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yunhoszn · 2 months

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steamed milk

pairing choi san x f!reader word count 2.5k genres fluff﹒smut warnings 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, mature language, not proofread, all lowercase bc i wrote this at 2 am… a week ago <3, barista!reader, barista!san, clumsy reader, mentions of burn scars?, mutual pining, little bit of power imbalance but it doesn’t play into the plot, escalates pretty fast, public sex, unprotected sex, cute fluffy moment at the end, may we get f’s in the chat for kim hongjoong’s desk chair

summary a closing shift with san is… interesting… to say the least.

more alright alright alright, i know i have a billion wips and a billion reqs to work on,,, but @bro-atz needed something to read on a flight and i needed an excuse to write with no plot in mind, solely based on vibes and this is what came out of it… i ALSO KNOW i’ve been withholding for a week but that’s bc i wasn’t sure if i wanted to keep this locked in the dungeon for a rainy day or not, until i remembered i should post something in honor of chellateez 🥳

@atzhouse @san-network

“did you burn yourself on the steam wand again, y/n?”

you bite your lip and turn away from hongjoong bashfully. so what if you’re a little clumsy, it’s not like you completely sucked at your job. maybe there were a few milk spills here and there. at least you knew what you were doing most of the time.

“um, what would you do if i said no?” you scratch the back of your neck with the hand that wasn’t burned. hongjoong sighs, leaning back in his rolling chair. as the manager of a coffee shop, he did not get paid enough to babysit and coddle his employees like he usually did.

between you almost always making a mess and then yunho and mingi goofing around whenever they were on shift together, he felt like he was starting to grow grey hairs. he shakes his head with a tsk, pulling out the first aid kit from one of the drawers in his desk. “let’s put some burn cream and a bandaid on it so you can hop back out. the dessert rush is about to begin.”

you nod and rock on the balls of your feet as you wait patiently. your manager dresses your burn and sends you on your way. the dessert rush, aside from the morning rush, was arguably the worst part of the day. shifts at the coffee shop were divided into thirds— open to mid, mid to evening, evening to close. while opens were the most busy, you at least got out early and could enjoy the rest of your day. mids were the slowest, but they took place midday so you couldn’t do much after you clocked off.

closes were the worst, because they were so unpredictable. you weren’t ever sure if it was going to be busy, apart from the usual dessert rush, and that uncertainty bothered you. the beginning of your closing shift was staffed pretty well. there was yeosang, who was probably the best barista out of the lot of you, and seonghwa, a seasoned veteran in this game. he was your assistant manager.

however, yeosang and seonghwa were off at 6 PM and the shop closed at 9 PM, leaving you and your lead for the night to close all by yourselves. and your lead? choi san.

closing with san wouldn’t be such a problem if it weren’t for your massive crush on him. out of the other leads, san was the kindest. he didn’t lose his cool if your clumsy nature got the best of you during a hectic shift. in fact, he took his time to ensure everything was okay. he didn’t care if there were angry customers demanding that their drinks be made. his baristas were his number one priority.

and well, with his appearance today, it would be more difficult than usual. donned in a white button up and some black slacks, his brown apron over, you think you’re going to faint. on a regular basis, san wore simple things like the occasional sweater or t-shirts and jeans, but this new look was making you all sorts of dizzy. you felt inferior beside him. (though technically, you were.)

with hongjoong, seonghwa, and yeosang leaving all at the same time, you were in a crisis. how were you supposed to survive this shift? it’s like the universe meticulously crafted this moment so it could laugh at you. and it all started with you burning yourself on that goddamn steam wand, while you were on bar with san of all people.

“are you sure you don’t want me to send you home?” san asks lowly, making sure only you heard him. the two of you were finishing an order when he asked the question.

“i couldn’t let you close by yourself.” you pout. as hard as it’s going to be working with him alone for three hours, you’d feel awful leaving him to fend for himself.

“i can ask yeo or hwa to stay,” he shrugs, putting a lid on the iced vanilla latte in front of you. “i don’t want you to hurt yourself again.”

“i’ll be fine, san,” you reassure. “besides, seonghwa would probably kill me if i was the reason he had to stay later than he had to.”

san laughs a little, eyes scrunching up in the cute way they do when he smiles. your heart rate spikes and you have to take a deep breath to compose yourself. he nods as he turns to hand out the order.

“if you insist.”

maybe you should’ve taken him up on that offer to go home.

you’re too distracted by the way his rolled up sleeves strain against his muscular arms, staring a little too much. hongjoong just so happens to walk out of the back at that exact moment. he thinks your (very obvious) crush on san is funny, but not when the line is wrapped and you’re about to be down two men.

“y/n, there’s five drinks waiting to be made,” he calls out, tapping on seonghwa and yeosang’s shoulders to let them know they can go. “what’s more important that has you standing there doing nothing?”

“sorry…” you apologize sheepishly, avoiding his gaze as you start on the next order; a dry cappuccino with cinnamon. great. another drink that required you using that godforsaken steam wand. a truly evil contraption.

“i can be milk if you’d like?” san suggests suddenly, noticing your hesitation to steam the 2%.

“if it’s not too much of an ask,” you frown. “i just don’t want to hold us back in the middle of a rush.”

“you don’t need to explain yourself to me, y/n,” he quickly swaps places with you. “i think you’re pretty damn good with a portafilter anyway.”

it’s a stupid compliment. only another barista would even know what that meant, but you take it to heart. your body flushes with warmth as you tamp the espresso grounds and pull a shot viable enough to use for the cappuccino. you’re a little shaky as you pour it into the paper cup and wait for san to pour the milk.

this was the closest you’d get to flirting with san, and it was him telling you that you were actually good at your job. what a sad life you lived.

thankfully, you manage to bulldoze through the line with just the two of you. in times like these, your solution is to go nonverbal and lock in. if you talk while you’re making drinks, you get distracted too easily and you find it’s harder to multitask. after the rush, things are slow for the most part and then it’s just you, san, and the sound of cafe music playing quietly over the speakers at 9 PM.

“y/n, can i ask you a question?” san inquires, counting the till as you wipe down the espresso machine and the bar around it.

“what’s up?” you hum, refolding your rag. he shuts the register and walks over to you, leaning on the bar adjacent to the one you were at.

“i’m curious, and you don’t have to answer if you’re uncomfortable, but i’ve heard that you like me. is that true?” it comes out so politely, you’re not even sure you heard him correctly. you blink as the words process in your brain. this was the end. now you really wished you went home early.

“well— um— i don’t know how to answer that…” you fiddle with your fingers, looking everywhere but at san.

“all i want is a yes or no, because truth is,” he walks closer and closer until he’s directly in front of you. “i have a little crush on you myself.”

“you what?!” you don’t mean to sound so shocked, so appalled even, because he takes a step back, eyes widened by your outburst. you’re just so confused. choi san liked you? like, liked you?

“i’ll take that as a—“

“no!” you stand upright, grabbing his wrist. when you realize what you’ve done, you immediately let go. “i mean, no, as in yes. i do like you, san. i was just… embarrassed… that you found out from elsewhere instead of me. and i’m a little in disbelief that you feel the same.”

“why’s that?” his head tilts to the side a bit. “what’s not to like about you?”

“for starters, i’m the biggest klutz on the planet.” you huff, but that makes his smile grow wider.

“i think that’s your charming point,” he admits, hands stuffed into the pockets of his slacks. “while i don’t enjoy seeing you hurt, like when you burned yourself earlier, i do think it’s kinda cute when you accidentally knock over a drink.”

“are you okay in the head? were you dropped on it as a baby?” you ask with a raised eyebrow. he laughs, this time a full on laugh that has him bringing a fist up to his mouth. you think you just shed a tear. and not from your eyes.

“i don’t believe so. i guess i’m just attracted to people who aren’t afraid of being themselves,” he shrugs, reaching out to take your hand into his. “and you check all the boxes.”

remember the whole fainting thing? that’s about to come true. you manifested it.

san brings your knuckles up to his lips, first kissing over the bandaid where your burn was and then all over the back of your hand. you stand there like a fish out of water, mouth opening and closing but no words escaping you. was the universe… rewarding you somehow?

“how often does joong check the cameras?” you gasp when his kisses have moved from your hand to your neck. he doesn’t break contact, speaking into your skin as he unties your apron.

“almost never, but you have a point.”

this is how you end up on san’s lap in hongjoong’s office chair, fingers tangled in each other’s hair, lips locked like no tomorrow. he was a fantastic kisser, which just further proved your theory that he was the perfect human being. along with the subtle flirting, and the obvious knack for respecting boundaries, it’s almost like the universe had hand crafted choi san to be the ideal man. and they say chivalry is dead. pft, san’s existence dispels that notion undoubtedly.

“he won’t know, right?” you pant, arching into him when he sucks at a particular part on the base of your throat. he hums.

“you’re worrying too much,” san’s fingers slip under your top, digging into your waist. “i promise, he won’t find out. but we’ve gotta be quick since he’ll know what time we left.”

“m’kay,” you sigh, grinding down on his lap to help speed things along. the undressing process is a blur. you wish you could spend more time admiring his bare chest and arms, especially because you’d been fantasizing about this moment for almost an entire year now.

“god, you’re so gorgeous, y/n,” he murmurs, reconnecting your lips sweetly. his hands massage the sides of your thighs as you hover over him, preparing to sink down on his cock. “i finally have you all to myself.”

you whine when you do, his words encouraging your arousal. the intrusion has you moaning softly, eyes squeezing shut from the sheer pleasure streaming through your veins. your nails scrape his shoulders and back, toes curling. the tip of his dick grazes that sensitive spot deep in your cunt with ease, as if he was made to be inside of you.

“feels— fuck— feels so good, san,” you whimper, head falling to the crook of his neck. san chuckles, albeit a little strained. his hands remain in your hips, aiding your movement so you don’t get too tired.

“is that right, sweetheart?” he says into your ear, nipping the lobe gently. “you’re taking me so well.”

his praise shoots straight to your core, punching another moan out of you. you really shouldn’t be surprised that he’s inching you towards the edge of that familiar tide so fast. it’s san, and like you’ve stated before, he’s damn near perfect. but holy shit, the way he’s fucking you has you thinking that there is such a thing as heaven.

you have to bite down on his collarbone to stop yourself from screaming like a fucking pornstar, leaving a myriad of marks on his skin to restrain the ferality threatening to jump out of you. every drag of his cock on your velvety walls drives you just a little more insane each time.

he’s moving so slow, but so deep all at once, and it’s just the right combination to decorate the backs of your eyelids in stars and colored spots. his ring and middle fingers meet your swollen clit, circling with practiced pressure. the office chair squeaks awfully with each of your bounces on his lap, but you’re too close to pay it any mind. instead, you drown it out with your own noises— warnings of your impending orgasm.

“gonna cum— my god, san, i’m—!” you don’t even finish your sentence, the tide finally reaching the shore. your orgasm washes over you hard and unlike any other you’ve ever experienced before. you aren’t sure if he’s just that good, or if it’s because it’s san. (most likely a combination of both.)

san coos, guiding you through the peak of your climax. once you’ve calmed considerably, you slide him out of you and stroke his cock until he’s painting the inside of your thighs with milky white and a groan. his face screws up in pleasure, eyes fluttered shut and brows knit together. his lashes kiss the tops of his cheeks and you think you’ve just fallen in love, for real.

his chest rises and falls as he attempts to catch his breath. you can’t help placing a hand over the left side to feel the rapidity of his heartbeat, smiling to yourself. he mirrors your expression after a moment, leaning up to press a sensual kiss to your lips.

“as fun as this was, and as much as i like the view right now, it’d be better if i could actually take you out after this… and if i could fuck you somewhere nicer than on our manager’s desk chair.” san bites at the inside of his lip, glancing down at the rolling chair beneath you.

“i agree,” you giggle, brushing his hair from his face. “hongjoong’s office isn’t the ideal location for a first date or first time sleeping together. but at least we’ll have a fun story to tell our kids.”

san bursts into laughter at that. “our kids, huh? you’ve thought that far ahead?”

“i’ve had a crush on you since i got hired, choi san, what do you think?” you raise an eyebrow, booping his nose with your index finger. he scrunches it up with a grin.

“i think that i’ve had a crush on you just as long. and if we’re having kids, it’s best to omit some details when we retell this story.”

#atzhouse #san network #ateez #ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez san #ateez choi san #choi san #choi san x reader #choi san smut #san x reader #san smut #yunhoszn

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puckinghischier · 2 months

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Boyfriend!Nico Headcanons

these pics are gonna get me everytime, i fear

just some soft nico thoughts floating around in my noggin. enjoy :)

- boyfriend!nico coming home from morning skate and tiptoeing into your room, careful not to wake you so he can lay back down and nap with you

- boyfriend!nico waking up about an hour later to an empty bed, huffing because you didn’t wake him up, only for you to walk in the room wearing one of his t-shirts carrying two cups of coffee, a grin breaking out on his face

- boyfriend!nico suggesting you both shower together, even though he showered at the rink, simply because he loves when you wash his hair (and so he can use your products so he can smell fruity like you do)

- boyfriend! nico asking girls that approach him when he’s out with the team or on the road where they get various parts of their outfits/jewelry because he can’t stop thinking about how good you’d look in them, writing every store down in his notes app so he can take you there the next time you two go shopping

- boyfriend!nico who looks for you in the stands of every home game during warm-ups, needing to know you’re there watching before puck drop because he swears you’re his good luck charm, but also looking for any and every reason to impress you when he’s on the ice

- boyfriend!nico who buys you a custom jersey with his name and number on it, but with small four leaf clovers embroidered on each sleeve so everyone knows you’re his good luck charm, not the team’s

- boyfriend!nico who enlists jack’s help in surprising you with the golden retriever puppy you’ve been begging Nico to agree to adopting, making the poor kid drive three hours one-way to pick up the dog and then sneak the puppy into your shared apartment so Nico can keep you distracted and occupied, wanting to see your face when you open the door and the little furball comes running towards you

- boyfriend!nico who rushes through every post game interview he can because all he wants to do, win or lose, is go home and watch whatever current netflix show you’ve roped him into while eating whatever take-out you were in the mood for that night

- boyfriend!nico putting you on speaker in the locker room before games because the team overheard one of the pre-game pep talks you gave him earlier in the season, so now they all like to hear your encouraging words and how well you inspire each and every one of them to play their best (what jack refers to as your mrs. cap duties)

- boyfriend!nico who has to explain to his teammates why he can’t bring you along to every event the team has to go to because you have your own job and responsibilities, only for the team to whine and grumble about how nico hogs you and they never get to see you (just for him to facetime you halfway through the event so he can pass his phone around for everyone to say hi a few of them asking you to blink three times if nico was holding you hostage)

- boyfriend!nico who arranges for flowers and various treats to be delivered to your door every. single. day. that he’s gone during the season so you know he’s still thinking about you and he misses you, even if he only leaves for a day or two

- boyfriend!nico who listens to the playlist you’ve made for him anytime he’s traveling because he loves hearing whatever new song you’ve found that day that reminds you of him

- boyfriend!nico who begs you to take a bath with him because he’s so sore from a nasty hit earlier in the night and wants to just relax with you and your peach smelling bubble bath with one of your vanilla scented candles burning (but he’ll never admit he loves your sweet, scented candles)

- boyfriend!nico who will always trade a puck or a stick for anything that a fan brings as a gift for you, heart swelling seeing that the fans love you as much as he does

- boyfriend!nico who always wears a wrist full of friendship bracelets you make for him at warmups so he can trade them with the female fans that bring handmade bracelets for the players, so “they always feel included and welcomed at the games, despite what the grumpy old men have to say about it”

#nico hischier #nico hischier one shot #nico hischier x y/n #nico hischier x you #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier blurb #nico hischier fanfic #nico hischier imagine #nhl oneshot #nhl blurb #nhl fanfic #nhl fanfiction #new jersey devils #hockey imagine #hockey

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macfrog · 5 months

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the sweetest con cowboy like me chapter fifteen

well. this is it. we made it, kids. thank you so, so much for reading for all this time. for all your patience, and kindness, and loyalty. i will carry this pair, their story, and all of your love for them with me forever. love you guys. xx

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

summary: every cowboy deserves his ride off into the sunset.

warnings: age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), lotsa guilt from reader, dreamy love sequence & mention of unprotected piv/creampie, more greys anatomy spoilers, reader's dad is either Bald or has a Receding Hairline (you choose), more sex - this time reader and joel sixty-nine, face sitting, oral (f and m receiving), more (inferred) unprotected piv, making dirty, hot love ALLAT, cursing, a little smut n a lotta fluff n a droplet of angst at the end

word count: 10.8k

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“How the fuck did this take you three minutes? Three?”

“I’m telling you. I’m a genius.”

You snort. “Shut up. You only passed Math ‘cause you were fooling around with that nerd – Thomas? Was it Thomas?”

“Timothy. And you don’t need math to do a sudoku puzzle, loser. You just need brains. Logic.” Anna taps two fingers against her temple, tilting her head.

“Logic,” you murmur, shaking your head.

Sal’s is quiet today. He’s out of town for his father-in-law’s funeral and made the genius decision to leave the two of you in charge. Since opening at nine, you’ve had four customers. The to-do list left for you was completed by ten, and since then, you’ve been hunched over your phone at the cash register, messing around on some puzzle app Anna made you download.

It's a Wednesday. Nothing exciting ever happens on Wednesdays.

Anna’s behind you, tearing apart and flattening the cardboard boxes you spent all morning emptying. “That level,” she clicks her chewing gum wetly between her teeth, scent of mint over your shoulder, “that ain’t even the hardest one. Ooh, no, babe. Three goes –”

“Shh!” You bat her arm away, curving your hand over your phone screen. She snorts and wanders off through the back, wad of cardboard under her arm.

Anna wasn’t your closest friend in high school, and you sure didn’t stay much in touch past the odd Facebook post update when you left. But working with her, and her dad being your dad’s buddy – she’s sort of become one of those people you just can’t shake.

Like a stray puppy. Or…an annoying hangnail.

She’s nice enough – talks a lot of crap sometimes, but she cares for you. You’d go as far as saying you two have grown pretty close since you came home. Still, the acidic sting of resentment sits on your tongue, anytime you think of her involvement in the unravelling of your little lie. Think of your dad calling hers, Hank asking her where you were.

Think of the fact that, if she hadn’t been honest with him – I don’t know where she is, Dad – nothing would’ve gone wrong.

That’s not fair. If you’d never touched Joel in the first place, nothing would’ve gone wrong.

It’s just – she had a hand in pushing the first domino.

The bell above the door jingles and you lift your eyes from tiny numbers and blank squares to meet a familiar pair of hazel. An Alanis Morissette T-shirt under a denim jacket. She tucks her thick, soft hair behind her ears and smiles, then skips around the counter and links her hands at your tummy; her ear flat against the nape of your neck.

“Why so clingy?” you ask, and Sarah straightens up.

“Just excited to spend some time with my favorite person. That allowed?”

Your eyes scan her up and down as she leans against the counter, stealing a gummy from a jar beside the register. “Been staying with you for nearly three weeks now, you ain’t sick of me yet?”

She shakes her head, jaw chewing, cheeks swollen with a grin. “Are you done yet? I wanna make sure we get good seats.”

“We will,” you assure her. “It’s only, like, three p.m.”

“But it’s Barbie,” she says, “and I wanna get some snacks before we head in.” She holds the decapitated gummy worm up, eyebrows high, before pulling it between her teeth until it snaps. She drags the withered red tail over her tongue.

“That thing you just mauled,” you gesture to the masticated shape in her fingers, “candy. Snacks. Just take some of that.”

“You won’t even buy your date movie theater candy? Damn. Mom’s a cheapskate. Wish I could say my dad’s a lucky guy.”

You shove her off, disguising your laugh with a shake of your head. “You are on thin ice, I’m not even kidding.”

