. When Sam says that Dean’s behavior is “an insult to [John’s] memory,” Dean kind of nods and raises his eyebrows like “you have no fucking idea” before punching Sam in the face.

-For once, Sam is way off about Dean. He has no idea how Dean feels or what he’s dealing with. The idea of insulting vs honoring John’s memory is complicated for Dean right now. He’s seeing Sam being protective of John for maybe the first time ever and I can just imagine Dean thinking, I raised you, and the man you finally want to respect as your father asked me to kill you.

-Dean looks regretful after he punches Sam, like he’s realizing he took it too far, and Sam looks hurt and taken aback, his eyes searching to and away from Dean and his mouth open. And then Sam tells Dean, “you can hit me all you want. It won’t change anything.”

There are some potential layers to that.

1. They’re arguing about something else here, at the same time—whether or not vampires can choose to act ethically or if they’re inherently evil. Sam implores Dean not to kill them, believing the former. Dean wants killing to be black and white due to Dead Dad’s Last Words reasons. Hitting Sam won’t make the issue any clearer.

2. Sam’s words could be interpreted as “you can hurt me all you want and it won’t change how I feel.” About Dean. Or “whatever you do it won’t change the way things are.” Between them.

3. Sam has been begging Dean to give him something real and emotional, he’s been pushing and pushing him to get a reaction, escalating and becoming more desperate. Now Dean has responded. He’s hurt Sam, but that means he’s touched him out of uncontrollable emotion—or better yet has chosen to inflict his feelings and needs upon Sam’s body. The pain is better than nothing.

It’s hard to be lonely.

-When I first saw this scene I was shook. Dean hit his baby brother! My best guess is that Dean has never punched him like this before, outside of the context of sparring. I might be wrong about that, but the way Sam accepts the punch and turns slowly back to Dean with that disbelieving look felt too significant. I thought Sam was going to feel betrayed or scared, but Sam’s resolve strengthens, he gazes after Dean, and then he follows him.

And then things go right back to normal between them.

-Another thing Sam is missing is that Dean trusts Gordon partially because Dean can identify with Gordon. Gordon said he hunts vampires because vampires killed his sister, and Dean trusts another protective brother.

-Sam tracks the nest and Dean says “you’re good. You’re a monster pain in the ass, but you’re good.” Just like that they’re reconciled. Sam’s face is probably still throbbing, it’s been like 3 minutes.

-When Gordon pulls a knife on Sam and admits he killed his sister himself, it’s over for him. Dean is not having any of that.

-Dean punches Gordon in the face in front of Sam, then moves really close to Sam to tell him they can leave now. It’s like he wants Sam to see what he’ll do to anyone who threatens him. Dean is the only one who’s allowed to hurt Sam. He also asks Sam to punch him to get him back, so he clearly feels guilty.

-Dean’s true nature is a huge theme in this episode. He’s trying to understand who he is. Gordon tells him that he was “born to hunt” and “a killer like me.” John wrote the same things about child-Dean in his diary.

At the end of the episode, Dean tells Sam that he has the instinct to kill and would’ve killed the vampires. That’s how he was raised, it’s what John told him to do. I love how Dean is a caregiver and a killer in equal measure, he takes naturally to both violence and nurturing.

Sam reminds him he made the right choice. Dean says “yeah cause you’re a pain in my ass.” He made the decision because of Sam. He’ll kill for Sam but he’ll also decide not to kill for Sam.

Sam says “I guess I might have to stick around to be a pain in the ass then.” Dean thanks him and gazes at him intently. Even here, notice the mention of their connection being painful.

Sam is now agreeing to stick with Dean not because of what John would’ve wanted but because he’s accepting his role as Dean’s guiding light, the one thing that gives him a sense of purpose and good.

Dean’s purpose is not killer or caregiver, but protector. He’s guardian of Sam’s soul.

#samdean #supernatural #spn meta #wincest #spn 2x03 #every episode I think this analysis will be shorter and every episode I’m humbled

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lovelytsunoda · 7 months

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kill of the night // lando norris

summary: she hates parties. especially quadrant parties hosted in large creepy mansions. at least the hot pirate hosting the party is into her, or she would have left ages ago.

pairing: lando norris x female reader

warnings: consumption of alcohol, lando cannot take anything seriously to save his life, the eerie feeling of being watched (anxiety or haunted house, you decide), pirate themed sexual innuendos, mention of spiders (arachnophobia warning!) reader has mild autism

the lights were low and the music loud as she pushed her way through the crowd, desperate for a drink and a moment of peace. the music was bad (some club mix of the rocky horror picture soundtrack) and all she wanted was for her massive headache to go away.

too bad she didn’t drink often. maybe something stronger than a hard lemonade would make this evening bearable.

she sat at the bar, feeling the eerie sensation of all eyes on her as she scanned the sea of bodies for the slew of other glittery fairy wings she had arrived with. she didn't even know some of the girls that well. all of the girls from her program had been invited, and she was trying to be a team player.

one girl was making out with a stranger, two others playing beer pong. the rest were lost to the crowd, dancing in ways that would definitely have disappointed their parents.

when the tuxedoed bartender came back with the crystal tumbler that had her vodka lemonade in it, she frowned at the tiny plastic sword, a gummy worm speared through it.

she just wanted a normal fucking drink.

sighing, she grabbed the glass and got to her feet, sending one last glance to the other girls before she started making her way towards the exit, mindful of the massive plastic wings strapped to her back. she had half a mind to just rip them off and throw them into the nearest trash can.

the outside hallway wasn't much better, and she found herself reaching into her purse for her airpods, less for music and more to just to cancel out the noise. she extracted the green plastic sword, taking the gummy worm off the plastic and dropping it into her mouth. the dj was playing ghostbusters, and she wanted nothing more than to be back home in her small, peaceful dorm, wrapped in her fleece blanket and reading 'love in the time of serial killers', or in the warm movie theatre watching 'a haunting in venice'.

instead she was here.

folding the small sword over in her hands, she grabbed her drink from the side table and made her way down the dreary hallway to get some fresh air.

the outside of the mansion was peaceful, if not a little disused. the hedges were neatly trimmed, the flowers well tended to as she sat down on a stone bench, the cold from the surface seeping in through the fabric of her dress as she took a sip of her drink.

truth be told, the peaceful atmosphere of the large, creepy mansion had been one of the few reasons she had agreed to come, living out her 'haunted mansion' fantasy: ghost who's been pining after her for centuries, the promise of eternal love. all but the evil ghost butler trying to kill her.

"the party's inside, you know!" a shout carried over the breeze, bristol accent sharp.

she yelped, dropping her drink and watching the glass shatter against flagstone.

"jesus! you can't just sneak up on people like that!" she shouted, yanking out her earbuds. "what is wrong with you, you fucking wanker!"

she got to her feet, spinning around to see who had spoken. he was tall enough (taller than her at least), dressed in a billowy white shirt and leather vest, leather breeches hugging his impressive thighs, a mane of curly brunette hair on the top of his head, and a fake sword strapped to his thigh.

at least, she hoped it was fake.

"woah, hang on." he frowned, coming closer to her. he looked like a prince, straight out of a disney movie. "i didn't mean to scare you."

could this be him? the ghost lover from her haunted mansion fantasy?

"it's fine. i guess i'm just jumpy. mansions that are almost certainly haunted will do that to a girl." she took a step back, trying to avoid the smashed glass as she turned, intending to go back to the stone bench before her wing got caught on a hedge. she cursed, resisting the urge to yank at the iridescent plastic.

"let me help." the stranger encouraged, coming closer to the hedge.

she shook her head. "it's fine, just let me take it off my back."

she gently eased out of the elastic straps securing the wings to her body, attempting to make it happen as gracefully as possible. one wing snapped back and smacked her in the face, and she tried to shake it off as she moved away, allowing them to dangle dejectedly from the hedge.

the prince came to stand beside her, his cologne overloading her senses as her reached over her to help disentangle the wings, his body heat against her back making her skin flush.

"here you go." his voice was soft as her passed her back her costume.

she could have left the wings there, she'd only paid three dollars to make them. she folded them up, placing the scratchy plastic on the stone bench before looking down at the shattered crystal.

“sorry about the glass. you’ll probably have to pay for it, being the host and all.”

“how did you know I was the host?”

her face blushed pink “havw you ever seen the haunted mansion? the original one with eddie murphy and wallace shawn?”

she gave him an opening, ready to hide her face behind her hands if it didn’t work out. there was a slight pause, and then he burst out laughing.

“you think that I’m some dead ghostly prince searching for his lost love?” he sputtered. “hate to break it to ya, tinker bell, but I’m not a prince, and I am very much alive.”

“I never said you were dead!” she crossed her arms indignantly, stomping one sneaker-clad foot against the flagstones.

chuckling, the suitor extended his hand. “I’m lando.”

“y/n.” she sighed, reaching to shake his hand. “sorry about the hostility, I just felt overstimulated in there. it’s the ‘tism in me.”

lando gestured for her to sit on one of the benches, looking out at the algae-caked fountain. it smelled earthly, yet his cologne was still all she could comprehend.

“have you had a chance to explore the house? based solely on your haunted mansion statement, I feel like that would be something you were in to.”

“it’s the only reason I came, truth be told. I hate parties, but some of the girls o study with thought it would be a good idea. what i didn’t realize was that we’d all be packed into the ballroom and pretty much the rest of the house would be off limits.”

lando laughed, straddling the bench next to her, one leg on either side. not very prince-like, if you had asked y/n. “well, I didn’t pick the venue. you can thank max and steve for that.”

“I don’t know who either of those people are.”

“I work with them in quadrant, they’re hosting this thing. I’d stepped out for a minute to take a business call.”

she snorted. “you? a business call?”

“what’s so hard to believe about that?” lando feigned offence, smacking his chest with his palm. “and why did your mind immediately go to the haunted mansion when you saw me? I was going for less master gracey and more will turner.”

“please, you’re jack sparrow at best. I can tell you bought your little pirate outfit at spirit halloween. and if my first instinct was that you were dressed as a prince, something is missing.”

she propped one leg lengthwise on the bench, tucking one sneaker-clad foot under the other, smoothing her dress over as to not give the man in front of her a glaring look at her dusty pink panties (although an intrusive thought did prompt her to wonder what would happen if she did).

“have you had a chance to explore the mansion yet?” she asked the man. well, the boy. he couldn’t have been too much older than she was.

lando shook his head, a few errant curls falling from his shaggy hair and over his eyebrows, and something about the way he shook his head to clear the curls from his eyes had her mouth watering. she wondered briefly what it would be like to kiss him.

“i saw a bit of it when we were bringing everything in. it’s a maze of service tunnels and secret doors. i actually got myself locked in a cellar.” lando laughed, and the butterflies erupted in her stomach, a giddy feeling spreading through her bones. “and that’s why ria thought it would be a good idea to cordon off most of the house. so that idiots like me didn’t get themselves locked in anywhere they couldn’t get out of.”

she raised an eyebrow, almost questioning exaclty how th man in front of her got himself locked in a cellar before she thought better of it. “so you know where all these secret passageways are?”

lando wagged his eyebrows. “is that something you’re into?”

“why do you have to say it like that?” she giggled, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth when she remembered how she usually looked when she laughed. “you make it sound weird. like a sex thing.”

“well, it’s not a sex thing,” lando reassured, stepping off the bench like he was dismounting a noble steed. “unless you want it to be? I’d be down to, uh, shiver your timbers in a secret hidden alcove.”

“not if you make bad pirate puns.” she rolled her eyes, taking landos extended hand in hers and allowing him to help her up. “but we can see where the night takes us.”

she shouldn’t have said that. why did she say that? would he think she was propositioning him?

the wind was breezy on her bare legs as lando led her across the moonlit backyard, pushing open the same door they had just come through. the family photos on the wall were old and faded, frames of orange gold around them. lando ushered her up the stairs, clouds of dust flying off the carpet as they ascended. the further up the stairs they moved, the mustier it smelled.

lando stopped her on the landing, hardwood covered in a threadbare oriental carpet, everything covered in a fine layer of dust, save for the cracked mirror.

"press on the edges of the fame, but stand back." lando suggested. "max brushed up against it earlier and almost got flung off the landing. it's a service entrance door."

"sick." she mumbled, pressing her slender fingers along the filigree gold frame. "just like this? do you remember where the latch was?"

"if i did, i'd have opened the door myself." he shrugged.

all at once, she felt the mirror give way under her hand, a clicking sound barely audible as the door began to move. lando reached for her hand, gently pulling her out of the line of fire.

"that was fucking awesome." she giggled, pulling her phone out of her purse and switching on the flashlight. "you know we need to go in there now, right?"

"just as long as you can get us back out." lando pleaded. "i don't want to die in a service tunnel."

she lead the way up the stone staircase, her flashlight illuminating the pounds of dust and cobwebs (as well as the occasional lump that might have been a dead rat, but she actually didn't want to know).

"if i see any big ass spiders in here, killing them is your job." she tried to keep her voice steady, but the thought of a massive spider crawling up her leg was not her idea of a good time. in fact, it would likely send her into hysterics.

they reached the top of the winding staircase, coming to rest in front of a large wooden door with a wrought iron knocker shaped like medusa's head. the hinges were slightly rusted, and it was clear that nobody had come up here for a while.

until them, of course, their footsteps clearly imprinted in the dusty stairs below.

"well, it would be a shame to turn back now." lando remarked, reaching for the door handle. it was stiff, but the room was unlocked.

she followed lando inside, reaching blindly for the old dial lightswitch on the wall. the room flickered to life, lit by two dull bulbs hanging from the ceiling.

a large bookshelf took up one wall, a dust and dirt caked window overlooking the grounds on another, equipped with a window seat for reading. a small crosley record player sat on a teak stand, pressed up against a wall painted an off cinnamon color. she walked to the milk crates stacked neatly next to the the player, flipping through well-worn vinyls.

"whoever was last up here was really into seventies disco. we've got abba, donna summer, elton john, blondie, hot chocolate, earth wind and fire." she mused, pulling a blondie album out of the basket. "although i always considered blondie to be more new wave than anything."

lando reached over her, his chest just faintly burshing up against her arm, body heat causing her skin to flush as he grabbed an elton john record from the basket.

"elton john? now this guy wrote some great stuff."

"nothing in this basket is organized in any way! they've got wild cherry at the front with earth, wind and fire, but blondie is pushed way to the back with chaka khan and ike and tina. no rhyme or reason! i have half a mind to rearrange it myself."

the record player crackled to life, the sound coming out of two old wooden marley speakers, a sound system that hadn't been updated in a while but still came through crisp as they day it was put together. elton john and kiki dee's duetting voices began to fill the room, and lando extended a hand.

"can i have this dance, my fair maiden?"

she smiled, leaning against the stack of milk crates. "i dunno. ladies like me don't dance with scoundrels like you."

"but a scoundrel like me will show you a damn good time. if you let me, of course."

giggling, she grabbed his hand, allowing the young man to twirl her in a circle before dipping her towards the floor, her hair dusting the shag carpet. soon, their laughter was louder than the stereo itself.

out of breath, their gleeful dance began to slow. they stood in the middle of the dimly lit room, 'don't go breaking my heart' playing lowly in the background, the thumping bass from the ballroom travelling upstairs as lando leaned in.

the craned her face up, pressing on to her tip toes to meet him halfway, brushing her lips against his before her pulled her in for more, his strong arms like a safety net around her body, ready to catch her if her knees buckled (which she was almost sure they would).

"i've gotta hand it to ya, captain. you're one smooth operator." she giggled, kissing him again. "i wonder what else you can do with that tongue?"

"come dock in my port, and you'll find out."

she burst out laughing, dropping her arms to playfully smack him in the chest. "that was your worst pick up line yet!"

"really? i've got a ton more, read up for this very occasion. what else have i got? there's 'i sure would like to pillage your booty', but that one sounds a little sleazy, 'not only do i have a ship, but it's a long one."

"oh my god, you need to stop. they're all as bad as the one that came before." she was laughing so hard there were tears in the corners of her eye. he thought he was so suave, rattling off stupid pickup lines while he leaned against milk crates of vinyl pressings.

and the stupid thing was, it was working.

tired of listening to him ramble, she stalked over to him, grabbing his leather vest and pulling him in for another kiss.

TAGS: @userlando @magnummagnussen @diorleclerc @scuderiamh @lorarri @cartierre @clemswrld @httpiastri @love4lando @silversainz @silverstonesainz @scuderiasundays

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #the cozy collection 2023 #formula one x reader #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #lando norris imagine #lando norris POV #Spotify

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theminecraftbee · 3 months

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Joel stares at the ceiling. It’s sure a hospital ceiling alright. Grey tiles, fluorescent lights, a steady beep in the background. Great. He’s in the hospital his first day in town. He’s sure that bodes well for the future of his time in Hermiton, truly. What had he been saying to himself before he arrived? That he just had to survive one more year of high school and then he could go be a hermit in the woods or at least pass his exams to get that architecture degree he used to dream about.

“Oh, you’re awake! You’re the last to wake up. It’s just exhaustion, don’t worry. That always happens the first few times you summon your Persona. Your body gets used to it and stops trying to force you into the ground the moment you enter Real Space again eventually.”

He tries very hard not to groan out loud. If he doesn’t move or make any noise, maybe the weird guy won’t notice he’s awake. Maybe he’ll go away and like, whatever adult in town is currently supposed to be in charge of him will show up and sign some paperwork and Joel can leave.

There’s a long, awkward silence.

“You know, I can tell you’re awake. I already said so,” the stranger says.

“Shut up, I’m trying to make you go away,” Joel says.

The stranger snorts. “What, you don’t want information on your two friends you apparently risked your life to save?”

Joel… would kind of like that information, actually, but he’s not just going to say so.

“It’s not like I know them. I’ve been here five days. Idiot,” Joel says.

“I don’t know. Seems a lot like you know them,” the stranger says. “You’ll probably get to know them even more soon, after we do an assessment to make sure it’s safe for you all to enter Altered Space. It’s just been me and Scar for so long, I didn’t think other Persona users would ever show up!”

“What,” Joel says. “I don’t believe in Personas. They’re stupid. I was lucid dreaming. This is stupid.”

“Can’t you still hear yours? I think I’d go insane if I stopped.”

Yes.

“No.”

“Well then, maybe you’re the weak one. A strong Persona user would definitely still hear their Persona,” the stranger says, and look man, Joel doesn’t want to be doing this, but he can’t let ‘maybe you’re the weak one’ stand. It’s a matter of honor. Of pride.

“No, buzz off. I’m the strong one. I didn’t just awaken Pygmalion, I kicked ass using Pygmalion. Stupid Skizz and Impulse passed out immediately. And I was the only one who knew how to get to Skizz so, so, screw you, I’m super strong with your fake brain ghost thing.”

The stranger is quiet for a long moment. “Did you say you knew how to get to Skizz?”

“Yeah you just follow the evil butterflies. You should know, since you’re crazy,” Joel says.

“Oh my god,” the stranger says. “Oh my god. This changes everything.”

Something sinks in Joel’s stomach. “Wait, what does that—”

“I have to go tell Mr. Hills. Meet us when you get out of here, a doctor should let you out once you’re awake! But I have to tell him! Being able to preemptively find entrances to Altered Space! Fighting off a shadow and rescuing people your first time summoning a Persona! Me and Scar won’t have to be alone anymore!”

“No, I, uh, was lying, stop that,” Joel says unconvincingly.

“See you!” the stranger says.

“You forgot to tell me what happened to Skizz,” Joel says, finally sitting up to try to stop the stranger, but it’s too late. He’s already gone. Joel stares blankly after the space where he’d once been.

“You also forgot to tell me your name, you moron,” Joel says weakly.

He buries his head in his hands, breathes, and calls the nurse. If his strange classmate isn’t going to tell him what’s actually happening, then Joel’s going to find out for himself.

(Power throbs beneath a scar on his hand. A voice whispers agreeing remarks in the back of his head. He has way too many aches and pangs for last night—or, well, however many nights ago it was now—to be fake. But for now, he just wants to know Skizz is okay and go back to his stupid apartment and pretend none of this happened. Is that too much to ask?)

#smallishsona au #a bee fic #joel smallishbeans #grian #(not named but he’s the other persona user here)#I have decided I am going to write various ficlets for this au. click on the au tag to go find the first few posts if you’re confused.#let’s get this thing started with: joel wakes up in the hospital after his first battle and IMMEDIATELY regrets everything

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little-diable · 3 months

Text

We Were Cowboys - Dean Winchester (smut)

I kept on listening to the song "We Were Cowboys" by Kameron Marlowe as I wrote this, so I also used some lyrics from the song. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: As Dean and Sam travel back to March 4th 1861 Dean stumbles upon the most beautiful woman he has ever laid his eyes on. Will one night with her be enough for him? Will he be able to leave her behind the next day?

Warnings: 18+, smut, oral (f), unprotected piv, set in s6e18 so a somewhat historic situation, some heartbreak I guess, reader works as a prostitute

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader (2.5k words)

Daddy watched John Wayne on a corduroy couch, I didn't know Texas from a hole in the ground but it roped me in, that's where it all began

March 4th 1861

The sound of her heels meeting the wooden stairs echoed through the saloon, though not one pair of eyes found her frame, fully focused on Darla and the way she tried to talk up the two strangers. As much as (y/n) tried to keep her eyes from wandering to the slightly smaller stranger of the two, she couldn’t stop herself from doing so, instantly drawn in by the green eyes that reminded her of the green grass basking in the summer heat, something she’ll be able to take in in only a few months time.

Even though she’d never admit it out loud, not daring to risk her place within this community, (y/n) found pride in the way the stranger didn’t seem to enjoy Darla’s company. (Y/n) had never been one to make many friends, preferring to keep to herself, even as she had left her family behind. She had known from an early age that there was no longer a place for her among the many siblings her parents barely could look after, let alone feed. Darla had never been kind to (y/n), fuelled by her arrogant self, and the way she was praised as the best girl around.

Only as Darla followed the judge upstairs did (y/n) dare move closer, eyes drawn to the man’s green ones again. He shot her a warm smile, tipping his head in a somewhat awkward though warm gesture. She could instantly tell that they weren't from around here, something about them seemed out of place, something she couldn't put her finger on quite yet. For a second she took in the other man, the taller one who smiled at her just as kindly, though redirected his gaze within a few seconds.

“What’s your name, darling?” The green-eyed man smiled at her, leaning against the bar. (Y/n) tried not to overthink the smile he wore, tried not to overthink the interest he seemed to have for her, gaze flickering to Mister Elkins’ hard eyes – a silent warning she stupidly ignored, not wanting to back away from the chance to share some more words with the handsome stranger.

“It’s (y/n), what about you?” Just as the man parted the lips she tried not to stare at, they were interrupted by a scream, heads whipping towards the stairs. She watched the guys race upstairs, forced to stay behind by the warning words Elkins spoke to her. Her heart was racing, pounding in her chest as if she had been running for miles on end. Perhaps she had never been a friend of Darla, trying to avoid her at any cost, but she could only pray that nothing bad had happened to her, she wasn’t one to wish anything evil to come upon others, especially not women who were forced to make their living the same way (y/n) was.

And as the men made their way back downstairs moments later, seemingly deep in thought, (y/n) could only catch the small smile the handsome stranger shot her way before leaving the saloon.