Sarah’s laughing, reaching for another worm. “You know what that sounds like?”

“Hm?”

“What you just said.”

“What’s it sound like, Sarah Miller?”

“Something a mom would say.”

“Alright,” you stand, “get out. Get outta my store.”

The door opens when you point to it, Texan heat sweeping in to swarm the one rickety fan you have in here. The brass bell trembles, and beneath it, a man in a tucked shirt and jeans, glum face and tired eyes.

You blink at him and he blinks back, and no words are spoken between you, but your dad understands to move, to keep walking – and you understand to let him.

“Shoot,” Sarah whispers, twisting her gummy around her finger. “That was awkward.”

Three weeks of staying with them – Sarah and Joel – also means three weeks of zero contact with your dad. The most you’ve heard from – or, rather, about him is that, last week, Joel bumped into Hank at the gas station, and the old man mentioned that he and your dad had grabbed a beer the night before.

What’d he say? you asked Joel, dragging a dish towel around the rim of a glass.

He shrugged, flicking his hands dry over the sink. Said the Rangers aren’t doin’ too good. I said, Yeah, that’s cause a’ –

No, Joel. What did he say about me ‘n my dad?

He waited a second to let the offense of your interruption soak in. Took the towel from your hand, replaced the glass on the draining board. Nothing, he said, I don’t think he knows.

It sat with you the entire night. The three of you watched a movie, occupying either side of Joel’s couch, though you’re sure you don’t remember a word of it. The image of him sat center-stage in your mind until you pulled yourself against Joel’s body in bed that night. Sat in his recliner, flicking through TV channels, the only sounds in the house that of Ice Road Truckers, the ticking of the kitchen clock, and his own fucking breathing.

Alone. Not even Hank to talk to about – well.

You’ve done your best not to think about him. And it works, most days, when you’re with Joel. Helps to go do stuff: ride shotgun while he picks up supplies for work or grabs groceries. Helps to play pretend like his house is yours, too. Tidying when he’s not home, lighting candles and sinking into a bubble bath for him to find you in when he finishes. Helps to be at Sal’s, with Anna. Sudoku and her fucking Tinder account to keep you both occupied.

Most days, you forget to consider the lonely shape of your dad at all – but that seems to hurt all the more. Like forgetting to tend to an open wound; instead, letting the infection blister and bubble so that, when you do bump it again, the pain feels sharper. Hissing at you, poison seeping from flesh.

His showing up, waltzing straight into the store – feels less like a bump, and more like a pair of hands diving straight into the gash, tearing it wide open again. Blood and poison gushing all over the checkered floor.

Anna materializes between two aisles, hands on her hips when she stands behind you. “Y’all still not really talkin’?” she asks.

You and Sarah shake your heads. The three of you watch the shape of your dad’s skull over the shelves, bobbing from bay to bay. Door hinges to fence paint. He painted the fence last summer. He doesn’t need fucking fence paint.

“Nope,” you reply. “’s been, what, two and a half weeks now?”

“Yeah,” Anna mutters, the slope of sympathy in her voice. “My dad’s been talkin’ to him about it. They’ve spoken, like, almost every night on the phone.”

“Oh, fuck,” you hiss, head falling into your hands. “Are you serious?”

“Not about you and Joel. Just about the fight.”

Your jaw slowly slackens, eyes thinning as your gaze slides over to your friend, a saddened expression on her face.

Sarah nods, like an accessory sat on the dash of a car. Bobbing bobbing bobbing, until her brows drop and she turns to you, finally realizing. “Wait, what?”

Anna blinks between the two of you. “What?” she asks, lips pressing together.

“You know?” Sarah asks, glaring at her.

Anna snorts. Neither of you break. She quickly quietens and clears her throat, bending to stuff more cardboard under her arm. “Well…” She sucks in a deep breath. “At rodeo night, when you left your phone on the table, me ‘n Kara wanted to leave a bunch of selfies for you to find later. But when I went to grab your phone, you had a text from him. Joel. Something about someone winning you over like he did, or something. I can’t remember. But that was the first thing.”

Sarah’s face sours at the mention of her dad’s flirty text, scoffing as she swipes another gummy from the jar. “Real fuckin’ subtle, Dad,” she murmurs.

You sharpen your gaze at Anna, blurring the brown curls and low brows from your peripheral. “Uhuh…?”

“Then, there was the lying to your dad about where you were. That Monday – you said you were at mine. You weren’t. Your dad called my dad to ask, ‘n my dad asked me why the hell you’d lie. I figured, What a weird coincidence, right?”

You slip off your stool, legs feeling more liquid than bone. “Oh, Jesus…”

“But then…then, I saw how you were when he called on the way to Frank’s. In the car. You were…fucking weird. And then Joel punched that dude – that basically confirmed it. I don’t think either of your dads would do that for me. It felt…it felt personal. He took your hand ‘n dragged you outta there, and it felt like…somethin’ else.”

You’re leaning against the counter, head in your hands. Struggling to even listen to her piece it all together. Were you this fucking obvious, the whole time?

Anna answers for you. “Yeah,” she says, nodding, “I didn’t catch two fucking boyfriends cheating on me, and not pick up some detective skills, babe.”

You stand straight, composure slowly building over shame. “And your dad doesn’t know? My –” you flick your head across the store, lowering your voice, “– my dad hasn’t told him?”

A laugh spurts from somewhere deep in her chest. “Hell, no. Are you tryna give him a second heart attack? No. He just thinks you were somewhere you didn’t want your dad to know – a boy’s or something. Which – well, I guess you were.”

You nod, half-appreciation, half-resignation. Alright. Now shut up about it, would you?

“But listen,” Anna says, apparently not as good at mindreading as she is at secret-revealing, “y’all gotta work on being sneaky. You’re, like, really bad at it.”

“Yeah,” you sniff, “thanks, Anna.”

You grip the edge of the counter and try to draw your eye away from your dad; a little angry that he’s here, and yet, a little more thankful that you’ve had at least a tiny glimpse of him. Desperate for him to come over, to acknowledge your mutual existence in the same room, and yet – petrified that he does.

He keeps his back to you, though you notice him turning every so often, looking at you from his peripheral. Nope – your black shirt and blue jeans are still behind the counter. He turns back to the shelf.

“Hi, sweetie.” A woman in a pink blouse approaches the counter. She lays down a couple pairs of plyers and you ring her up, asking if she found everything okay. Choking a little when you inhale the scent of her perfume.

“Beautiful day for you to be in here workin’, huh?” Her rosy cheeks fill as she hands you the cash.

Oh, yeah. It’s a beautiful day to be stuck selling plyers to pink women in pink blouses smelling of pink perfume, while my dad – still reeling from the revelation that I’ve been sleeping with his best friend, by the way – pretends to peruse the store.

“I’m almost done,” you reply, blunt enough to deflate her expression only a little, sliding the paper bag stamped Sal’s back across the counter.

She nods in thanks and slinks off, suffocating aroma following her. And like a magician, when she disappears off to the side, your dad stands in her wake. A few feet from you, keeping his distance, watching carefully before he dares to move. Waiting for your go-ahead.

When you lift your chin, beckoning him forward, Anna takes Sarah’s arm and yanks her away, shoving some shredded boxes into her arms. “You wanna help me?” she asks the nosy Miller, tossing something of an alarmed glance back at you and your dad.

There’s a funny feeling behind your eyes when he steps up, empty hand resting hesitantly on the counter. “She coverin’ up the smell of a dead body or som’?” he asks.

The air pushes from your lungs, a laugh barreling with it. Your hands clasp on the surface opposite his. A scorch of white heat at the nape of your neck. “Very vibrant, huh?”

“Very.” He clears his throat, shakes his head a little, and takes a deep breath. “I figured this might be as good a place as any to find you. I didn’t want you to think I was…cornering you, or anything, if I showed up at Joel’s.”

“I wouldn’t – I mean, maybe. But, y’know…this is fine.” Your arms cross defensively, the baggy material of Joel’s shirt wrapping snug around you.

Your dad seems to know. Evidence being that it’s you, in a shirt all too big – a shirt he’d likely see his best friend in, too. It forces your arms tighter, sucking in the scent of Joel to combat the dizzying feeling of nerves.

“I’m glad to see you’re alright,” he says eventually, fingers drumming awkwardly. “I just wanted to know you were fine.”

“I am fine. I promise. Just – working a lot.”

He nods, looking down to his feet. Twists the toe of his boot into the linoleum.

“I’m glad to see you’re alright, too,” you offer, the words fluid and spilling from one to the next – something forceful in their nature.

Your dad’s eyes lift at the same time that his cheeks do. Relief. “Thanks, kiddo. I actually – I was hopin’ that maybe we could talk. If you’re free. I don’t know what time you get off today.”

“I finish in ten minutes,” you say, and hope seems to paint across his face – washing away instantly when you add, “but I’m going to the movies with Sarah.”

He’s nodding again, eyes fixed back on his boots. “Right, right.”

“…But maybe once we’re done I can swing by?”

“Oh, well – I’m workin’ late again. I’ll be out by the time…Yeah. Sorry, hon.”

“That’s okay.”

“Late one again tonight.”

“This, uh – what’s his name again? Kel–?”

“Kelman, yeah. Yeah. How ‘bout I call you tomorrow ‘n we can work somethin’ out? You and Sarah, you enjoy your night.”

You lean back from the counter, slowly more confident in your ability to hold yourself upright. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Dad.”

His lips press together in a flat attempt at a smile. “I’ll leave you to it. You mind if I…give you a hug?”

And then you’re the one awkwardly, forcedly smiling. Your teeth gritting behind taut lips. “Not at all,” you whisper, and wander carefully around the counter to where he stands.

He opens his arms and pulls you against his chest, your head tilting to rest your ear on his shoulder. You hook your arms under his, feeling his wrists crossing at your spine. Like two statues, two figures of stone fixing their crumbling bodies in an embrace, suddenly disjointed and ill-fitting. Your heart hurts beneath layers of rock, swelling in attempt to reach for his, shrinking back crestfallen when he feels too far.

He kisses the side of your head, pulls away, and taps your cheek once. “You know,” he says, letting you withdraw from his grasp, “I really miss you.”

You nod. “Miss you, too.”

“Let’s talk soon, alright?”

“Yeah.”

And then he’s leaving, drifting back out into the summer sun, rock disintegrating as the light catches him again. More human, less monster-under-your-bed. He’s just your dad again, just that swaying, bumbling man who used to sprinkle rainbow flakes over your ice cream and double-knot your laces.

The shadows of Sarah and Anna appear at your elbows, the three of you watching your dad sink into his car. You still feel made of rock, splitting somewhere down the middle as you stare at his figure.

“Well?” Sarah asks.

He turns right out of the parking lot, disappears behind a hedgerow.

“Yeah,” you reply, turning in a daze. “We’re gonna…gonna talk.”

“That’s good, right? That sounds…promising.”

You shrug. “I guess.”

Sarah places a gentle hand on your arm, drawing your attention to her kind eyes and infectious smile. “We should probably get goin’,” she says, and you agree.

“What movie are you seeing?” Anna asks, filling your spot behind the counter as you turn, making for the back of the store.

“Barbie,” Sarah tells her.

“Nice. She paying?”

“Obviously. Mom duties.”

You kick the door closed on their giggles.

Two days pass without a word from your dad. No text, no call, no visit to Sal’s when you’re on shift the following day. By Monday, you’ve convinced yourself that the entire thing was a dream, a hallucination conjured up by your imagination in attempt to rid you of some of the guilt still chewing at your heart. Bat it out of your brain, like swatting the rear end of a wild animal let loose indoors.

Guilt which is only remedied, only soothed by Joel. By the feeling which overcomes your chest when you look at him – lungs faltering, heart leaping. The peace of falling asleep in his safe embrace, the heat from his body enough to keep you comfortable all night, and then waking up tangled in his sheets – the smell of bacon and eggs twirling through the house, the distant sound of his humming drawing you downstairs to his side.

Late nights on the porch, watching the sun bleed heavily into the sky. Your ankles in his lap, a guitar over his thigh. Thumb gentle on the strings, soft timbre of song lulling you to some place far from reality: the same rosy, dreamlike state you’ve mostly occupied since he dragged you through his front door, kicked your shoes and all of your worries to the side, and made you forget that anything bad had ever happened.

The most comfortable you’ve ever felt in your life, the most loved – a world where your every word is heard and weighed, rolling around Joel’s palms and slotting carefully into his back pocket. A world where his lips on your neck as you make dinner, where the crook of his arm catching you as you pass by, is all normal. Where I love you and I love you, too become the last words your sleepy ears hear at night, right before you sink into a shared sleep.

All of it becoming as natural as the pale moon switching for her golden sister at dawn. As instinctive as breathing.

“Have you ever made love to anyone?” you ask him one night, the aftershock of an orgasm still soaking into your skin.

Joel pauses, hips slowing between yours. “Yeah,” after a couple beats, “sure.”

“What’s it feel like?” you ask, honestly. Combing his dark hair through your fingers. “I’ve never…No one’s ever…”

“Baby,” he says. “We’ve done it. I’ve done it to you.”

Your body tenses and then melts around him. One blink and suddenly the world softens, seems to bow into the background – the only sharp object Joel, the twinkle in his eye piercing through the haze like blinking white stars in thick, dark clouds.

You whisper, “Can you do it again? So I can feel what it’s like?”

He pushes himself up, one elbow planted by your ear, the other hand lifting your thigh. Hooking it over his waist, lowering his arm again to cage you under his body. He nudges your chin with his nose, lifting it to line your lips with his, hold every part of your body as close to his as he can.

Deeper, in every sense of the word. Slow, hard. Eyes on you the entire time, watching the way your face contorts and your jaw slackens, holding the shape of your head in his hands, swallowing his own moans and grunts to make space between you for yours.

“Look at me, baby, eyes on me,” he says, and by instinct, your eyes roll forward, focusing or half-focusing on the slick hair at his forehead, the red flush climbing his neck, seeping into the skin under his beard. “You feel it? Feel where I’m goin’?”

And yeah, you whine, you do feel it. Feel him dragging you further away from this world and into the next – somewhere a plain away, somewhere new and different to anything you’ve ever known before. Where physicality is a language, a fluid conversation between the melding of his body and yours; where there are a million words swirling around his pupils, hypnotizing and entrancing and drawing you in until you’re tumbling headfirst into the inky pools.

Where I love you sounds like the groan Joel can’t hold back, feels like the pulsing flood as he snaps between your legs. Where making love is as simple as the squeeze of his hand around yours; the shove of his plate over the kitchen table, offering you the last bite of grilled cheese or simply admitting that it was yours before he’d even taken the first. That addictive laugh of his when you stall the fucking truck for the fifth time: You asked me to teach you, baby, I’m tryna teach you. Foot on the gas, c’mon. You got it. That’s it – now, slow. Slower. Try to feel it. No, really feel it.

Feel it. Really, try to feel it. Can you feel it? Do you know the difference yet? The difference between everyone who was before, and the one who is now? Do you finally get it?

“I feel it,” you cry out, and his frame holds yours together as you fall apart.

It feels like – you.

How did I ever know anything before I knew you?

“That one’s nice,” Joel says, his voice jumping the short distance between his lips and your ear.

You tilt your head, body moving with his when he lifts his hand to swipe through some more of the images. The spacious living room, newly refurbed kitchen, the view of downtown Los Angeles.

He adjusts the blanket draped over your legs. “Washer dryer, walk-in closet,” and then, leaning in closer, whispers, “a balcony. That’s cool.”

“Hm,” you turn to face him, your body shelled by his in the corner of his couch, “I bet you like the balcony, cowboy.”

He smiles plainly in response, squeezing your nose between two knuckles. Yeah. Lots you can do with a balcony.

A sharp gasp from across the room pierces the sweet moment. You and Joel turn in its direction, its owner wide-eyed and blinking at the TV.

“Wait a second,” Sarah yelps. “George is the John Doe?” She gasps again when Meredith announces the same news to her friends onscreen. “Shut – the fuck – up!”

“Language,” Joel clips, chest rumbling between your shoulder blades.

“Oh, like you didn’t have the exact same reaction. George is the…Oh, that sucks. Are you kidding me?” She fishes her phone from the waves of blanket surrounding her, thumbs rapidly typing, eyes shooting from screen to screen.

You snort, turning back to your own phone in your hand, when a text appears at the top of the screen.

Dad: Hey kiddo. Sorry to keep you waiting, work been hectic. Off the rest of today if you’re free to come over.

Your thumb latches onto the message, holding it for Joel to read, too, before letting it disappear off into your notifications.

He tightens his hold on you, burying his nose into the cotton of his own hoodie over your shoulders. His breath pushes heavy and thoughtful across the material. “Still seems as calm as the other day.”

“Too calm,” you admit, “it’s freaking me out.”

“What can he do, you know? You’re here, he’s there. Your dad ain’t an idiot, baby. He knows stayin’ angry about it’s only gonna push you further away.”

“Sure made ‘im feel like an idiot…”

Joel catches the comment and pockets it before it gathers enough weight to bruise. “Well,” he clears his throat, “it’s up to you. I ain’t letting you do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“Mhm,” you reply, and wait for more words to fall to your tongue. An answer, a response. A decision that you know you don’t feel equipped or even rightful to make.

“Do you want to go talk to him?” Joel asks.

“I…I want to make things right. I wanna fix it.”

“Okay. And will talking to him do that?”

You turn to face him, frowning. “I don’t fucking know,” you mutter. “Will it?”

He smiles sympathetically. “Wish I knew, darlin’. Would it help if I came? Sat outside in the truck, waited for you? It gets too much, you decide you wanna leave – we leave.”

“You ain’t scared to be near him again?”

He gulps back a laugh, Adam’s apple bobbing awkwardly before he allows himself to answer. “Only thing scary about your dad is the sunlight reflectin’ off his damn head. No, I ain’t scared.”

You study him a minute longer, eyes roaming from the lips you could sketch every score of from memory, the beard you’re sure has forever altered your prints from the number of times you’ve run your fingers over the bristles. The eyes which know every secret, every whisper, every thought behind your own.

You sigh, smiling dumbly as he wraps his arms tighter around you. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Joel pulls up by the curb, parking politely at the end of your driveway rather than alongside your dad’s car, like he usually would. Like he used to.

You crane your head, looking past the shape of him to survey the unassuming house. Quiet, still. No sign of hurricane or earthquake, no tremors of rage or words like rocks raining down on the truck roof. Your thumb plunges into the buckle of your seatbelt, the webbing whipping over your shoulder.

“Sure you’re okay?” Joel asks, watching your fingers lift to the door handle.

“Mhm,” you reply, distant. “’s just my dad, right? What’s the worst that could happen?”

His eyebrows lift, agreeing. He takes your hand in his and holds it to his lips. “Whatever it is,” he mumbles into your fingers, “if it happens, you come straight back out here, you hear? I ain’t moving.”

The urge to stay exactly where you are and let him carry you off back to his place overwhelms you for a brief second. To stay in the safety of the truck cabin, stay within touching distance of Joel. And as quickly as it’s there, it’s gone. Overcome by the memory of that stony hug in Sal’s, the vacant, lonely eyes boring into late-night TV.

A sharp chap over your shoulder shocks you back to life. You twist in your seat, looking down at a face wrinkled by curiosity and wisdom, sheen of lipstick curved in a mischievous grin. You roll the window down, mirroring her smile.

“Joel Miller,” Rita calls, lowering her ring-adorned fist and pointing over to her car. “Help me with these groceries.”

“Afternoon to you, too, Rita,” he calls back, and she raises two thin, penciled eyebrows. His sigh trickles into a chuckle as he snaps the door open, leaning into you. “I ain’t moving,” he mutters, swinging out of the truck.

“Sure looks like you’re movin’,” you call back, letting Rita pull on your door to let you out.

“How are you, darlin’?” she asks. “Haven’t seen you around in a while.”