We were cowboys, runnin' like wild horses that couldn't be tamed, we were cowboys, didn't know nothing but we knew everything

……

“Come in!” (Y/n)’s voice echoed through the room, turning away from her window to watch a tall figure step into her room. It was too dark for her to make out the man’s features, voice trembling as a somewhat determined “I don’t take any customers this evening” rolled off her tongue.

“Excuse me, I didn’t want to disturb your night.” A smile made its way to (y/n)’s lips at the sound of the stranger’s voice, walking closer with the lamp she had originally placed down on her bedside table now in hand. His eyes were no longer filled with that twinkling green colour she had been thinking of all day, they now had a slightly darker touch to them, filled with mystery, with secrets, with longing.

“You never told me your name.” She watched him ponder over her words for a few seconds, wondering why he struggled this much with telling her his name. The few seconds of silence were used by her wandering eyes to take in the spots covering his cheek and nose, the freckles her fingertips longed to trace, wanting to count every single one.

“My name’s Dean, but that has to stay between the both of us. I hope you can keep a secret, darling.” With a hum leaving her, (y/n) took another step closer, front about to touch Dean’s. Softly she murmured his name, tasting it on her tongue as Dean’s hand found her cheek. She feared he could pick up on the racing beat of her heart, coming across as nervous, as uncomfortable – and yet she felt anything but uncomfortable, hoping that she’d be fortunate enough to feel his warm hands on her chest, her behind, between her thighs. “I’ve seen many pretty women, but you’re something else, sweetheart.”

“Am I? How?” The teasing grin she shot him left Dean chuckling, dipping his head down, lips ghosting over hers. A moan threatened to claw through (y/n) even though Dean hadn’t touched her yet, still keeping his distance as if he was waiting for her to make the first move. She didn’t want to waste another second, shifting her weight to meet his lips in a searing kiss. His hands found their way to her waist, pressing her even closer to his front, moving them backwards to her bed.

“Let me show you how beautiful you are to me, I’ve never been good with words.” Her throat was too tight to reply, too nervous to speak up, only raising her arms for Dean to pull her nightgown over her head, groaning at her naked frame. The “Fuck” that left Dean made her chuckle with glee, hands toying with his belt, begging him to undress. “I’d kill to get enough time to treat you like you deserve, but I fear I don’t have more than an hour.”

“That’s alright, just touch me, Dean.” Not once had she felt this way towards a man before, needing, begging him to touch her, an unfamiliar longing she was addicted to now. (Y/n) tried not to spare the passing by seconds too much thought, wanting to appreciate the time she got with him, no matter how short it may be. “I’ll do anything for you, just tell me what you need.”

“No, this is all about you, darling.” Pain dripped from Dean’s words, forced to realise that she was too used to giving up her body for the joy of other men. He didn’t want to be like them; he couldn’t be like them. Dean pushed her backwards, watching her plop down on the mattress with a gasp, staring up at him with wide eyes. She wasn’t used to being looked after, wasn’t used to relaxing around another man, but with Dean, she felt safe, with Dean she felt complete.

“You need to tell me if you don’t like what I’m doing, you understand?” Dean’s voice dripped with something that left (y/n) shuddering, making her feel as if he was willing to fight her battles. He’d take care of her, even if it was only for the few minutes she got with him. With a nod thrown Dean’s way, her gaze followed his every move, watching him kiss his way up her thighs to the place where she needed him the most.

Dean’s eyes were focused on her cunt, groaning at the sight of her arousal coating her skin, dripping for his touch only. He’d feast from her, would show (y/n) what it meant to be properly touched, something both of them would forever remember. With her eyes following his every movement, she choked on his name as he drove for her cunt, sucking on her pulsing bundle.

“Oh, Jesus, fuck, that feels so good.” Never had she been touched like this before, not with as much passion guiding the men who came to visit her, not with as much determination guiding their every brush of their tongue. The smirk he shot her left (y/n) shuddering, watching the green-eyed stranger brush his tongue through her slit, groaning at the taste of her.

“Feels like heaven, you’ve already got me addicted.” She didn’t ponder over his words, didn’t ask any further questions – already too far gone. One of his slightly calloused fingertips found her clit, rubbing it as he dipped his tongue into her tightness, spreading her walls while he imagined what it must feel like to have her wrapped around his cock. Soon he’d give in, soon he’d fuck her as if she was the only one he’d ever get to touch. Dean would move heaven and hell for (y/n), for her to be looked after, even if it was just for their one single hour together.

She arched her back off the mattress as a deep moan clawed through her, begging Dean for his fingers, needing to feel them buried inside of her. Dean followed every command her body sent out, pushing two fingers into her heat as he kept sucking on her clit. The unfamiliar sensations were enough to push her higher and higher up the ladder, scared of the fall she’d soon have to endure – (y/n) could only pray that Dean would catch her, soften the blow her heart would have to endure the second he left.

“Cum on my tongue, sweetheart, show me how pretty you look when you cum for me.” His raspy voice rang in her ears, eyes squeezed shut and toes curled as she came for him. Dean grinned against her soft skin, enjoying the way she trembled, how she gasped for any air to fill her tight lungs. A spectacle so wonderful he cursed himself for not taking his phone with him, he’d for sure take a picture of her pleasure-drunken features if he could.

“That was intense,” (y/n) whispered her words, eyes glassy while her hands kept gripping the covers she was lying on, scared that she’d wake from this dream. Dean crawled up her body, pressing his bulge against her sensitive cunt, wordlessly showing her how much he wanted her, needed her. “Fuck me, Dean, make me yours, please. Even if it’s just for tonight.”

For a second his mind managed to rip him out of his thoughts, forcing himself to remember that he’d have to pull out, unable to use any protection. But just the sight of (y/n), bare for him, mind and eyes hazy, thoroughly fucked out, was enough to give him the needed push. Dean rose to his feet to shuffle out of his clothes, unable to bite down his grin at the way she gasped as her eyes found his hard cock.

“You’re so handsome.” (Y/n) looked at him as if he was a piece of art, a statue crafted by ancient artists, a god-like figure, she was sure of it. Dean found her lips, kissing her softly as he pumped himself for a few moments before he pushed into her. Both groaned in unison, needing to adjust to one another’s body, needing to get used to the way he stretched her oh so perfectly.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes, sweetheart.” Dean couldn’t rip his eyes away, hoping to burn every passing second into his buzzing mind. For tonight she was his, for tonight it was just her and him, for tonight it was just the crush on her he felt getting stronger with every calculated thrust. Dean fucked her like only a husband would fuck his wife, at least that’s what (y/n) found herself believing, doubting that any other man would ever touch her like this.

Her moans guided Dean on, ringing in his ears like a song he’d blast while taking a tour with Baby, finding himself relaxing further into the comfortable seat, not guided by any worries or fears, just him and the never-ending land stretching ahead of him. Fuck, he had it bad for her, for a woman who lived in the past, a woman he’d never see again.

(Y/n) clawed at his warm skin, leaving marks that wouldn’t fade for a few days, leaving Dean heartbroken whenever he looked at them in his mirror. Her eyes rolled back into her head, trapped in a thick blanket of darkness Dean had pushed her into, set on fucking her till she forgot her own name. Perhaps he could take her with him, perhaps he could free her from this life she was forced to live, perhaps he could keep her close – forever.

“Dean, I-” her moans kept interrupting her, unable to say anything else, needing to hold onto the handsome man who fucked her as if the devil was chasing him. His thrusts grew rougher, and yet they were somewhat loving, hoping that she felt the same sensation thumping through her veins.

He was hers, if she wanted him.

“Cum for me, show me again how pretty you look when you let go.” Another moan left (y/n) as she came around his cock, a sensation so strong she was close to passing out. It took Dean a few more moments to push himself over the edge, remembering to pull out just a second before he came, staining her soft skin with his cum.

“Thank you, Dean.” Tears welled up in her eyes, about to roll down her cheeks, guided by the strong orgasm that had clawed through her, by the crush she felt growing deep inside of her, by the realisation that he’d have to leave any moment now. Another deep kiss was pressed to her lips before Dean let go of her, rising to his feet to quickly redress. Silence engulfed them as he helped (y/n) clean up, putting her nightgown back on.

“Dean, can I ask you something?” A hum left him, green eyes connected with hers, a warm hand cupping her cheek. He tried to memorise every part of her face, scared to let her go just yet. “You’re not from here, are you? I mean, you’re not from my time, you can’t be.”

He froze, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Slowly he shook his head, carefully watching her, unsure how she’d react. But all (y/n) did was nod, kiss him again, and murmur a soft “Your secret is safe with me”.

Once again, they were wrapped in silence, knowing that it was time to let go, to part ways, to never meet again. But Dean couldn’t, he couldn’t leave her behind, not when knowing that she was the one he wanted to offer his heart to. With a deep exhale leaving him, Dean cleared his throat, choking on a whispered “Will you come with me? Back to my time?”.

Couldn’t tell us nothing, ‘cause man, we were something, damn, we were something, we were cowboys

#Dean Winchester smut #Dean Winchester imagine #Dean Winchester x reader #supernatural smut

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ugh-yoongi · 11 months

Text

about u | jjk

❝ this song is about a love that you can’t reconcile—wanting to make a home out of a person that has proved to you time and again that they are not a home; they are just a person. it’s about retracing scars, negative patterns, all with the silent belief that moments of communion and understanding might justify months of misfiring and regret. we’re all just trying to get back to that ‘first high’ feeling—an honest endeavor, however futile. ❞

✤ PAIRING jungkook x f. reader ✤ GENRE exes to fwb to strangers, college/grad school au; angst, smut ✤ RATING explicit. minors do not interact. ✤ WARNINGS toxic & self-destructive behavior (inc. jealousy and possessiveness). infidelity (with an external partner). reader is bisexual (which is not a warning but a general statement so the homophobes stay away) and there is a brief mention of coming out. two people who are both too honest and unable to communicate. swearing. cigarettes and alcohol use. kissing, some spitting, fingering, oral sex, protected vaginal sex. every time i asked jess to read this over for me she always came back with "jfc jewel" so i guess this is angsty. unhappy ending. ✤ WORDCOUNT 7.3k ✤ LISTEN TO this was based off of "winterbreak" by muna, but there are bits and pieces of the entire about u album in here, "everything" and "outro" especially. ✤ THANK YOU to muna for writing the album, @the-boy-meets-evil and @hot-soop for reading over this for me multiple times and putting up with all my brainstorming and my beloved @here2bbtstrash for the extra set of eyes. ✤ AUTHOR'S NOTE hi, thank you for reading! i cannot emphasize enough how much more sense this story will make if you listen to about u in the background. i would also like to reiterate that these two are maybe not all that likeable most of the time, but i hope they're still human. as i once saw in an ao3 tag, you are more than the worst thing you've ever done.

[ the first. ] You’d read an article once—something about the second time you fall in love.

It’s going to feel different, it’d said. The first time felt like a dream.

As you stare across the kitchen at Jeongguk, you think that might be true. The part about it feeling like a dream, because it used to be a pinky-lavender haze and everything that has come after hasn’t felt so good. Not a nightmare, but close. At least with nightmares you can force yourself awake. You can tell yourself it wasn’t real. You can pretend.

This is as real as it gets, watching him smile over the rim of a plastic red cup. Someone else’s hand on his arm. The girl it belongs to looks nothing like you, and you wonder if she’ll be the second time he falls in love. You also wonder why you didn’t stay home. You wonder about fault and regret and if either of them even matter. No, you eventually decide: there’s just you in Taehyung’s kitchen and Jeongguk on the other side of it and the result of a million decisions in between you.

There had been a plenitude of reasons you’d fallen in love with Jeongguk, but he’s undoubtedly beautiful. Soft, tinkling laugh; a smile that reaches his eyes. Not all that long ago you used to be responsible for both, so there’s a lingering, bitter sting beneath your wonder. Jeongguk is beautiful and no longer yours, and that’s enough to have you retreating to the living room.

Jimin’s at your side immediately. Wraps an arm around your shoulders and presses a kiss to the top of your head that does little to alleviate your guilt. Missing someone is always easier with thousands of miles in between you. All those distractions. Just like a nightmare, distance lets you pretend. Not so easy to do when all those ghosts come back to haunt you; when you can still hear Jeongguk’s soft voice in the kitchen. The music is so loud but you’d be able to hear him anywhere, you think.

Even places he’s not.

Jimin leans down, forces his way into your personal space. “Are you doing okay?” he asks, and his words are warm and wrapped in alcohol, but you nod. You’re scared you might start crying if you open your mouth. Afraid of what might come out besides shuddering breaths, which just makes you feel stupid. Baby’s first breakup, you chide yourself. Maybe Jimin can get you a commemorative ornament.

Taehyung is turning twenty-four and it should be joyous. It is joyous. People that aren’t you are laughing and dancing and pressing their cheeks together as they huddle close to take selfies. Someone you don’t recognize is cackling wildly as they wrangle Taehyung into a headlock and smear cake frosting on his face. Someone else is tutting and running a rag under the tap to wipe it off and then the frosting is gone. It’s hard not to draw parallels.

There one minute and gone the next.

Gently wiped away.

But the feeling lingers, doesn’t it? The tack of the frosting, all the love that transpired between you and Jeongguk. Sometimes you fear it’s permanent—not able to be wiped away with a rag run under the tap, not able to be wiped away at all. Just this burden you’re cursed to carry, because Jeongguk isn’t and can’t be yours but knowing does nothing to erase the past. Doesn’t help you forget. It’s fucked and it’s unfair, but that’s just the way it goes.

“I think I should leave,” you say, watching another scene play out in the kitchen. Jeongguk fills a cup and hands it to a different pretty girl. Everyone here is so pretty. Makes sense; so is Taehyung. Pretty people are drawn to one another like that. “Is it too soon? Will it be obvious?”

Jimin sighs, wraps you in a hug. Says, “Oh, love,” in a way that’s too sympathetic. Makes you sound too pathetic. “No one will blame you. These things are hard.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Not that you don’t appreciate Jimin’s reassurance, but sometimes it all feels a bit silly. Weren’t you the one to walk away? Call it off? Are you allowed to mourn the very thing you destroyed?

And Jimin, bless him, is so patient with you. Asks if you need a ride home and you wave him off, remind him your parents’ place isn’t far, that the cold might do you some good. You tell him you appreciate him and his night shouldn’t be ruined on your account, and you just laugh when he tries to protest, tell him to go get himself another drink.

“Text me when you get home,” he says, voice stern, and you brush that off, too. “I’m serious. It’s late and it’s dark and anyone could be out there—”

“Maybe I should walk you home, then?”

All those articles you read about the second time you fall in love didn’t mention this. Said nothing about the way a voice will always be able to turn your world on its axis and how to right it again. Said nothing about how to coexist with ghosts. Said nothing about what to do with all the yearning and the pain and the stupid, selfish strands of hope. There are paragraphs about an overarching, general grief, but nothing about the specific one living inside of you.

The shock on Jimin’s face is reflecting your own. It’s nice to not be the only one caught off-guard and stammering over their words. It’s nice to have a friend when it feels like your entire world is on the edge of collapse. “I don’t…” he begins. Swallows thickly and turns to look at you, an obvious question biting at the back of his teeth.

You know the answer.

You know that what you should say isn’t what you want, just like you know it isn’t fair, this thing you’re doing. Because you turn to Jeongguk and say, “Are you sure?” which might as well be a yes, because you’re selfish and suspended in this liminal space and don’t want him to go home with anyone else. You don’t want him to move on.

He shrugs. “It’s on the way.”

You say okay. Let Jimin help you into your coat, hide his face in your neck as he tells you to be careful, and that stings. You’ve never had to be careful around Jeongguk before. The two of you never, ever hurt one another—until you did. The kind of hurt your heart hasn’t easily forgotten, is still stubbornly clinging to.

Your heart wants Jeongguk, always.

You want Jeongguk, always, so you let him grab your hand, link your pinkies together. You let him lead you out of the house and don’t turn back to see who might be watching. God, you want to, though. Want all those pretty girls to see that he’s leaving with you. Want them to know it’s your name that’s branded on his heart; your name beneath his skin. For once, you want someone to want what you have.

It’s strange. The two of you have been apart for eight months, and there’s a lot of things you might want to tell someone in that amount of time, but you find it hard now. Don’t know where to start, which words to use. Don’t want to say something stupid, because Jeongguk is just walking you home but you’ve assigned a lot of meaning to it, and eight months is a long time to yearn for something and finally get it.

So you say, “You didn’t have to do this, you know,” because it’s something that’s true and easy to say.

Jeongguk doesn’t answer right away. Drops your pinky so he can hold your hand properly—fully, all five fingers intertwined—and squeezes. “Is it weird for you?” he asks, and he doesn’t sound nervous. Almost sounds like he’s smiling a little, giving you shit. He sounds familiar.

“No. I don’t know. Maybe a little.” He asks why? at the same time he passes under a streetlight. Lights up golden and amber. He’s beautiful—“I don’t know. It’s just… I guess it’s just been a long time. We didn’t leave things the best.”—and no longer yours.

The Jeongguk walking beside you is not the same Jeongguk that walked out of your dorm eight months ago, tears staining his cheeks, the smell of a goodbye fuck still clinging to his clothes, his skin, sweat still dotting his hairline. This Jeongguk is sharper, more selfish with his laughter, and you wonder about all the ways heartbreak can change a person. How you’re changed for facilitating it. You wonder if Jeongguk blames you before deciding you’re too much of a coward to find out the answer.

“Was it that bad?” When you look over at him, he’s chewing on his lip ring, trying to bite back a smile. “You’ll have to remind me. I don’t remember.”

You stop walking, jerking forward when Jeongguk is left unaware and keeps going. “That’s not funny,” you say. “Jeongguk, that’s not—I did what I thought was best, okay? I thought I was doing the right thing—”

The smile drops from Jeongguk’s face. “Hey, hey, look at me,” he says, and he’s hesitant to reach out and touch you but he does it anyway. Cups your face in both hands. “I know, it’s okay. That’s just—it’s just life, right? You did what you had to do, babe. It’s okay.”

You did what you had to do, babe.

Did you?

Jeongguk is selfish with his laughter but never his affection, and knowing that feels like an albatross around your neck. You have broken him so entirely, but he’s still kind to you, finds it a worthwhile thing to be.

His eyes go to your lips. Tattooed fingers dimple your face just a little more, dig in deeper. When you dare to take him in, he looks… different. No longer amused, the way he was just seconds ago; now, there’s something dark there. Longing, anger, hunger. Jeongguk looks like he wants to swallow you whole and make you suffer; looks like he wants to cage you beneath him and worship you through the comedown.

I’d let him, you think as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. As you smell the smoke that lingers, the sweat and the alcohol. I’d still let him.

It’d be so easy to press a kiss there. To feel his skin beneath your lips: flushed, still warm from the party, not all daunted by the bitter winter wind biting at your cheeks. As you lean in further, you wonder if it’ll taste the same. You wonder how much can change in eight months and if all those old comforts change, too. If it’s something inevitable.

Jeongguk moves his hands to your waist. Crawls his fingertips beneath your jacket and finds bare skin. Sucks in the smallest bit of air, and you would’ve missed it had it been any other time, but winter is always quiet and subdued. Always smells transitional, something dangerously close to hope and redemption.

And eight months is a long time to miss the feel of someone’s lips, isn’t it, so you think you can be excused for reaching for something you thought you’d never have again.

The first kiss is hesitant, testing; pressed to the spot just beneath his ear. Maybe you don’t know this Jeongguk, but you know the version of him you used to love—the one you still do—and you know the way he’ll sigh. You know the way his hands will grip tighter. You can still hear it, the way you used to kiss him there and he’d say, don’t start something you can’t finish, baby, and the way you’d laugh and always, always finish it. Can still feel the warmth that used to bloom in your chest. The love.

Jeongguk won’t say that now, you know. Wonder if it’d sound more like don’t start something you already finished if he did. He huffs a small laugh, more an exhale than anything, and asks, “What are you doing?”

And you answer, “I don’t know,” because it’s honest. You admit, “I guess I just miss you,” because it’s true.

A war wages within Jeongguk. You can see the storms, the white flags that are close to being thrown out. Can see the way his gaze flits between your lips and your eyes. What he’s looking for, you don’t know, but the storm rages on. And just like real life, just when you think it’s at its worst, there’s a break in the clouds: a tangible beam of silvery-warm light when Jeongguk tangles his hands in your hair, thumbs at the hinge of your jaw. Jeongguk tilts your head back and looks ethereal in the amber glow of the streetlights.

He says, “We shouldn’t,” and you nod, because you know and the anguish on his face is surely mirrored on yours, but when he follows it with, “let me take you home, let me take care of you,” you find it impossible to care.

You nod.

Everything is amber.

Eight months is a long time to go without the way Jeongguk kisses you: intentionally, demandingly, insatiably. He still tastes the same. Tastes like the first time you’d ever dared to kiss him, back at that party freshman year, tongue flavored with cheap liquor. Jeongguk tastes forbidden and feels like coming home.

You couldn’t say how you make it to Jeongguk’s apartment, but the way you stumble over the threshold feels familiar. The way the door is barely locked when Jeongguk crowds your space; picks you up, wraps your legs around his waist, presses you against it, hips moving on their own accord, rutting, all those little sounds spilling from his lips—everything is familiar. This is not just a practiced song and dance but something memorized. Something instinctual. You could be apart from Jeongguk for years instead of months and your body would still know what to do.

He carries you to his bedroom and you don’t think about who else has been between his sheets, because he puts you down so gently. Kisses your lips, your jaw, your neck—all gentle, powder-soft. Sounds like spring when you paw at the velvety cashmere of his sweater, pull it over his head, and he sighs. Feels like he’s breathing fresh life into something he shouldn’t, something long dead, but then you skim along his warm skin and your world is reduced to the way it feels like silk beneath your fingertips.

“I still love you,” Jeongguk whispers against your mouth, his inked fingers toying with the button on your jeans. Pops it open, pulls the denim down your thighs. Doesn’t bother pulling them off, only goes as far as your knees. And it’s uncomfortable, the way it’s bunched there, but the way Jeongguk says, “Fuck, missed you so much,” is so sweet.

Everything happens too fast.

Jeongguk leaves your shirt on. Drags it up and over your breasts and kisses at the newly-exposed skin. Sinks his teeth in, lets it hurt for a second before he laves over the marks. Settles between your legs and coaxes an orgasm out of you with his mouth and his fingers. Speaks his praise into the juncture of your thigh, breathless as he touches himself, strokes his cock with the wetness lingering on his fingers. Looks so, so pretty when he sits back on his haunches and says, “Just wanna look at you,” and makes it sound wistful and longing.

Makes it sound like it means something.

He’s still touching himself, still slicking himself up. There’s a split second where he goes to move and thinks better of it. Looks to the side before looking back at you. The storm kicks up again. “Have—” he begins before he swallows thickly. Dares to look hopeful, even through the squall. “Have you been with anyone else? Since…?”

You haven’t. Tried to, once—another stupid party, more cheap liquor passed to your mouth from someone else’s, but it hadn’t gone anywhere. They hadn’t tasted like Jeongguk; hadn’t felt the same. Two puzzle pieces that fit together all wrong.