You hop down beside her, helping her tug the shawl around her arms back over her shoulders. “Yeah, I’ve, uh…I’ve been busy.”

She nods, and then her eyes drift to somewhere behind you. “They go in the kitchen, son.” She points to her house. “I’ll come help you unpack ‘em.”

Joel’s face twists, eyes wide, hands outstretched. You swallow back a laugh when he looks to you, an almost teenage expression which asks, You seein’ this? as he turns back to the Nissan.

“I better go,” Rita says then, giving your arms one last squeeze. “You take care, now. Tell your dad I’m askin’ after ‘im.”

“I will, Rita.” You turn on your heel and saunter around Joel’s truck, giving him one last twirl as he hoists two bags under his muscled arms, rolling his eyes as you spin.

You pull the weight of yourself up your drive, passing past versions of yourself as you near the front door. She’s stumbling towards her dad’s car, a bucket of soapy water sloshing around between her knees. She’s sat on the curb, waiting for Joel’s truck to roll up, praying she never hears another Marty Robbins song again.

She’s naïve, still. Knows no better, knows no worse. Chasing a high, chasing the thrill of being caught and the thrill of nobody ever knowing. A relationship built entirely on lies and deceit. A love woven with dark threads of shame and anger, a tattered mess in one corner where the edges fray and loosen.

And you think: you’ve never felt more jealous of anybody your whole life.

The front door clicks open easily, like the building welcomes you home with a relieved sigh. You follow sunlight into the hallway, feeling it easier to walk through than before – less dense, less suffocating. Less guilty. An honest thief, back to return the bleeding heart she dragged out the door with her.

Secrets like shards of broken glass on the floor, debris from that day. And as if he hears the crunch of your footsteps, your dad appears at the bottom of the hall.

“Hi, hon.”

Eyes wide with a misplaced shock, you say, “Hey.”

“You okay?”

“’m good.”

“Good. Come in, come through.” He beckons you forward, a smile only half-forced on his lips. “You want a drink or anything?”

You follow him into the kitchen, politely accepting a glass of water when he offers it.

He turns with two steady palms on the island, watching as you drag a chair free and sit at the table. “How’s Joel?” he asks, swallowing roughly.

The words come delayed, your open mouth lying in wait. Your body selfishly trying to hoard the information, protective the second the image of that six-foot, two-hundred-pound man crosses your mind. “He’s fine. He’s out front.”

It sounds like a warning, though you don’t mean for it to. Just conversation. He’s helping Rita with her groceries. She’s asking after you, by the way. But your dad seems to sense the natural amber tone of it – the sparking of a flame, daring to catch. He’s waiting for this to go south.

He nods, accepting the fact of it. His own failed attempt to separate the two of you only drove you closer together. Only made you want Joel more.

But then he’s nearing you again, pulling out the chair opposite yours. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says, settling with a sigh. “Glad we’re…we’re talkin’ again, at least.”

Your head angles. “Are we?”

His body jerks, flinching from the sting of the question. “Well,” his head wobbles, jowls quivering, “I sure hope so. I was takin’ it as a good sign that you’re here.”

“I’m here,” you repeat, “but that doesn’t mean I’m staying.”

“No, I know. I know. Joel’s out front, ‘n all that.” He looks down at his hands, clasped in his lap. Holds his tongue behind his front teeth, waiting for the next turn of conversation.

You lean forward, elbows on the table, softening your voice. “Dad?” you say, and he looks up. “This whole entire thing – I think…I think we oughta try and understand each other, a little better. Hear each other out.”

“I am tryin’, hon. I’m really tryin’. You dealt me an awful lot to hear out ‘n understand.”

You rock back, sinking against the hard chair. Tracing the wood grains in the table, nails digging between. Shame coiling like a snake beneath your tongue, taking up too much space in your mouth. Its venom dripping between your teeth, acrid and sour; tendons in your neck jumping with the bitterness of your dad’s tone.

He sighs. “Be honest with me a second.”

“Huh?”

He waits a beat, watching you carefully. Opens his mouth, pauses, and then speaks. “Who instigated it?”

Your finger pushes harder into the surface. Digging new divots. “Um…kinda both of us. Was sort of a two-way thing from the get-go.”

His lips twist, almost imperceptible. He looks behind you to the patio outside. You can’t read what’s in his eyes. It makes you say more, say things you reckon you’ll regret later – but something to fill the silence between you. Something to let him sink his teeth into.

“There was flirting. Lotta flirting. And then it…it just sort of snowballed.”

“Snowballed.” He looks uncomfortable, lifting his hands to cup over his face. “I just didn’t take him as the type,” he says, muffled into his palms.

“As what type?”

He drops his hands, hitting his thighs with a slap, and looks you dead in the eye. Sad, almost. “Arthur Kennedy type.”

“He’s not.”

You say it instinctively. Your ears hear it at the same time your dad does. He looks at you blankly.

“He’s not,” you repeat, a little looser. Less hasty. “Look,” you sigh, “I know it’s not what you want to hear, but…everything that we ever did, I wanted to do. I already told you. There ain’t nothing we did that I didn’t ask him to. I swear to you.”

You think back to the cookout, how angry Joel was at the thought of Arthur Kennedy hanging over you. How pissed he’d be, hearing your dad line him up against that old leather boot of a man. Comparing, contrasting. Here’s how you measure up, son. How much of a phantom Arthur Kennedy has been, your whole life, and how much of a sanctuary Joel is in comparison.

Your stomach twists at the thought. A tight knot, wound by a desperation to clear the name of a man whose worst offense was doing exactly what your dad would’ve told him to: leave.

“This whole thing,” you go on, “it’s a mess, alright? It’s – totally fucked. And we shouldn’t’ve lied, shouldn’t’ve been keeping things from you, but then…what did you expect?”

Your dad cuts in like a bullet: “I expect the two of you not to do what you were doin’.”

“No, I know that. But we did it, right? It’s done now. I meant, did you really want us to sit you down in the living room ‘n say, Hey, Dad – guess what?”

He grimaces at the thought.

“Didn’t think so. We didn’t even know what it was. We had no idea what it’d turn into. But you gotta hear me out: it wasn’t just…some fling, or whatever you’re thinkin’. I swear, Dad, it wasn’t.”

He still doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t lift his stare from the table. You feel like a little kid, desperate to make him love you again. Desperate to make him listen. The space between you fills with the bored tick tick tick of the kitchen clock. Each second hurting a little more than the last.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m sorry that I hurt you. I’m sorry I let you down, but…I’m not sorry that I did it. If I could go back, knowing everything I know – I’d do it all over again.”

The words roll across the table to him like billiards. You lean back again, watching them as they rattle from his side to yours – your sentence delivered back into your ears. You nod, a sure thought in your mind.

I’d do it all over again. All the covering, all the hiding. The aching, the wishing and wanting. Staring at Joel’s empty hand, dying to slot yours into it. Dying to put any part of yourself near him; your head under his chin, your arms linked around his waist. Knowing you two would feel, knowing everyone else would see, just how perfectly you fit together.

The chasing your own tails: Did you lie well enough? Do they suspect anything? Did we leave any evidence? Disturbed sheets, a collar still upturned. Can they hear us? Have they noticed we’re missing? We’re always fucking missing.

You’d do it all over again. You know what it cost, now, sat directly opposite the price. His polite smiles like veneers over rotten teeth. The tremble in his lip when he opens his mouth to speak.

And it was worth it. Joel. He was worth it all, in the end.

All over again.

“Do you know that every time I look at you, there are…probably four versions that I see?”

You frown. Did he hear what you just said? All ov–? “What?”

Your dad laughs to himself. “When you walk outta that door, I see a little pink backpack over your shoulders. Gym bag in your hand, maybe. I see missin’ front teeth, I see those little clip-on earrings you used to love so much.

“And – and when you’re mad at me, when we fight, I see you at fourteen. Growing pains, y’know? I still remember you slamming your bedroom door in my face, all ‘cause I wouldn’t let you go to that girl Molly’s birthday party.” He looks up, smiling at your perplexed expression.

“I don’t even…remember that, hardly.”

“Long time ago now. My point is,” he continues, “you’re twenty-three. You’re grown. And I just can’t figure out how to make those other versions…grow with you. You still feel like my kid. Still that little girl with the pink backpack.”

“But,” you clear your throat, trying to swipe her from your own memory, “I’m not. I’m not her anymore, Dad. And I think maybe you gotta give me the space to be someone different, now.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, nodding. “I know, I know. I just didn’t think this new version of you would…y’know. Be with Joel, ‘n all. That is something I did not see comin’.”

“You think I did?” You spit a laugh. “If you told me when I came home that this is what was waiting for me…that I was gonna fall…”

Your teeth close around the sentence, dropping your dad’s eye. But it’s too late.

He stares back at you like the sun. “…Fall in love with ‘im?”

And you cower. You wince, almost. The last secret. The last thing he doesn’t know. “I don’t…I don’t know, I –”

“You love him. You do, don’t you?”

Your thumbs run circles around one another, fingers locking until your knuckles hurt. “I don’t know,” you mumble, wishing for the tenth time since you sat down that Joel was beside you, in front of you, around you.

“’s what Anna seems to reckon.”

Your eyes flit up. “Anna?”

He hums. “She is her father’s daughter. A damn meddler. She called here, last night.”

“Oh, Jesus,” you groan, head falling into your hands. “Ignore her, please. Ignore all of it. She doesn’t –”

He holds a palm up. “Now, hold on. You don’t even know what it was she said.”

You huff a sigh, twisting your hand in the air. Go on.

“She reckons you do love him. Reckons he loves you back. More, if that’s even possible, she said. Told me all about the way he stepped in front a’ that boy at Frank’s. About your face when he picked you up from rodeo night, how ecstatic you were. The difference she sees in you.”

“Difference,” you scoff, glancing out to the backyard. “What difference?”

“Same difference I see, probably. Same difference Bill said he saw, too: you’re happier. Even I can’t deny it, hon. It’s damn hard – you never make nothin’ easy on your old man – but…but I am willing to try.”

The hurt begins to slowly fizzle away. Cooling, washing from your skin like foamy waves. Curiosity left to shine through.

“You may not understand this ‘til you have kids of your own – if you have kids of your own – but there ain’t a thing in this world that I love more than I love you. And when you love somethin’ that much, you’ll do anything to stop it from getting hurt. Anything. That’s all I want you to know.”

A silence falls between you, thoughtful and waiting. The clock’s ticking grows sharper again. It seems to consider the same as you: there should be more to this. More to be said, to be convinced. More yelling, even.

But you arrive at the same conclusion, at near enough the same time: there is nothing more. Cards flat on the table, eyes pouring all over them. To question it, to second-guess any of it, would be to tempt fate.

“Anyway,” your dad sits forward, clasping his hands on the table, “tell me what’s goin’ on. What’s been happening in your world?”

You shrug. A little, shy thing. “Work. Been hanging with Sarah a lot. And I, uh, I had a job interview last week.”

“Oh, yeah? Where?”

You shift awkwardly in your chair. “For, uh…that one in LA. They called to offer it a couple days ago.”

A smile pulls across his lips. Growing, growing, growing until he’s grinning back at you. Pride, little bit of surprise. Whole lot of amusement and joy. “You take it?” he asks, figuring he knows the answer already.

“Not yet,” you reply. “Think I’m going to, though. ‘s too good to say no.”

He lifts his eyebrows in agreement, looking down at his hands. Shoulders lurch some under the weight of your news. “There goes that little backpack,” he mutters to himself, and you smirk.

“Can’t hold her back forever.”

“I never had a hold on her in the first place. You were walkin’ on outta that door the minute you found your own two feet.”

You snort. “Good! Good for me. Let me go out into the big ol’ world; let me go fuck it all up ‘n come home for dinner once I’m done.”

“I intend to,” your dad says, nodding along to every passionate word you say. And then he asks, “How’s Joel feelin’ about it all? About LA?”

Your shoulder jerks in a half-shrug. “He’s fine, I guess. Says he’ll miss me, but then – we haven’t exactly had the most typical relationship up until now. Survived a lot I reckon would break any normal couple…”

It’s the first time you think you’ve ever said it. Couple. You’ve thought of it – flicked through the words you might use to describe him. Your boyfriend, your partner. None of them seem to fit exactly who he is to you. None of them strong enough to carry the weight of what’s shared between you. He’s Joel. He’s your Joel. Nothing will ever come close.

Your dad hears it, too. The newness of it. The crisp shape of the word, not yet thawed to this new world. Your tongue still learning how to pronounce it, how to pair it with the image of Joel.

“Guess he can fly out ‘n visit whenever, right?”

“Yeah,” you swallow, “and I’ll be back here, too. Christmas ‘n all.”

Your dad smiles. Relieved, assured. Light slowly returning to his eyes.

“We’ll be fine,” your chest swells, “so Joel says. I trust ‘im.”

You both quieten, sitting back in your chairs. What once felt like a room ablaze, flames tearing the skin from your body as you dragged your heels through it – now feels like a gentle warmth. Waves wrought with enough power and force to destroy you, now seeping off with the change of the tide. Bumps on the horizon.

“Speaking of,” you say, making to stand, “I should probably get goin’.”

“Yeah. Yeah, hon.” Your dad follows, arm on your shoulder as he walks you down the hall.

The sun intrudes, tosses herself into your arms as you pull the front door open. In her golden-rayed wake sits that dark truck, same as always. The same dark tee, the same dark-speckled-gray hair. Arms folded, stood against the body, waiting. Eyes on the house, on your figure as you step down onto the doormat. Joel straightens when your dad follows you out, chest sucking in a ragged breath.

They look at one another, and that’s about it. Something of a nod from Joel – not quite returned by your dad. You figure that might take some time to come back around. And that’s okay. You can make peace with it.

You turn back. Your dad’s looking down at you, hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun.

“You know,” you take a deep breath, “the only times he’s ever hurt me, are the times he’s left. The times I haven’t had him around.”

And then you step back, the magnet in your chest telling you it’s time to return to its partner.

In high school, your English teacher tasked the class with writing a short story. Any genre you wanted, any word count up to two thousand. The boys mostly dicked around, wrote action-packed, blood-and-guts garbage. One girl wrote something you’re sure you’d seen in a Hallmark movie before.

But you – you spent two weeks straight, writing. Awake until all hours of the night, hunched over your laptop, sunbathing in the blue hue of an open document. Fingers hammering rapidly into your keyboard.

A man and a woman meet in Central Park. She – hair the color of rust, spilling down her shoulders and lifting at the ends, twisting around the fingers of the blustery wind. A red glow around her third finger where gold once lived. Sat on a bench, alone. Hiding, perhaps. And he – sharp suit and tie, clean-shaven, a steel-blue gaze that might cut glass. Missing the city traffic by taking a walk through the park on his way home. Fleeing, perhaps.

He notices her trench coat first. Bright red, a poppy swaying in the breeze. A little hopeless, a solemn wilt to it. The quickly dampening fire of her hair in the rain, the opaque sheen of polish chipping from her nails. And he thinks he recognizes the constellation of freckles painted across her cheeks. Thinks he might’ve mapped them, once, in some kind of past-life.

She looks up and realizes she recognizes the cut of his gaze. Piercing through her, splitting her in two. Thinks she might’ve felt it before, the opening of her soul to someone who looked just like him – a little more baby-faced, a little more spirited. In some kind of past-life, too.

She stands, and he slows, and they meet somewhere in the middle. Words exchanged; body heat transferred through hugs. Is that really you? You look so different. It’s been years. He doesn’t ask about the lack of jewelry on her third finger. She doesn’t ask about the gray circles beneath his eyes. Just, You wanna grab a coffee? and, Yeah. Yeah, I do.

They sit at the window, watch the yellow taxis and the black umbrellas and the trembling traffic lights. They talk about life then, life now, and silently agree to forget about the part in the middle. They look at each other the same way they must have before they lost one another, before life and love and everything else got between them.

They agree to meet again in a week. They swear that they will not fall back in love.

They know as well as each other that they’re really promising to do just that.

Love – twisted and turned over and over, until it’s a different shape altogether. We started as one thing, and we watched it shift into something completely different. Clay in the potter’s hands. Didn’t you think it might fall apart? There was a moment I thought the heat of the kiln might break us. I’m glad it didn’t. I’m glad we’re made of tough stuff.

I’m glad I found you again, in that park. The pissing rain and the wind so strong I felt it lifting the sense from my mind. In that hardware store, in that bar filled with weed and bad intentions. I’m glad you split me open, glad you could see the good that was still inside. I thought I’d lost her for a minute. Thought she’d forgotten her way home.

Let’s go get a coffee. Let’s pretend it’s always been this way.

Let’s fall in love. The rest will take care of itself.

It takes three weeks in total to properly pack up your things. Two days after you accepted the job, you bought boxes and tape, and began to dismantle the identity you’d spent twenty-three years creating for yourself, a little bit at a time. Taking apart the pink-walled museum of your life, artefact by artefact.

Joel has helped as much as you’ve let him. Laid back on your bed when you’ve dismissed him one too many times, raised his eyebrows and laughed with you whenever you come across some old, forgotten piece of memorabilia. Something ceremonial to it, something innocent and fun. Like a little graduation for all the parts of yourself.

Soon, as the last of the summer sun dampens outside, your room lies vacant. Empty of any real evidence of your being here. Bedsheets and pillows folded, packed away; framed photos and posters unpinned from the wall and wrapped up safely. Drawers and closets barren, left with a selection of your less-loved, less-worn clothes. A wardrobe built from stuff you’ll only ever wear when you come back home to visit, if even then.

Joel’s sat on the bare mattress, looking around your room. You’re stood opposite, leaning against your half-empty dresser. The sun filters feebly through your turned shades, averting her eyes.

You look over at him. Golden, like the sunlight outside. Warm, like the breeze through the trees. Yours. Yours yours yours.

“What?” Joel asks, his eyes having finally found their way back to you. He smiles at your focused expression.

“Nothing. I don’t know. Just…”

“Talk to me. Tell me.”

“You are – this is…” You sigh. “This is good. I think it’s good. Not just all the stuff we did. But you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you tell him. “You’re good for me.” You grip the wooden lip tighter, swaying nervously when you add, “But I think it was always gonna go this way, wasn’t it?”

He sniffs. Shoulders jerk in a weak shrug. “Yeah, I think so, baby.”

Your eyelashes flutter, soothing the prickling feeling of tears forming. “I don’t – I don’t know if I want it to.”

“Yeah,” Joel says through a groan, pushing himself up, “you do.”

You shake your head as he approaches, and his hands cup your cheeks.

“Hey,” he whispers, pulling your body tight against his. Your face buries in his chest; your tears wet on his shirt. He shushes you, rocks you gently back and forth with a hand on the back of your head. “Listen to me.”

“Joel –”

“Listen to me.” He pulls you back, swipes the tears from your cheeks as quickly as they fall. “We’re fine. We are going to be fine.”

“I don’t want to leave you –”

“I know, I know. But you want to go do this. And that’s okay. Both of ‘em, at once.”

Your head shakes again. Like an instinctive reaction to the thought of being separated from him.

Joel smiles softly. “I am going to miss you like hell. You got no idea. But,” he pulls your head back to face his, tucks your hair behind your ear, “I want you to go. You gotta go after this. Right?”

“I know,” you whisper, lungs lurching for breath. “I just – wish it didn’t mean leavin’ you.”

“Darlin’…” Joel coos, pulling you in again. “You know how much I love you? What do I keep tellin’ you? We’ll be alright. It’s you ‘n me, right?”

You nod, salty tears slipping between your lips onto your tongue. When you look up, you notice the same expression on Joel’s face. He blinks his own away before they fall.

“’s you ‘n me,” you repeat, and he pulls your lips together.

You roll your tongue onto his, letting him taste you – all of you. Your mouth, and your thoughts, and your tears, and your pain. You let him take it all, let him hold it for this moment as you breathe him in, let his body fill yours in every way.

Your hands are in his hair, your chest pressed against his; he’s every thought on your mind and every beat in your heart. He’s the blood thrumming through your veins, he’s the oxygen filling your lungs; he’s the words between your teeth and the flesh around your bones.

And he pulls you, and you follow, his shirt in your fist, over to the bed where he lays you gently and falls on top.

“When’s he get back?” he asks, taking your bottom lip between his teeth.

“Later,” you mumble, your fingers picking at the hem of his shirt.

He pushes back, letting you tug it up up up over his shoulders at the same rate he peels your tee from yours, both tossing each other’s clothes to somewhere else in the room. Jeans undone, shorts dragged from your hips, underwear discarded until you’re naked under him, and he’s naked over you, and there’s nothing and no one between.

Joel cradles you, holds you close as he presses a palm roughly against the underside of your thigh, opening your body to him in a way only he’s mastered. In a way you only would, for him.

His hand cups your sex, fingers nudging between your folds, pushing in when your jaw slackens and a wanton moan echoes from your throat across Joel’s tongue.

“Yeah,” he coos, wrist jacking between your legs, “’s my girl. Gotta get you warmed up, huh? Get you nice ‘n wet.”

Your back arches, arms linking around his neck to pull him closer, pull him deeper. Hold him tight enough to you that your bodies feel one, feel connected at the meeting of Joel’s hand and the most intimate part of you; the meeting of your tongues between teeth.

And you gasp, the nudging of his fingers against the deepest part of your body, the messy circles of his thumb on your clit. The shape of him, solid and warm against the seam of your thigh.

You reach down for him, wrapping your fingers around his cock, and his breath hitches. Teeth bump into yours. You’re fucking irresistible to him.

“Darlin’,” his voice is low, daring you to keep going, “you wanna cut this short ‘fore we’re even started?”

You breathe a laugh into his jaw, hot and needy. “You get to play with me,” you whine, “I wanna play with you, too.”

Joel growls, seizing his movements, leaning back in what you take as him granting full access to his body. But then he says, “Turn around,” in a strict voice you’ve come to know as meaning one thing, and you pause.

You peel your eyes from his dick to blink up at him. “Turn –?”

“– around, now.” He takes your waist, hoisting you up until you’re straddling him, holding you inches above his body. “Turn.”

“What the fuck are you –?”

“Many times do I gotta tell you? You said you wanted to play.” He twists your waist until you follow his movements, swinging one leg over the other. He grabs your hips, tugging you back towards his face. “So, play,” he mutters, lowering your cunt down to his lips.

You gasp, falling forward and hitting the mattress between his legs. “J– fuck me. Are you s-serious?” You moan, hips rocking against the feeling of his bearded chin at your clit. “You’re like – a fucking – horny teenager. Oh, fuck.”

Your head falls forward, hands splaying out over his thighs, before your eyes refocus and you notice the hardened shape of him, tip oozing precome all over the hair-spattered plain of his groin. Your hand lifts, shakily taking hold of him again, and you lean down.

Elbows hooked over his thighs, you bring his tip to your lips, letting a thick bead of saliva fall and drip down the length of him, meeting your closed fist to be dragged up and down.

Joel’s hips almost buck. He holds it, manages to catch it, but you spot it. You’ve done this too many fucking times not to notice the reaction you draw from him.

“’s good,” you whisper, circling your hips on his face, tongue slipping across his cherry-red tip. “Feels so good.”

He responds in the form of a deep groan, rattling from his chest through your clit, shocking like lightning up your spine until the very same noise is thrown from your lips. You push down, tongue molding around every vein and the slow curve of his cock until your lips meet the thick brush of hair at his base, his tip kissing the very back of your throat.

Your throat which jumps, jolts at the feeling of something intruding – before you’re retreating again, pulling him from your body, warm, wet spit linking the two of you when you come up for air. And then you sink back down, head moving up down up down up down as his stomach tenses beneath your chest.

Joel’s palms keep a heavy hold on your ass, his tongue lapping between your folds like they’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted – like he might die if he doesn’t get his fix of you. And you think, they are, and he might, as your cheeks hollow and you bow down over him again.

You establish a rhythm, two waves swirling between one another: your hips rocking, Joel’s lifting ever so slightly as you suckle on one another. Your hand fisting the parts of him you can’t quite reach, not without choking; Joel holding you fixed to his jaw, letting the tip of his tongue hook around your swollen clit, then dragging it down until he’s letting you ride the wet muscle.

The approach of your first orgasm, a tiny spark catching to life in the pit of your belly, incites you with a need to open up further for him. Your throat taking more of him, your thighs slackening as you drive your cunt harder against his mouth.

“’m so close,” you whimper, lips curving around his cock. “So – fucking – ah, keep doin’ that. Right th-there.”

His hands hook around your thighs, tongue darting across your clit. His nose nudges somewhere between your folds, quickly becoming coated in the slick you’re leaking all over him.

“Joel,” you say, fists pumping his cock. Your voice a warning: it’s coming. You’re gonna – Fuck, you’re gonna come.

His voice is looser, more of a shrug of the shoulders when he pulls away from you. He inserts two fingers, curls them like before, like he knows drives you fucking insane. “Let go, babygirl,” he murmurs, lips immediately returning to position. And then, muffled and rough: “Come all over me.”

“Fuckfuckfuck,” you pant, hands squeezing around his cock, feeling that same spark ignite into flame, your entire body bursting with heat.

Your high rips through you, battering through each vein in your system, each nerve electrified. You collapse between his legs, his rough pubic hair sticking to the sweat on your chest, hips rutting wildly against the sharp cut of his jaw.

The mattress absorbs most of the desperate moan which streaks across your tongue, nails digging hard into the flesh of Joel’s thighs. And you hear the deep sound of his voice, the thud thud thud of a chuckle against your clit: the cocky fucker laughing to himself as he unravels you for what feels like the thousandth time.

“Alright,” Joel says, more to himself than to the fucked-out shape of you between his legs. He sits up and shifts you carefully down the bed, settling you face-down on the mattress and lifting your ass to meet his hips. “Okay?” he asks, kneeling behind you.

You feel his tip between your legs, slotting happily somewhere in your opening. Waiting for your response. A response you don’t feel able to give, as much as you’d like to; your lips puffy and confused, words jumbling behind them in a tangle of bliss and love.

“Baby,” Joel says, hand slinking down your back, pressing gentle circles into the nape of your neck. “You okay?”

Your head lifts, glancing over your shoulder to see his hairy torso, his thick arms caging over you. He lifts your chin with two fingers, cranes your neck up until you’re looking into his eyes, heavy lids blinking dumbly.

“Just fuck me,” you whisper, and Joel slips his tongue into your mouth.

You used to dream of coming back home. A few years away, doing whatever you wanted, wherever you wanted. Dreaming things up and then chasing them until they happened. Tiring yourself out, lungs gasping for breath and eyes always searching, always looking for a new target to pin up. But always coming back.

Austin, Texas. Its jagged skyline, the streets lined with a vibrant glow and star-spangled bunting. The river like a silver-bellied snake slithering through. Home.

You dreamt of living out your days here, once your blood had slowed and your mind settled. A quiet life in the country, a big wooden house with a wraparound porch. Two little rocking chairs, so you and whoever your husband turned out to be could sit and watch the sky fade from red into orange into white and then dull gray into deep blue.

Breeze kissing your cheek, his lips kissing your knuckles.

Joel.

Home.

You tell him, and he smirks. “That so?” he asks, wrapping his arms a little tighter around your naked body.

You nuzzle your cheek into the palm of his hand, breathing in the sweet scent of sweat and sex sitting in the air. “Mhm. You could play guitar until the stars come out.”

He hums in agreement. “Sounds like a pretty good dream. Tell you what: you go to LA, do what you gotta do. By the time you come back, there’ll be a big ol’ farmhouse, wraparound porch, rollin’ fields for the dogs. Coffee ‘n sunsets. How’s that sound?”

“And you’ll be there?”

He smiles. Scoops you in one arm and rolls you onto your front, chest to chest with him. His fingers ghost down the curve of your shoulder. “Baby,” he whispers, “I built the damn thing.”

It forces a laugh from your chest, something you’ve gotten used to by now. Joel and his ability to steal a giggle from you, the dumbest moments seeming the funniest. “You’re gonna build me a damn house?” you ask, chin resting between his pecs.

“That what you want?”

Your head rocks left to right, considering. “I just want you. That’s all.”

“Then you got me. I’m all yours.”

In his hazel eyes lives every moment you’ve ever shared. Every conversation, every kiss, every fight. Every minute he’s spent looking for you or at you, every minute you’ve spent looking back at him. It’s all in there. You see it like a movie reel, frame by frame.

It lands like a slot machine on that first night. Cleaning up after pizza. Shoulder to shoulder by your kitchen sink. You wish you’d just kissed him. Even with your dad right there. Wish you’d lifted your heels and put your lips on his, just for the fucking hell of it. Just to condense all of it, every second of longing and hurt and pain into one fleeting moment.

Wish you’d pulled him into you, against you, the weight of his body like an old friend. Welcomed it with open arms, like you’d spent your entire life missing it, waiting for it to come back to you. Let yourself feel your own heart, peeling between the cage of your ribs, reaching out for his. Always reaching for him.

Wish you’d looked him in the eye, tears softening the tufts of graying hair, vignetting the smirk only you can tell is there. Looked at him in that knowing way, that language only you two know; the glint in your eyes translating a thousand messy words into three. Just three – the simplest, lightest words you’ve ever known.

I love you. Let’s skip to the good part.

#welp i didn't cry when i hit post. me? no. no way #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel #joel miller smut #cowboy like me

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steddieas-shegoes · 6 months

Text

that's what friends are for

for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt 'enemies to lovers' rated t wc: 996 cw: mention of hospitals and injury, mentions of selling and using recreational drugs tags: enemies is more implied than anything, getting together, canon events happening in the background

------------------------------------

Somewhere along the way, Steve Harrington became Eddie’s number one customer.

It was mostly by accident, and Eddie should tell him to get lost and find another supplier, but he couldn’t.

Especially not after the last time they met up in the woods and Steve looked…haunted.

But Eddie wasn’t going to let Steve’s sad puppy dog eyes convince him that he was anything other than the asshole he’d always been.

Not even when he walked up to Steve furiously wiping tears off of his cheeks.

He cleared his throat awkwardly before sitting down, trying to avoid eye contact with the man who seemed to be trying to hide the fact that he’d been having any emotion at all.

“So, the usual today?” Eddie asked.

“Uh, you got anything stronger?”

Look, Eddie knew for a fact he had plenty of stronger stuff that he could overcharge Steve for, and Steve wouldn’t even bat an eye.

But he had a pretty strict rule of never selling the strong stuff to someone who didn’t pass the mental test. Someone who was crying did not pass the mental test.

“Nah, ran out. Got a new mix though, if you’re interested. Might help you sleep if that’s somethin’ you need.”

The dark circles under Steve’s eyes told him that was exactly what he needed, but Steve shrugged and acted like he was just here for fun.

Eddie didn’t care enough to push.

That’s what he told himself, anyway.

—----------

Steve looked like shit.

“You look like shit.”

Steve rolled his eyes. Or, well, eye. The other eye was swollen and bruised, probably hurt like hell.

“Thanks for the update,” Steve said.

“Don’t think weed’s gonna fix that,” Eddie said, not looking away from the cuts and scrapes along his cheek. “At least not the kind I have.”

Eddie looked down to see more cuts and bruises along his hands, and most shocking of all, a dull red line along both wrists.

Eddie’s brows raised as he looked back up at Steve.

“You, uh, you good?” He couldn’t help asking.

Anyone would be concerned to see these injuries on anyone, even the guy you definitely don’t like or have a crush on.

“Sure. Is $20 okay today? I can get you more for next time.”

“$20 is fine.”

$20 was technically $5 more than he would normally charge anyone who isn’t an ex-jock, so it’s not like he was doing Steve a favor.

Eddie watched Steve walk away with more questions than answers.

—-----------------

Robin Buckley was sitting next to Steve at the table, kicking her feet and rambling on about who knows what.

Steve wasn’t looking at her, but he could tell he was listening.

“I don’t usually like to be outnumbered, but something tells me I can handle myself if Buckley decides to throw a punch,” Eddie said as he walked towards the table.

Robin suddenly froze and tilted her head.

“Steve, why is Eddie here? You said we were meeting a friend.”

“Is that what we call buying drugs from someone these days?” Eddie laughed. “Times have changed.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but couldn’t quite hide a small smile.

Eddie tried not to feel flustered about making Steve smile.

“Well, I see you more than most people, so I’d say we’re friend-adjunct,” Steve said, handing over the usual $20.

“He means friend-adjacent,” Robin added, not unkindly.

Eddie nodded once.

“Well, if that’s all, your friend has another friend to meet behind the McDonald’s. All good here?”

“All good. Thanks.”

“Anything for a friend,” he winked.

—-------------------

He was pushing Steve against a wall, broken bottle to his neck.

“This doesn’t seem very friendly,” Steve said breathlessly.

Eddie held him there for a moment, then let out a small laugh, slowly releasing his grip.

“I have to be careful about who I consider a friend right now, man,” Eddie said, ignoring Dustin’s confused voice yelling behind him.

“We’re here to help. As friends.”

Steve’s eyes were big, that look that left Eddie wondering how he’d gone from hating him so much to wanting to understand everything about him.

“Not sure if you can help me.”

“We’re gonna.”

Steve sounded so sure. Eddie had no option but to trust him.

—-----------------------

“Hey, Wayne. Anything new today?” Steve’s voice whispered when he entered the room.

Eddie’s eyes were closed, but he wasn’t asleep.

They’d lowered his dose of pain meds slowly over the last 48 hours and he was barely getting any sleep as he adjusted to the constant aches of the bites.

“He’s tired. Nothin’ new, though. You okay?”

“Yeah. You got a shift?”

“Yep. Should be back by lunch tomorrow.”

“See you then.”

Eddie didn’t know how it happened, but Steve trading shifts with Wayne was an everyday occurrence.

They got to know each other, relaxing more as the days wore on, no end in sight for Eddie’s hospitalization.

“You know, I’m okay alone for a bit,” Eddie said as he opened his eyes.

“Nah, I’d rather be here.”

“Really?”

“That’s what friends are for, right?”

Eddie nodded. “Yeah.” He frowned. “Is that what we are? Friends?”

Steve slowly reached over and grasped his hand.

“Is that all we are?”

Eddie thought back to how he used to dread running into Steve at school, mostly out of his own fear that he would harbor a crush on him. He thought about how he wondered why the boy who seemed untouchable in high school looked so fragile last summer and how he could help. He thought about the guy who didn’t have to risk his life to save him from monsters made sure everyone was safe so he could rescue him.

“I don’t think friends sit in the hospital for days like this,” he finally settled on.

“I don’t think friends have crushes on their friends for years, either.”

If Steve didn’t follow those words with a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, he probably wouldn’t have believed them.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddieholidaydrabbles #enemies to lovers

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jay7543 · 2 months

Note

okay so I absolutely LOVED your king!Konig x reader! I was wondering if you could do a Mechanic Konig and male reader? So reader has absolutely no idea how to fix his car and he goes to Konig’s shop for help, it can be fluffy or smutty

I love your posts and I can’t wait for the next update!!

Your hot new mechanic, könig

M4m

Sfw

Thank you so much! I’m so happy you liked it, I feel like there needs to be more gay/ bi man stuff so I am happy to provide. It’s a bit shorter than my other stuff, but I might make a part 2 that has more spicy stuff, so let me know if you want that too

Feel free to make requests!!! Doesn’t have to be cod

You have had your car for a pretty long time, by all accounts it’s an absolute piece of shit, but you love it. Lately you’ve been having so many problems with it, every fucking light is on and you just don’t know at all how to fix it, and honestly, you don’t care that much either, but your friend told you about a new mechanic nearby, and apparently he’s hot. You decide to call him

Reader-“hello? I’d like to bring my car in”

You say hesitantly, really not wanting to spend the money but also not sure about this supposedly very hot guy

König-“Ja, sure, come in when you can”

He immediately hangs up the phone, not even asking your name, well, if he’s as good as you’ve been told then who cares. You drive to his shop, not far from your house. When you get there he’s already waiting outside wearing partly ripped jeans and a white, sweat soaked t-shirt, almost as if he’s trying to show off, you guess he doesn’t have any other customers. You park near him and get out.

Reader-“hey uh, I talked to you on the phone?”

He looks you up and down, taking in you and your average looking self. You do the same to him, yet he looks a lot better, his hands covered in dried oil, his shirt soaked in sweat, his bright blue eyes staring at you, you can even see his abs through his shirt.

König-“I know, so, what’s wrong with it”

Reader-“uh, well, I don’t know much about cars, every light is on though”

You say with a nervous smile. He keeps his blank look and sticks out his hand, assumably for your keys, you hand them to him. He opens your door and pops your hood, doing…well you have no idea, you assume he’s doing what he’s supposed to, you hear him yell

König-“Was zum Teufel! When was the last time you changed you oil, or changed the damn battery”

You look around, debating whether or not you should talk

Reader-“well…I guess a few years”

He peeks out from the hood and glares at you

Reader-“I can pay whatever you need, i-I just don’t wanna get a new one. I don’t know a lot but I really like this one you know”

You say quietly, getting a bit embarrassed and sentimental about your shit box car. His gaze softens and he nods

König-“well, it won’t be easy, nor cheap, but i understand, and I’ll get it done”

He closes the hood and walks over to you, only a few inches away, you blush a bit as you start to smell whatever cologne he has on mixed with his sweat, it smells oddly good to you.

König-“you know, you’re a very pretty man, I’m not surprised you don’t know much about cars”

He chuckles. You blush even more, he called you pretty!

Reader-“I uh…well I guess you’re right. And thanks for the compliment, you look nice too”

He smiles at your obvious nervousness.

König-“let me go get something for you”

He walks away and comes back a few minutes later, he hands you a set of keys to a nearby car, an average car, nothing special but a car nonetheless.

König-“since you clearly can’t drive yours, use one of mine, I do expect It back however”

Your mouth hangs slightly agape, he’s letting you borrow his car till yours is fixed? This has to mean he likes you.

Reader-“well I-can I get your number? So we can call and text about my car. I don’t wanna have to call your shop”

He smiles and exudes an aura of confidence, as if he was waiting for you to ask. He grabs a piece of paper out of his pocket and a pen he had to write his number. He he takes your hand and places the paper in yours, keeping it held in his

König-“you know, feel free to call me, even if it’s not about your car, I know more than just cars.”

He kisses your hand and leans in to whisper in your ear

König-“I also think I could please you. No?”

He smiles and pulls away, letting go of your hand. You’re so shocked that you can’t even come up with words to respond, you just nod and stumble over to the car he’s letting you borrow. You’re definitely gonna call him

#cod x reader #m4m #bisexual #gay #smut #cod smut #konig x male reader #könig x you #könig x reader #konig x reader #könig fanfiction #könig smut #cod fanfic #cod fic #cod konig

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inmyicyworld · 1 year

Text

Jersey

College! Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Natasha’s idea of getting a jersey with Bucky’s name turned out to be much better than you expected.

Words count: 3.2k

Warnings: established relationships, SMUT, unprotected sex (but they’re both safe and clean), dirty talk, sex in the locker room, a lot of pet names, Bucky is needy and caring, he’s deeply in love.

Author’s note: hey everyone! thank you for your feedback on my last posts, it means a lot to me. so this is my first smut, and I hope you’ll enjoy it. (I became creative with that photo of the red jersey because I couldn’t find a perfect picture, so I edited it for like half an hour😭)

I have many ideas for my future works, but you have something interesting in mind, feel free to write me about it. Maybe I get some inspiration and create something🩷🦋

*English is not my first language. Sorry if you find any mistakes*

masterlist my ao3 ko-fi

It’s been another game for the "Avengers", where your boyfriend Bucky Barnes was a quarterback. Today was one of the most important games against "Hydra" – their biggest enemy. Obviously, you couldn't miss the game, and Natasha, your best friend and roommate, will be with you as always. And right now, she has convinced you to do something that has been on your mind for a long time.