Jeongguk has, though. Something you’d heard from a friend of a friend that you weren’t meant to. They’d called it a rebound, and it had bloomed so many ugly thoughts in your head. Five months had passed. Jeongguk was fucking someone else in his bed while you were in yours, torturing yourself over whether or not to tell him happy birthday. Whether it was allowed to or not, it’d stung.

(You had. You’d reworded the text a million times, plucked up all the courage you could find before you sent it. It’d gone unanswered, just like you expected it would, and you thought it was because Jeongguk didn’t want to talk to you. Thought you were digging your fingers into wounds that had yet to heal, so it’d stung but you understood.

But Jeongguk hadn’t answered because he was fucking someone else. Had someone else’s taste on his tongue; was panting someone else’s name into the dark. The embarrassment had been the worst part.)

Still does, if you’re being honest with yourself, so you lie. “I—yeah,” you answer. “Just one.”

Looks like it stings Jeongguk, too. “Right,” he responds, blinking back tears, and he’s got a lot of nerve, you think. “Yeah, okay, I’ll just—a condom. Are you…”

“Jeongguk—”

“Are you sure? Maybe this isn’t…” He huffs. Drops the condom on the bed, hangs his head. “What are we doing?”

You stare up at the ceiling. Nothing up there but the swirls in the plaster. “I don’t know,” you admit. “Hurting each other, probably.”

Jeongguk walks his fingers down your thigh. Grips at your skin, wants it to bruise. Wants you to have something to remember him by come morning. “Sometimes I’m really mad at you, you know?”

“Yeah, trust me, I know.”

He nods. Refuses to look you in the eye now that you’re watching him. “I still love you so fucking much and I’m still so angry. What am I supposed to do with that? What am I… fuck, I thought I was over it. I thought I’d see you and not feel a fucking thing.” There’s fresh ink on the back of his left hand. You hadn’t noticed it earlier, but you notice it now, when he runs his hands down his face.

You also notice the way the atmosphere shifts, the split second in which his heartache bleeds into something else—resolve, maybe. Obstinacy. Like he knows how this is going to end and he’s going to do it anyway. He’s going to find the most painful part and press on it, dig his fingers in, and it’s just an inevitable, foregone thing. Something he can prevent and something he’s choosing not to.

“You fucked someone else,” he sneers. Rips the foil open with his teeth, flashing too white in the dark of his bedroom. Rolls the condom on like it’s an inconvenience. Like you’re an inconvenience. “Was it good? Was it worth it?”

You roll your eyes. Feel the way your breath catches in your throat, because you’re not going to cry. Jeongguk fucked someone else and is vilifying you and it’s hypocritical and ugly and unfair, but you’re not going to cry over it. You’re going to press the gas pedal as far as it can go, say, “Yeah, it was,” and find some wicked delight in the way his eyes squeeze shut, as if it can spare him from the pain.

The two of you used to love each other. Jeongguk used to smile down at you when you were naked beneath him like this. Used to lean in close and whisper that he loved you just as he pushed inside even though you knew, you could feel it in everything he did. Now, there’s no smile. Now, he leans down and spits on your pussy and pushes inside and doesn’t tell you a goddamn thing.

Not with words, anyway.

Because the way he fucks you says it all. Impersonal, desperate, bitter. He grips your hips and fucks into you frenzied and fast. Takes your hand and puts it on your clit and tells you to get yourself off. An inconvenience. Tells you he misses your tight cunt, tells you he misses the way it milks his cock, tells you he misses watching the way you come undone underneath him, but he doesn’t tell you he misses you.

There’s a moment, just after he spills into the condom and stays inside, just catching his breath, when you think he might say it. Might tell you he loves you around the lump in his throat, might apologize, might ask if you two can’t figure it out.

There’s only a moment.

Jeongguk doesn’t say anything. Lets the moment pass. Pulls out and ties off the condom and wordlessly gets up to throw it away. It’s the silence that pisses you off. The disregard. Jeongguk hates you for something you’d lied about doing that he’d done for real, so you can be wordless, too. You can treat him like an inconvenient, cheap fuck, too. You can get up and find your clothes and pull them on and let him watch, words biting at the back of his teeth, and you can tell yourself to feel nothing.

You can say, “You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve,” and not shy away from the resentment in your voice, because it’s properly placed. “You fucked someone else, too, so you’ve got a lot of fucking nerve, Jeongguk.”

Eight months is a long time to miss someone, to play at daydreams. To think of all the things you want to say, the things you’ll do. In not one of them did you think about this: you, fully dressed and stinking of sex, saying, “It’s late. I’ll show myself out.”

Jeongguk, tears glistening on his cheeks, saying, “No, let me—baby, I’m sorry, please—I’ll drive you.”

A shake of your head. Jeongguk doesn’t push it.

Roll credits.

[ the second. ] Jimin wants to talk your ear off about it—the girl you’re seeing.

It’s new and there isn’t much to say. You tell him the two of you met at one of the student showcases put on by the art department and leave off the part about all of Jeongguk’s old friends being there, that he would’ve participated, too, if he hadn’t dropped out after you broke his heart. Leave off the part where you would’ve been there to support him instead, in another life. Leave off the part where it’d just been morbid curiosity: you, not an art student, wandering those halls to see if Jeongguk’s photographs were still framed on the wall.

“Is she nice?” Jimin asks, head nearly knocking into yours as someone shoves by him. “Fucking asshole.”

You nod. “Why would I date someone that wasn’t nice?”

Jimin, perpetually unbothered until he decidedly isn’t, sends you a look that he hides behind the rim of his cup. “Because you’re in your self-destruction era and aren’t thinking clearly.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

“Exactly what I said. You know I’m happy if you’re happy, but…” He pauses as he trails off. Tries to wrap his words in something delicate. “It’s pretty clear you still aren’t over it. That’s all.”

You snort. “That’s all?” you repeat, like it’s some small thing. Like it’s normal and fine.

“I’m sure it’s easier to pretend when the two of you are thousands of miles apart,” Jimin amends, and he must see how you bristle, stung by the callout, because his eyes soften. “Tell me about her.”

She’s beautiful and kind and smart. Smokes clove cigarettes and the smell is always clinging to her skin. You know how to make her come but don’t know what she’s majoring in—fashion, you think, because she’s always holding fabric swatches against your skin. Tells you what suits you and what doesn’t. Tells you which textures don’t work, what’s too warm, and she doesn’t need to tell you what’s too cold because you already know it’s you.

She’s beautiful and kind and smart and has no idea you’re still in love with someone else.

But you can’t tell Jimin that, can you? Can’t tell him about how she’d dragged you to a private corner in the gallery and kissed you breathless; the way she made you come on her fingers; the way Jeongguk’s name nearly slipped out of your mouth as you shook. Can’t tell him that she’s got arms full of art. Delicate patchwork; nothing like the harsh, bold colors inked into Jeongguk’s skin, but it feels the same to trace the lines.

You can’t tell him much of anything, so what you settle on is, “She’s nice—good for me,” and it doesn’t sound convincing to either of you.

Jimin doesn’t call you on it, though. Not again. Instead, he keeps his gaze steady, staring into the fire, the flames dancing wildly when you meet his eye. “You need to be careful,” he says. “You’re going to hurt her, too. Maybe worse than you hurt him.”

“Jimin—”

“Just be careful,” he reiterates, and all you can do is nod. What else is there to do besides wait for the inevitable crash and burn?

And it’s a little unfair, you think, that Taehyung grows older every single year. A little unfair that guilt won’t let you decline the invitations. A little unfair that you can still pick Jeongguk’s laughter out of a crowd. A little unfair that these hometown friends-turned-acquaintances still throw sideways glances whenever someone else touches him, as if he still has someone to answer to; as if they’re expecting something.

An hour. You’ve survived an hour longer than you did last year, and it’s not much but you’re still proud of yourself. You’ve had a drink, talked to someone other than Jimin. Managed to ignore the way Jeongguk is ignoring you; the way he immediately leaves a room as soon as you enter. Maybe it’s better like this, you reckon. Maybe it’s what you need.

An hour is long enough. Jimin doesn’t comment on the way your bones crack when you stand to leave. No one needs a reminder of growing older. He doesn’t ask if you’ll be okay, either; if you need a ride home. Instead, he stays quiet as he studies you, clearly wondering if lightning strikes twice. If you’re going to be able to walk past Jeongguk and out the door without making another mistake.

You can at least make it across Taehyung’s sprawling yard and to the house. You can dodge the sweat-slick bodies and the girls sitting in laps. You can toss your empty cup in an overflowing trash can. You can pretend the eyes on your back are well-intentioned.

You can make it to the bathroom.

Annoying, the way your phone has been vibrating all night only to disappoint you. Irrational. You scroll past the emoji-laden messages, the coy flirting, because they’re from the person you’re actually dating—the person you told you were going to sleep early—and not from Jeongguk. You should feel guilty. You should feel guilty, but the face staring back at you in the mirror doesn’t look guilty at all.

She looks tired. A little beat-down, but that’s life.

Maybe that’s just what happens when you’ve spent the last two years of your life chasing after ghosts.

A knock at the door startles you. Sends your phone tumbling to the floor, screen probably cracked to hell, and you swear under your breath. “Just a minute!” you call out, a little stunned from how threadbare you feel all of a sudden.

Still, the knocking continues, and you’re on your knees on this bathroom floor and all you want to do is cry. You don’t want to be on this floor in this house. You don’t want to keep putting in the effort of maintaining the facades of all these friendships. You don’t want to keep coming back to this town, don’t want to keep being confronted with the harsh reality of all your mistakes.

“Just a fucking min—”

The words die on your tongue, because there Jeongguk stands, all the air in your lungs dissipating at the amount of space he takes up. Even worse when he steps inside and locks the door behind him. You feel like you’re going to drown. You feel like you’re going to scream or cry or both, and you’re still on the floor, still on your knees, and it feels too much like penance when you look up at him. Feels like you’re groveling, praying for forgiveness.

You stand quickly, ignoring the rush of blood to your head, the way your legs tingle. Jeongguk still hasn’t said a word, doesn’t seem like that’s going to change, either, and it’s really all you can do to stay on your feet when everything in you is screaming to collapse.

Eventually, he says, “You’re seeing someone,” and it isn’t a question, not really, but it borders on one. It’s a question and a confirmation and somehow sounds a lot like he’s asking for permission for something.

“I—yeah.” You swallow. “It’s new.”

He hums. Steps a little closer. Leans against the sink. Darts out his tongue to swipe at his bottom lip before he tugs his lip ring between his teeth. “Yeah? Does he treat you well?”

“She,” you correct, and there’s a flash of something in his eyes. Surprise, maybe. Jeongguk, at one point, had known everything about you, but not this. “And yeah,” you add on, barely a whisper, “she does.”

Part of you feels embarrassed. Jeongguk had known everything about you but not this, and you shouldn’t feel embarrassed or guilty but it still sits there in the middle of your chest. Feels like you’ve been keeping secrets. Feels like shame, even though you aren’t ashamed. Feels like you’re awaiting judgment. But the surprise in Jeongguk’s eyes disappears and something else settles in its place—uncertainty, if you had to guess.

“Are you happy with her?”

You shrug. “Like I said, it’s new.”

And Jeongguk is as emulous as ever, because he asks, “Does it feel like what we had?” and you already know the answer is no.

“I’m not sure anything will.”

It’s honest; you hadn’t said it to appease him, but he looks pleased anyway. You’re starting to understand why so many people write about their first love. Why it’s such a powerful role to fill. Because you and Jeongguk are standing in a bathroom behind a locked door, feet apart from one another, and you think, I don’t think there’s anyone I will ever love more than him even though it’s been two years. You think, I don’t think I’ll ever recover from this.

You think, I would try over and over and over again if he asked me to.

Later on, when you’re alone in your childhood bed and your face is streaked with tears, only your shame and guilt for company, you won’t be able to figure out who moved first, but one of you had.

Once upon a time, you had known everything about Jeongguk, too. You could recite his taste from memory, but it’s different this time. He licks into your mouth and it tastes like ash—nothing like the clove cigarettes your girlfriend smokes, but close enough that the parallel burns like acid in your throat. It’s close enough that you can keep your eyes shut and pretend again.

This time there’s no softness to be found. There’s just Jeongguk’s mouth pressed to yours, barely letting you breathe, not wanting anyone to hear. There’s just the sink digging into your back. Jeongguk’s hands gripping at your waist, pulling at the hem of your skirt. There’s the frustration and desperation of two people who love each other but will never, ever get it right.

There’s Jeongguk asking, as he spits into his hand and slicks you up, if you’re going to tell her.

There’s you, already too far gone, saying you don’t know.

There’s Jeongguk asking, as you’re clenching around him and dragging him with you to the edge, if you’d come back to him if he asked you to.

There’s you, already knowing the answer to this, too, saying you would.

But this isn’t that and Jeongguk doesn’t ask. When it’s over, he tosses the condom and does a half-assed job of helping you clean up and he doesn’t ask. He splashes water on his face and fixes his hair and he doesn’t ask. He tucks his cock back into his briefs and zips his jeans and he doesn’t ask.

Jeongguk has one hand on the doorknob and he doesn’t ask you to come back. Instead, he asks, “How long are you gonna keep doing this?”

For once, you don’t have an answer.

[ the third. ] You go even farther away for grad school.

You try to put more distance between you and Jeongguk, more distance between you and all the skeletons in your closet, but you just pack them up in different boxes and bring them with you.

You spend New Year’s Eve chain-smoking in your parents’ back yard—that same brand of clove cigarettes, because hearts are easy to break but some habits are not. Sometimes it’s a comfort to hurt yourself in the same way you hurt others, so you chain-smoke and you don’t go to to Taehyung’s birthday party because you weren’t invited and it doesn’t sting in the same way that it doesn’t sting that Jimin doesn’t call you once you’re home because he hasn’t spoken to you in a year.

The clock ticks down to midnight. Someone sets off fireworks. Absolutely nothing changes.

There are no half-baked resolutions. There’s no hope that this is going to be the year you get your shit together. There’s just you and the bed you’ve made for yourself; the autopilot you can’t—won’t—turn off, because you don’t know where you’re going anyway so you might as well just go wherever it’s taking you. There’s guilt and there’s shame and there’s baggage, but they’re all old friends. Those are old scars.

The sweatshirt you’re wearing doesn’t belong to you, and it does little to protect you from the bitter cold that bites at your skin. Jeongguk doesn’t belong to you, either, but he keeps coming back to you like he does.

“Mind if I sit down?”

You shrug, gesturing to the empty chair beside you. The small fire you’d built is down to its last embers, and it’s what you focus on, because you can’t focus on Jeongguk anymore.

“You weren’t at Tae’s.”

“Wasn’t invited.”

“Oh,” he breathes. “Sorry, I didn’t know. I would’ve—”

“It’s fine. I wouldn’t have gone anyway.”

He seems to hear what you don’t say. I wouldn’t have gone because I can’t be around you anymore. I wouldn’t have gone because I don’t trust myself with you. I wouldn’t have gone because I’ve burned down every good thing in my life trying to keep you. “Oh. Yeah, that—that makes sense.”

He’d texted you. Asked if he could see you. Just wanted to talk, and you’ve never cared much for symbolism, but nearing midnight on New Year’s Eve had seemed as good a time as any to let it go, so you’d said yes. Now, when there isn’t much to say, all of Jeongguk’s flimsy excuses are laid bare. Transparent.

“Was Jimin there?”

Jeongguk nods. “You didn’t know?”

You shake your head. Feels like it’s made of concrete. “No. We haven’t talked since last winter break.”

“Because of—”

How cruel, that you’d confessed to Jimin instead of the one person who deserved to know. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

You shrug again. “It’s okay. I don’t think it’s permanent, just until I can get my shit together, I guess. Wasn’t fair to drag him into my mess anyway.”

“It’s not that easy,” Jeongguk says, and it sounds like something he wants to be true. It sounds like something he’s said countless times in defense of himself. “We’d—I’d do it if I could.”

“Yeah,” you agree, “of course.”

Silence creeps up again, so you dig another cigarette out of the pack and offer one to Jeongguk that he waves away. “Cloves? That’s a weird choice.”

“Just something I picked up along the way.”

He hears you again: They’re what she used to smoke. It helps me heal to hurt myself with something that reminds me of her. Sometimes I chain-smoke clove cigarettes and I don’t wash the smell from my hands, my clothes, my hair, because it makes me feel less alone.

So he asks, “Was it real?”

“Doesn’t matter,” you answer, flicking the wheel of your lighter, words spoken around the cigarette stuck between your lips. “It never had a chance. Not a real one, anyway.”

“Do your parents know?”

“Know what? That I went away to college and started fucking women?” Jeongguk shrugs. Has the audacity to look embarrassed. “What are you trying to ask me? You wanna know if I keep coming back to you because I’m scared to come out to my parents?”

“No. I don’t know. I just—”

The laugh that escapes you is scorched and bitter. Sounds the way the tobacco tastes. “No, Jeongguk. I keep coming back to you because I keep hoping you’ll ask me to.” I keep hoping you still want me.

“I almost did,” he admits, and you can hear how he swallows around the lump in his throat. “The first time.”

“When you were a dick about me sleeping with someone else? Yeah, okay. You didn’t want me back, you just didn’t want me to be with anyone else.”

He huffs. “How the fuck do you know what I want? You’ve never bothered to ask.”

“Because it doesn’t matter,” comes your response, stilted and practiced. “It doesn’t matter what we want, because we’re just going to keep hurting one another trying to get it right.” You suck in a breath, wipe furiously at the tears on your cheeks. “And we’re never going to.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Then ask.” Jeongguk startles, looks at you with wide eyes. “Ask me to come back for real, Jeongguk, and I will.”

A beat of silence.

Two, three, four.

Someone sets off another round of fireworks. A dog barks. It’s so cold that you can see Jeongguk’s breath each time he exhales, each time he breathes out instead of speaking. All the words he isn’t saying. And it’s exactly how you knew it would go, but it does nothing to tamp down the devastation in your chest.

You’d confessed your transgressions to Jimin and thought your silence to your ex-girlfriend was a gift, that it was sparing her the pain of what you’d done. Now you understand that someone’s silence can be the most vicious thing of all.

[ the last. ] Graduation looms. It’s the last winter break you’re spending at home.

Your therapist suspects you get your compartmentalism from your parents.

They don’t mention it. They see the stack of boxes and your bare bedroom walls and they don’t say a word about any of it. They watch you pack everything in your car and don’t offer to help. They process their grief silently, and when you can’t stand it anymore, you say, “I dated a woman my senior year of undergrad, you know.”

They don’t say anything to that, either, but it feels good to tell them. Feels a little like freedom and reclamation, like you can be who you are in front of others.

When you leave for good, you don’t want to repackage all those same skeletons.

So you meet Jimin for lunch and you take it in stride that everything is weird, that there’s nearly two years of silence to fill. You don’t ask for forgiveness and he doesn’t demand it of you, just asks if you’re doing better. “I’m doing the best I can,” you answer, and it’s human and honest enough that he accepts it with a warm smile.

Jeongguk is more difficult.

There’s no way to neatly box up that kind of baggage.

You’d intended to stop by his apartment to talk, tell him you aren’t coming back anymore. There’s nothing left here for you, you’d told him, and there was a flash of something. A there’s me, isn’t there? that had gone unsaid, destined for the same fate as a million other unspoken words between you.

Because there is him, but there’s also the way you’re desperately trying to claw back into something resembling normalcy. You’d lost yourself when you also lost Jeongguk, and you need to figure out who you are without him. You need to know who you are once you stop running and let your demons catch up with you. You need to hear what they have to say.

Maybe Jeongguk had said it best last year—“It’s not that easy. I’d do it if I could.”—because you’re nothing if not predictable and self-destructive.

You’re nothing if not naked and on your back beneath him, your fingers threaded through his hair as he rocks his hips into you, more tender than you deserve. His lips are ghosting along your skin and every press feels like a brand. Feels like he’s both making a mockery of you and declaring you ruined for anyone who might come after him. Feels like you’ll love him until you die.

(Some version of you must exist outside of Jeongguk’s grasp—outside of his orbit, his bed—but right now, as he twines your fingers together and pins them above your head, you can’t figure out who she might be.)

Eight months had been a long time to think of all the things you wanted to say, and four years is worse. Four years, and you still can’t bring yourself to ask him to try again, but there’s nothing after this, nothing to lose, so your voice is hoarse and raw when you say, “Jeongguk,” and he groans a little, nips at the column of your throat because he loves the way you say his name. “Jeongguk,” you repeat, because he senses the urgency, hears what you aren’t saying.

“Yeah, baby, say it. Whatever it is, tell me.”

He rolls his hips faster. Before, he would’ve tried to prolong the ending, but he’s hurtling towards it now. There’s nothing after this, you know, but you need the confirmation. You need to finally put all of this to rest. “I want to—” His cock strokes someplace that whites out your vision. “Fuck, want to—want you to come with me.”

He laughs, full of himself, probably smirking out the side of his mouth. “Keep squeezing me like that and I will soon.”

“No,” you insist, shocked at the conviction in your voice, “when I leave. Come with me.”

Everything slows. Jeongguk pulls back, moves his hands to cover himself, and there’s nothing but cold confusion in his absence. “What?”

“I didn’t ask you before. Last year. I just—I left it up to you, and you’re right, I didn’t ask what you wanted, but I didn’t tell you what I wanted, either. But I’m telling you now. I’m asking—”

There was never going to be anything after this.

Jeongguk’s silence says it all.

The way he pulls out and rolls you onto your stomach. The way he fucks as fast and as hard as he can. The way he used to love you openly and honestly and now holds whatever’s left close to his chest like it’s something to be ashamed of.

Someone’s silence can always be the most vicious thing of all.