"C’mon, It’ll be fun. He’ll like it, I promise!" She said as you two stood near the place that made custom t-shirts with any prints. And at this moment, Natasha wanted you to order a jersey with Bucky’s number and his name on it.

"I don’t know, Nat. I mean, I want to do it, but what if he thinks that it’s too much?" You nervously played with the hem of your skirt.

"Now stop it." She stood before you and put her hand on her hips like a mother who was scolding her child. "You’ve been dating for more than a year, and his guy loves you so fucking much that he can’t even tear his eyes from you every time you two are in the same room. So when I tell you that he’ll love it, I mean it." You silently looked at her for a few minutes, but when she questionably raised her eyebrow, you finally gave up.

"Fine, you won. I hate you."

"I love you too, baby." Nat chuckled and dragged you to the store.

It seemed like there were thousands of people because everyone wanted to see one of the most important games of the season. People were already taking their seats, but you and Nat went straight to the locker room to wish the guys good luck. Trainer Fury was very strict about this, and it was forbidden for people not from the team to go there, but for some reason Nat always found a way to solve this problem.

"Guys!" Natasha loudly knocked at the door. "Are all of you already dressed up? I’m not in the mood to see somebody’s ass today!"

"Come in!" You heard Thor’s loud voice.

"Oh, I see our support group is here." As soon as you two walked in, Sam ended up between you and Nat and threw his hands over your shoulders, leading you deeper into the room. "Barnes will be here soon; don’t worry."

"Okay. Are you guys ready to beat their asses?" You smiled and looked at the almost entire team that had come to see you and Nat.

"Don’t worry, Sweets, we’ll win, as always." Tony answered you while he was cleaning his helmet. "But you should tell your boyfriend to stay away from Rumlow, or else he’ll be suspended again. By the way, is that jersey with his name?" You quietly nodded as the whole team made an impressive ‘woo’ together.

"You two are disgustingly sweet, you know that?" Sam rolled his eyes, and at the same time, the door slammed. "It’s him; go give him some kisses for luck."

"Shut up, Samuel." You laughed and left their little circle to find Bucky looking at his phone. "Don’t you want to say hi, James?" He moved his eyes to you, and his face immediately lit up with happiness.

"I just wanted to text you." He threw his phone on the bench and came closer to wrap his arms around you. "Hi, doll. I missed you so much today." He mumbled into your neck.

"I missed you too, Buck." You smiled when your heart filled with all the love you had for that man. "But wait, I have to show you something." You slipped out of his hands, excited and nervous at the same time. "Look what I’ve got!" You happily turned around to show Bucky your back and flipped your hair to the side so he could see everything better. "Do you like it?"

You had a big red jersey on you, to which Bucky didn't even pay attention at first. But when you turned around, his mouth went dry and his whole body became fuzzy. You had his number 17 and the word "Barnes" on your back. You were wearing his name.

For a few seconds, he was silent. He didn't answer your answer either, so with confusion written on your face, you faced him again, only to see a weird look on his face.

"What? You don't like it? Should I take this off? I'm sorry…" You started to apologize, only to be interrupted by his low voice.

"Don't you dare take this off, Y/N." He suddenly came closer to you again, and the next thing you knew, your back was slapped against the metal lockers when Bucky’s lips attacked you. He kissed you passionately and deeply, pressing his body against yours as if he was desperate to touch you and feel you closer. You couldn’t hold back the quiet moan that escaped your mouth when he tilted your head with his hand, helping his tongue slip into your mouth.

You thought that you heard the screams of the boys on the other side of the room, but they were really muffled when your head was filled with the thought of your boyfriend’s soft lips and warm skin. Bucky finally broke the kiss, leaving you two catching your breath while he put his forehead on yours and closed his eyes.

"You don’t understand what you’re doing to me. You look so fucking hot in this jersey, I want to fuck you right now." He whispered so only you could hear. "You made me hard, doll." To prove his words, he pushed his hips a little bit closer to you so you could feel the hardness.

"‘M sorry; I didn’t know that you would react like that."

"Hey, Buck, we should already go." Bucky’s grip on your waist became only tighter, when he heard Steve’s voice, and he nuzzled into your neck.

"Give me a minute."

"The game is gonna start soon."

"I said, give me a minute, Steve!" He said it louder. Bucky deeply inhaled, and it was obvious that he just needed some time to calm down.

"Shh, it’s okay, James." You put your hands through his hair because you knew that it would instantly relax him. "You're gonna win this game, right? And without fights."

"I’ll do everything for you. I just love you so much, doll." He whispered into your neck when his body finally relaxed and he was able to move away from you.

"I love you too, James." He quickly kissed you again before turning around to face the team, who had knowing smirks on their faces.

"You two should get a room." Sam had an annoyed look on his face.

"Don’t worry, Birdbrain, we will. Are you ready for the game, or are you gonna stand here and complain all day?" Bucky winked at you and went out of the room without waiting for the answer from Sam.

"So…" Natasha suddenly appeared near you. "Did you make The White Wolf hard by just wearing a shirt with his name on it?" She grinned, as it was her original plan that worked.

"Oh, shut up!"

The game was tough. Hydra played dirty as always, and Bucky almost got into a fight with Rumlow during the intense moment. You almost jumped out of the seat during the last few minutes of the game, and when "Avengers" finally won, you and Natsha screamed at the top of your lungs.

As soon as the team was done cheering and hugging, Bucky looked at the seat where you were supposed to be but saw only Nat, who pointed at you already standing near the rim. He ran to you with the biggest smile on his face, and when he finally reached you, he crushed his lips into yours.

You didn’t care that many people looked at you, even though you knew that some particular groups of girls would gossip about it for the next week because… well, everyone wanted your boyfriend. You just wrapped your hands around his sweaty neck and pulled him closer to you as far as you could with a fence between you two.

"I’m so proud of you, baby." You whispered into his lips. "You were amazing as always."

"Thank you, doll. I'm happy that you’re here with me." He looked into your eyes as his right thumb rubbed your cheek.

"You know I couldn’t miss your game, especially if it’s that important."

"Mhm, can you… come to the locker room in like twenty minutes?" Bucky nervously licked his lips.

"To the locker room? I thought we were going to celebrate it with the team as always."

"Maybe later, but I’m thinking of something, so come, ‘kay?" He started to go back to the field, but not before giving you another sweet kiss on the lips.

You sat in the cafeteria for about twenty minutes, passionately waiting for the appropriate time to go to the locker room because you really didn’t want to see another naked man that wasn’t your boyfriend. One such experience was enough for you. You asked Nat to come with you, but when you repeated Bucky’s words to her, she just gave you a mysterious smirk and patted you on the shoulder, saying that you better go there alone.

When you finally got there and knocked on the door, you heard only Bucky’s voice, who told you to come in.

"James? What’s going on?" You asked as you came further into the room. It was empty except for Bucky, who came out of nowhere and locked the door. "What are you doing?"

He didn’t answer you; he just crossed the room, kissed you, and pushed your back into the metal lockers, just as he did it a few hours ago. He was greedy, passionate, and a little bit too rough, so you couldn’t keep the moan from escaping your mouth. Bucky’s hands squeezed your hips and then went higher under your jersey.

"Bucky…" You pulled away from the kiss, but he took advantage of it and started kissing your neck. Your eyes rolled back as you squeezed his shoulders and completely forgot everything you wanted to say. He sucked your soft skin into his mouth and even bit you. It was obvious that he desperately wanted to leave dark marks on your neck, but, honestly, you didn’t care. He smelled too good fresh out of the shower, with his bare chest and low-rise gray sweatpants, and his mouth… God, you knew what his mouth could do. "Baby, we can’t do it here."

"We can, and we will." He left your neck and looked at you, leaving only a few inches between your faces. "You can’t imagine how hard it was for me not to bend you over the closest surface when you showed me that fucking shirt. With my name on it? So everyone could see that you’re mine?" Bucky licked his already swollen lips. You pressed your thighs together, feeling how wet you were. He definitely felt that motion because his eyes became darker, and he looked like he was going to devour you at that same place.

"James…" You quietly whimpered, not being able to hold yourself anymore.

"Baby, fuck– doll, I love it when you call me that. You drive me insane." He decided not to lose any more time, so his hands went straight to the button of your jeans. He helped you get out of them, not losing a chance to touch your bare legs. "Now turn around, baby." You heard a deep moan, probably when he saw the back of the shirt again.

"Bucky, please." You whispered when you felt that more juices came out of you. You loved when your boyfriend became needy and possessive.

"Look at you, doll. You're already ready for me, and I haven’t even touched you yet." He said that when he put his hand over your pussy, he probably felt the heat and pulse. "I would’ve eaten you out, but I need you too fucking much, so I promise to do it when we get to my place."

"O-okay, just do something, please." You pushed your ass back and heard a loud, deep moan as soon as you touched Bucky’s hard cock through his pants. You put your hands behind your back to try to push down his clothes, and at the same time, Bucky removed your black thongs.

You felt his hard cock on the bare skin of your ass, the tip already leaking with pre-cum. Bucky squeezed your ass with his hands and moved his hips. His perfectly shaped cock grinded against your wet folds, and you couldn’t stop a whimper from escaping your throat.

"Please, don’t tease me–" You didn’t even finish the sentence when Bucky moved forward and buried himself deep inside of you. The mixture of pain and pleasure washed over you, and you didn’t even realize that you moaned too loudly. He was too perfect, filling you completely and stretching you around him in the most delicious way.

"Sh-h, sweetheart, you don’t want other people to hear you, right?" One of Bucky’s hands slipped under your shirt and laid on your stomach, and the other one covered your mouth, pulling you closer to his chest. "Good girl." He mumbled into your ear when you shook your head.

Bucky pulled away from you, still staying deep inside of your heat, letting you adjust to his size. He put one hand from your mouth on your back, which made you lean forward toward the lockers. The cold metal cooled your hot skin, but it still felt like you were burning inside.

Bucky finally started moving his hips, and the filling of his dick coming in and out of you made you almost faint. You two had sex a million times, but it still amazed you how full and satisfied he made you feel.

"That’s right, doll. You’re so greedy for my dick, huh?" He started to go faster, and you tried to move your body to his rhythm. "Was this your plan? Showing me that fucking jersey, so I could fuck you like a little slut you actually are?" His hand went over your back, tracing letters on your shirt with his fingers, and his motions became harder. In fact, it wasn’t your idea, but you should definitely thank Natasha because you really didn’t expect your boyfriend to become even more obsessed with you.

Your mouth opened in a silent scream, and you clenched around Bucky’s cock, making him moan. "I feel how you’re clenching ‘round me. I know that you like it when I call you my slut. Only mine."

"Yes, Bucky– James, please." A sudden slap on your right cheek pulled another moan out of you, and Bucky just chuckled, knowing that you’re always loud with him.

"Please what, baby?"

"Let me cum, please– James! I’m so close." You felt too overwhelmed with pleasure, not even realizing that you started crying when his fingers moved to your clit, drawing little circles there.

"Fuck, one day I’m gonna make you Mrs. Barnes, so you will have a well-damn reason to wear this shirt." He deeply chuckled, moving harder and harder into you. More nasty sounds of skin slapping into skin and your not-so-quiet moan filled the room. "Can you imagine that, baby? Being my cute little wife, who likes when I fuck the shit out of her? Poor doll, crying. Can’t even handle my cock deep inside your pussy, can’t you?" He moved even deeper into you, and that was it.

"God– James!" You slammed your hands on the metal near your face, trying to find something to hold onto, as the wave of heat and extreme pleasure covered your whole body and mind. Your legs trembled, and the only thing that kept you straight was Bucky’s strong hands. He felt that you were over the edge, that you couldn’t stand on your legs, and he definitely felt more juices coming out of you. He looked down and saw how his shiny cock was coming in and out of your pussy that was particularly choking him, and that sight threw him over the edge. With the last movement, he pulled your body into him, wrapping his hands around you and releasing his hot seed deep inside of you.

You both moaned at the feeling of you being so full of his cum that it had already started dripping down your thighs.

"That’s it, baby." Bucky whispered into your ear. "You did so well. Are you okay?" He left light kisses on your cheek.

It was too intense; not a single thought came to your head, and for a few seconds you tried to put yourself together.

"Mhm." It was the only thing that you were able to answer because your body was still trembling with the leftovers of your intense orgasm.

You two stayed in that position for a few minutes until Bucky realized that you had become too sleepy. He tried to pull out, but you grabbed his hand.

"‘M too sensitive." You almost cried.

"I know, sweetheart, but now I have to clean you and take you home." Bucky gently came out of you, and your body got goosebumps at the feeling of his cum leaking out of you. It took him all the strength not to shove it back into you with his fingers, but you were obviously too tired, and he couldn’t properly take care of you since you weren’t at his or your bedroom.

Bucky fell on his knees, quickly took a towel from his bag on the floor, and carefully cleaned the mess between your thighs. He reached for your panties, helped you put them back, leaving a soft kiss on your leg, and then helped you sit on the bench.

He looked at your sleepy and tired face while putting on his clothes.

"Hey, doll? You’re too quiet. Is everything okay? Was I too rough?"

"I’m ‘kay, it was just as intense as when you make me come many times in one night. Just help me with my jeans; I can’t feel my legs."

"Of course, sweetheart." He helped you with your pants and then fixed your messy hair. You couldn’t imagine how you must’ve looked right now. "I love you so much. Thank you for being here today. You’re truly the best thing that ever happened to me." Bucky kissed your forehead and wrapped his hands around your body, standing up with you.

"I love you too, Buck. So so much." You happily buried your face into his neck, knowing that your boyfriend was going to take care of everything.

He picked up his bag and keys for the locker room and came out of there. Bucky didn’t even close the door when he heard a familiar voice.

"Do not tell me that you two did what I think you did!" Sam was standing there a few steps away with disgust and shock on his face. "I didn’t expect that from you, Y/N/N." He joked.

"Sorry, Sam." You moved away from Bucky’s neck and tried to give Sam your best apologetic smile.

"Well, I’m not. Since you’re here, close the door, Birdbrain; we hurry."

Sam stood there for a few more moments after Bucky left with you in his arms.

He decided that the headphones that he left in the room could wait until another time.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fic #bucky x female reader #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #college bucky barnes #football player bucky barnes #marvel smut #bucky barnes smut #marvel fanfiction

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wordsinhaled · 2 years

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ok, actually coffeeshop AU has consumed me because just imagine

morpheus pining for hob, in his kitchen at midnight in his black t-shirt and skinny jeans and bare feet, blasting "the lovecats" and "just like heaven" and making fancy truffles... his sister letting herself into morpheus' flat in the middle of the day and it smells like coffee and kahlua; she comes into the kitchen to see morpheus assembling a tiramisu, humming "i melt with you"...

("who's got you singing, then?"

"no one, my sister.")

morpheus takes his next wedding cake contract without complaint, when normally they make him maudlin because he hasn't been in love for so long, and that's when people really know something is up with him

hob pining for his nameless customer, making his own homemade flavored simple syrups, roping any friend who comes over to his place into trying a new coffee drink, all, "what does it feel like to you, when you drink this?"

("what do you mean, man?" "in your heart. what does it make you feel?" "caffeinated."

"ugh—no—i mean, yes, obviously, but... do you feel cared about?"

"...i suppose? you could just give him your number, you know." "god, are you serious? he'd toss it in the bin straight away. he barely even looks at me." "and you think your extra-special flat white or your rosemary latte or whatever is going to change that?" "i can hope! and it was lavender. though he might think a rosemary one is nice, thanks for the idea—")

just... the two of them both losing it over each other and yet completely convinced that's not the case

@levionok @valeriianz

#the sandman #dreamling

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munsonsmixtapes · 2 months

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munsonsmixtapes masterlist

Eddie Munson

Rockstar!Eddie

Lost Number: Part One (18+)

Lost Number: Part Two

Lost Number: Part Three(18+)

Fulfill My Fantasy (18+)

And the Winner Is…

Jealousy, Jealousy (18+)

I Can Help With That (18+)

I Can(t) Do It With a Broken Heart

request: you’re a new roadie on Eddie’s tour and he’s determined to look out for you

request: rockstar!Eddie is absolutely obsessed with popstar!you

request: popstar!you and rockstar!Eddie decided to debut your relationship at the Grammys

request: older!rockstar!Eddie definitely has a thing for you (18+)

Tattoo artist!Eddie

Wanna Bet: Part One

Wanna Bet: Part Two

Wanna Bet: Part Three

Wanna Bet: Part Four (18+)

Husband!Eddie

Better Late Than Never

request: Eddie gives you the best Mother’s Day

request: Eddie makes you feel good about your body after you have your first baby (18+)

Bartender!Eddie

Favorite Customer

Boyfriend!Eddie

He’s Back! (From the Dead)

So Sweet (18+)

Under Water (18+)

request: Eddie’s van is busted but he’ll damned if he can’t get to his girl

request: Eddie always reads aloud and it’s your favorite thing about him

request: you accidentally eat an edible and Eddie helps you through it

request: Eddie just really loves your tits (18+)

request: you and Eddie always end up fucking in his van (18+)

request: you accidentally give Eddie a black eye (18+)

request: Eddie helps you through a hard time after you both escape the Upside Down

request: you and Eddie move in together

request: you hate the smell of weed and Eddie assures you that it’s not a deal breaker

request: Eddie takes anxious!you to a concert

request: you and Eddie reunite after five years of being apart (18+)

prompt request: you’re jealous and Eddie know just how to show you that he belongs to you (18+)

prompt request: Eddie asks you to marry him

prompt request: Eddie shows you just how much he loves you (18+)

prompt request: Eddie gives you the best birthday ever

Best friend!Eddie

Do Me a Favor? (18+)

I Must Confess

I’ll Take Care of You

request: you get roofied and Eddie helps you every step of the way

request: Eddie proposes to you after years of being just your best friend

request: you and Eddie announce your proposal to your friends and family

request: your best friend Eddie is very eager to show you just how much he loves you (18+)

request: you and Eddie play seven minutes in heaven

request: you and Eddie finally get your happily ever after

prompt request: Eddie knows exactly how to make your feel better about your body insecurity (18+)

Older!Eddie

Take it Off (18+)

request: you have a crush on your older neighbor, Eddie and decided to repay him in the most generous way after he helps you (18+)

Mechanic!Eddie

Guilty as Sin?(18+)

Drive Me Crazy

Virgin!Eddie

First Time (18+)

Just Like That (18+)

request: you teach virgin!Eddie how to eat you out (18+)

Fuckboy!Eddie

Something More

Rock the Boat (18+)

Model!Eddie

Sew Far, Sew Great (18+)

Just Like That (18+)

Actor!Eddie

Playing the Part (18+)

Truth or Drink

Shy!Eddie

Kiss Me

Show Me (18+)

request: extroverted!you finds out that shy!Eddie gets very cuddly when drunk

request: shy!Eddie introduces extroverted!you as his girlfriend to his friends

Steve Harrington

Teach Me: Part One

Teach Me: Part Two

Teach Me: Part Three

Teach Me: Part Four

Teach Me: Part Five(18+)

Teach Me: Part Six(18+)

Teach Me: Part Seven

Teach Me: Part Eight

request: Steve is totally in love with metalhead!you

Peter Parker

Don’t Want You Like a Best Friend

Billy Hargrove

Wrong Place, Wrong Time

Anthony Bridgerton

Tired of Waiting

Evan “Buck” Buckley

Cheers to You

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #munsonsmixtapesmasterlist #masterlist

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mostlysignssomeportents · 5 months

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Molly McGhee’s “Jonathan Abernathy You Are Kind”

Jonathan Abernathy You Are Kind is Molly McGhee's debut novel: a dreamlike tale of a public-private partnership that hires the terminally endebted to invade the dreams of white-collar professionals and harvest the anxieties that prevent them from being fully productive members of the American corporate workforce:

https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/734829/jonathan-abernathy-you-are-kind-by-molly-mcghee/

Though this is McGhee's first novel, she's already well known in literary circles. Her career has included stints at McSweeney's, where she worked on my book Information Doesn't Want To Be Free:

https://store.mcsweeneys.net/products/information-doesn-t-want-to-be-free

And then at Tor Books, where she worked on my book Attack Surface:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250757531/attacksurface

But though McGhee is a shrewd and skilled editor, I think of her first and foremost as a writer, thanks to stunning essays like "America's Dead Souls," a 2021 Paris Review piece that described the experience of multigenerational debt in America in incandescent, pitiless prose:

https://www.theparisreview.org/blog/2021/05/17/americas-dead-souls/

McGhee's piece struck at the heart of something profoundly wrong in American society – the dual nature of debt, which represents a source of freedom for the wealthy, and bondage for workers:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/19/zombie-debt/#damnation

When billionaire mass-murderers like the Sacklers amass tens of billions of liabilities stemming from their role in deliberately starting the opioid crisis, the courts step in to relieve them of their obligations, allowing them to keep their blood-money:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/11/justice-delayed/#justice-redeemed

And when Silicon Valley Bank collapses due to mismanagement by ultra-wealthy financiers, the public purse yawns open and billions flow out to ensure that the wealthiest investors in the country stay whole:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/18/2-billion-here-2-billion-there/#socialism-for-the-rich

When predatory payday lenders target working people and force them into bankruptcy with four-digit APRs, the government intervenes…to save the lenders and keep workers on the hook:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/29/planned-obsolescence/#academic-fraud

"Debtor vs creditor" is the oldest class division we have. The Bronze Age custom of jubilee – the periodic cancellation of all debts – wasn't some weird peccadillo. It was essential public policy, and without jubilee, the hereditary creditor class became the arbiter of all social priorities, destabilizing great nations and even empires by directing production to suit their parochial needs. Societies that didn't practice jubilee (or halted it) collapsed:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/08/jubilant/#construire-des-passerelles

Today's workers are debt burdened at scales and in ways that defy comprehension, the numbers are so brain-breakingly large. Students who take out modest loans and pay them off several times over remain indebted decades later, with outstanding balances that vastly outstrip the principle:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/12/04/kawaski-trawick/#strike-debt

Workers who quit dead-end jobs are billed for five-figure "training repayment" bills that haunt them to the end of days:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/04/its-a-trap/#a-little-on-the-nose

Hospitals sue indigent patients at scale, siccing debt-collectors on people who can't pay – and were entitled to free care to begin with:

https://armandalegshow.com/episode/when-hospitals-sue-patients-part-2/

And debt collectors are drawn from the same social ranks as the debtors, barely trained and unsupervised, engaging in lawless, constant harassment of the debtor class:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/12/do-not-pay/#fair-debt-collection-practices-act

McGhee's "American Dead Souls" crystallized all of this vast injustice into a single, beautiful essay – and then McGhee crystallized things further by posting a public resignation letter enumerating the poor pay and working conditions in New York publishing, triggering mass, industry-wide resignations by similarly situated junior editorial staff:

https://electricliterature.com/molly-mcghee-jonathan-abernathy-you-are-kind-interview-debut-novel-book-debt/

Thus we arrive at McGhee's debut: a novel written by someone with a track record for gorgeous, brutally insightful prose; incisive analysis of the class war raging in the embers of capitalism's American Dream; and consequential labor organizing against the precarity and exploitation of young workers. As you might expect, it's fantastic.

Jonathan Abernathy is a 25 year old, debt haunted, desperately lonely man. An orphan with a mountain of college debt, Abernathy lives in a terrible basement apartment whose rent is just beyond his means. The only thing that propels him out of bed and into the world are his affirmations:

Jonathan Abernathy you are kind

You are well respected and valued by your community

People, including your family, love you

That these are all easily discerned lies is beside the point. Whatever gets you through the night.

We meet Jonathan as he is applying for a job that he was recruited for in a dream. As instructed in his dream, he presents himself at a shabby strip-mall office where an acerbic functionary behind scratched plexiglass takes his application and informs him that he is up for a gig run jointly by the US State Department and a consortium of large corporate employers. If he is accepted, all of his student debt repayments will be paused and he will no longer face wage garnishment. What's more, he'll be doing the job in his sleep, which means he'll be able to get a day job and pull a double income – what's not to like?

Jonathan's job is to enter the dreams of sleeping middle-management types in America's largest firms – but not just any dreams, their nightmares. Once he has entered their nightmare, Jonathan is charged with identifying the source of their anxiety and summoning a more senior operative who will suck up and whisk away that nagging spectre, thus rendering the worker a more productive component of their corporate structure.

But of course, there's more to it. As Jonathan works through his sleeping hours, he is deprived of his own dreams. Then there's the question of where those captive anxieties are ending up, and how they're being processed, and what new products can be made from refined nightmares. While Jonathan himself is pulling ever so slightly out of his economic quagmire, the people around him are still struggling.

McGhee braids together three strands: the palpable misery of being Jonathan (a proxy for all of us), the rising terror of the true nature of his employment, and beautifully turned absurdist touches that are laugh-aloud funny. This could be a mere novel of ennui and misery but it's not – it's a novel of hilarity and fear and misery, all mixed together in a glorious and terrible concoction that is not like anything else you've ever read.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/08/capitalist-surrealism/#productivity-hacks

#pluralistic #books #reviews #science fiction #molly mcghee #debt #graeber #capitalist realism #capitalist surrealism #dreams #gift guide

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taylorswiftstyle · 4 months

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Throughout the twelve games she's attended, her style has been consistent. Sarah Chapelle, who covers the pop star's fashion at Taylor Swift Style (on Instagram @taylorswiftstyled) and is the author of the forthcoming Taylor Swift Style: Fashion Through the Eras, tells T&C that Swift's NFL era is "feminine, thoughtful, and on-theme." She explains, "Taylor's NFL era style reflects the same level of intention and care she brings to all her fashion. Even as a sports spectator, Taylor is someone who is fully aware of the weight of her fashion choices. I love that she's taken the same level of care in her game day style and the brands and businesses she supports with her outfits as she does with all her fashion. The level of intention she brings to her style makes her so fun to watch as a fan."

Her outfits have stuck to the formula, Chapelle explains, including "a stylish coat paired with a simple base, in Chiefs colors naturally, and a heeled boot." If she goes to the Super Bowl, what could Swift wear? Here's Chapelle's guess: "Taylor has generally stayed loyal to the Chiefs color palette of red, black, and gold so I definitely imagine that will continue. While she’s shown that she's not afraid to wear her heart on her sleeves literally in custom wear showing off Travis's number like her Kristin Juszczyk jacket, I can also see her in something as laidback as what we saw at the AFC Championship Game in her red Guest in Residence cashmere sweater to show comfort in having a quieter, supporting role and letting the spotlight be on the team and players."

#tss news

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ghostiexe · 6 months

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well! this was written for @buns-and-butter but somehow i lost the ask, sorry about that!

the prompt was something along the lines of 'wilbur helping cafe employee reader when they have a creepy/stalker-ish customer' and i am here to deliver :3

this is not proof read or edited in any way, please forgive any mistakes

tw: stalking, uncomfortable flirting, you get called a chick once

wordcount: 2,686

The past few weeks, you’ve noticed something.

Every time you work the closing shift, the same guy comes, orders a plain black coffee, stares at you, and only leaves when you tell him you have to close.

And, yeah, total weirdo alert, right?

But it’s fine. Maybe he works a night shift or something and needs something to keep him up.

Then again, why would he watch you? You’ve seen him bring a laptop, surely there’s something else he could do rather than stare at you.

Currently, you’re crouching behind the ordering counter, wiping up a spill. The café you work at is pretty slow today, though that's not unusual, especially since you’re working a closing shift again. You don’t mind closing, but you also like day shifts because that’s when your favorite regular usually drops in. You haven’t seen him in a few days, since you’ve been stuck closing.

You feel a little bad for the customer who's drink you'd dropped, but she had assured you it was fine and you'd just remade it for her.

You huff softly as you stand back up, holding the now tea soaked rag in your hand. When you look up, you blink in surprise, then beam.

“Will!” You exclaim, pleasantly surprised when you see the guy you were just thinking about. You giggle and watch his nose scrunches as he grins back at you.

“Hi!” He says, leaning on the counter slightly, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. You hope you aren’t blushing. “One sec, I need to clean this rag, and then I’ll be right back.” You tell him, and he shoots you thumbs up. You turn your back on him and quickly go to the kitchen, rushing to take care of the rag so you can get back out there to him.

By the time you’re back out, the girl from earlier has left. You can’t help but feel a little bit comforted by the privacy.

You smile again and lean against the counter. “So,” you start, watching as he mirrors your movement and rests his arms against the counter as well, tilting his head slightly. “The usual?” You ask.

“The usual.” He agrees, and you giggle. You nod and push yourself back, turning to grab a cup before realizing something and turning your head back toward him.

“To go or to stay?” You ask, since every time he comes it’s different. He hums in thought, tapping his chin before shrugging. “Ah, to stay, I suppose.” He says. “I’m not busy.” He smiles softly at you and you nod, starting to make his drink as he watches you curiously. “So…” You start, pulling out a mug for him and starting on his drink. “You don’t usually drop by this late, yeah?” You ask, trying to make conversation. He opens his mouth to respond when the door dings, and you glance over his shoulder, face dropping when you realize it’s the same guy that’s been showing up every day. Wilbur shuffles to the side, making room for the other guy to order. The stranger grins at you.

You shift uncomfortably but nod in acknowledgement. “I’ll just be a moment.” You tell him, pumping lavender into Wilbur’s London Fog, watching as Wilbur walks away to his usual table. “Alright, sorry, can I take your order?” You ask in your customer service voice. It’s just a little too friendly, and your smile is strained.

He laughs and leans against the counter, the same way Wilbur does. You don’t like it as much as you do when Wilbur does it. Actually, you don’t like it at all. “Could I start with your number?” He asks, and you force yourself to laugh. This isn’t the first time a random person has asked for your number, but it never gets less awkward.

“Oh, I don’t know.” You say, trying to sound sympathetic. “Um, I’m not really…” You trail off, hoping he’ll take the hint. The guy scoffs.

“Oh, come on, don’t tell me you’ve got a boyfriend.” He says, sounding a little annoyed.

You shake your head, stepping away slightly. “I- I mean, no, just, I’m not sure.” You say, trying to stay polite. He just rolls his eyes.

“What? You think I’m ugly or something?” He asks, tone a little hostile now. Your eyebrows shoot up. First of all, because the question caught you off guard, but secondly, because the guy is actually stunning. Probably one of the top ten most attractive guys you’ve ever seen. (Wilbur is the first on that list, not that you’ll ever tell him that.) Either he’s asking to try and guilt trip you, or he’s just crazy. Maybe both. “What? No, no, I-” You start to say, but he cuts you off.

“Whatever. Just a large plain black coffee, then, for Ethan.” He says, taking his arms away from the counter and crossing them across his chest. You refrain from making a face. Who orders plain black coffee at 7:00PM? You try not to judge him, though, it is quite cold out. Maybe it’s just to warm himself up. “To stay.” He adds, and you nod, giving him a small smile. Nevermind on the ‘keeping warm’ thing, apparently. He doesn’t move, watching you, and you let out a soft sigh, checking in on Wilbur’s tea. It’s nearly done.

After a minute of silence, the guy speaks up again. “You’re pretty, you know.” He says. You flinch, a little bit surprised. You hadn’t expected him to keep trying after you told him you didn’t want his number.

“Thank you…” You say cautiously, a little relieved when Wilbur’s drink is finally finished.

You pick up the mug and step back over to the counter, ducking under the counter to grab him a chocolate muffin from the display case as well. It’s become a little tradition by now, he tips you way too much and you give him a free muffin.

“Will?” You call out, and you watch him perk up before closing his laptop before walking back over. You push over his tea and muffin and he rolls his eyes fondly, a little smile on his face. The other guy rolls his eyes and walks to one of the tables, keeping his eyes on you. “Thank you.” Wilbur says, pulling out his wallet and stuffing a bill into your tip jar. Then he lowers his voice and leans in. “Jesus, that guy seems like a dick.” He whispers, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb to the guy that just ordered. You wince.

“Yeah.” You whisper back, pressing the tea into his hands. “Um, it’s okay, though. I mean, he’s probably just gonna, like, keep begging for my number.” You say with a shrug, choosing not to mention that he’s been watching you every night, then speak at your normal volume again. “Enjoy your drink.” You say, smiling gently. Wilbur nods, then looks back at the guy, squinting his eyes.

“Yeah, thank you.” He says, still watching the guy. He looks back at you, smiles politely, and goes back to his spot. You start on a bit of mindless busywork as you wait for the guy’s coffee to finish brewing.

You can’t help but sigh, rubbing your hands over your face. At least Wilbur is here, instead of being alone like you normally are.

After a minute, the guy’s coffee is finished and you glance down at the hasty note you’d written so you would know what name to call out for him. “Um, Ethan?” You call out hesitantly, and the guy immediately beelines toward you. You set the coffee mug on the counter for him and force a smile. “Enjoy.” You tell him. He ignores the coffee and you shift uncomfortably as he drags his eyes down your body, and maybe you’re imagining it, but you’re pretty sure he licks his lips. You want to gag. Jesus Christ, this guy is so gross. “So, do you have a name?” He asks. “Doesn’t seem fair that you know mine and I don’t get yours.” He says, smirking. You’re a little confused, then realize you aren’t wearing your nametag. You purse your lips, about to respond, when he continues. “Oh, wait, I get it.” He says, laughing. “You’d prefer it if I just called you mine, hm?” He asks. You can’t hold it back this time, you actually grimace. He narrows his eyes. “Hey, don’t do that, sweetheart, smile.” He says, pouting like a child, and you shake your head. “You look so much prettier that way.” He tells you, huffing softly.

“Dude, I already told you I don’t want your number.” You grumble, frustrated. “Do you not understand the meaning of the word no?” You ask, genuinely pissed off now.

“You know, you’re very lucky that I’m a nice guy.” He says, sounding mad now, too. “Jesus Christ, you’re cute, but you have a terrible personality.” He complains. “Come on, sweetheart, lighten up. All I’m saying is that I think we’d go well together.” He says, leaning in over the counter and reaching for your hand. You pull away quickly and step back. “Don’t touch me.” You snap, and you hear a stool screech against the hardwood floor. You immediately look over and see Wilbur standing up, walking back over to the counter. He also looks mildly pissed off, and he puts a hand on the guy’s shoulder. “Back off man, they said no.” He says, shaking his head. “You could do better, anyway. I mean, look at them.” He says gesturing to you, and Ethan laughs. You frown, a little hurt by the comment, and you can already tell there are tears pricking in your eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, man. This chick is stuck up, anyway.” Ethan agrees after a moment, then shakes his head and gives you a scrutinizing look as he walks away, not taking his coffee with him. You hear the door ding again.

You slump slightly and put your face in your hands, and Wilbur makes a soft sympathetic sound. You can’t help but sniffle. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.” Wilbur apologizes, reaching hesitantly over the counter and resting his hand on your shoulder. “I was just trying to get him to go away.” He says, sounding sad.

You nod and try to wipe your tears away, looking at him again. Wilbur frowns.

“Do you want to come sit with me?” He asks, a bit hesitant, and you nod. His hand drops away from your shoulder as you step to the side, walking out the little empty space and toward Wilbur. He opens his arms for you, a silent offer to comfort you, and you immediately step into his arms, wrapping your own tightly around him. He gently rubs your back as you look toward the door, frowning. You can see the guy standing at the window still.

“He’s still out there.” You mumble, and Wilbur sighs. He pulls you closer. “Do you think you could close early? Would your boss get mad?” He asks. You think for a moment.

“I don’t know.” You admit. “She probably wouldn’t mind, but…” You trail off, and Wilbur lets out a breath.

“Okay, well, let’s take a chance, okay?” He asks, tilting your head up to look at him. You nod. He lets go of you and you wipe your eyes again. “Is that the first time you’ve seen this guy?” Wilbur asks as he walks to the door of the cafe, flipping the sign to say ‘closed’.

“Um, no.” You admit. “He’s been coming by every night for probably about a month. This is the first time he’s actually tried to make conversation with me, though. Usually he just sits in the corner with a laptop and stares at me.” You grimace slightly, pulling your work apron off and hanging it up on a hook.

Wilbur scoffs. “Jesus, he’s crazy.” He mutters, and you laugh softly. Wilbur looks back at you.

“Do you drive? I don’t see a car out there.” He says, and you watch the guy, Ethan, start pacing outside the window. You shake your head. “Um, no, I just walk.” You say, rubbing your arm. Wilbur hums thoughtfully, walking back over to you. You sigh and sit down on the ground, resting your back against the ordering counter. Wilbur joins you on the ground, mirroring your pose.

“Do you just want to wait until he leaves? I can order you a Lyft…” Wilbur suggests, reaching his hand out and offering it to you. You accept, placing your hand in his. He squeezes your hand gently.

“Yeah, that’s probably the best option.” You agree quietly. You look out the window, just watching as Ethan stands there. “He’s bound to get cold and leave eventually. It’s the middle of winter.” You say. “Plus, it’s dark out.” Wilbur nods in agreement.

You sigh and lean your head against the counter. He squeezes your hand, and you squeeze him back. The two of you sit there in silence for God knows how long, probably at least twenty minutes before the guy gives up and storms off. Wilbur makes you stay an extra few minutes just to make sure he’s actually gone before you finish cleaning the place up so you can lock it for the night.

“Are you okay?” Wilbur asks as the two of you step outside, his hand going to the small of your back and looking at you with a concerned expression. You clear your throat and nod.

“Yeah, um, I am. Thank you for staying with me.” You say, looking down at the ground. Wilbur had already ordered a Lyft for you while you were waiting, and apparently your ride would be here soon. Wilbur sighed softly.

“Okay.” He whispers, gently rubbing your lower back before pulling his hand away. He looks up at the sky, where snow is starting to fall lightly. He sneezes as a snowflake lands on his nose, and you giggle. He looks over at you, smiling fondly. You both look at each other for a moment before he sighs, then he opens his phone and shoves it toward you. You stare down at it, met with his contact information. “Could you text me when you’re home to let me know you’re safe?” He asks quietly.

You blink, a little surprised, but you nod quickly. “Um, yeah, okay.” You agree, and a bit on the tension in his shoulders seems to slip away. You pull out your own phone and punch his contact information in, then go to the picture option. “Smile.” You tell him, pointing the camera at him.

He smiles awkwardly, and you quickly snap the picture, saving his name as London Fog Guy. He peers over your shoulder and pouts. “You know my name.” He reminds you, and you nod.

“I do.” You agree. You shut your phone off without changing it and stuff it in your pocket. You both stand there awkwardly for a moment before he clears his throat.

“I’m glad you’re okay.” He says, offering a tired smile. You nod, kicking at a small pebble. Before you can change your mind, you reach for his hand again.

“Thanks for staying.” You say. You see your Lyft pull up and Wilbur sighs.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you next time I drop by for my tea.” He says, squeezing your hand and then letting it go. He opens the door to the Lyft so you can get in, but before you can shut it, he puts his hand on your chin and tilts it so you’re looking at him. Your face burns. “Remember to text me when you get home, okay?” He requests, voice quiet and a little concerned. Your expression softens.