Roll credits.

thank you so much for reading, and an additional thank you in advance if you decide to reblog my work. as always, my inbox is always open for any feedback! ♡

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #jungkook imagine #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #bts x reader #bts x you #bts angst #bts smut #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts fanfic

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jjunberry · 3 months

Text

dream boy

pairing! jung wooyoung x reader

genre! strangers to lovers, fluff

synopsis! you seen him in your dreams before, to perfect to be real.. until you run into him while at work. (requested)

wc! 1.3k

outside was grey. you couldn’t tell what time it was or where you were. some park you didn’t know which one. he was there though. you felt his presence, felt his hand in yours. there wasn’t a soul at this park besides the both of you. “i love it here.” he said. when you turned to look at him his hair blew into his face covering it. that’s how it always went. his face was always covered.

before you could reply your alarm clock ripped you from the dream. suddenly the world was in color again and you were left feeling empty now that he was gone. you hated waking up alone after dreaming of him. your bed never felt so empty. with a sigh you got up to get ready for work.

you wouldn’t say you hated your job, but working nightshift with a dance team above your building made you want to. your boss had you on night shifts and ever since the team moved in you understood why. when you got to work your boss was happy to leave. “not enough pain medicine can cure the headache those boys give me.” she grumbled before punching out. you waved goodbye before punching in and taking over behind the counter.

the music they were dancing too was muffled but their stomps on the floor could be heard a mile away. another night of their non stop practice. you wondered if they ever got tired, or took breaks. it seemed like they didn’t.

when the end of your shift finally came you were happy to leave. they practiced well into the am hours. your head hurt and you were so tired.

after a shower and some food you made yourself comfortable in your bed. once your head hit the pillow you were quick to fall asleep.

the world was grey again. you felt him next to you before you seen him. always aware of his presence. he was comforting. if this was a ghost you hoped it wasn’t an evil one. his chest pressed up against your back, his arms wrapped around your waist. he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

“i missed you.” he mumbled. you relaxed against him. the two of you stayed like that for awhile. comfortable in each other’s presence. until you felt his grip start to loosen. “no don’t go.” you mumbled. “i have too.” he was sad.

you turn around in his arms. the two of you made eye contact. your heart was practically beating out of your chest. this was the first time you ever truly seen his face. your eyes scanned his face taking in every detail.

his slightly long black hair. you noted his chapped lips but your favorite feature is when he smiled at you. god his smile was beautiful. he placed his hand on your cheek. “i’ll see you soon.”

before you could reply you were ripped from your dream state by your annoying alarm. letting out a groan you kicked off your blankets and got ready for work.

another long night, another night of their loud music and stomps.

that’s how it seemed to be, for weeks and for weeks you dreamed of him. his handsome features. his touch which left you burning. however you were left feeling empty and cold when your alarm went off.

you couldn’t really tell anyone about him. no they’d think you were crazy. so for the two months you kept dreaming of him. you kept it all to yourself.

as the months went on, you started craving sleep just to see him. it all felt to real to just go up in smoke when you opened your eyes.

your eyes took in the grey surrounding area. you were sat on a swing with him next to you. your eyes found his when he let out a sigh. “are you okay?” you asked. he nodded but frowned. “i just wish you were real.” he said. “i wish you were real.” it was quiet for a moment before the both of you made eye contact.

his eye brows were furrowed. “i am real.” he stated. now it was your turn to be confused. “so am i? what kind of joke is this?” you let out a small laugh. “it’s not a joke.” he stated. the two of you just stared at each other. “i don’t understand.” you mumbled. he started to back away. “wait don’t go.” it was to late he already disappeared.

you shot up in bed gasping for air. your hands felt around your bed for him. like always..he wasn’t there.

you decided on a shower before going into to work.

the first few hours were the usual. loud music and stomps. at this point you were use to it. what came as a surprise was when the music stopped. you let out a sigh, maybe they finished early for once.

the bell above the door rang and a group of guys walked in. you counted eight of them as they took off in different directions for various food and drink items. your heart rate picked up when you caught sight of him. he was wearing sweats and a huge hoodie. he hadn’t seen you yet.

four of them approached the counter with arms full of snacks. “did you find everything okay?” you asked. they nodded. wooyoung froze at the sound of your voice. his own heart rate picking up. he stood in the back behind his friends.

the second group of four placed their snacks down. wooyoung still staying back. “woo you said you’d pay.” one of them whined. wooyoung glared at san before stepping up to the counter.

sweat beaded at your hairline. you felt small in his presence. “um is this all?” your voice was shaky. “uh yeah.” he answered. you nodded and told him his total. he paid and you handed him his bags. his fingers brushing across yours lit your body ablaze. you two stared at each other. his eyes dropped to your name tag. ‘hello my name is: y/n’ he noted your name.

“come on wooyoung, we only have half an hour before practice.” one of the boys said. you took note of his name. he was quick to snatch his bags and rush out with his friends.

your heart ached watching him go. a familiar sense of deja vu washed over you as he left.

that night when you closed your eyes. he wasn’t there.

you haven’t seen him in days. in all honesty you felt like you’ve finally gone crazy. was he even real? did that night even happen?

your questions were answered when the same group of boys entered the store again. only this time he wasn’t there. your heart dropped. “if you’re looking for wooyoung, he’s outside.” a voice interrupted your thoughts causing you to jump. your eyebrows furrowed.

“why would i be looking for your friend?” you asked. the boy laughed. “because we all seen what happened and he hasn’t stopped saying your name in his sleep for weeks now.” your eyes went wide. “e-excuse me.” you stepped around the counter and went outside. wooyoung was pacing back and forth.

“hey.” your voice came out in a whisper but it still caught his attention. his eyes met yours and suddenly you were back in your dream. “hey.” he said. “i, i don’t know what to say.” you said. “me either.” he admitted with a small laugh.

you stuck your hand out, he looked down then placed his hand in yours. “hi, i’m y/n.” the two of you shook hands. “hi y/n, i’m wooyoung.” your heart was beating so fast. never in a million years did you think this moment would ever be real.

you pinched yourself and winced. “why’d you do that?” he asked. you shrugged. “i had to see if this was real.” you smiled. he pinched himself too letting out a small wince. “totally real.” he grinned.

your dream boy was real.

requested! by anon <3

author’s note! sorry for the delay i had some serious writers block buuuuut i hope you enjoyedddd

love, echo ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪

#jung wooyoung #jung wooyoung imagines #jung wooyoung x reader #ateez #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #kpop #kpop x reader #kpop writers #jjunberry

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daichiduskdrop · 9 months

Text

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚⋆·˚ ༘ *𝙎𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙡 ��·˚ ༘ *ੈ✩‧₊˚

Chapter 10

Pairing: BTS Ot7 X fem! reader

Genre: A/B/O AU, Fluff, Angst, Strangers to lovers,

Warnings: none!

Words: 3668

A/N: 10 chapters in!! :0 Thank you so much for all the support with this story :)) I value you a lot.

Taglist: @thelilbutifulthings @ilovemoneymorethenmen @singukieee @cherrysainttt @felicityroth @mageprincess7 @lucis-noctiana @danielle143 @osakis-gf @girl-nahh @vintageoldfashion @neverthefirstchoice @juju-227592 @silentreadersthings @i-have-no-life-charlie @everyonehatesshani @iamkookiesforyou @dragons-flare

⋆·˚ ༘ *ੈ✩‧₊˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ✩‧₊˚⋆·˚ ༘ *

Blushing at what the alpha said, you slurped up a bit more of the stew. There were a few greens and vegetables in it, and with quite a bit of kimchi that was cut into bite-size pieces, the meal had a strong flavour.

The broth tasted a little like seafood but was also meaty, and it was just good. You enjoyed the meal.

„Babycheeks, here have some of this. It's good for you.” Taehyung said, chopsticks already right in front of your mouth. Biting into the daikon, you let the crunchy vegetable calm your slightly burning mouth.

Humming softly, you nodded at his watchful eyes. „It's nice; thank you, Tae.” Smiling at you widely, the alpha softly patted your head.

„Is the stew too spicy, princess?” The other alpha asked, noticing how your nose scrunched up a little with every other bite. You didn't want to seem disrespectful towards them; they prepared a meal for you so nicely, and you didn't want to seem ungrateful.

Smiling a little, you were just about to shake your head before you were interrupted.

„It definitely is, isn't it, Pup?" Namjoon answered instead of you, his voice going into a more worried tone. Looking towards his eldest packmate, who sat a few seats away from him, he stood up quickly.

„Shit, I'm so sorry, baby cub. I didn't mean to make it that spicy; here, let me help, sweetie...no peaches, let alpha do it.” Jin said, bending over you and scooping up some of the kimchi pieces into one of the empty bowls lying around.

Whenever you attempted to do so too, going to dig around with your spoon to also place the pickled vegetables in the dish, your hand was gently pushed to your lap, Jin tutting at you softly.

Yoongi too stood up, and a cup held under the faucet was quickly filled with warm water. Once the other alpha stepped out of the way since he got a big part of the main spice out, the younger man poured the water into your bowl, filling it back up again.

Now it was a lot less seasoned, so it was a lot milder for you. Thanking him softly, you felt him gently rub his chin over the top of your head, caressing you lovingly.

„It's okay, kitty. Try it now; is it better?” Tasting it again, you nodded your head gratefully. It helped a lot, so you continued on, chewing on pieces of boiled onion and tofu.

„Im glad cub.” Smiling at Jin's comment, you finished up the dinner with no problems. Making light conversation with the other men about your favourite movies and such, the evening continued calmly.

Finishing the peach juice you had been so nicely poured, you let Jungkook take a hold of your palm, slowly pulling you out of your seat.

„Do you want to play a game with me, Tae, and Jimin? We have a completely new one; would you like to see, baby?” Bending over you, he ruffled up your hair before he tamed it back down and brushed it behind your ear.

„What game is it?” You asked, already walking with the alpha towards the couch. The TV was turned on, the menu shining brightly with the settings turned on.

Taking a seat on the couch next to Jimin, you watched over the two other men sitting before you. Taehyung already had a controller in his hands, smiling when he saw you. His eyes were excited.

„It's Resident Evil 7, babycheeks. It came out a few years ago, but we didn't play it yet.” Tae murmured, adjusting the brightness of the screen and the loudness.

„Yah, you know it's a horror game, Kook-ah. Let the poor thing rest; she will get scared like this. Princess, go run up to the other alphas now; this won't do you any good, baby.”

Jimin frowned at his packmates. They knew more than well how sensitive omegas can be about this stuff, especially right before bed. He didn't want you to have bad dreams.

„But hyung! We are here; it won't be that scary!” Jungkook whined, his voice loud. He wanted you to see how good he was in games, plus, this was one of the easiest ways to also show just how fearless he was.

He won't get easily startled, even with jump scares around, and that should surely impress you; he was sure of it.

„No, Jungkook, absolutely not. Come here, peaches, do you want to see the music studios we have here? You'll like them; there is a lot of interesting stuff. Here, I'll take you, sweet cub.”

Quickly shuffling over when he heard the light commotion, Jin could understand Jimin's worry. This could end very wrongly, and they were taking no chances.

Walking over from cleaning up the kitchen, the alpha picked you up easily, hands under your arms, and pulled you to his chest, securely holding you up.

Without having any time to even protest, you just complied, smiling sadly at the forced whine coming from the two youngest alphas. Resting your cheek over the wide shoulder Jin had, you let him walk towards the walkway that was to the right of the stairs.

There were quite a few rooms in the house with a lot of different purposes, but the outside heated pool was Jin's personal favourite. They had a large garden that Namjoon enjoyed taking care of so much, but the 20-meter-long pool was just perfect.

It was covered, but now it was way too cold out to go swimming. The air was icy, so there was steam coming out of their mouths whenever they were outside.

Plus, even if they did take you right now, the snow that covered everything in such a thick layer would be just too harsh on your bare skin when you were on your way back inside.

They could carry you back inside, though, the thought had the alpha rethink his decisions. They just might take you swimming some time when they all have a few free hours.

Smiling at you when you looked at him and noticing the thoughtful gaze he held, Jin knocked on the first studio doors that were in the hallway. Snuggling closer to his neck, you breathed in the soft Yasmine smell, the warmth from the alpha's chest comforting you even more.

After a few seconds, the frosted glass doors opened, and Hobi in blue light-blocking glasses appeared before you two. Immediately, when he noticed you in his older packmate's arms, he smiled widely, cooing at you.

„Aigoo, did you come to visit me, sunshine?" Chuckling, he lifted you up from Jin, holding you to his chest himself. Combing his fingers through your hair, the eldest let the smallest bit from his wrist's scent glands linger.

„I'll go finish up in the kitchen now cub, okay? Call if you need anything, peaches. Stay with Hobi for now, though.” Smiling sweetly at you, he caressed your cheeks gently. Nodding up at him, you held onto the red hoodie Hoseok was wearing.

Paired with a pair of cotton off-white loose sweatpants, he only had white socks on, comfortably clothed for the finishing touches he still had to do for one song tonight.

He and the other rapline members had a planned session tomorrow morning at BigHit with a few of the managers, so he needed to prepare some stuff for him to be able to show them.

Closing the doors after himself, the alpha whistled a tune he made into a song a few days ago, easily carrying you with only one hand and pulling the turning chair out.

Taking a seat, he placed you on his lap, letting you loop your legs through the arm rests, loosely hanging them by the sides of the chair.

Patting your lower back in a settling pattern, you rested your body fully against his chest, just breathing in his scent and presence for the moment.

There were a lot of things around the studio; the large wooden desk had a bunch of things carefully placed on it, and the two large speakers on the sides of the monitor quickly pulled your attention when you first looked over the room.

Hobi had an almost black beanbag chair on the floor, close to the entrance, that had a giant red and white SUPREME cover that moved in the breeze. Behind the pillow chair was a standing black shelf filled with many colourful dolls and statues.

Gently turning from left to right in the chair, the alpha swayed you both around.

„Hm.. do you want to listen to the song I'm working on, bub? It's almost done; I just need to fine-tune a few things.” Looking over, you let the man help you sit so you could face the big monitor yourself.

Placing a pair of big headphones over your head, he adjusted your hair so none would be caught under them, itching you. Any sounds from outside were suddenly blocked out so well that you were stunned a little.

You loved listening to music; you did it very often when creating, at school or at home, when you were walking anywhere or just in the bus; it just eased your mind a lot.

But since you didn't have much money to spend on any good headphones, you were left with a wire pair of black earbuds that sometimes just stopped working.

Still, you did use them quite often, even when they would push at your ears after a long time of wearing them, making your ears hurt a little.

You heard about the sound-blocking effect a few higher-quality headphones had, but you never had the chance to try it out yourself, so this was very new for you. You liked it a lot, though.

Hearing only the lightest sound of the man's laugh, he turned on the track, music playing in his ears. It sounded like it was being played for you live with how high quality the audio was, your lips parting slightly at that.

The song itself was awesome too; the singing was great and the rap even better. You enjoyed it a lot. When it ended, you looked over at the alpha, and your eyes widened with wonder.

Taking off the headphones for you, he placed them gently back on the desk. Looking at him immediately, you were amazed.

„What is the song called? It's so nice, Hobi! It's really soft!” You said, your voice happy and excited.

„We are naming it Take Two. I'm happy you liked it! I still need to finish some stuff off, though." He murmured, his eyes already focused on the screen again. While typing a few things on the keyboard here and there, the mouse clicking wasn't too loud for it to be annoying.

With his arms outstretched around you, you took the headphones off the desk again, looking over them. They really had a lot of nice stuff; Jin wasn't lying at all.

„The sound from these is so good..!" Not being able to hold back, you gently whispered, turning them into your hands.

Looking back down at what you were talking about, he giggled softly at you. „Is that so sunshine? They are ok, Yoongi hyung has a much better pair though. I lended mine to Namjoonie for a little bit, he lost his own somewhere. These are only for a little while.”

„He lost his headphones? Oh no, how will he make music now-” Your voice was bewildered, quickly taking your attention from the device in your hands you stared up at the alpha in shock.

„No, no. Its alright bub. It's not that big of a deal, it happens a lot.” Laughing loudly at the end of the sentence he carresed your head, gently shushing your worries.

Pulling your face to his chest, your knees went over his tights, loosely hanging by his. Gently gripping onto his hoodie, you closed your eyes for a little bit.

Rubbing your back occasionally, the alpha cuddled up to you closer, squeezing you to his body. Putting on the headphones himself, he got back to work. Breathing in your sweet scent, he felt calm.

Any nerves he felt about showing the new track to his managers he felt earlier had quickly disappeared, and so after a short while he finished up fully.

Saving all files, Hobi looked down at you, only to see you already long asleep, your breathing prolonged and calm. He smiled softly at you, finishing up on his computer before he pulled you back up in his arms again.

Stirring a little, you whined softly, having the alpha shush you quickly. Patting your lower back gently, he walked out of his studio doors, walking back over to the kitchen again.

„Hush sweet baby. It's alright, alpha's here.” He murmured, carresing the top of your head with his cheek. Entering the kitchen, he turned the lights on, noticing the loud sounds coming from the TV.

Looking over, he saw just how dark the game was and decided that just wasn't for him. Pouring himself and you a glass of cold water, he woke you up softly, helping you hold the glass while drinking.

Waking up a bit better, Hobi placed you on your feet again, brushing his fingers through your hair. Looking over at the digital clock on the wall, it read 21:49. Mumbling about how you still had to shower, you walked up the stairs slowly, hearing Hoseok call about you being careful while walking still so tiredly.

Making your way to the furthest room from the stairs, you walked in, turning on the lights. The dark, clean sheets greeted you kindly, shuffling over to the bed you went through the clothing pile Jungkook and you earlier pulled out.

Taking out your sleepwear and a fresh pair of underwear, you walked over to the adjoined doors leading to a bathroom, secluded for the guest room. It wasn't the biggest, but considering how it was all for yourself only, you were more than satisfied.

Still it was much bigger than your own you had at your apartment. Placing your clothes on the white counter top next to the sink, you stripped from your outfit you wore earlier today.

Stepping into the marble tiled shower, you pulled the glass doors after yourself, turning on the shower above you. Washing away any sweat and grime you shampooed and conditioned your hair, the strawberry scented bottles calling out your name.

You were more than sure that the alphas weren't planning on stopping spoiling you rotten any time soon. Noticing the bottles were named of an expensive brand you just shook your head slightly.

After the short shower you dried your body you pulled on your pyjama pants, the light blue and white gingham pattern matched to the blue short sleeve loose t-shirt you had with yourself.

Toweling your hair dry, you pulled open one of the drawers, the black air-dryer intimidating you a little. Taking it out, it felt much heavier than any other one you had ever held.

Walking from the now warm and steaming room, you took it with yourself, rearranging all the stuff still placed on your bed so you would be able to get comfortable later on. Walking out of your room, your bare feet slapped against the cold floors quietly.

Noticing Yoongi walking towards his room before you, you called out his name softly, pattering towards him. Turning to you immediately, the alpha watched over you as you walked to him.

„Hm? Kitty? What's wrong? Where are your socks, baby?” Taking one look at your bare feet, he could already imagine you getting a cold like this. Absolutely not.

Still, you showed him the hairdryer, your wet hair dripping a few water drops on the ground here and there.

Sighing out, he nodded before walking with you back to your room. Gosh, the things he would do for you. Even prolonging his much-wanted sleep? He was more than whipped for you already.

Closing the doors after entering, he motioned towards your bed, already looking for a plug to get the small device working.

„Hop up 'mega. Alpha will dry your hair, baby.” Taking a seat, you pulled the soft brown hoodie from Hoseok to your lap, your fist closing over the fabric softly.

Sneaking his arms around your waist, he pulled you back a little, so you were closer to him. The wire wasn't that long, after all. Turning it on, he let it be on cold air settings, gently combing your hair out with his fingers before he started drying it for you.

Minding your hairstyle, he worked well and fast. With one knee placed over the mattress, the alpha allowed you to rest your lower back fully against him.

Making quick work with it, your hair was soon dry, and the obnoxiously loud noise was turned off too. Ruffling your hair, he gently turned your face to check over the front of your hair. Satisfied with his work, Yoongi nodded softly.

„Okay kitten, all done. Here, let me help you to bed. You should go to sleep now, or you'll be tired by tomorrow, and we can't have that, sweet kitty. Come on, let's see about these covers." Unfolding them, Yoongi gently shook them out, being careful to let only the smallest bit of his scent linger.

Crawling in, you took a seat at the top of the bed, your back resting against the headboard while you watched the alpha. Gently throwing the heavy duvet over you, he patted it down, ensuring your warmth.

„Come on, kitty, settle down now. It's time to sleep, hm?” Coaxing you gently to rest down, you layed on the mattress, your head hitting the pillow softly. Rubbing your shoulder gently, he smiled at you, his gums showing.

„Do you want me to get the other alphas before you sleep, sweet baby? I'm sure they will love to tell you goodnights.” Nodding unsurely, the man left quickly. Folding the hoodie to your chest, you breathed in Jin's scent, which lingered over it just the smallest bit. It comforted you a little.

It took only a minute or two before the room's door opened up again, the packmates filling in one after another. The first to come was Taehyung, smiling widely at you.

He couldn't help but coo at how cuddly you looked, all soft under the heavy blankets, with only a bit of your face peeking out.

„Babycheeks, you are just the cutest thing possible, aren't you? You'll give me a heart attack soon like this! Hm... Babycub, sleep well tonight, okay?” His voice already went deeper than it was; even if it wasn't that late into the night, he felt a bit tired himself.

Nodding at him, you let him hold your hand for a few seconds, gently rubbing his thumb over your knuckles, his eyes calmly looking over you.

„Okay, Taehyung-ah, let me have a bit with her now too, gosh.” Pushing him out of the way gently, you were faced with the eldest packmate. Jin too stared down at you lovingly for a few seconds before he went on to caress your cheeks and temples.

Crouching down next to the bed, he came face-to-face with you, his scent more prominent than earlier. „Sleep well, baby peaches. If the storm wakes you up, come to us right away, okay ? We will keep you secure. It could get a little scary; it's loud sometimes...”

Voicing his running throught, he soon pulled away, allowing the next man to tell you his good nights.

„My princess. Rest well tonight, hm? We will wake you up tomorrow morning, so don't worry about anything. You just sleep well, okay?” His knuckles went softly over your warmed-up cheeks, your eyes fluttering closed for a small second.

„My baby Omega, if you need anything, alpha is always close, okay? You just call, and we will be here in a second, sweet baby. Close your eyes and rest for now; don't worry about a thing.” The youngest spoke, his voice gentle and calming.

Patting over your shoulder, he too stood up after a few seconds of watching over you. They felt the need to know about your wellbeing before going to sleep themselves, so while the other men were still saying their good nights, the rest went over the room, making sure the window was tightly shut and sealed, the curtains drawn close with no chance of seeing inside.

„My sleepy sunshine. It's time for good nights now, yea? You have to sleep lots and lots, so you won't be all tired tomorrow. If you need anything, just come to one of us.” Rubbing his chin over the side of your head, Hoseok smiled brightly at how you were holding the hoodie tightly to yourself.

„Good. Keep a hold of that for me, bub.” The alpha realised how much an object you would grow attached to would keep you calm and settled, so after having that jumper around for when you had your omegadrop, he knew well that it should help with any future ones.

„Okay kitty, it's time to sleep now, yea? Be a good girl for alpha, and don't stay up. Don't be on your phone or something; just rest your eyes. You had a long day, my kitten.”

He himself yawned, feeling tired already. Running his fingers through his hair, he pulled you further into sleep with his soft words.

„My small pup. Sleep lots and lots tonight, alright? And if you wake up, come to an alpha right away, do you understand, baby cub? This is important. ...Okay, good girl. Sleep now, sweetheart. Alpha's will keep you safe.”

Pulling the duvet closer to your chin, he patted it down to make sure you'd be warm throughout the night. And so, with the heater turned on fully and a glass of water placed on your bedside table from Jin, you were soon lulled to sleep, the men all waiting to see you fully rest before they all left to go to bed themselves.

⋆·˚ ༘ *ੈ✩‧₊˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ✩‧₊˚⋆·˚ ༘ *

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nattyswann · 2 months

Text

Red-haired hero

Parings: captain!shanks x female!reader

Warnings: Smut, Established relationship, fingering, oral (reader receiving), hella dirty talk bc I can’t help it, shanks cums inside reader, threats of murder, mentions of alcohol, mentions of abuse? (Not from shanks), some of the known crew members are mentioned, shanks is a bit evil bc I believe in evil shanks and love mean shanks

Summary: You get assaulted in a random bar for being a pirate but your captain and crew comes to save you just in time. Shanks then comforts you after you get frustrated about the whole situation, always being there for you.