“Okay.” You agree, then look away again. Wilbur steps back and shuts the door, and you turn your head to look out the window as the Lyft driver starts the drive back to your house. You pull out your phone and look down at Wilbur’s contact information again, smiling gently.

You hope you get to see him more often.

#wilbur soot x reader #wilbur x reader #wilbur soot x you #wilbur soot fanfic #wilbur x you

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lilhwahwa · 11 months

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heart swindler - J.WY (Part 2)

PART 1

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ part 2: After Wooyoung takes you home from the club following a claustrophobic episode, you grow paranoid at the threatening texts sent to you by an anonymous person. The following week you are extra careful but find the worst of your fears becoming reality. With no one to help you, only a coincidence keeps you and your nephew safe, for now.

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: Female Pronouns Conwoman reader! x Conman Wooyoung! Enemies to Lovers. Angst. Fluff. Smut.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: 18+ smut themes in the future parts. Mentions of drug abuse. Abusive parenting. Violence. Bi? Wooyoung? Stalking. Slowburn!. Conning? More to be added... This is fiction and does not represent the real idol.

proof read? - no

words: 8.1K

tags: @bl3ss3d-curs3d @mayosgrises @k-queen @starrysvn @harusoraa @chiefbananaearthquake @leeknowsalot @toxicccred @yunhorights let me know if you want to be added or removed!

MASTERLIST

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To say that the new week started on a fresh note would be a lie. Since receiving the anonymous text message, you found yourself becoming hyperaware of details and people in your surroundings. You glanced over your shoulder when walking Jisung to school in the morning and cringed away from your phone every time it pinged with a message.

You considered letting the matter go. It isn't your first time receiving empty threats from men conned by you or their loyal-to-a-fault wives. Most of those threats were nothing but empty words of anger and frustration. Yet, nobody had ever personally come looking for you, let alone sent you a picture from outside your hotel room. Each passing hour of your days sparked dark thoughts that possessed your brain about strangers breaking into your home or sneaking up on you, or worse, on Jisung. Soon enough it is as if your body went into survival mode, planning safety precautions for any situation and scanning rooms and roads for exit routes.

Your paranoia lead you to the decision that it would be the right time to access your emergency cash stacked away in one of Hongjoong's safety deposit boxes. Stepping into LUX on a weekday felt wrong. The calm atmosphere was nothing compared to what it usually was on a Saturday night. First of all, no people were crowding you. There was a sense of security knowing you could be left alone. This instantly brought you back to the memory of Wooyoung carrying you out of the same place you now stood. You tried to avoid thinking back to that situation, seeing as it only reminded you about the sudden overwhelming anxiety caused by crowds. It is human nature to enjoy your personal space, after all. But of course, you couldn't be promised that freedom when you are a con woman. Your breaths were cut short from your lungs, each inhale followed by a burning blaze of anxiety as it settled like a barbell on your chest. Was it really claustrophobia? You refused to assume or even admit that crowds make you anxious. Your work relied on persuading people and standing out in crowds. So how could it be that you are so afraid of it all? And so suddenly?

“Hey Bullet” Hongjoong greets, taking long strides across the polished marble until you meet halfway on the empty dance floor. The hue of the lights is warm and soft, unlike the strobing effect arranged on them during parties. The whole club felt more like a New Orleans-themed old-fashioned jazz bar, decorated with the occasional strip pole here and there that added to the unique aesthetic blend.

“Hongjoong, thank you for meeting me today.”

“Anything for you. Are you perhaps having a shortage of customers lately?” Hongjoong raises a brow as you round the corner of LUX's bar, slipping into a hidden staff area. You mimic Hongjoong's expression. What did he mean? Had he also noticed the number of clients Wooyoung had been bringing in, or was your luck running so low that Hongjoong managed to take note of your pathetically desperate attempts at talking men up?

“Seeing as you are taking some of your emergency money out, that is” he is quick to add once he notices the distant look on your face.

When you first stumbled into Hongjoong’s club, he encouraged you to put away some emergency money in a safe deposit box storage at the club both for his and your safety. It was a good plan seeing as stashing cash in one place could show itself to be risky. If you were to be robbed, all your savings would disappear instantly. And seeing as you have a contract with Hongjoong, you could only guess the businessman also felt safer knowing his partners left some of their money with him as a deposit and promise they would pay their part of the deal. If not, well, they could kiss their earnings goodbye.

Hongjoong pressed his thumb onto a smooth scanning pad which activated the intelligent technology to validate his fingerprint almost immediately. He unlocked the steel door leading into yet another covert room. The room behind the door held multiple large safety deposit boxes. The only other time you had been in here, was when you left the money behind.

Your high heels click against the dark marble floor as you hesitantly navigate towards the bar where Hongjoong had instructed you to wait for him. You had visited some clubs in the city area, but none could compare to LUX. Rumour spread that it was one of the hardest clubs to get into which made it much more desirable. Before you even moved to the city centre, dreaming of getting into a place like LUX was a common theme of conversations among acquaintances at your old clubs.

The place lived up to its expectations. A large sign spelling “LUX” is on display on top of a glass, high-rise building, shining light blue as if it was made out of diamonds which is guaranteed to catch any passerby’s attention both day and night.

After standing in line outside, an exclusive elevator takes you to the 10th floor where a bouncer checks your information again. You wouldn’t blame anybody if they told you it felt like going through security control at an airport, but that’s what made LUX so exclusive.

If the inside of the club could be described in one word, it would surely be prestige. Marble floors shine from being squeaky clean as the many professional lights give the room a warm and alluring red hue. Even during the day, Hongjoong made sure to keep a certain vibe inside of LUX.

The bar catches your attention immediately. For a second you wondered if the bottles of alcohol were floating in thin air but then recognized that they stood on shelves made of thin glass. Behind the bottles, water ran down a marble wall to feign a calm waterfall that was accentuated by colour-changing lights behind it.

“Sorry for my delay, I will be seeing Mr Jung out now.” A voice cut through the room as Hongjoong appeared from behind the bar with a man following behind him. You immediately recognized the man. How could you not after his name spread through hushed whispers of customers and employees at various clubs, including smaller ones you had visited for work? Both men and women shamelessly spoke about wishing to cross paths with him, hoping they would possess unique traits that would stick out to him and make him stay. You were inclined to laugh whenever people deluded themselves with such ideas. Seeing people fall for a man in your industry was not uncommon, they are arguably the best charmers. But, getting them to commit? You would be luckier buying a lottery ticket than ever getting a conman to be yours.

You nod your head at the man politely, wondering if he had been working at LUX for while or if he was just starting. Whatever the answer was, there was no good answer. Having Wooyoung as competition would be hell and for a second you wondered if you should pack your bags and move over to another club.

"This is your new "bullet" you mentioned earlier?" Wooyoung asks, eyeing you from head to toe as if you weren't standing right in front of him. You furrow your brows. What had he heard about you? You clear your throat, hiding the sudden wave of insecurity flushing through you.

"Yes, and she will be quite the star, correct?" Hongjoong sends a reassuring smile your way, making you almost want to childishly stick your tongue out at Wooyoung as Hongjoong shuts his sarcasm down.

"I hope so" you reply silently, not wanting to show any uncertainty, but having Wooyoung stare you down wasn't a straight confident boost either. You would have to work on handling his...quirks.

Wooyoung chuckles, shrugging it off as if there were nothing to worry about. And truly, he did believe that. "Don't forget who your real star is, Kim" Wooyoung smirks, cocking his eyebrow at Hongjoong when the elder turns to look at him. Hongjoong clears his throat as the two share a knowing gaze, and you wonder if there is something deeper between the men that you had missed observing. You awkwardly look around the club as Wooyoung finally makes his exit. Despite the open space around you, he chooses to brush his body against you as he leaves, lips turned up in a cocky smirk as he disappears out of sight.

"See you soon" he called out behind him, and you were unsure if he had meant it for me or for Hongjoong, but you knew both of you would be seeing him around anyway.

"You are doing alright though, right darling? Wooyoung isn't giving you a hard time is he?" Hongjoong asks as he walks you over to the elevators. You aren't surprised at mentions of the man, seeing as you work together. But something about Hongjoong's tone made your stomach flip slightly. Why were they so familiar with one another?

"No, we're all good" You plaster a fake smile, yet your thoughts jump to possible scenarios of how Hongjoong got familiar with Wooyoung. From innocent scenarios such as getting introduced by friends to ones where they shared a bed. You weren't sure why you cared that much anyway, it's not like you are in any situation with Wooyoung, but the heavy disappointment still sinks to the bottom of your abdomen. "Well, I'll be going so...thank you for the help" You step into the elevator, eyes meeting Hongjoong's as he carefully looks over you with his usual, calm, expression. His eyes seemed to search for an answer to an unanswered question, but he let it go, for now.

You press your bag close against your side as you walk outside, throwing your arm out to attract the attention of a taxi. You had to get back to the hotel and start looking for other options. Moving places this quickly was not the ideal plan, but seeing as your location had been disclosed, you had no choice.

As you reach the hotel, you pay the driver and scramble your way inside. Your eyes scan the proximity of the lobby for any suspicious individuals, the anxiety brewing in your stomach as an unpleasant chill runs up your spine when your brain flashes unwelcomed violent flashes in front of your eyes. You shake it off and take the elevator up to your floor. Perhaps you had been overthinking it too much. It was already lunchtime and you would have to find a new place, pick up Jisung and go grocery shopping. Going back to LUX at night was an option seeing as any extra cash would be helpful. Yet with the factor that your ankle is still healing and the thought of leaving Jisung alone as you work, the idea was quickly erased.

You open your front door, shuffling inside. The sun was bright and lit up the beautiful wooden furniture of the luxurious hotel room you called home. You put your bag down on the couch before suddenly freezing in your spot. The sun. A shiver runs down your spine at the realisation. You could see the sun. Why would you be able to see the sun if you closed the curtains before leaving? That was one of your many safety precautions. Forgetting something like that was not a possibility.

You turn around to face the door again, an intuitive feeling ushering you to leave the room immediately. You decide to listen and step towards the door but it was too late. You hear it before you see it, the squeak of rubber from shoes against your floor as a pair of arms wrap around your torso, trapping your arms to your sides as you start trashing around.

"Let go!" you cry, heart banging against your ribcage with harsh thumps as the adrenaline inside awakens your fight-or-flight instinct. You trash your head and body side to side, trying anything to loosen the tight grip on you.

"Shut the fuck up" you pick up from the person behind you. Your knees grow weaker as you struggle to stand. As a scream began to leave your mouth, a large palm covered your lips to muffle the sound. Sharp breaths through your nose keep you conscious and you realize the person now only had one hand around you instead of two. This opportunity gives you a momentary advantage as you push yourself forward as if losing balance and manage to hook your ankle around the intruder's leg. With a last burst of energy, you manage to land a hit to the intruder's side with your elbow, sending him off balance. When you feel the slightest relief of pressure on your body, you make a sprint for safety.

With shaky hands and wobbly legs, you manage to unlock the door as the person groans in pain behind you. Yet you never turn to look at whoever it was, deciding that running out to the lobby to find any living person would be the best option, seeing as your floor was empty. You wonder if the pain you inflicted would last long enough for you to escape.

Your chest heaves up and down heavily as your body shakes from adrenaline and shock as the elevator door allows you entrance, fingers repeatedly hitting the button for the first floor. Light thumps and a squeak from sneakers could be heard closing in from the hallway, and for a second, you wondered if you had failed to escape. Surely your luck had come to its lowest. With mere seconds left to spare, a black shadow picks up speed and sprints towards the elevator, but the doors close in the nick of time, separating you from the intruder.

The floor in the elevator seems to swallow your body, feet sinking into the floor as you lean on the railing for support. The muscles in your legs spasm from the adrenaline wearing off as the realization of what had just happened caught up to you. Anxiety seeps through your pores and is distributed to your chest and abdomen, making it harder to take a proper breath. The fears you deemed as stupid and irrational were suddenly very real. You clench your trembling fists, desperately seeking a source of comfort, but your hands are slick with perspiration.

You aren't sure which way to run as the elevator doors part with a soft ping, reaching the lobby The security office is right around the corner outside of the hotel. The receptionist on shift was just a young girl who probably wouldn't hurt a fly. A coffee shop is opened right across the street, surely the intruder wouldn't cause a scene there, right? You look over at the other operating elevator as you sprint out from the one you had taken. Would he still be after you? Maybe he'd give up and-

"Oh you are here, I was going to look for you since you forgot your-" what was that? The voice was so familiar, and as you turn to look, you see that you are coincidentally running into Wooyoung. You couldn't stop your legs from moving, seemingly uncontrollably as you walk straight into his body.

The man who you once wished would disappear from your line of sight, was now suddenly the only beam of hope you held onto. His facial expression changes in a matter of a millisecond, so quickly you manage to miss it. His hands grip your arms to stabilize your body as he watches your eyes hysterically run around the room, chest heaving in obvious panic. What the fuck was going on? "Do you feel unwe-" he starts.

"Please we- please take me away from here-" you manage to push out words on the little air you had left in your burning lungs. You would curse yourself for showing such desperation in front of your proclaimed rival. But tears pricked at your eyes as you realize that if don't leave right away, you may not make it out unharmed, or even alive. A ping of the elevator doors opening sends a shiver down your spine, and your whip your head to check whether the intruder was catching up to you. Wooyoung follows your gaze but finds a family of three exiting the tight compartment.

"What's happ-"

"Please, we have to leave, just- please" You beg breathlessly. Though hesitating for a second, unsure whether to question you now or do as you request, Wooyoung accepts that an explanation could wait. He wraps a protective arm around your waist to support your floppy body and sets course to his car parked by the entrance.

You couldn't seem to make your legs walk, awkwardly hanging onto Wooyoung as he supported your weight on the walk over to his car. The same car he had taken you home in just last weekend. You sink into the leather seat, eyes on the hotel entrance to see whether the intruder would come out that way. Would you even recognize him? What if it wasn't a man?

Wooyoung snapped you out of your thoughts as he plopped down into the driver's seat. He wasted no time driving off. You were thankful for the silence that settled over you as Wooyoung drove you to a place he deemed safe. You didn't even think to question your location, putting your trust in his hands. As if it was how it was supposed to be. You notice stray raindrops hitting the car window, eyes following the race between the oval shapes. As they disappear from sight, you look up to follow another race and repeat this until the light drizzle, turned into a pour.

Wooyoung's intuition to observe, caught glances of your shaky hand clenching around a tiny bit of your shirt, probably to calm down. He glances over to you staring out the window with a blank expression. Neither of you has said a word since you left. The tension in the car was becoming palpable, and the rain only seemed to amplify it as the drops violently knock against the window of the car.

The silence stretches on, and you begin to feel like it's suffocating you. You fidget in your seat, trying to find a comfortable position. The rain continues to fall relentlessly and you can feel the tension in your shoulders mounting as you think of what to tell Wooyoung. The truth? A white lie? Your paranoia went as far as to believe he was in on the evil plan at one point.

"Would you like to stop at McDonald's?" he asks as he spots the bright yellow sign through the heavy downpour. He was uncertain why he offered, but since ordering it last, he thought it might cheer you up. Not that he cared to cheer people up for fun, but it slipped out before he could stop to think twice. It came out naturally. Almost as naturally as it was carrying you out of the club in his arms. Or wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you stable.

Yet his words brought on another anxious reminder. Whilst his intentions were pure, he was oblivious that the fast food had been for Jisung and not you. Jisung. He was still in school. Alone and oblivious that the life he had before leaving for school would not be the same again when you pick him up. How would you even pick him up? There was no way you would willingly leave your somewhat safe spot with Wooyoung, but you could not leave Jisung exposed to the intruder. You had to tell Wooyoung. Fuck whatever he would think of you.

"No, but there is somewhere we have to go. Please" you look at him as you speak up, eyes silently begging to not ask further questions. You knew you had asked a lot of him. Hell, he had helped you this past week more than your own family ever had over the span of your life. Wooyoung's eyes met yours, melting into the gaze as thoughts seemingly teleported between your minds. For a long moment, you just stare at each other, neither of you speaking. It's as if words would break the spell that had been cast between you.

Then, Wooyoung reaches for his phone, unlocking it before handing it to you without a glance. You eye him carefully and take the phone into your hands, noticing that the maps application was selected. A warm feeling of relief and gratefulness settles over you as you type the address to Jisung's school without another sound. Wooyoung follows the GPS to the selected location. As stoic as his face seemed, his jaw was tight with worry and theories on what had happened. It had to be something serious for you to end up asking him for help. He wasn't clueless about the dynamic of your relationship if one could even call it one. You so desperately asking him for help already created a picture of what type of situation this could be.

As the car comes to a stop, you realize the overwhelming amount of explaining you were about to do. Both to Jisung but also Wooyoung. The car is as silent as ever as you gather yourself, preparing to step out. Your hands were still shaky, but your heart rate had slowed down, leaving you with a faint weight of where it had banged against your ribs as a reminder.

"Would you like me to go in with you?" Wooyoung breaks the silence, yet his mind was becoming louder with new questions. A school? Why the hell were you at a school? Was this a family matter?

You realize that as much as you'd like to get Jisung by yourself, the little voice in the back of your head reminded you that the intruder could be a psychopath who was now stalking you around the city. Even the rational part of your mind seemed to agree seeing as the break-in you were so paranoid and worried about, did end up happening.

You nod quickly, your body reacting faster than any words leaving your mouth.

"Yes please"

Wooyoung doesn't need to be told twice as he gets out of the car, eyes staying on you as if you'd disappear. He wouldn't call it worry, but something about seeing the pure terror in your eyes as you clung onto his arm desperately sent unpleasant jolts down his spine. He didn't ever want to see that look on your face again. Whatever this behaviour was, it was certainly not something you'd ever seen on Wooyoung before. His seductive and teasing nature would never suggest that a much more stoic and...nurturing character hid inside of him. Of course you didn't expect him to march around in a button-down with his chiselled, toned chest and collarbones all oiled up as he lands all women and men in the ten-mile radius. But you had never seen him calmly cooperating and seemingly sympathetic to your struggle.

The faint smell of cafeteria food lingered in the silent corridors as most classes were in progress after a lunch break. You thankfully remember exactly which room Jisung would be in after lunch and knock on the wooden door. You look behind you to see Wooyoung observing your moves almost like a bodyguard. And frankly, he could become one with how safe you felt. You hear the teacher's voice pause as she opens the door. You recognize the elderly woman with glasses too big for her face as Jisung's English teacher. You had heard stories about her cats and weird obsession with crocheting from Jisung as he begged you to let him skip class early in the morning.

"Hello, I am here to get Jisung. I am afraid I forgot he has a doctor's appointment today that I completely forgot about" You offer your best smile, eyes scanning the room for your nephew. You let out a sigh you didn't know you were holding in as he sits there in one piece, eyes lighting up as he catches a glimpse of you.

The teacher nods and turns to call on Jisung to collect his things. You feel curious eyes linger over you but on a day like today you couldn't give two fucks. Jisung scatters to collect his things, as if being in the classroom for even a second longer would suffocate him.

"Hey buddy," you say shakily, quickly coughing to cover your nervous tone. Jisung embraces your torso, happily mumbling how he couldn't wait to go home as the teacher shut the door. Although Wooyoung seems stoic, his jaw clenches in shock as he tries to keep his reactions at a minimum. A child?

"Are we going home? Do we have food? The cafeteria had those weird gummy spaghetti again and I didn't eat it..." Jisung whines and turns to leave but soon notices Wooyoung blocking his way. The younger looks up at the man and bows slightly, thinking he was a teacher or somebody here to get their kid.

"Jisung- this is um, my friend Wooyoung. He is kind enough to help me pick you up today and take us-" You start introducing the two but your face drops as you realize you had nowhere to go. The hotel was the last place you'd go, especially alone. You didn't have an apartment and the only place you could think of at the top of your mind was LUX, which is not the right place for a child. "Um-" you struggle, eyes scattering away from Jisung's gaze to think of a lie.