• Being a female pirate is hard. You get no respect and everyone just always assumes you’re the weakest link. I mean you aren’t as strong all the other all stars but you’re apart of the crew and deserve just as much respect and recognition for what you do.

• Even with the knowledge that you were apart of the red-haired pirates, that didn’t stop people from messing with you.

• All you wanted to do was sit at a bar and take a break from your loud crew full of reckless men. That peace was broken when even more men came to disturb you. “Barkeep!” A loud crash was heard behind you as a group of people came rushing inside the tiny bar. “Get a few bottles ready! We just caught a large bounty!”

• Ugh. Of course it was pirate hunters too. You now wanted to get out of there as soon possible in order to avoid these buffoons. Before you could finish your sake, a man sat near you. “And how about you bring out an extra bottle for this pretty lady right here.” The man leaned towards you as the barkeep slid a bottle over to you.

• “No thanks.” You smiled sweetly at the stranger before standing up. “I’m far too tipsy to accept that. How would I make it back to my ship?”

• “Ship?” The man glared at you. “Ah. So you’re a pirate.” It came to him when he peeped the device around your wrist. “That log post is a dead giveaway.” He smirked. “Yeah, captain obvious. I’m holding it for our navigator.”

• “Speaking of..” Snatching the bottle of the bar top, you turned to strut out the bar. “And I changed my mind. I’ll take this bottle for my captain.” You giggled.

• Before you could reach the door another man stepped in front of you. “Your captain?” He leaned down to your height. “Why don’t you tell me their name? Maybe when I beat them and get their bounty you’ll realize that playing pirate is stupid.”

• “She’s only acting so big cause she thinks red hair is gonna get here in time to help her.” You lightly growled under your breath. This sleazy guy is definitely gonna get what’s coming to him, Shanks surely would be here soon, but that was the last thing you wanted to happen though. It would only prove their point. Everyone already agreed that Shanks saved your ass everytime there was trouble. “He’s my captain. Why wouldn’t he save me?”

• “Shut your mouth.” The stranger proceeded to take his bottle and pour the rest on top of your head, drenching you in booze. “I guess we’ll just wait here for your captain to come get you then. Since you refuse to tell us his name.”

• “Want my name?” A ominous voice came from outside the door to the bar. You knew exactly who was behind that door and the voice that was attached to it. When he finally arrived to the scene and bust through the door with the whole crew you bit your lip in embarrassment. You hated this part. The part when all the strong men came to save your ass. “It’s Shanks.”

• You could hear gasps and gulps the moment shanks revealed himself. Some knew him by face but everyone knew him by name. An infamous emperor of the sea.

• “There’s so much commotion coming from this dainty bar.” Shanks said while he slowly strutted towards the bartender.

• “It’s like you guys are having a party!” Yassop leaned near you on the ground and put a hand on your back to help you sit up. “It’s funny seeing our crew member here.” Yassop gazed up at the man who grabbed your hair earlier. “All these men in here and not one of you helped her up?” Everyone avoided Yassop’s gaze and looked as if they wanted to piss their pants.

• “Can hardly call any of them ‘men’, can you?” Benn grunted out.

• “So.” The red-haired man pulled his sword out and stabbed it into the wooden bar top. “Why’d everyone go quiet? Weren’t we celebrating something?”

• Lucky roux pointed at the wall and let out a loud laugh. “Heya, captain! Come check this out!” When the other crew members looked over, they also let out laughs across the room. “They got all our wanted posters hung up on the wall!”

• “Awee. You guys must be big fans of us.” Lucky roux said as he snickered.

• The bar goers who were all bullying you so viciously earlier, were now as quiet as a mouse. Sure they had no problem when it was just a defenseless woman but now that the others arrived, they wanted nothing to do with you. “Well..emperors don’t t-typically dock on our little island..haha..” the bartender peeped out quietly. “I don’t really care about all that.” Shanks stayed serious, unlike his crew mates. “I wanna know why our crew member is on the floor and drenched?” Shanks then lifted his nose up in your direction and shook his head. “Drenched in what appears to be alcohol no less.” He scoffed. “What a waste of good booze.”

• “Please, sir!” The bartender put his hands up. “We’re all very sorry for what we did.” Shanks grabbed hold of his sword again, pulling it out the wood and pointing it in the air. “The person I point this sword at better run.” Everyone in the bar went still.

• The stranger from earlier that poured his drink on you had begun to run before shanks even let his sword leave the air. Benn made sure to trip the dude before he could get too far. Shanks turned in his direction and chuckled. “How did you know it was gonna be you?”

• “Are y-you really gonna kill me?” Only Shanks could make a grown man truly cry in front of an audience.

• “Nah. That’s not up to me. Y/n’s a big girl, She can make her own decisions.” He looked towards you. “If she doesn’t want us to cause a riot then I won’t.” The pirate then faced and walked towards the crying guy on the floor. “But if she decides that you hurt her too badly..” shanks glared the man down so harshly that the drunken fool had started trembling. “Then I’ll fucking kill everyone in this bar and spray your blood on the walls for the next fucker that decides to screw with y/n.”

• Yassop hollered out a loud laugh while smacking his leg. “Whew. You guys really made our captain mad.” Lucky roax joined in on the laughter. “That’s a recipe for disaster!”

• “More like a recipe for death.” Benn chimed in.

• “Enough.” You called out from the corner of the bar. “I’ll be fine.” You quickly walked over to shanks and put a hand on his chest to calm him down. “I think they’ve learned their lesson.”

• “You sure?” He lowered his weapon momentarily to look into your eyes. Making sure his full attention was on you. He leaned down and whispered in your ear. “You know what I’d do for you. Just say the word.” He put his sword back on his hip so that he could stroke your arm with his hand. “Don’t be afraid to speak up.” “I’m not afraid of these fools.”

• “I mean don’t be afraid of what I’d do.” “I’m serious, shanks. I’m fine.”

• “Fine then.” Shanks smiled and turned back to the guy on the ground. “See how sweet she is? She just saved your life.” The man nodded. Shanks got serious again. “Say ‘thank you’ to her.”

• “T-thank you! Thank you ma’am!” He clasped his hands together to show his appreciation.

• “Let’s get outta here, captain.” Benn said as he flicked his cigarette and stepped on it. Shanks led the way and the rest of the crew followed him out of that crummy bar. Leaving all of the destruction behind. That place definitely lost a few customers that day.

• Once the two of you were back on the ship, alone in his room, you finally let off some steam. “It’s not fair.” You grunted as you kicked the wall. “I know.” He reached out to hug you and held you close against his chest. “It must be so frustrating.” You accepted him taking you into his embrace but still scoffed. “Im serious, shanks.”

• “I’m serious too, y/n.” He said as he stroked your hair with his one hand. “I hate it when someone treats my crew members like their weak. Especially over something as stupid as their gender. I mean, I didn’t add you to my crew because you’re weak.”

• You pushed away from him a bit to look up at him. “No, you added me because you wanted to fuck me. That’s even worse.” Now looking down at the ground in embarrassment. “All the other crew members know it too. I’m not an asset and I just keep your bed warm.”

• Shanks let go of you and bent down to your height to meet your eyes that were avoiding his. “Is that seriously what you think?” When you gave him no answer, he grabbed your chin to make you look at him. “If that were the case then you woulda been out the crew a while ago.” He just giggled and patted your head. “Think about it, y/n. It’s a crew full of dumb men with guns and swords.” Shanks laughed even harder like you said something hilarious. “We woulda been dead ages ago without you. All of the best crews have a smart woman secretly running shit.”

• Looking into his grey eyes mixed with his sweet words made you so weak. Only with him could you let your guard down so much. “Do you really mean that or are you still just trying to get me in bed as we speak.”

• “Oh I’m telling the full truth..” He leaned his hand against the wall behind you as he also leaned his body in for a kiss. Of course, you accepted the kiss and opened your mouth for him. For a moment he broke the kiss just to finish his sentence. “If I happen to talk my way into your pants in the process then that’s just a plus.”

• “Well it’s working.” “Good. You wanna take it to the bed then?”

• After you gave a small nod, Shanks took his arm and used it to throw you over his shoulder. Ugh. It’s not fair. Even with one arm he was still so strong. It wasn’t long before you reached the bed and he lightly tossed you down. “Since my poor baby was having such a bad day, I’ll give her a present first.”

• Shanks spread your legs and used his hand to hold your hip. He sat down in front of you so he could lean forward and place kisses all over your beautiful thighs. “I always love the way you taste. It never gets old.” While shanks continued to set kitten licks on your clit, he put one finger inside you just to be a tease. “I know I’m doing you a favor but could you do me one and beg for me?”

• “Ahh..it’s soo good, shanks.” You said while clutching onto his beautiful red hair. “Gonna cum soon!” Shanks hummed as he lapped at your pussy like it was his salvation. As if your juices and slick was holy water to him. “I’m waiting.” The moment Shanks felt you tighten around his tongue, he sent his fingers to rub quick circles on your clit to send your senses into overload. Momentarily kissing your thigh to give you extra comfort and to show his attention was fully on you. “Cum on my tongue and lemme taste all the juices this yummy cunt has to offer.”

• That was it. Just then you felt an explosion of orgasmic pleasure run through you. While you shook, shanks made sure to hold you close to him. He took his arm that was wrapped around you and reached back down to stick two fingers back in your hole that was already so sensitive. You whined and let your head fall forward onto his shoulder. Shanks only put them back in to feel your pussy clench over and over while you finished your orgasm.

• “Wow..Look at you. Haven’t even taken my cock yet and you’re already such a fucking mess. Maybe I shouldn’t fuck you tonight..” Shanks said in a teasing manner. You shook your head and reached out for him. “No! Please, I want you right now!”

• Shanks smirked and kissed your collarbone. “I know, baby. I’m just teasing ya.” Your man spent no time stripping himself of his clothing, You making sure to help him (since he only has one arm). He yanked his pants down, revealing the cock he was about to split you in half with. You’ve taken him several times but it still took some preparation for him to be able to slide in with utter ease.

• When the two of you got situated, shanks got on top of you and spread your legs, using his arm to put one of your legs up on his shoulder. “I just know your cunt can’t wait to take me.” He said as he put his tip on your clit, rubbing it a bit to see you writhe. “Look at how messy you are. Getting slick all over my sheets. You’re about to make my cock so messy too.”

• “Shanks! Please stop teasing me!” You moaned out when you felt him poke only his tip in your entrance. “I’m sorry. I’m being mean again..I forgot I’m supposed to be making you feel better.” He kissed you on the cheek as he finally pushed the rest of his shaft inside of you. He dips down and you wince at the stretch you start to feel. Shanks only just started but you already felt soo full. Groaning when he could finally get his honey around him. “Please make me cum quickly shanks..I need it now.”

• Shanks would fuck you forever if he could. It’s like your pussy was made for him. To be fair, was the one who took your virginity and he’s told you multiple times how he’d make sure that he’s the only one fucking you. The only one who gets to taste your delectable cunt. No one else would get to see you become undone the way you do with your man.

• “You are so antsy. Since it’s all about you this time, I’ll give to you quick like you asked.” Shanks took hold of your thigh again and started to pound into you at a rough pace. “Since you want to rush me you better hurry up. Cum on my dick like you did my tongue and fingers. Such a dirty girl.”

• His thrusts began to speed up and get more sloppy as he was closer to bursting inside of your warmth. “Your fucking pussy keeps clamping down on me. His lips found their way to your neck. Then your lips, Licking and sucking in an attempt to rip more moans from your plump lips. “You’re seriously the light of my life. I don’t give a fuck what anyone says. I’ll protect you no matter if they laugh.”

• Through your loud pleas for more, you could hear a light chuckle slip past his lips. “They’re all just mad that I’m the one gets to fuck you this good every night.” “Shanks..I love…I love you.” Before you could even process what you were doing, your arms flew to wrap around his broad shoulders and hug him closer to you. “Don’t want anyone else but you.”

• The red-haired man just smiled at the rose tinted expression you wore and caressed the soft skin on your cheek. “I love you too, princess.” Those fives words are the most simple in the world but it meant so much to you. Knowing that he reciprocated your feelings made the upcoming orgasm that much more important than the last.

• Beforehand, you believed he only wanted you for your virgin body but after hearing shanks actually say it, made up all the difference. “Do you mean it..?”

• “Hmm. Let’s see..” before answering your question, shanks gave a few more rough thrusts to get to his finish. “If I didn’t..I wouldn’t have just came so much in your raw cunt.” When he seen your shocked yet relieved expression, shanks knew how much you loved the feeling of his cum filling you up. Fingers grasping the sheets while you dry heave and try to regain consciousness.

• “Don’t forget that I’d do anything for you.”

#one piece smut #shanks one piece #shanks smut #one piece shanks smut #red hair shanks

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say-al0e · 2 years

Text

Don’t Let Go

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Steve Harrington was your best friend. He was the one person you swore would never hurt you. But when high school rolled around, Steve went searching for a place to fit in while you went searching for yourself. Now, years later, the universe has brought Steve Harrington back to your life and he doesn't plan on leaving again. | Ft prompt request: “I want you to be happy.” “You make me happy.” + “I think I’m in love with you.” + “You’re the only one who gets to call me that.”

Warnings: Absent parents (Steve’s parents), emotionally abusive parents (reader’s parents), Steve was kind of an asshole in high school (but not really), best friend!Eddie, Steve listens to Hall and Oates unironically.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!Reader

Word Count: 17.9k (I’m so sorry. I really, truly, terribly am.)

Stranger Things Taglist | Stranger Things Masterlist

Steve Harrington, dressed in a striped polo and the garish green Family Video vest, didn’t so much as bat an eye as you approached the counter.

There was no greeting, no forced customer service voice or Harrington charm - or lack thereof, as of late. Instead, he delivered a deadpan, “Someone else rented The Evil Dead,” as he continued stacking return tapes. “You really should just buy it at this point.”

The scent of his cologne, something woody that had always made your head a little dizzy - always blurred the sharp edges of your biting jabs and warmed the ice in your chest - enveloped you as you leaned against the counter. The surface was sticky beneath your elbows, as it always seemed to be, but you ignored it and grinned at him, cloyingly sweet.

“If I did that, how would I get to annoy you weekly?”

Annoying Steve was, originally, not your goal. The first time you stepped into Family Video, you’d only wanted to rent a movie - a handful of them, actually, for a movie night with Eddie. You’d been expecting to see Keith behind the desk, prepared to deal with his wandering eyes and slightly off-putting smile, but the sight that greeted you instead was a surprise.

News of Steve’s hire had spread - Robin was a friend, she’d excitedly shared the news almost immediately - but, almost naively, you believed Keith would remain at the desk and you would, blessedly, avoid Steve’s presence. You’d been doing it for years, sidestepping him every chance you got, but your luck ran out.

Though Steve was surprised to see you - the last time you interacted, it was after your high school graduation and you’d run off the moment you were allowed - he was polite, professional, almost friendly. There was a light in his eyes when he recognized you, a genuine curiosity when he asked how you were doing, and you were baffled because Steve Harrington hadn’t been nice to you in a long while.

You weren’t sure if it was the shock of seeing him, the surprise when he made an effort to be polite to you, or maybe it was the years of repressed anger at how he’d treated you in high school. Regardless, you could admit that the interaction wasn’t your finest moment. Every nicety he shared was met with snark, bitter and biting, and he deflated almost immediately.

Guilt bubbled on your drive home but some small part of you felt glad that you’d managed to leave with your dignity in tact.

Since that day, your interactions became more frequent - there was little else to do as you spent your summer in Hawkins - and seeing the twitch of Steve’s jaw when you met his kindness with snark made you feel just a touch better before it made you feel worse.

The roll of his eyes, the quiet huff of breath as he focused on sorting tapes into genres, made you laugh. “I’m not here for The Evil Dead this time, though. I’m looking for Nightmare on Elm Street. I want to make my parents regret locking me away on a Friday night.”

In a rare moment of annoyance - directed at you, anyway - Steve scoffed. “As if you were doing anything better with your night.” He paused, hands hovering above the counter as if he’d only just realized what he said, and you huffed. When you rolled your eyes, he spared you a glance out of the corner of his eye.

“It’s about the principle, Stevie. Spiting the parents and all.” You waved a hand, silver of your rings glinting in the florescent light - drawing soft brown eyes, half-lidded in exhaustion and exasperation - and frowned as you fixed him with an accusing look. “Tell me you wouldn’t do the same.”

Though it had been years since you’d last spoken about anything other than surface-level bullshit - chemistry exams and pep rallies, basketball scores and the weather, a fallen tree blocking the road to your houses - your bond had been forged in fire by commonalities few knew you shared.

The only real difference between your parents and his was that yours were occasionally racked by guilt - just enough self-awareness to demand a family night once every few months with the declaration that things would change, family time would become more important - before starting the cycle of neglect all over again.

Steve grimaced, a look that confirmed your assumption, as you shrugged. There was no need for him to confirm what you already knew to be true so you carried on. “Anyway, my brother’s coming home for the weekend so it’s time to pretend we’re a functional family.”

Another grimace - this one stemming from a place of understanding as Steve Harrington knew all too well what it was like to be forced to pretend - as he turned to face you. He leaned against the counter and folded his arms over his chest with a thoughtful frown. “I thought your brother got married. What’s he doing back here?”

He didn’t just think, he knew - he was at the first wedding, offered you a cigarette and sat with you in silence as you both sipped beer in outrageously nice outfits neither of you would wear again; a kindness you hadn’t expected from him, one that seemed to make no difference when he ignored your presence at school the following Monday - but you still smiled at him just the same, as if you knew something he didn’t.

This was the first time Steve Harrington had really looked at you - soft brown eyes fixed on your face, intent and flecked with something warm - in years. The weight of his gaze settled on your shoulders, suddenly made you feel fourteen and shy again, but you did your best to keep your hand from trembling as you reached out to straighten a stack of pamphlets.

“Haven’t you heard? He’s been married, and divorced, twice.” Steve winced - he’d looked up to your brother once upon a time, just as you had, and you knew that the trajectory of his life hit home for Steve - and you weren’t sure what possessed you to be so flippant (maybe it was payback, a sick desire to make him hurt in the same way he’d hurt you for years) but you added, “And you thought your personal life was shit.”

It was a low blow, you knew that - you regretted it the moment you said it - but it escaped before you could think twice. The flicker of good will, something more hopeful than you’d seen from Steve Harrington in years, disappeared in an instant. It was replaced with a roll of his eyes, an exasperated sigh that made your stomach turn, and you bit the inside of your cheek as he turned back to the pile of tapes.

“Nightmare’s on the horror shelf. You know where to find it. If that’s all, I’ll ring you up and you can go. I’ve got shit to do.”

As Steve focused his attention on the dwindling pile in front of him, you swallowed a heavy sigh that tasted bitter. There was no point in apologizing - neither of you had done that; him for abandoning you in pursuit of popularity, you for resenting him for wanting somewhere to belong - so you ignored the pang of regret stabbing at your chest.

“By all means, keep working, Harrington. The longer I linger, the less time I have to spend with the mirror-verse Cleaver’s. Annoying you is just a bonus.”

Though he made no effort to turn his attention back to you, you could see the way his brows furrowed in confusion. He blinked and the question was slow to escape. “Mirror-verse?”

“Yeah. From Star Trek? It’s, like, the evil twin universe.” Steve swallowed hard, a reaction that left you minutely confused, and grimaced as he shook his head. When he scoffed, you huffed. “You’re best friends with Dustin Henderson and the merry band of losers, dude. You’re, like, nerd bait. Don’t judge me.”

Steve sighed and turned back to you, ready to deny the obvious - or remind you that just because he spent time with nerds, he hadn’t exactly learned much - but before he could so much as open his mouth, the bell above the door chimed.

All too quickly, his demeanor changed. Steve smiled, his most polite, parent-pleasing grin, and you bristled. Warm brown eyes flickered to your face and away again so quick you were almost certain you imagined it but you averted your gaze, anyway, as you clenched your jaw.

Across the store, your mother stepped inside Family Video with a grimace. She looked entirely out of place, pristine and pretty in a grimy den of movies she’d hate even the thought of, but she still brightened considerably at the sight of Steve Harrington.

Once upon a time, she - like his mother - swore the pair of you were destined to be, fated to be married and spend the rest of your lives together. The only attention they ever paid to the pair of you was when you were together and, when Steve left you behind, you fleetingly wondered if that was the only reason he ever looked at you in the first place.

That wasn’t the case and you knew it.

Once upon a time, Steve was your best friend - had loved you more than anyone, spent every waking moment glued to your side - and it was because you were more alike than you were different. You lived similar lives, had similar childhoods, and complemented one another in ways that made your lives significantly better. Steve made you happy but, more impossibly, he made your parents happy.

When things changed, when your best friend Steve became King Steve and you turned invisible - became friends with Eddie Munson and tried to find yourself amongst the chaos of high school - your mother blamed you for ruining the future she’d imagined you’d have. She huffed and puffed, bitter and biting, when you started wearing black and listening to metal. And when you declared you would rather die than become a trophy wife for some rich asshole - someone like your father; someone you thought Steve would never be but could easily become, if he wasn’t careful - she refused to speak to you for a week.

When you lamented high school and all its difficulties, informed her that Steve Harrington was no longer your friend because he’d rather join Tommy and Carol in their relentless teasing than even pretend he knew you, she sniffed and reminded you that it was your own fault for choosing to be different. She told you that if you tried a little harder - put some effort into your clothes, wore a dress and fixed your hair and makeup - maybe things wouldn’t be so hard. And maybe Steve would still be your friend.

So, it was no surprise that she was happier to see him than you.

“Steve!”

She smiled, bright and brilliant, and paused just a step from the counter to take in the sight of him. Though you could both see her disdain - she’d lamented what a waste it was for him to remain in Hawkins, how awful his parents were being by cutting him off only to turn around and contemplate doing the same when you decided to attend a private university within driving distance rather than a larger school in the city - she was still glad to see him.

“What a pleasant surprise. How are you, sweetheart?”

As charming as he could be, Steve’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes as he spared you a fleeting glance. His shoulders were too stiff, knuckles a little too white as he held tight to the counter, but to someone like your mother - someone who didn’t bother looking any deeper into anything not entirely about her - he looked perfectly pleased to see her.

“I’m good.” Steve nodded, though you weren’t sure who he was trying to convince - her or himself - and, just as he’d been raised, politely declared, “It’s nice to see you. It’s been a while.”

The last time Steve had the (dis)pleasure of interacting with your parents was at graduation. Your mother and father showered him with praise, congratulated his barely passing GPA in a way that neglected your own straight A’s - lauded his accomplishment in a way they forgot to do for you - and didn’t bother batting an eye as he sheepishly explained away his own parents’ absence. It was fine that they were busy, your parents told him, he could just join your family for dinner at Enzo’s.

For three miserable hours, you sat pressed close to Steve - neither of you sharing so much as a single glance, picking at food neither of you really cared to eat - while your parents prattled on about nothing in particular. He shared another cigarette with you in the parking lot after but the only words you exchanged were half-hearted congratulations, a soft acknowledgement from him that your speech had been nice, uttered right before you ran from the parking lot to climb into Eddie Munson’s awaiting van.

Now, Steve spared you a tentative glance as your mother set her sights on you.

Beneath his understanding, there was something unreadable. The look in his eyes was a little sad, a little soft, but a fire blazed in them that you couldn’t quite comprehend. It wasn’t quite anger, didn’t burn that hot, but a sort of determination that you decided not to question.

Whatever Steve Harrington felt, it was no longer your business.

Still, the combined weight of their stares - hers an icy disappointment, his a warm understanding - flooded your mouth with a bitter copper. Your skin heated and heart hammered against your ribcage, battering your chest in a way that ached. And instead of chancing a glance at either of them, of meeting their eyes and being reduced to embarrassed tears, you pretended to study the tarnished metal of one of your rings.

With the pleasantries out of the way, your mother seemed to realize that you had yet to find a tape and huffed impatiently. “Why are you just standing here? And where is the movie? I told you to find something your brother would like. We should’ve been home fifteen minutes ago.” From the corner of your eye, you could’ve sworn you saw a twitch in Steve’s jaw as his gaze fell to the counter. “Next time, I’ll just find something myself.”

Another huff, one that needled at your already rubbed raw nerves and had frustrated tears prickling at the backs of your eyes, escaped your mother’s painted lips as she reached for a tape on the new release shelf. “Steve, dear, what do you think of this one? You know my son. Do you think he’d like it?”

When you finally chanced a glance at Steve, the weight on your chest grew impossibly heavier. He was never quick to anger, never outwardly volatile, but you remembered the little tells. The twitch of his jaw, the narrowing of his eyes, the set of his mouth; he was annoyed and you were embarrassed.

Without so much as a glance at the tape, he nodded. “Definitely.” His agreement was easy, sure, but his tone was mild and disinterested. He wanted her - and you - gone. “It’s been a hit. Everyone likes it.”

Steve’s less than glowing review was more than enough for your mother. She didn’t care, not really, so she nodded and slid the tape across the counter with a satisfied smile. “Then we’ll take it.”

In her own way, you knew that your mother meant it - she did really like Steve, though most people who got to know him seemed to, irritatingly enough - but that didn’t matter.

The only thing that mattered in that moment was how long it would take for you to make it out of the store and back home, how long until you could lock yourself in your bedroom and hide until your parents demanded you be sociable, how long until you could sneak out your window and ask Eddie for something to help you forget - how long until you could escape the suddenly pitying look Steve Harrington shot you as your mother dug through her bag for her wallet.

The look in Steve’s eyes - a nauseating combination of understanding and sympathy, sorrow and contempt - made it that much harder to hold yourself together. He knew your family, knew what your life was like behind the large house and rich parents, just as you knew the same about him. That mattered little, however, when you no longer knew one another.

Steve’s sympathy meant nothing to you, was more embarrassing than comforting, and he seemed to realize what you were feeling as he blinked and returned his attention to your mother. She simpered and Steve’s answering smile looked entirely artificial to you.

“Always so helpful, Steve.” She shot you a withering look then, one that clearly read ‘unlike some people,’ before offering him something a little more real. “It really has been nice seeing you, sweetheart. Don’t be a stranger.”

Then, without waiting for his reply and without so much as a word to you, she turned and headed for the door. She wouldn’t leave you - that would potentially tarnish her reputation, someone seeing you trudge home on the side of the road - but she would huff and puff the entire ride home, louder the longer you took to follow.

With a weak smile, one you knew Steve could see right through, you took the tape from the counter. “See you around, Harrington.”

If he offered a reply, it was lost to the ringing in your ears as you rushed from the store and into your mother’s idling car. And though she spent the vast majority of the drive home lamenting what could’ve been - “Steve is so handsome. If you hadn’t decided to be different, just to spite us, the two of you would’ve made such a beautiful couple. You might even be engaged by now! He’s such a nice boy. What a shame you spend all your time with those… freaks.” - you were grateful to have escaped Steve’s scrutiny.

The last person you wanted to pity you was Steve fucking Harrington.

When you arrived home, despite your mother’s sharp demands for you to stay put, you bounded up the stairs and locked yourself in your room. There was no chance she would follow - no chance anyone in your family would so much as make it halfway up the stairs to berate you - so you did little to stop the frustrated tears that fell as you took a seat on the floor beside your record player.

As you dug through the crate of records, searching for something loud your family would hate, you spotted the little white shoebox hidden behind it all. Your fingers shook as you reached for it, hesitant as you hadn’t opened it in nearly four years, but it was already difficult to catch your breath - tears already blurred your vision - so you tugged it free.

Very rarely was your mother right. In the case of Steve Harrington, however, she was rarely wrong.

Though you hadn’t decided to be different - you just were; your existence serving to spite your parents was just an added bonus of finding yourself - the decision to live the life you wanted rather than the one they wanted for you was the catalyst that destroyed your friendship with Steve.

At fourteen, Steve wanted nothing more than his parents’ approval. He was desperate, almost, in a way that you never were for them to pay attention to him. It mattered, more than almost anything else, and the thought initially made you sad.

He deserved better than a family that never really wanted him - a family that made him feel as if he had to earn their love - and you told him that. But Steve wasn’t quite ready to listen.

Steve liked sports but he pushed himself to the limit, practiced basketball and swimming in hopes of earning his father’s praise. He didn’t particularly care for Tommy or Carol or any of the other pretentious douchebags he managed to befriend, but their parents knew his and his were the most well-off, meaning he became something of a leader. His father seemed pleased he’d managed to become the leader of the pack, clapped his shoulder the first time he saw Steve take charge - grinned when someone called him ‘King Steve’ - so he kept at it, despite your declaration that he deserved better.

While he desperately tried to make his parents happy, you accepted that nothing you could ever do would be good enough for yours. There was no point in making yourself miserable seeking approval that would never come, no point in trying to be someone you weren’t. They would never be happy - even if you’d been their perfect little doll, they would’ve found some kind of flaw to fixate on - so you did what made you happy.

In the process, you and Steve lost one another.

In the beginning, Steve stood frozen whenever Tommy or Carol or one of his other friends chose you as the target of the day. He always looked conflicted, as if he was considering stepping in, but he never said a word. A few months into freshman year and he made himself scarce whenever you became the center of attention. There was always a girl he wanted to meet or a coach that needed him or a bathroom break he couldn’t wait to take and you wondered who he was really protecting - you or himself.

Though you’d known the same kids for most of your life, everyone seemed to have forgotten your friendship and you figured that, one day, Steve would, too.

The older you got, the less care Steve took to avoid being a part of Tommy or Carol’s tirades. He never instigated the attacks on you - was never the first to call you a freak or toss erasers at you in class - but he seemed almost resigned to their occurrence. Even the slight wince he once wore, a barely there twitch of his mouth whenever he realized you were the target of the day, disappeared with time. Instead, he looked on almost passively, as if he were watching something on television, not watching as his one-time best friend blinked back tears.

Eventually, he joined in on the fun.

For nearly two years, the sight of Steve filled you with as much dread as the sight of Tommy or Carol. He never took the first shot, was almost robotic in his mistreatment of you, but his jabs always managed to hurt the worst. The quips he hurled at you were never as graphic as Carol’s, never as biting as Tommy’s - always half-hearted, muttered because eyes were on him - but they cut far deeper than anything anyone else could level at you.

Steve’s insults were always performative but they chipped away at your heart each time. He knew you, had been the most important person in your life for so long, but that no longer seemed to matter.

Hellfire become your sort of protectors near the end of freshman year - Eddie Munson was never quick to violence, always had a worse bark than bite, but he ended up with his fair share of bloody noses and bruised knuckles on your behalf - and you grew to hate Steve Harrington.

Something changed in the middle of senior year - Steve came back from winter break almost resigned, deflated; seemed to become a shell of himself months later when Nancy Wheeler dumped him - and he suddenly kept his distance. He huffed orders for Tommy and Carol and the like to leave you alone, a sudden change of heart from the boy who’d been content to sit quietly for so long, but you no longer trusted him. You avoided him - turned your head any time he so much as glanced your way - and would’ve been content to forget you ever even knew him in the first place after graduation.

The universe, however, could be a bitch when provoked. Somehow, you’d managed to make a cosmic enemy and, for reasons unbeknownst to you, Steve Harrington began to worm his way back into your life.

First, he befriended Robin Buckley. For years, she’d been one of the only people outside of Hellfire you deemed safe enough to interact with at Hawkins High. Steve was once a pain in her side, too, but after a summer of working with him, she deemed him alright. Still, Steve was a forbidden topic when you spent time together - something you demanded, unfairly, you knew, but she respected - though, she did manage to sneak in a few words of praise here and there.

After that, he managed to become passively acquainted with Eddie by way of Dustin Henderson. The teenage pain was their only commonality, a shared ward who latched onto them both and received endless support in return, though both lamented their respective babysitting duties. Still, even Eddie had to give Steve credit where credit was due.

Outside of high school, away from Tommy and Carol and bullshit popularity politics, Steve Harrington wasn’t a bad guy and, as much as you hated being told, you believed it.

The Steve you remembered from a lifetime ago would’ve hated King Steve. He would’ve been horrified to see him be so complacent in your misfortune, would’ve called him pretentious and been annoyed by his very presence, and it hurt to be reminded of the past each time someone deemed Steve a nice guy. Your Steve, the Steve that was your best friend from age four to fourteen, was solidly good.

Sometimes, you missed him.

As your breathing grew more erratic, harder to control even as you inhaled through your nose and exhaled through your mouth, you dumped the contents of the shoebox onto the carpet. Immediately, a handful of photos caught your eye. The pile consisted of strips from a carnival photo booth, a stack of faded Polaroids, and a few photos taken by your mother on joint family vacations. In each one, Steve had an arm wrapped tight around your shoulders and was grinning bright, smile wider than you ever remembered seeing.

Scattered among the photos were little objects, trinkets Steve had given you - a charm bracelet he chose for your eighth birthday, including each charm he’d given you every year that followed; a snow globe from his trip to New York, featuring a miniature Statue of Liberty; a baseball, the first home run he ever hit, scribbled with a message thanking you for practicing with him; a locket, the gift he gave you on your thirteenth birthday, with a photo of you both stuck inside.

The most important object was the one that made you wonder if maybe your mother was right - if you’d just given in, lived the way they’d wanted and tried to be perfect, the daughter they imagined they’d have, maybe you and Steve would be engaged, well on your way to marriage by now.

It was a small, plastic ring - plucked straight from a bubble gum machine, complete with tacked on gemstones - but you remembered thirteen-year old Steve presenting it to you with a bright grin and glowing pink cheeks. He’d kissed you on the cheek, a quick peck that made your face heat, and held your hand for the rest of the night. You wore it, stuck on the same finger as your mother’s garish wedding band, until the first week of freshman year.

Now, instead of living in that world, one of which you dreamt nightly as a child - one you continued dreaming of occasionally until age sixteen, when Steve finally joined in on the fun of making your life hell, even if it was passive - you were stuck living in a world in which Steve Harrington just barely tolerated your presence.

This world, one in which you struck down every potentially positive interaction with him, saw you still mired deep in your betrayal. You still hurt, still tasted something bitter each time you allowed yourself to wonder ‘what if’ but you had half a mind to call Family Video and apologize for lashing out.

That was out of the question, however, as Steve would likely think you were joking and hang up on you. So, instead of humiliating yourself, you shoved the objects back into the box - taking great care to avoid breaking or creasing anything - and hid it away again, locked in the past where it could no longer hurt you.

With the box safely stowed away once more, you reached for the record player and switched it on - waited a moment for it to crackle to life. When Stevie Nicks began to flood your room, you fell back against the carpet and stared up at the ceiling. If you kept still, focused on your breathing, there was a chance your thoughts might slow as the opening notes of Bella Donna replaced the ringing in your ears.

As was usually the case, you lost track of how long you spent lying on the floor. The record needed flipping - you’d been lying in silence for what could’ve been hours, could’ve been only minutes - but the sounds of life carrying on around you played on a constant loop.

Your mother’s voice carried through the large house as she brushed off your absence by describing it as a temper tantrum. Your brother lamented the end of his second marriage, though you all knew it was his infidelity that brought him here. Your father clinked bottles as he mixed himself a drink, stoic and silent through the bullshit.

It was never-ending and you hated every moment of it.

A sharp tap against your window, long after night had fallen, finally broke the feedback loop. It captured your attention almost instantly, pulled you up from the floor with a stiff groan, and you scrubbed at your eyes - no doubt swollen and bleary from frustrated tears - as you wandered over.

It was likely a branch, fluttering in the cool spring air, but it could’ve just as easily been Eddie, bored and eager to break you free for a smoke session.

To your complete surprise, it was neither.

The sight that greeted you was enough to make you blink, rub your eyes a little harder and wonder if you’d fallen asleep - if this was some sort of truly ridiculous fever dream, inspired by your afternoon. But, as you pinched your wrist and blinked away the blur in your eyes, you realized that this was no dream.

Just as he had when you were barely teenagers, Steve Harrington stood beneath your window with a handful of pebbles and the ghost of a smile. He looked almost sad, melancholy, and you swallowed hard as you slid the window open halfway. When he realized your attention was squarely on him, Steve dropped the remaining pebbles in his hand and gestured for you to climb down.

There was a moment of hesitation, a question of why, but as a round of laughter echoed through the house - raucous and enough to make your blood simmer - you decided you didn’t care. His pity was the last thing you wanted but, in that moment, it seemed like a better alternative to remaining at home. You’d take Steve Harrington laughing at you over another moment trapped in your home.

With uncoordinated limbs, you gestured for him to wait before turning to rummage through your drawer for a sweatshirt - a security blanket of sorts. With it slipped over your head and shoes jammed onto your feet, you shoved the window open the rest of the way and pushed yourself through.

Steve stepped forward to help you to the ground, hand warm even through the fabric of your sweatshirt, and nodded - uncharacteristically quiet - at your soft declaration of thanks. The second you were steady, standing on your own two feet and blinking at him in the darkness, he took a step back. He cleared his throat, shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket, and gestured for you to follow him with a nod of his head.

A split second of hesitation and you followed.

The path you’d forged in the woods as children was still there, renewed by Steve’s trudging in the darkness, and muscle memory pulled you along the few yards that separated your backyard and his. He held back limbs for you, careful to keep from hitting you with them as he stepped steadily through the brush, and held open the gate when you finally stepped into his backyard.

When the limbs cleared, you could see that he’d prepared for your arrival. Two sodas sat on the small table by the pool - a Coke for him, a Sprite for you - and a blanket rested on the chair to the right. Steve didn’t bother looking at you as he continued on. He crossed the concrete, settled into the chair on the left, head tipping back without so much as a word, and you were grateful.

Whatever this was - whatever reason Steve had to be nice, to go out of his way to resurrect a long dead practice from your childhood - brought tears to your eyes. You scrubbed at them to keep them from falling, swallowed the emotion burning the back of your throat, and followed him.

If he noticed - and, fleetingly, you assumed he had; Steve had proven himself to be a quick study, understanding in a way you didn’t remember - Steve said nothing. He remained uncharacteristically silent, not a single witty quip, and seemed content to sit side by side, sipping sodas and staring up at the stars.

As you draped the blanket over your legs, you allowed yourself a moment to reminisce.

This was, at one point, a regular occurrence for you both. After rough days - days your parents were particularly harsh, days his parents broke another promise - Steve trudged through the woods to fetch you. He plied you with soda and candy, junk your parents never let you have, and waited - patient, quiet - for you to decompress.

When your heart began to calm, the hammering against your ribs slowing to a steady thump for the first time since leaving Family Video, you realized just how much you’d missed it.

Steve remained silent beside you for a long while, stretched out in the chair in a way that told you he’d continued this practice long after you were gone, and you took the opportunity to study him.

There were elements of your Steve still there - the depth of his eyes, brimming with a thousand different emotions so deeply felt; the slight frown as he lost himself in thought, lips curling in the corners; the flutter of his lashes as he blinked away something that could potentially truly trouble him - buried beneath the hair and the cologne.

But, just as he did when you were thirteen, Steve Harrington still made your stomach flip.

It always irked your nerves that, even when he was the bane of your existence, you still believed Steve to be the most handsome boy you’d ever seen. It was unfair, cruel, but you blamed the years you spent in love with him for your infatuation.

Now, the sight of him bathed in the moonlight - worn by the world, older and maybe wiser, but still just as handsome as ever - had you spiraling in a way that you didn’t like at all.

The longer you stared, the more desperate you felt to break the silence. And though you hated to pop the blissful bubble surrounding you, the words filled your throat and threatened to choke you. There was nothing you wanted more than to pretend - to lay in silence as if nothing was wrong, as if your lives hadn’t changed entirely since you last shared a moment like this, as if you could exist beside Steve Harrington and not panic a little - but you couldn’t.

“Steve?” Even at a whisper, you flinched at the sudden sound. Steve, however, looked unsurprised by the call of his name. He tilted his head, flashed those warm brown eyes at you - glittering with a look you couldn’t quite read - and waited as you blinked. “I’m sorry.”

Whatever he’d been expecting, your apology was clearly not it. His mouth curved into a soft, confused frown as he pushed himself up to rest on an elbow. With furrowed brows, he asked, “You’re sorry? For what?”

For shooting down his efforts at civility, for dragging him into an awkward moment with your mother, for not following his lead in high school, for falling in love with him as a child and desperately hopping he would remain your Steve, for not being a person he could’ve loved in return - for being a mess who, despite no longer being friends, still needed his saving.

Each reason you considered sounded more pathetic than the last and you regretted breathing the words aloud in the first place. But when he looked at you, imploring you to speak - to give him an answer you couldn’t give anyone else - you shrugged.

“You’ve been trying. I’ve been mean.”

Immediately, Steve shook his head. He pushed himself to sit up straight, tossed his legs over the side of the chair and rested his elbows on his knees as he looked at you - really, truly looked at you.

It felt as if Steve could see into your soul as he searched your face. Gone was the boy you knew - a little awkward, a little misplaced confidence, a lot of heart - and in his place was a man you barely recognized. He shook his head once more, eyes falling to his hands, and laughed quietly.

“That’s… Don’t apologize for that. I deserved it.” He sighed then, a sound so exhausted you wondered how you hadn’t noticed the light purple beneath his eyes before that moment, and ran a hand through his hair. “I deserved a lot worse than that, honestly. I’m the one who should apologize. I’m sorry for…” He laughed, a rueful sound that made your chest ache, and dragged his hand through his hair a little harder. “I’m sorry for high school. I was a dick. I didn’t… I never meant to -“

Steve cut himself off with a sharp breath, words running together as he searched for just the right thing to say - the words he needed to adequately convey his feelings, his remorse - and you shook your head.

“I know. It’s okay, Steve.”

It wasn’t - not really - and you both knew that.

Though you understood, to a certain degree, there were still moments that left you reeling. There were moments seared into your memory that you would likely never get, regardless of his explanation, and a sense of betrayal that would fade with time.

But hearing a real apology from him, something heartfelt and sincere - honest, raw and vulnerable in a way he once often was with you - would break the dam holding you together. It would clip the fragile thread of stability you were clinging to desperately and, though he’d seen it before, Steve was now the last person you wanted to witness you breaking into a thousand little pieces.

Steve knew, seemed to realize just how close to shattering you were, and nodded. He turned, settled back into the chair, and rested his head against the metal bar. He shifted, weighing his words, before sparing you a glance from the corner of his eye. “It wasn’t cool, though.”

Your quiet laughter, tinny and hollow, covered the soft sounds of night. “No, it wasn’t. But it is what it is.” Though you knew you should bite your tongue, accept his apology for what it was and move on, you couldn’t help yourself. “It hurt but I wasn’t surprised.”

A flash of hurt crossed Steve’s face, so quick you almost missed it, and you wished you could take it back. However, before the words could linger too long - before you could stumble through another apology - he turned to look at you. There was something sad, a little more upset than you would’ve imagined, as he searched your face. “What d’you mean, you weren’t surprised?”

“We just… we went in different directions.” You laughed again - a soft sound that lacked any humor - as you shook your head. “Everyone loved you. Star basketball player, swim captain, prom king, ladies’ man; you were the shit. I played Dungeons and Dragons with Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson and spent my days hiding from guys who thought it was so funny to ask me out as a joke. I didn’t expect you to, I dunno, save me, or something, just because we were friends when we were kids.” You shrugged, avoiding Steve’s eyes as you leaned back against the chair. “Our friendship was too perfect. Nothing that good lasts forever.”

Steve’s jaw twitched, the only outward sign of his frustration - not at you, something you realized the moment he sighed, the moment he dragged a rough hand through his hair - as he smiled, a rueful grin. “Pessimism looks good on you.”

A surprised laugh escaped as you shook your head. “Thank my parents. One of the many impressive things they’ve given me. I can make myself, and everyone around me, sad in two seconds flat.” You scoffed, shook your head and turned your attention away from Steve’s sudden look of understanding to the stars glimmering above you. “It’s a real gift.”

Silence lingered for a beat and you had half a mind to apologize, this time for giving in to the instinctual cynicism you used to protect yourself, but Steve spoke before you could walk back your statement. His words were careful, almost hesitant, as he began, “Your mom today…”

That explained why he’d made the effort.

Your sigh was heavy, long suffering, but Steve was not someone you had to pretend with. If anyone understood what it was like to live with parents who never really cared one way or another, it was Steve. The foundation of your relationship was built on comforting one another, swearing that you would be better than your parents someday, and it wasn’t as if this was the first time he’d witnessed something like this.

Steve had seen worse - so had you - so, despite your embarrassment, you made no effort to apologize for her behavior.

Another sigh, this one impossibly heavier, escaped as you spared Steve a glance out of the corner of your eye. He looked conflicted, his fingers twitched as if he was contemplating reaching out - offering the physical comfort he knew you once loved, once craved - but seemed to think better of it and wrapped his fingers around the nearly empty Coke can.

“They’ve gotten worse over the years,” you began, words bleeding into the dark as you tapped at the metal of your can. “I’ve been working, saving up money. I want to transfer to a school in Indy. I had a good scholarship when we graduated but I qualify for a full one now and I’ve almost got enough saved for a few months’ rent on an apartment.”

“Why’d you stay in the first place? You got into a bunch of schools, had a ton of scholarship offers.” When you spared him a cursory glance, unsure how he knew - hardly anyone knew, not even your parents - Steve smiled. “Robin told me.”

Since learning the story of your former friendship, Robin had made it her mission to reunite you and Steve. She swore he was still the guy you remembered, if only a little bruised by time, and promised to keep him in line. “It’ll be easier,” she declared once, “if we can all just hang out together. You guys are acting like divorced parents and I’m the kid in the middle.”

Steve’s searching gaze made your skin prickle. You warmed considerably beneath his scrutiny as he waited, patient as ever - genuinely curious, for your answer.

“I got a few good scholarships, but none of them were full rides. My parents would’ve paid the rest but I just… I didn’t want to owe them anything.”

Once again, Steve understood. He knew what it was like, desperately trying to avoid being indebted to parents who would hold even the smallest gift over your head, and made a quiet noise of understanding as he sipped at the remainder of his Coke.

As the conversation lulled, neither of you quite certain what to say to one another, you turned to study Steve.

There was a certain air about him that had always been there, an easy confidence that often saw him asking for forgiveness rather than permission, but he was older now. His confidence was less showy - less flash, more substance; an earned knowledge of who he was, who he had become - but beneath it, there was a softness that he no longer seemed to shy away from.

Steve was, once upon a time, vulnerable with you and only you. He trusted you, showed you a softness that no one else was privy to, but these days, he seemed to wear his heart on his sleeve and you were glad. It made him more approachable, easier to truly see, and you saw flashes of him - little moments here and there as he flirted with girls at Family Video, pieces of his heart as he interacted with Dustin and Robin and Eddie - but there was a sadness beneath it all that hadn’t existed the last time you were this close.

Years had passed since you’d spoken to Steve for this long, let alone this in-depth, but you were reminded of just how easy it had always been to let him. Steve understood you and the ease with which you spoke, the way your heart calmed and your breathing grew easier, frightened you deeply.

There were still bitter feelings lingering, shards of hurt buried deep in your chest - anger, betrayal that he’d managed to forget your past in a matter of moments when it haunted you for years - but you understood. His apology would’ve explained what you already knew to be true, that he was just trying to belong, doing what he felt he had to, and that was the hardest pill to swallow.

Steve never meant to hurt you - the guilt that lingered in every glance he spared you assured you of that - but you still feared letting him into your life once more. There was no fear that he would repeat his past actions - that, you could handle, though you knew without so much as a second of doubt that he wouldn’t dream of it - but you feared the return of feelings long since buried.

Every feeling you ever harbored for him had been locked away tight, shoved into a box in the back of your mind - one that resembled the little shoe box in your room. Steve was your first love, the first boy you’d ever even considered wanting as more than a friend, and getting over him the first time had been nearly impossible.

Deep down, you knew that you’d never fully gotten over him - regardless of how awful he’d been at the time, of how earth shattering it had all seemed, he’d been your Steve for so long that it was almost denial. There was little chance you could escape a second round with your heart firmly in tact but, when he turned to look at you and offered you a small smile, eyes shining with a sort of hope you couldn’t recall ever seeing from him, you knew that you were doomed.

When he spent the next four hours plying you with embarrassing stories about Robin, about Eddie, about the children - all featuring him as the bumbling idiot, likely played up for your amusement - just to make you laugh, the impending sense of doom faded into something a little more resigned.

And when he walked you back home, shuffling in the first slivers of sunlight with a hand on your elbow to keep you upright as you blinked away sleep, your fate was sealed. As he helped you climb back to your room, standing beneath the ledge to make sure you made it safely - throwing a hand up in parting, a genuine smile on his lips - you knew that there was no use fighting it.

The universe had, without any sense of mercy, thrown Steve Harrington back into your life.

Still, change didn’t happen overnight.

Though something shifted - your world, the planets themselves - there was no expectation on your part that Steve would suddenly return to the best friend you once knew no did you want him to. You needed time, as did he, and you appreciated the little distance he kept as a week passed without any sort of contact.

There was no deluding yourself into thinking that he would become a near permanent fixture in your life again. If you were honest, you imagined his friendship would be relegated to mutual hangouts with Robin or the odd encounter as you waited for Eddie and he waited for Dustin. There was potential for a movie night, stuffed on the couch with him and other friends, or another night by his pool - both lamenting your lives.

But, as if summoned by the thought of him - the question of whether you should call and say thanks, tell him you appreciated his heroism in your hour of need - Steve popped back into your life.

You marveled as you found yourself standing in your kitchen, watching as he piled pizza onto a plate. He’d stopped by with the order you used to share weekly - half his favorite, half yours - after dropping Dustin and Robin at their respective homes. He knew your parents were out of town, as were his, and figured you hadn’t eaten yet.

Steve was almost sheepish as he explained himself, a little shy in a way you never would’ve associated with Steve Harrington previously, but you didn’t bother questioning it. Instead, you let him in and watched as he moved about your kitchen with startling ease.

It was almost surreal, watching him wander around the space as if he’d always known it - watching him gather plates and glasses, shuffle through the fridge in search of soda. But, in a way, he had. As children, Steve spent more time at your home than he did his own. Not much had changed since the last time you’d lived this exact moment - the only real difference was your age and his hair - but it still surprised you that he’d managed to remember his way around after all these years.

Another key difference, one that reminded you exactly how much time had passed, was the silence.

As children, it was nearly impossible to keep the pair of you quiet. Steve spent many nights at your house, lying in bed with you, and nearly every time, you were reprimanded time and again by your annoyed parents for being too loud. Hours were spent giggling, chatting about nothing - just listening to yourselves speak, so your parents alleged, but you’d shared everything; dreams, plans for the future, declarations that things would be different.

Now, it seemed as if neither of you knew where to start the conversation.

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable - over the years, you’d both grown used to it - but, in that moment, your chest ached in a way that made you feel as if this particular silence needed filling. You’d spent the week desperately trying to avoid thinking about Steve - something that backfired and managed to turn most of your thoughts into ones about him - and what you wanted to say to him. There were years of thoughts and feelings bottled up tight, ready to be spilled, but uncorking any of that had the potential to ruin the delicate work being put into rebuilding your friendship.

So, you opted to smile at him - soft and sweet, saccharine in a way he wouldn’t expect - and play it safe.

“I think it’s nice, you know?” Steve lifted his head, glanced away from the pizza he’d been piling onto his plate, and raised an eyebrow in search of the context missing from your statement. “The time you spend with Dustin, Henderson, the kids,” you supplied as you glanced away and reached for your own plate. “Being all dependable and shit for them, being a good friend to Robin. Being civil to Eddie. It’s nice.”

Steve faltered for a brief moment, uncertain, before shaking his head. He looked ready to deny the obvious, something dismissive on the tip of his tongue, but you laughed before he could. “I’m serious. You’ve always been a good guy beneath all that hair, Steve. I’m just glad you found your way back to it, let other people see it. You got away from Tommy and Carol and all their bullshit, you left the high school rat race behind. You came back to the Stevie I knew way back when and I’m glad.”

A beat of silence, marked by Steve’s lack of response, pulled your attention away from the pizza box and back to him. His expression was unreadable, warm eyes clouded with something that made your stomach flip - something uncertain, something a little sad, a little introspective - but he covered it quickly with a half-smile when you met his eyes.

“You’re the only one who’s ever gotten to call me that, you know?” Steve’s smile grew a touch brighter when you blinked, surprised. “Stevie. It was always your name for me. It never felt right coming from anyone else.”

The declaration was soft, spoken into the warmth of your kitchen with a reverence that made your heart skip - one that made your cheeks heat and had your stomach filling with butterflies - and you swallowed the emotion gathering in your throat with a sip of soda. It was a small gesture, something that likely meant nothing, but it filled you with a blinding warmth, just the same. “I’m honored, Stevie,” you returned, smile soft, tone just as reverent.

Silence settled again - this one significantly more tolerable; less awkward, more bashful - but, as you watched Steve move, you felt no need to break this one. He stepped around you easily, moved with you, and you smothered every thought of how natural the interaction felt.

As you bother attempted to gather yourselves - you, choking down every returning teenage dream, every fantasy long since buried; Steve, swallowing the uncertainty, the guilt - you spared fleeting glances at one another. Each time your eyes met, you both turned away, suddenly shy, suddenly ashamed at being caught. The tips of Steve’s ears tinted red, burning bright when he tilted his head just so, and you knew that your face was warm to the touch.

It was strange, feeling this bashful in his presence, when a week ago, you had no problem looking him in the eye and snapping something that would hurt his feelings. Realistically, you knew that it was a safety net - a way to keep yourself safe, to guard your heart from any further damage at the hands of Steve Harrington - but before you could make a joke, return to your snark, Steve cleared his throat.

“I, uh, I know you said it was okay,” he began, voice quiet as he glanced at you from beneath his lashes, “but I’ve been thinking.” He leaned against the counter, folded his arms over his chest, and swallowed heavily as he took a moment to gather himself. “I just… I need to say this, okay?”

There was little room for you to question where the conversation was headed - there was only one topic that was relevant enough to warrant proper discussion. His apology was a long time coming, something you knew he needed more than you did, so you nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

Steve ran a hand through his hair, fingers dragging through the strands a little too rough to be a casual gesture, and you bit the inside of your cheek so hard you tasted copper as you waited with bated breath. He kept his eyes on the floor, not quite able to look you in the eye, and frowned.

“Everything that happened,” he began, words measured and clumsily falling from slightly chapped lips, “was on me. Even if we weren’t meant to be friends or whatever, I should’ve tried harder. You were always the person who believed in me, the one who was there for me, no matter what. I should’ve tried harder to stop Tommy and Carol and all the other assholes. I shouldn’t have been a dick to you, either. I was stupid,” he confessed, blinking hard against the light in the kitchen as he lifted his eyes to the ceiling - unable to meet yours as he continued on. “I was just trying to make people who didn’t matter like me. All I did was make the one person that actually did like me, hate me. And I’m sorry.”

Each word rang in your ears, repeated until you could barely hear the rest of his apology over the thudding of your heart - each beat hammering against your ribcage with enough force to leave you breathless. The acknowledgement made you want to give in to the pressure building in your chest, made you want to break apart into a thousand little pieces, but you gripped the counter and swallowed the copper flooding your mouth.

As Steve shook his head, lowered it to look at you, you could see the expression on his face. There was a guilt there, laced with something akin to awe - a reverence you’d never seen before that suddenly made your skin prickle with goosebumps - and you blinked back the tears threatening to fall.

“Steve.”

There were a million things you wanted to say, a thousand words stuck on the tip of your tongue - entire novels you could spout, devoted entirely to what you’d spent years thinking about - but nothing seemed quite right. Though you’d imagined this moment for years, desperately hoping it would come, now that it was upon you, you were stunned silent.

The acknowledgement that he’d hurt you, that you were right - he’d only been looking to belong, to fit, to find a family - and he regretted it was all you’d ever wanted. To hear it breathed aloud, spoken into the still of your kitchen from the mouth of an older, more mature Steve Harrington, was something straight out of a dream.

The apology didn’t erase everything that had happened - you both knew that - but it was a start. This was the first step, guiding you both in a new direction, and as you stood with a quivering bottom lip and shaking breath, Steve seemed to understand. He laughed, a sound that rang hollow over the blood rushing in your ears, and nodded.

“I know.” His mouth twisted into a rueful smile, something that openly displayed his regret, as he sucked in a deep breath. A shadow flickered across his face before he deflated entirely and shook his head. “You don’t have to… I know.”

Though it had been years since you’d had a meaningful conversation with Steve, he still seemed to be able to read you. He knew that you were overwhelmed, knew that your emotions were quickly getting the better of you - could see that your breathing had grown a touch shallow, that your chin quivered and your blinking grew more rapid - and that he was no longer someone you trusted with your upset.

Instead of pushing, he allowed his declaration to linger for another beat before clearing his throat. With that, he broke the spell, cracked in half by the scrubbing of his shoe against tile, and you were glad.

“I, uh, I missed you,” he confessed, a little hesitant - a little awkward - as he stepped forward to grab his plate. He spared you a glance from beneath his lashes and suddenly looked very much like the fourteen year old he had been the last time he stood in your kitchen. “Uh, hanging out with you. Being friends. I missed that.”

His explanation was rushed, clumsy in a way you weren’t used to for him, but it made you smile. It reminded you that he was human, still just some guy, and the feeling was mutual. You’d missed Steve more than you cared to admit, more than he needed to know, so you nodded. “Yeah.” Steve’s smile grew a touch more genuine as you nodded, really lit his eyes when you confessed, “I know the feeling.”

It wasn’t eloquent, nowhere near the novel you imagined spouting before you lost hope Steve would ever return to your life, but it was enough. It adequately conveyed your desire to start over and Steve seemed pleased, happy you hadn’t pushed him away entirely.

Steve smiled a little brighter before he blinked and suddenly patted the pocket of his jacket. “I, uh, I brought a tape. Thought, maybe, we could watch a movie?”

From the inside pocket of his jacket, Steve produced a copy of The Evil Dead, battered and worn but clearly labeled - and marked with a Family Video sticker. It was a moment of surprise, the tape having been produced so quickly it made your head spin, but the levity helped you swallow the lump of emotion lodged in the back of your throat.

Unable to help yourself, you laughed as you grabbed your own plate and turned to guide him - needlessly, he knew the way - to the living room. “You don’t really strike me as a horror guy, Harrington.”

Steve followed close behind, his cologne clouding your senses - overwhelming in the most delightful way, a scent that made your head dizzy and your heart race; one that filled your nose and would linger in your memory as you picked apart every moment of your interaction later - and you struggled to keep your tone as light as possible as you spared him a sideways glance.

The observation was met with a laugh, a sound that confirmed your belief, as you took a seat at one end of the couch. “I’m totally not.” You tried not to laugh at his grimace, not wanting to add insult to injury, but Steve took no offense as he settled at the opposite end of the couch. “You rent it, like, twice a month, though, so I thought I should see what all the fuss is about.”

There was more space than necessary between you, your body pressed into one end of the couch while Steve pressed himself against the other, but it was understandable. Despite your history, despite the hundreds of sleepovers you had as children and the countless hours you spent pressed together, this - whatever was building, brewing between you both; whatever you’d managed to rekindle, resurrect - was new.

Regardless of how familiar some things felt - Steve’s smile, the quiet understanding you still somehow shared, the soft look in his eyes as he tilted his head to study you - everything was different. Everything had changed.

Letting Steve back into your life was a choice, one you made the moment you saw him standing beneath your window, and you knew that nothing would ever be exactly as it had been. He wasn’t the same Steve you remembered - not exactly, not quite close enough - but you weren’t the same girl he remembered, either.

The differences were glaring, more than evident as he cowered into the couch, pizza half-eaten and mouth twisted into a grimace with each bloody scene that flashed across the screen. Though the film was campy, not quite as terrifying as another horror film, Steve still seemed perturbed by the gore.

As the movie played on, you paid more attention to Steve than the familiar images flashing. He looked entirely unenthused - a far cry from Eddie, who sat with his nose pressed to the glass and watched with rapt attention and an almost childlike glee - but he never breathed a word of discontent. Each time he sensed you staring, eyes roving his face, he spared you a quick glance and the ghost of a smile. He was trying, that much was evident, and the thought was enough to make your body warm from within.

“Steve?”

A flash of relief, clearly illuminated by the light from the television, crossed his face as Steve took the opportunity to turn his attention from the television to you entirely as a particularly bloody moment unfolded. If you hadn’t been so focused, so caught up in your own thoughts, you would laughed at his sigh of relief. “Yeah?”

For a brief moment, you allowed the movie to fill the silence - allowed his eyes to rove your face in search of an answer - and frowned as his brows furrowed. He’d been gradually shifting closer, a few inches every so often, and nearly closed the gap between you as he tilted his head to get a better look at you.

As he shifted closer - just enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body - his scrutiny was enough to make your heart race. It hammered so hard against your ribcage that you feared it might crack and you hoped your voice wouldn’t shake as you tilted your head to meet his eyes.

“I never really hated you. I wanted to,” you admitted, voice soft - barely audible over the sound of the movie, but Steve heard you clearly. He inhaled sharply, the only sign of his discontent, as he waited patiently for you to continue. “I just… I couldn’t hate you. I hated Tommy and Carol and Billy and everyone else. I hated high school. I hated the circumstances. I hated our parents. But I never hated you. I don’t think I ever could. I get why everything happened the way it did. I don’t… I don’t blame you. And it’s all water under the bridge now, yeah?”

Steve swallowed hard, blinked harder, and you could see his chest rising and falling just a touch faster than normal as he searched your face. Warm brown eyes mapped your skin, wary of any hint of dishonesty - any sign that you felt forced to accept his apology - but when he found none, he nodded. The look in his eyes wasn’t quite relief, not quite joy, but a light that made it harder for you to breathe as the corner of his mouth turned up in a half smile.

“Yeah. Okay.” Steve nodded once more, a resolute gesture that you returned easily, before tilting his head to return his attention to the television. Another spatter of blood made him grimace but that did little to stop him from breathing a quiet, “Thanks,” as he nudged your shoulder with his own.

Desperate to change the topic, to move on to something safer - something that didn’t involve feelings, something that didn’t require emotional gymnastics - you laughed quietly at his grimace. “Do you want to watch something else? I think you’ve suffered enough for one night. I’ve got Robin Hood. Only normal movie in the place, though, I’m afraid.”

The knowing smile Steve shot you was not quite what you expected. “Y’know,” Steve began as you pressed pause, “that doesn’t really surprise me.” His eyes glittered with a grateful mischief and you raised a brow as he laughed. “I remember when we were kids, you loved that movie. I think you asked your parents to get you a bow for Christmas three years in a row before you stopped.”

“It was four.” Steve hummed, waved a dismissive hand as you stood from the couch to change the film, and you shot him a teasing grin. “Imagine if they’d gone for it, though. I’d be, like, on some kind of watchlist by now, probably.”

“I hate to break it to you,” he began, grin badly concealed as he reached for the discarded pizza on the table, “but with the amount of times you rent The Evil Dead, you’re probably already there. Do you watch anything else?”

Steve’s grin was comfortable, teasing and soft in a way you hadn’t seen in years, and it sent butterflies swarming in your stomach as you slipped Robin Hood into the VCR. The taunt was in good fun, the jab of a friend, and it made you roll your eyes good-naturedly as you returned to your seat, knee knocking his as you sat.

“Just because you have bad taste, Stevie, doesn’t mean you should be concerned. I mean, look at your taste. You like Hall and Oates. No one likes Hall and Oates. That’s enough to get you put on a watchlist, not liking horror.”

His knee knocked yours, body heat radiating even through thick denim, as Steve scoffed in faux outrage. “Hall and Oates are good!” His defense was louder than he intended, a teasingly outraged roar as he turned to you, eyes glittering in the dim living room light. “They’re real music. Not like…” He frowned, eyes narrowing as he met your gaze. “I can’t even name anyone you might listen to to make fun of you.”

“Black Sabbath, Iron Maiden, Judas Priest, Motörhead, Megadeth, Metallica?” Steve stared blankly, blinking after each name, before shaking his head when you allowed the question a moment to linger. You huffed, unsurprised but still feigning disappointment, and Steve laughed. “Okay, if this,” you waved a hand between the pair of you, “is going to work, we’ve gotta get you educated. Metallica has a new album coming out and it’s gonna be out of this world. Ozzy, from Black Sabbath, he’s gone solo and his stuff’s killer. Totally insane. That’s real music. Not fuckin’ Hall and Oates.”

“I don’t know who any of those people are,” Steve admitted, laughing quietly as he shook his head, “but I’ll take your word for it.” He paused, tilted his head to meet your eyes once more, and smiled just a little softer. "Next time, you can educate me.��

The brief consideration that you would be given nothing more than this, a few chance meetings with an old friend, had been enough to make your chest ache, and the relief you felt at realizing that would not be the case worried you. Though it warmed you considerably, made your nerves buzz in the most pleasant of ways, there was still the question of why.

So much time had passed, years had gone by without so much as a kind word shared between the two of you, that you couldn’t quite understand Steve’s motivation. There was the chance that he’d missed you in the same way you’d missed him - felt that there was a void in his life, a blank space where there was once a piece of a larger puzzle - but there was also the chance that he was simply lonely. As far as you could tell, his social circle had minimized to little more than Dustin and Robin.

There was a chance that you were all he had left.

That thought did little to comfort you - you wanted him to desire your presence the same way you’d desired his, wanted him to have missed you in the same way you’d missed him - but you decided not to dwell on it. If Steve wanted to remain in your life for whatever reason, you would allow it. You were older, had more experience dealing with the crushing blows life could deal. Steve Harrington couldn’t hurt you much more than he already had; letting him have a piece of your heart, the piece that had always belonged to him, anyway, was going to happen whether you wanted it to or not.

The only thing you could do was temper your expectations.

There was no expectation that this would be anything more than friendship - something safe, a comfortable return for the both of you; a relationship you both needed if you were to continue living in Hawkins. As beautiful as you found him, as in love with him as you’d once been, that ship had long since sailed.

Steve had been your friend once - had only ever been your friend. There was nothing more there, no matter how desperately you’d once hoped for something more. Reminding yourself of that from the beginning would make the inevitable heartbreak that much easier.

As you thought, lost yourself to questions of what could be - what had already been - and harsh reminders of why this was a line of thinking you couldn’t afford to barrel down, the sound of Disney dreams echoed through the dim living room. Steve rested at your side, head cradled by the back of the couch, and seemed more relaxed than you’d seen him in a long while.

It was easy to lose yourself in something that felt so safe. Moments like this, sheltered safely away from family and losing yourself in the presence of Steve Harrington, had always been a great source of comfort. It was easy to forget nearly everything troubling you, to delude yourself into thinking that this was a safe space, and evidently, Steve felt the same as you both began to drift.

The exhaustion of your week crept up on you slowly, muddled the mess of thoughts crowding your brain and blurred the images dancing on the screen. Work had been grueling, busier than normal, and the presence of your brother meant that you were walking on eggshells with every step you took at home. Before you realized what you were doing, your head began tilting in the direction of Steve’s shoulder.

For a moment, you rested there. It was easy, settling against Steve as you had so many times as a child, but just as you did the first time this happened - a lifetime ago now - you lifted your head when he shifted.

Steve smiled, an exhausted quirk of his mouth, as you shook yourself awake. You shot him a sheepish grin, apology on the tip of your tongue as you blinked away sleep, but he silenced it with a soft laugh. He reached for the blanket draped over the back of the couch and settled it over your laps, thigh pressed to yours as his arm wrapped around your shoulders. It was once a natural position, you wrapped in his arms as the world passed you by, and you blamed the exhaustion muddling your brain for the way your body melted into his instead of jolting away.

It was a reflex, you reasoned, muscle memory long forgotten. You’d had countless sleepovers with Robin, with Eddie; neither meant anything more than friendship and this, whatever it was, didn’t either.

When you made no effort to move, Steve smiled. “You’ve drooled on me before, sunshine,” he reminded you gently, voice soft in the quiet of the room, “get comfortable. I’m not going anywhere.”

The heat of his body pressed to yours, the scent of his cologne, his shampoo, the clean laundry scent of his sweatshirt, combined with the tangled web of questions - doubt and lingering resentment, baked in wariness - muddled your thoughts. The only response you deemed worthy of his declaration was a confused, “Sunshine?”

For a moment, the name lingered in the air, before realization seemed to hit you both. Just as you’d always called him Stevie - a soft nickname, not very original but always uttered with the utmost care, a sweet praise meant only for him - he called you ‘sunshine.’

It started as a joke, a nickname plucked from thin air on a warm summer day after too much time in the sun left you with a bout of heat exhaustion, but had ultimately stuck. Steve swore it was nice, a declaration that you made his days brighter, after it nearly drove you to tears. It became something soft, uttered in private and only shared between the two of you, and Steve blinked as he realized.

Then, without missing a beat, he shrugged. He offered a half smile as he rested his head on the back of the couch, tilted it just enough to meet your eyes. “If you can call me Stevie, I can call you sunshine. Equality, right?”

“Yeah, Stevie. Equality.”

The sleepy bubble of laughter that escaped you was enough to make Steve smile, lazy but pleased, as his eyes slipped shut. Instead of shrugging off his arm, retreating to your side of the couch and drifting off as you knew you should, you leaned in closer. You inhaled the scent of his cologne, his shampoo, his detergent, allowed it to dull the ache in your chest - calm the sudden racing of your heart. And as his breathing evened out, chest rising and falling rhythmically, you allowed yourself the indulgence of pressing your head to his shoulder.

Before you knew it, you’d drifted into the most peaceful sleep you’d gotten in months.

When you woke the next morning, wrapped in Steve’s embrace with your face buried in the crook of his neck - warm and content, limbs stiff with sleep but relaxed; heart calmer than it had been in months - there was no confusion. You knew, instantly, where you were and whose arms surrounded you. Even as you blinked sleep from your eyes, there was no mistaking the scent of him. Your body felt lighter, as if it were floating, and you took a moment to take stock of the moment.

There was a crackling warmth building in your chest, the spark of something you knew was better left buried - feelings you’d swallowed long ago warming the hollow of your chest - and you did your best to think about anything other than the warmth of Steve’s palm pressed to your side, fingers ghosting the sliver of skin just above the band of your shorts.

Thoughts of work, of school, of music, of Eddie, of Robin, of to-do lists, of books left unfinished all distracted you briefly but the air around you shifted the moment you woke and you were powerless to stop it.

A cursory glance at Steve proved that you were not the only one who felt it. His eyes were already on you, gaze sleepy and warm. There seemed to be fewer lines on his face, a lighter purple beneath his eyes, and he was able to hold your gaze just a moment longer as he shot you a soft smile.

“G’morning, sunshine.” His voice, rough with sleep, hit you square in the chest. It was a sound you hadn’t heard in years, one that brought a thousand memories bubbling to the surface, and you tried not to let him see how if affected you. “Your couch used to be way more comfortable.”

He looked warm, hair mussed with sleep and eyes blinking slow against the sunlight filtering in through windows, and you were powerless to stop yourself from reaching out to brush a lock of hair from his eyes. “It’s still comfortable. You’re just getting old, Stevie.”

Steve’s mouth fell open, lips parted in faux outrage, as he scoffed. The hand on your hip moved, fingers pinched lightly at the skin - not enough to hurt, just enough to feel - and you laughed as he rolled his eyes. “I’m not getting old,” he huffed, indignant. He searched your face, eyes glittering with an amused mischief, before he shook his head. “I brought you pizza and your favorite movie, just so you could bully me. Unbelievable.”

“I’m just trying to keep you humble, Harrington.”

“Yeah? Oh, well, someone has to do it,” he agreed, nodding as he lifted a hand to rake through sleep mussed hair. “Might as well be you, huh?” Steve grinned and so did you. You’d never humbled him, never even dreamed of it - you were the one to build him up, to make him smile and remind him of his worth after his parents cut him down - and you wouldn’t begin now.

Still, you nodded, somber-faced and fighting a grin. “Might as well.”

There was something electric that thrummed just beneath the surface, a steady warmth that underlined the conversation, and suddenly, it felt as if you were fourteen again. You were reminded of the mornings you spent together, laughing at nothing before the reality of life set in. It made your chest ache, made your lungs burn, but you desperately wanted to bottle the moment, just in case you never lived it again.

Over the course of the teasing, Steve’s face had drawn closer - mouth close enough to feel the warmth of his breath fanning your skin as he laughed - and you blinked, surprised, when you realized how little distance remained. It took Steve a moment, his smile slowly fading into something a touch more serious, but when he seemed to realize, he looked almost reluctant to release his hold on you.

“Robin will help if I’m late again.” He laughed, though it rang a touch hollow, as he moved, placed a little bit of distance between the pair of you.

“Oh, yeah. Might not want to risk that. She can humble you in, like, a really accurate way.”

Steve grimaced, though laughter was quick to follow, as he stood from the couch. Subconsciously, your eyes fell to his stomach - traced the dark trail of hair that flashed as he lifted his arms above his head to stretch - and felt your face heat as he caught you. Instead of teasing, however, Steve’s own cheeks tinged pink, a soft dusting that warmed his face, as he reached for the plates still sitting on the coffee table.

“She almost made Keith cry once,” he revealed as you stood and followed him to the kitchen, carrying the empty soda cans. "Not on purpose, she just started talking and couldn’t stop. She apologized a thousand times but I still got dragged into a month of Saturday night shifts, just because I laughed.”

“She said something about our history teacher once, I can’t remember what, but I laughed and we both got detention. That’s actually how we became friends,” you revealed, smile soft when Steve turned to you. “It’s, like, one of those word vomit things. She says it before she can really think about it. It’s not mean, just really accurate.”

“Oh, yeah. For someone who claims she can’t read people, Robin’s usually pretty right about most things.”

The observation lingered, was met with your hum of acknowledgement, and the conversation tapered off. Steve spared the clock in the kitchen a glance, sighed as he realized the time, and offered you a hesitant smile. “Thanks,” he began, voice going quiet once more as he glanced at you from beneath his lashes. “For, uh, not kicking me out, I guess. And not making me finish The Evil Dead.”

It was sweet, an endearing quip that made you grin, and you shook your head to keep from flustering as you folded your arms over your chest. “Anytime, Stevie. You know where I live if you ever want to do it again.”

Steve grinned, a little easier than before, as he walked by your side to the front door. “Careful what you wish for, sunshine. I might just take you up on that.” Then, for the first time in a long while, you saw Steve hesitate. He blinked, unsure, before he offered you a tight smile instead of the hug he seemed to be contemplating. “I’ll see you later.”

“Later, Harrington.”

And, just like that, the moment was over. Steve left with a glance thrown over his shoulder - a few glances spared out of his window, eyes stuck on you as you stood in the doorway and waited until he’d made it down your driveway - and you wandered back into the house with an overwhelming flurry of emotions filling the pit of your stomach.

You wondered if this would be a one time thing, a mistake on his part - an effort to clear a guilty conscious, a way to absolve himself of any lingering guilt he felt after uncovering old wounds the week prior - or if it would become a regular effort. You wondered if it would continue being this easy, allowing Steve back into your life when you’d run from him for so long. You wondered if he even wanted back into your life, if he felt the same conflicting emotions you felt as you cleared the reminders of his presence from your home.

However, your worries were soothed as you realized the moment you shared - one you worried would be a fluke, something to be forgotten and never considered again - became the spark that reignited your friendship with Steve.

It started gradually, with you and Steve spending one night a week together. Most weeks, your time together was limited to a few hours - usually on days Dustin and Eddie had Hellfire and Robin had band - and filled with food and laughter as you made use of the nearly untouched kitchen in his home. Others, you found yourselves wrapped up in one another, a tangled mess of limbs and blankets, after another accidental sleepover that got less awkward each time it happened.

Slowly but surely, once a week turned into twice a week. Then, it became three. Soon, and before you could really think too much about it, most of your days included at least a few moments of Steve Harrington’s time. Steve became a fixture in your nights with Robin - not always, you still reveled in your alone time, but more often than not - and, on a few separate occasions, joined you and Eddie for a night of music and horror movies that made his stomach turn.

It was strange, going from avoiding Steve at every turn to seeing him almost daily in what felt like the blink of an eye, but, in a way, it felt like coming home. Steve had, for so long, been such a large part of your life. Welcoming him back into the chaos of your life was easy, almost too easy, but he fit like a missing puzzle piece.

There were moments that you thought too much about it - where you wondered if you were clinging to a past that no longer existed, trying to delude yourself into thinking that nothing had changed. There were moments you poured your heart out to Eddie, wondering if you were doing the wrong thing in allowing Steve back into your life without so much as blinking. There were moments that you struggled, questioning every decision you’d made in relation to Steve Harrington. But, at the end of the day, each moment you spent with him felt right.

Still, there was a weight to your friendship that hadn’t existed as children. As his presence in your life grew greater, more obvious, there was a realization that now - as adults, or as close as you could be - every action, every word, carried a consequence it hadn’t years ago. Each move you made meant something, each step you took mattered, and you were careful to keep yourself in line as you navigated the return of Steve Harrington.

Regardless, things were going well. You were happy, Steve seemed to be happy, and your friendship seemed to pick up exactly where it left off - bitterness soothed by Steve’s continued effort to make you smile, his selflessness when it came to anticipating your desires.

The only question that lingered, that kept you awake at night, was how long you could continue holding yourself together. It was easy to pretend that you weren’t madly in love with Steve in his presence - you’d done it before, spent years madly in love with someone who you were supposed to hate - but everyone else could see right through you as your feelings eclipsed their pre-high school predecessor.

Robin saw it first, cheered so loud her mother had to tell you both to keep it down, and grinned every time Steve so much as nudged your shoulder. Eddie was next, groaned and grimaced and wrinkled his nose, but ultimately proved to be the more helpful of the two as he tried to listen and understand the mess of feelings tumbling around your brain. He picked apart the pieces of your frazzled thoughts, made sense of the feelings you were too afraid to untangle with anyone else, and ultimately kept you tied together as the months ticked by.

But as you stepped into Family Video, greeted by Steve with a hug and a bright smile, you wondered just how long the brittle thread wrapped around your fragile feelings would hold.

As Steve stepped away, drew to his full height and reached for the stack of tapes he’d dropped onto the counter to embrace you, he ignored the look Robin shot you both. He pointedly brushed past her without so much as a glance in her direction, ignored your snicker when she stuck her tongue out at him, and offered you a small smile as he placed a return on the shelf.

“You up for a movie tonight? I’ve heard Top Gun’s good.”

Behind him, Robin’s eyebrows winged up in surprise and it took every ounce of self control for yours not to do the same. Though your friendship had grown, had returned to something resembling your past relationship, there was little time spent together outside the comfort of a private space. Most of your time spent together was at his place, hidden away from your family and abandoned by his, or at the home of a friend - Robin or Eddie, the Wheeler residence, once. Family Video was the only public space you occupied together and that was only deemed safe as it was, almost always, empty.

The decision to remain hidden was not a conscious one - there was never a conversation in which you decided to hide, to avoid going to the movies or to dinner - but you’d been under the assumption that it was something unspoken, understood.

Now, as Steve raised an eyebrow at you, you wondered if the time just hadn’t been right.

“Tom Cruise is in it. Of course it’s going to be good.” Steve made a face, wrinkled his nose in faux disgust and rolled his eyes, but laughed as you reached out to nudge his shoulder. The reply was a touch brittle, a little stilted, but he seemed none the wiser as he waited patiently for your answer. “Can we do tomorrow night? Corroded Coffin is playing at The Hideout tonight. I promised Eddie I’d come ‘cause they’re playing a new song. You can come with, if you want. Though, I’m not sure how much fun you’ll have. They play metal covers and drink shitty beer with grumpy old dudes.”

Steve grimaced again, this one genuine, and shook his head. “Yeah, I think I’ll pass, but thanks.” He spared you a sideways glance, eyes roving the black jeans and Hellfire shirt you wore, before returning his attention to the shelf in front of him. “I get off at five tomorrow. Maybe we can make it to the six o’clock showing?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

When Robin retreated, muttering something about needing to clean shelves or stack boxes, Steve spared you a glance from the corner of his eye. His fingers tapped against the shelf - something of a nervous tic - as he schooled his features into a look of nonchalance that you saw through immediately.

There was something bothering him, a flicker of something sad - something hurt - but he hid it well as he shelved another return. “You should go for it.” When you raised a brow, unsure of what he meant, he continued, “Munson. You should go for it. You guys would be a good couple.” The declaration was quiet, as if he didn’t want to breathe it aloud, and your eyes widened.

“Eddie?” You nearly choked on your laughter as you shook your head, unable to help yourself, even as the tips of Steve’s ears tinted pink.

Plenty of rumors followed you in high school but that - the whisper that you were dating Eddie, that you were at least sleeping together - was the most pervasive. There’d never been anything more than friendship between you and you shook your head as you spared Steve an incredulous glance. “He’s not really my type.”

At this, Steve seemed to perk up, if only momentarily. A look of intrigue flashed so quick that you were almost certain you’d imagined it as he suddenly stared at the shelf as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. Steve hadn’t displayed any interested in your love life, left that as the one topic untouched between the two of you, and you wondered where the change of heart had come from as you studied him.

“You trying to play matchmaker, Stevie? I can give you a list of what I like, might make it easier for you.”

The list would be short - compiled of one name, underlined for emphasis - and you had no plans to share it with him. Steve was the one who got away, always would be, and you had no interest in allowing him into your love life. And, as you anticipated, he scoffed.

Steve’s huff was wholly unconvincing, lacked the emphasis needed to convince you his advice stemmed from a totally selfless place, and you frowned as he shook his head. “I just want you to be happy,” he declared, voice going soft as he traced the spine of a tape. “You’re spending all your time with me, can’t be good for you,” he teased, though it sounded half-hearted, a self-deprecating joke that made you sigh.

You remained uncertain of where the sudden interest was coming from, what had brought about this sudden doubt, but before you could dig deeper, you saw Eddie’s van pull into the parking lot.

For the best, you decided to leave well enough alone and ask after the movie, in the safety of Steve’s car. With a roll of your eyes, you squeezed Steve’s shoulder. “You make me happy, Stevie. Spending time with you is good for me and I’m looking forward to doing it again tomorrow night. You picking me up?” Steve nodded, half-dazed by your response, and you laughed as you shook your head. “Perfect. See you tomorrow night, Harrington.”

As you rushed out of the store, eager to supply Eddie with the latest - and to hear his latest opinion; so far, he had alternated on his stance, oscillating wildly between encouragement and near begging for you to forget Steve Harrington - you swore you could hear Robin loudly ask, “So, are we going to talk about the ginormous elephant in the room or are we just going to pretend that you’re not totally in love with her?”

Followed instantly by a deadpan, “Shut up, Robin.”

Eddie seemed less enthusiastic - certain you were imagining the entire exchange, maybe hearing what you wanted instead of what was actually said - but nodded anyway, encouraging, this time. And as he drove to pick up the rest of Corroded Coffin, Black Sabbath blaring and cigarette smoke filling the interior of his van, you wondered.

Steve had sworn Robin was a good judge of character, could read people significantly better than she let on. Was this one of those cases - had she figured out something you hadn’t - or was this a case of her not being able to differentiate between platonic and romantic love? It had happened, she’d also believed you and Eddie to be hiding a romantic relationship but the interaction played on a loop as you sat amongst the crowd of drunks filling The Hideout.

He seemed anxious, worried, a little clipped when asking about Eddie - jealous, almost, if you were to believe the spark of hope ignited in your chest - but there was always the chance that it had nothing to do with romantic love. Steve, like you, now had few friends. You were the only one his age, the only one who’d known him longer than a handful of years, and he likely wanted to keep you in his life. Eddie was destined to leave Hawkins the moment he could; maybe Steve was worried you’d follow.

The time that you spent together was fleeting; there was a chance Steve worried a romantic relationship would impede your few moments of bliss. He might’ve been worried that you falling in love would destroy your desire to remain in his life, no longer interested in a friend like him when someone like Eddie existed.

Whatever the case, the interaction with Steve played on a loop until his car pulled into your driveway the next afternoon. He’d clearly been home, showered - removed the stale scent of Family Video, tapes and old popcorn - and smiled as you bounded across the driveway to his car before he could completely stop.

As you climbed into the passenger seat of his car, the sound of Metallica’s The Thing That Should Not Be made you pause. Steve noticed, flushed a brilliant pink, but said nothing as he pulled out of your driveway and began the journey to the theater.

When he remained quiet, you asked, “Stevie, are you listening to Metallica?”

Steve had been educated - played tape after tape by you and Eddie, schooled in the art of heavy metal as you smoked in the metalhead’s bedroom - but he hadn’t shown much of an interest in any of the bands you loved. He didn’t openly scoff, not anymore, but metal wasn’t exactly the genre of music Steve Harrington listened to on repeat.

To say that it was a surprise would be an understatement.

Still, he shrugged. “Eddie let me borrow the tape,” he admitted, unable to look at you. “You kept going on about it, figured I should give it a listen.” He made no effort to stop you from turning up the volume and, when you glanced at him expectantly, he rolled his eyes. “It’s not Hall and Oates, but it’ll do.”

You laughed, a bright sound that filled the car, and Steve grinned - glad to have made you smile. He made a few observations about the tape - mostly that he couldn’t really hear a difference in the songs, something that you knew he’d struggled with in your metal education sessions - and you assured him that it was alright if he truly didn’t like it. Regardless, he kept the tape playing in the background and you swore he smiled each time you bobbed your head and hummed along to the songs you were already so familiar with.

Despite how normal the night seemed - Steve rambling about work, mutter about Robin and the kids - there was something slightly off. It could’ve been your imagination, the effort you put into overthinking Steve’s every motivation for waltzing back into your life, but everything felt muted.

Steve’s energy as he bought popcorn and tickets - waved you off, asserted that you could get him back next time, though you both knew he wouldn’t allow it - was low and he remained uncharacteristically quiet as he guided you through the lobby to the theater. It was almost as if he were nervous, watching his hands as he pressed one to the small of your back, weighing his words as he leaned over to whisper thoughts about the trailers.

There were moments of pure Steve, bright energy where he pondered what his call sign would be - easily declared yours to be sunshine, no need changing it now - and shoveled popcorn into his mouth. But you could tell his attention wasn’t entirely on the film.

For you, it was difficult to focus on anything other than his presence - the scent of his hair products, the warmth of his body pressed to yours, the spice of his cologne, the soft brush of his short against your skin - and the questions that had echoed since leaving Family Video the day before.

The movie passed in a blur - a mess of pilot jargon you didn’t understand, a handful of scenes that made you roll your eyes - but Steve seemed to enjoy himself. He laughed, grinned a little in places, and frowned at all the right scenes. To you, however, the only thing worth note was the way he remained glued to your side, arm slung over your shoulders and knee pressed to yours.

And as you left the theater, though his chatter was a little more scattered than normal - less focused, a little more erratic, a little louder - Steve dominated the conversation and seemed not to notice your silence. He debated his call sign, shot out ideas before immediately scrapping them, and tapped the wheel as he drove along quiet roads back to your home.

Instead of joining, you sat quietly and wondered how badly you would destroy the fragile new bond of your relationship if you simply asked Steve what the hell you were doing together.

When Steve pulled into the driveway of your home, placed the car in park and turned down the radio, he shifted to face you. Warm brown eyes searched your face, desperate for an answer to a question he had yet to ask and you knew that now was the time you’d been waiting for. “You’ve been quiet,” he pointed out, eyebrows pinched. “What’s on your mind?”

The thought of playing coy, of beating around the bush and pretending that you had no idea what he was referring to, was tempting. Asking the question that had been plaguing you for weeks - months, even - had the potential to ruin whatever delicate thing you’d been building.

At the same time, there was no point in maintaining a relationship that made you afraid to speak. Steve was a friend - a good one, at that, having proven himself in the short time you’d been reacquainted - and he deserved an honest answer.

“I guess I’ve just been wondering why.” Steve tilted his head, searching for the missing context, and you sighed as you twisted one of the silver rings adorning your fingers. “I’m glad that we’re… us again. I’m glad that we’re trying to go back to what we had. I just… It’s been so long. I can’t help but wonder, why now.”

Steve sighed, long suffering and far too serious for someone who had less than an hour earlier wondered what his call sign might be, as he raked a hand through his hair. “I tried,” Steve admitted, voice quiet as he turned to face you. “Not hard enough, but I tried. After… After I got my ass kicked, things kind of fell into perspective. I realized what mattered, what didn’t. You always mattered to me, sunshine. Even when I had my head up my ass. I was… disappointed in myself, I think. For treating you the way I did. And I guess I was selfish, hoping enough time had passed that it would be easier for you to forgive me now. I never forgot about you, about us.”

The explanation was more than you’d imagined it would be, something heavier than you expected, and you swallowed the emotion bubbling in the back of your throat as Steve offered you a half smile.

“Even when I didn’t want to understand, I did. I knew what you were doing, why you were doing it. If I hadn’t been so pissed at my parents, I probably would’ve been right there with you,” you admitted, voice melding with the quiet sound of Metallica. “I never forgot about you, either. And I think I would’ve accepted the apology a long time ago.” You paused for a moment, desperate to give yourself a little room to breathe, before you added, “I’m kind of glad you waited, though. Don’t think Hellfire would’ve let me back in if I’d been hanging out with Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington.”

It was a necessary moment of levity, a laugh you both needed, and Steve shook his head fondly as he met your eyes. “I think I’ve got Eddie’s approval now,” he teased, smiling softly as he reached for your hand. His fingers brushed the metal of one of your rings - one that had replaced his tiny plastic ring years ago - as he lifted his head to meet your eyes. “He can see right through people. Realized how I felt before I did, I think.”

Your breath caught in your throat, slightly confused and anxious as to how Steve would answer your question. Your hand shook in his grasp, fingers trembling even as he brushed soothing circles over your heated skin, and he smiled encouragingly as he waited for your response. “And how do you feel?”

Steve’s smile faltered slightly, just enough to make you wrap your fingers around his in an encouraging squeeze, as he laughed. “I feel like an idiot. I’ve wasted so much time, searching for someone to love me for me, when you’ve been there all along. I… I had a crush on you, when we were kids,” he admitted, eyes meeting yours - warm brown glittering in the dim light from your porch. “I used to tell my mom that I was going to marry you someday. You were my first love and I don’t think my feelings have changed.” Time seemed to crawl to a stop, the universe seemed to cease existing, as Steve lifted a hand to your cheek. Soft fingers brushed your skin as he whispered, “I think I’m still in love with you.”

The hammering of your heart echoed loudly in your ears, beat wildly against your ribcage and threatened to shatter the little pieces holding you in place. It was difficult to focus on Steve’s confession, difficult to make sense of it, and you wondered if this was all some sort of dream.

As his fingers tangled with yours, warm hand encompassing your trembling fingers, you knew that it was real. He was patient, waited with a ghost of a smile for you to speak, and you foundered to find something adequate to say.

“Steve.”

This time, as the words stuck in your throat - so close to breaking free, so easy to say, admit just as he’d admitted his own love - Steve nodded, smile bright. “I know,” he assured you, voice soft as his hand lifted to your cheek. “I know, sunshine.”

Steve leaned forward, crossed the gap between your seats, and waited patiently for you to make the final decision. It was up to you - this whole process had been up to you, on your terms, and you realized that Steve was handing over control without a moment of hesitation. Whatever happened, he wanted it to be on your terms, and you were grateful for that as you closed the distance and pressed your mouth to his.

Steve’s fingers pressed into the apple of your cheek, splayed across your jawline and held you tight - as if he were afraid you might disappear if he let go. When you broke apart to breathe, he pressed his forehead to yours and grinned.

“I love you, sunshine. I know it hasn’t always seemed that way but I promise, you’ll never have to question it again.”

The declaration was strong, certain, and you believed wholeheartedly that Steve was telling the truth. Regardless of how things had changed, of how your lives had drifted only to return to each others’ orbit, Steve’s promise meant something.

This time, when Steve swore that he wouldn’t let go - that you would never question his love again - you believed him.

____________________________________________________________

Author’s Note: I’m so sorry. This got so out of hand. I just had a lot of Steve thoughts. Back to your regularly scheduled Eddie now, though.

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#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x y/n #stranger things imagine #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #v's fics

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