"-To my place for a sleepover. We came to get you earlier so we could go get some food and become closer buddies, you and me. How does that sound?" It is as if something takes over Wooyoung the second he sees the pure confusion on Jisung's face. Hearing you stutter lies to him to keep him oblivious to whatever was happening. It reminded him of his baby brother and how any child should have the right to an innocent childhood, away from the fuck ups of this world. Wooyoung squats down to Jisung's height and holds an open palm for him. "I'm Wooyoung" and as soon as his name is out of his mouth you see the charming smile back on his lips. As if somebody had yelled "action".

The little boy looks back at you, eyes suspicious and if you weren't so worried about your well-being, you'd chuckle at how much he picked up from you. Small quirks and comments from your daily diary. You nod with a small smile, reassuring him it was alright.

"I'm Jisung" he exclaims and places his small hand to drown in Wooyoung's. Even as the older smiles, you don't miss the glance he shoots your way as Jisung happily trots towards the exit.

"We have a lot to talk about" is all Wooyoung says as he follows the younger boy out the door. You freeze in place for a second, watching the scene as if it was the calm before the storm. You take a deep breath and exit the building to catch up to Jisung, who was getting buckled into the backseat by Wooyoung. You did in fact have a lot to talk about.

Wooyoung was well off, that was a fact that had engraved itself in your mind since the day you met him. Not that you had any evidence to prove it other than the Prada shirt he'd wear or the van Cleef watch on his wrist. Yet you still find yourself looking around the penthouse apartment in awe. Of course, that jerk had to get a penthouse, he probably even has a playroom to go with it to feed his god complex - is what you would say if you had been here on another occasion, whatever that might be. But having nowhere safe to go and being offered a penthouse really doesn't leave room for complaining.

"This place is huge! Is that Seoul Tower?" Jisung screeches as he runs to look out the tall windows displaying the city. You'd tell him off for his behaviour, but something about seeing him so cluelessly happy calmed your heart. Wooyoung follows the boy, standing behind him to see what he saw. The height difference between them looked almost...adorable? You clear your throat and pick Jisung's backpack off the ground, placing it in the spacious living room.

Wooyoung's interior choices scream rich, modern bad boy protagonist. Whites and blacks along with marble accents. Is he a Christian Grey fanatic?

"Just because you got off school earlier doesn't mean you're free. Get your homework out" you call out to the boy who freezes and almost pretends he doesn't hear you. He'd try that trick but frankly, he's too embarrassed in front of his new buddy Wooyoung. Jisung silently walks over to you and reaches for his backpack. Wooyoung watches the scene with uncertainty. A lot of questions run through his mind, the biggest one surprisingly being your safety.

"Let's go, buddy, the sooner you finish the quicker we'll get to play. You like PlayStation?" Wooyoung palms Jisung's shoulder, patting it in comfort as he shows the younger to the kitchen, which seemed bigger than your old hotel room.

"Set your books here while me and your um..." You catch Wooyoung's eyes, only now realizing he must've thought Jisung was your son all along. You quickly step in.

"Auntie and Wooyoung will just talk about what to eat, get your book out and start okay? I'll come to check your answers soon" You hope Wooyoung catches on but still, you owed him an explanation. Whether it was the full one or a slightly tweaked one.

You didn't need to find an empty room to speak, because merely walking over to the staircase going up to what you assumed were bedrooms, allowed your privacy.

"I owe you an explanation" you speak lowly, unsure of where your confidence had run off to as you couldn't seem to look up at Wooyoung. "Look I don't know how I got tangled up in all of this and why you out of all people involved but I just, I have to say that I-" you struggle to explain, finger locking and squeezing into a palm as your brain seemed to handpick flickers of the attack and of you fainting at the club, flashing them in front of your eyes.

"Jisung is my nephew. He's been with me since my sister almost killed him and herself" You finally look up at Wooyoung whose face is ever as stoic, but this time you notice that no matter how hard he tried to withhold a reaction, his eyes did not follow. They twitched in worry as they intensely focused on reading every expression associated with your words "I think the guy at the club, who knew my name. I think he's targeting us. He- I was attacked and there is no way I can go back there. I don't even know if I can go outside right now. Fuck- for days I've been paranoid and watching my eyes step but-" the words come out by yourself before you can stop them. And once they start, they don't seem to finish as you go into a frenzy. Your body just couldn't handle it all anymore. Always be responsible for everything in your life, by yourself. Is it really that bad to need support? Even if it was from Wooyoung. What spurred you on more is that he didn't interrupt you. It frustrated you that he didn't act like an asshole even though you needed his help. It all angered you because it would add another problem to your neverending list; you growing fond of him.

Wooyoung reaches out to place his hand on your arm, sort of awkwardly yet so comforting without much effort. You really shouldn't have had a moment of weakness in front of him. For all you know, he could have cameras in his house, recording your breakdown and your secret nephew. Your heartbeat grows quickly as you realize your mistake of ranting and you turn around, as if not seeing him would help you in any way. The familiar cold sweat of panic sweeps over your palms and raises a ring in your ears.

"You were saying?"

"I- I can't stay here. Thank you um, Wooyoung but we can't stay here it was nice of you to offer-" You turn to offer the man a sweet smile but something tells you that this time, the show you put on wasn't close to good enough. And that was enough.

"Calm the fuck down" Wooyoung growls low and sternly, never raising his voice in case Jisung would hear. As much as he wanted to argue in disbelief about what you said when he had offered his home to you and your nephew, keeping you safe and driving you around, something else fueled his argument.

"Don't even try to pretend to be alright or whatever it is you do when you act like some "bullet"” he quotes in the air. "You need help so take it. If I wanted to hurt you, it would've been done ages ago. I'm not that petty and have enough money if you haven't noticed. I chose to help you but now you have to tell me what is going on because I don't have patience for bullshit or whatever crap you're trying to pull right now." And that is the moment you met the real Wooyoung. Not the foxy character at the club. Not even the one who drove you home. It's hard to admit that oftentimes you end up falling for the characters and masks other colleagues put on only to be reminded that they're also real people. This was a serious conversation and fuck, if you really are getting fucked over by him he really is a good actor.

You catch your breath, nodding slowly. Please don't be bad..please don't be bad you silently pray on the inside. You just really needed someone. And if it had to be Wooyoung then so be it.

"I'm being followed. I- I can't trust anybody and you must understand why. I don't have an apartment because moving around is safer. I got a message on my phone threatening me and then...today...when um-" you feel your throat thicken and Wooyoung didn't need further explanation that what you were talking about was the cause for your frightened eyes and desperate grip on him that he couldn't seem to shake off. One he knew too well.

"Breathe, just breathe okay? I know we aren't exactly...best of friends but I don't have intentions of hurting you" he hushes, recognising the rush of panic in your eyes. Those shiny eyes that he'd catch glaring at him from across the bar as he chatted up a client. He wouldn't admit it, but your reactions amused him more than his targets most of the time. The raw look of hatred and hunger for revenge stirred his stomach in exciting ways. When he'd look back and catch you flipping him off when he left with targets was something he even looked forward to. It was never something he took offence to...though maybe he should have.

But instead of the passion, your eyes were wide with terror. They were tired and silently pleaded for help even if your conscious mind didn't mean to make it seem that way. And how could Wooyoung stand watching your eyes become so dull?

"Just- stay here, for Jisung's sake. Figure out what you need and see it as a favour if it makes you feel any better." he finally concludes. Why was he agreeing so easily? A brief moment of silence settles between you. It was tempting but something about this was just too easy. How could one go from barely talking to living together? He is a conman still, and whatever sincerity he might show might just be a planned scheme to mess with you at your most vulnerable.

"Don't overthink it" Wooyoung says and doesn't let you answer as he turns to find Jisung again. Perhaps he didn't want to bruise his ego by becoming so available. Or he just couldn't stand looking into your eyes for a second longer. Whatever it was, it was settled and he has a new task. To help you.

"How does ordering food sound? Maybe we can plan to cook something later instead?" Wooyoung's tone is softer as he addresses Jisung. You hear it from a distance and wonder if he was experienced with kids. If he assumed you were a mother then what if he was...no, now you're reaching for something that isn't true. But why is it that a rock weighs down your chest at the thought of somebody being close enough to Wooyoung to create a family together? You had just stepped foot into his apartment. Apart from him being a con man, there was nothing you knew about him that could increase your attraction to him. Well apart from the physical at least. And if him calming you down from a panic attack and offering his home wasn't enough, seeing him interact with Jisung made it harder to believe all the paranoid lies you made up in your mind about him.

As the day progressed into night, the atmosphere seemed much lighter. You sit comfortably in the corner of Wooyoung's couch as he and Jisung yell over one another, PlayStation controllers in hands as they frantically push the colourful buttons. You were satisfied with just sitting ---there enjoying the relaxed atmosphere. Not Before long Jisungs eyes were struggling to stay open. You lock eyes with Wooyoung who seems to have noticed the boy dozing off with the PlayStation controller in his small hands.

"Ji-" you start but Wooyoung raises his hand to stop you from disturbing the younger's sleep. A small smile makes it to your lips at the thoughtfulness Wooyoung displayed. One side of you still reminded you to stay doubtful of his intentions. Sure, he was nice. But this came out of the blue after your little accident at the club. Certainly, people don't change during such a short time frame. You were rivals just a mere week ago.

You stand up as Wooyoung switches the game off. It was a silent agreement to move carefully to not wake Jisung up and as you reach down to pick the sleeping boy up, Wooyoung drives your hands away and instead sweeps the boy into his arms, carrying him over what you assumed was a guest room. The atmosphere that had settled over the apartment was calm and safe. Seeing Jisung in Wooyoung's embrace made your heart skip over a beat as you imagined how this would be if it was routine. No, why would this even be one? You follow Wooyoung through the maze that was his apartment and into a guestroom. He places Jisung on the bed, covering the sleeping boy with a fluffy blanket before nodding towards the door. With silent steps, you make it out of the room without waking Jisung.

"Thank you" your voice is barely a whisper, stuck in your throat from being so silent. You find your way back to the living room but Wooyoung doesn't stop walking, instead walking up the staircase with the expectance that you'd follow.

"If you are showing me to a room you don't have to, I can very well sleep with Jisung-" You stop right in front of a door, one of few existing on the floor.

"You can sleep where you want, but I'm sure sleeping in your clothes wouldn't be too comfortable now would it?" Wooyoung's words are barely heard as he mumbles. He seemed deep in thought about something ever since Jisung went to bed. He doesn't turn to look at you as he opens the lock to his safe space. His room. Judging by how Wooyoung usually would act at the club, his room must see multiple visitors every night. Nobody assumed that on the contrary, it was the only privacy he had left, hidden away from anybody to discover apart from you in this moment.

"Oh yeah- I'm sorry to ask this much of you really- I will bring some of my clothes. Or I'll buy some-" You realize that with the way you're imposing your stay on him and nervously try spit out anything that made sense. "-Only if it's okay that I bring some stuff I mean I don't have to stay here if you don't-"

"Lord, you really can't hold that tongue of yours when you're nervous, have you noticed?" But instead of sounding irritated, Wooyoung's lips are turned up at the corners in a cocky, familiar to you, smirk. "I offered and already told Jisung you'd stay so, take it while I'm being nice" he shrugs, unsure of how to really explain to you that he wanted to help. It's not like he could explain his own sudden interesting in volunteering, not even to himself fully.

For the first time ever you feel a heat settle at the apples of your cheeks, burning as Wooyoung turns around to rummage through his closet. You manage to look around his room. Although clean, it had its own unique messiness that added to or maybe explained Wooyoung's personality. His bed was somewhat made and recent clothes were stacked like a small hill on the back of a chair. Something about it only seems comforting though. It seemed real and like Wooyoung. It was safe. A fresh scent of bergamot and what you assumed was the natural smell of the man lingered in the air, poisoning you deeper into a state of attraction. He looks good, he dresses well, he flirts well and now he smells good too?

'He's barely above average height' you tell yourself, trying to find excuses that could convince you that this attraction was clouded by loneliness or desperation for something. But even then did your insides not give up their reaction to Wooyoung as he turned around with a shirt and some shorts in his grasp. They weren't folded, but they looked clean.

"Here, wear this for tonight and tomorrow I'll get someone to pick some things up for you and Jisung" he offered, moving closer until he stood in front of you. For someone with average height his magnetic energy sure was large, towering over you as it radiated from him. Especially from his piercing eyes. You hold your breath the second your eyes meet. You can't show him emotions, he'd see right through you and the confusing feelings you had developed for him. If he came just a step closer he would probably hear how your heart had started banging against your ribcage. The hue from a bedstand lamp accentuates the protruding veins on his toned forearms, bobbing whenever his arm tensed up.

For a second, your brain blanks out. Over the years working with men, you had learned to grow accustomed to their looks, affections and flirty ways. It had to be done in order to fully have control over them and complete your job. Whilst there were cases where staying evenminded was difficult, there had never been a case where a man could affect you so deeply just by existing in the same room as you. At some point, there would have to be a man that would successfully slither his way into your heart. Whether it was you growing up or just being a romantic, you knew it was bound to happen. Denying it would be childish. But could it be now? And could it really be with Wooyoung?

"-Unless you want to sleep naked of course" his comment is what brings you back. Wooyoung was now right in front of you. Did you really blank out that hard?

With a scoff, you take the clothes from him but find no strength to move. It's as if one look was enough to keep your body still. You wonder if he feels it too. The tension from the car, the accidental grazes of skin and now this. Blond hair really suits him you think, even more now that his golden skin is glowing so close to you. The urge to lean in and touch him itches at your hands and makes your body tense. As if the only thing that could relax the eager muscles is to finally touch him. You bet his skin is smooth and warm. But the rational voice in your brain reminds you that it would be risky. He could be playing you all along. The reminder of being careful makes your body shift. You look away from him then, scared that if you looked any longer that he'd take control of you. Just like you did to your victims. Just like he did to his. Would it really be that bad though?

"You're doing it again" his voice comes out hoarse, as if he also was struggling within. "You're torturing your brain with unnecessary thoughts". If he was this good at reading you already, what would happen if you stayed with him longer?

There's a long, silent pause.

"How could I not?" you whisper, as if speaking louder would break this moment. You see Wooyoung raise his hand up towards you and in the next moment, its warmth touches the skin of your cheek. Your lips part as breath escapes and you immediately look back at him. Whatever he was thinking about, must've been challenging to overpower. His brows knitted together as his Adam's apple bobs each time he nervously swallows. These were the only indicators giving you hope that maybe he felt something more.

Without saying anything, Wooyoung instead darts his eyes down to watch his thumb soothing circles into your skin. His own skin is slightly rough but it only affected you deeper with every trace. You carefully wrap your hand around his wrist, or at least whatever you could fit into your palm. Without another thought, you press his hand deeper into your cheek, eyes closing to enjoy whatever this moment was. You needed this. He made you feel calm and the past week had been nothing but the opposite. Whatever his intentions were, you decided it would be worth it.

"Look at me," he says lowly, voice thin as if he also feels the need to savour the moment carefully. You open your eyes, reconnecting the gaze and you're unsure if you're dizzy or if he had moved closer but you swore that just one move forward could put your lips onto his. Was this really happening? How could you ever bear seeing him at the club again if you let this happen? With a deep sigh and anxiety rising in your chest, you push his hand away from your cheek, instantly regretting as the warmth disappears.

"I'm tired from today, Wooyoung. I'm going to change and sleep" You force the words out and it's almost obvious by how monotone your voice sounds. Wooyoung clears his throat and looks away from you, nodding slightly to himself as his eyes fixated on a random object in the room.

"Good night, bullet" The nickname coming from him sounded unnatural. You felt like a stranger then and cursed yourself for ruining the moment. But it was for your and Jisung's safety.

"Good night" you whisper and exit his room, gritting your teeth harshly in hopes that it would take tension off your chest. Could you take it back? Turn around and kiss him? Would he accept it if you tried? He was right, you really had a tendency to torture your brain with thoughts.

You change into the clothes he had given you and slide into bed next to a sleeping Jisung, still in his clothes. You don't bother waking him and turn to lay on your side, closing your eyes as you tried focusing on any sound or smell. You blame it on being tired, but slowly reach your hand to bring the fabric of Wooyoung’s shirt up to your nose, inhaling the detergent and the natural smell in his closet. One of the scents that was usually mixed in with his cologne. A small smile spreads over your lips as you play over the fresh memory of him cupping your cheek. He looked at you as if he knew exactly what you were thinking. Yet his eyes never held any expectation over you. He never crossed a line and seemed to sense the exact amount of what was needed. And you wanted it more. He is successfully swindling your heart.

#heart swindler #wooyoung x reader #ateez #ateez reactions #ateez imagines #ateez fluff #ateez smut #ateez fic #enemies to lovers #ateez au #kpop reactions #wooyoung fluff

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wiliowisp · 8 months

Text

Take Care of Me ❦

Word Count ➻ 2.2k

Pairings ➻ Sebastian Sallow x masc!MC

Warnings ➻ NSFW 18+ ONLY

Tags ➻ third person POV, aged-up characters, Hogwarts seventh year, smut, sub!Sebastian, subspace, dick-sucking, back-blowing, and a whole lot of moaning

A/N ➻ i am the number one sub!Sebastian warrior. anyway, enjoy this filth before the angst in the new chapter of my longfic on sunday! (hopefully)

୧ send me prompts! i may write them! ୨

Summary:

Sebastian has been looking for something in his partners that they can't give him—until an old friend surprises him. Sebastian meets him in the restricted section, hoping to be taken care of.

Sebastian Sallow needed to be looked after. It’s not as tender as it sounds.

Since the age of thirteen, not a single morning had gone by where he hadn't woken up rigid and wanting. For a young man of his means, he’d satiated this desire. He’d managed to charm his way through many of the more outgoing ladies and gentlemen of Hogwarts. Purebloods were particularly inclined to him; due to the relative purity of his blood and his prowess with a wand. Not to mention the fact they were raised in the more progressive wizarding world.

This was where the issue with muggle-borns came into play. Muggle society was always so tight-lipped around sex and pleasure—which was ridiculous, Sebastian thought. Why would you withhold something as good as sex from yourself? The muggle-born ladies treated his flirting with doe-eyed faces and trembling hands like he might get on his knees any minute—not in the fun way. The men, however, would be nervous in an entirely other way. They were so skittish about being caught with another man, no matter how many queer couples walked their halls. When he pushed them against walls, his tongue finding its way into their mouth, they would push him off until they found somewhere ‘safe’. They hardly allowed him to flirt in class.

Until he did.

The new fifth year, as he was known. Although many years had passed since he was a fifth year, that was for certain. On the cusp of their graduation, the other boy had filled out—grown. He’d matured in a way that Sebastian had noticed, in fervid, desperate moments, when his eyes would lathe over the lines of his friend’s body, would imagine them rid of all clothes. Would imagine him under the other.

It began rather innocently. They had been friends for years and knew things about each other that they would never dare to tell anyone else. Sebastian knew that his friend had never taken any lovers while at Hogwarts. He chalked it up to the fact that the other was muggle-born and uninterested in courting without the purpose to marry; as was the custom. Regardless, Sebastian had an insatiable appetite and found endless fun in flirting with his friends. Ominis had borne the brunt of it for years, oftentimes they had been mistaken for a couple because Sebastian’s tongue reacted far too desirably in public. Their other friend, however, never returned any of Sebastian’s comments. He simply brushed over the words of his flirtatious Slytherin, changed the subject, chuckled and then moved on.

Until he didn’t.

“If those trousers hug your thighs any tighter, you may as well take them off,” Sebastian mewled.

His friend turned around and raised a brow. “Says the man in shirts so tight you may as well wear a corset.”

Sebastian baulked. The other boy smirked, his lips a wet promise.

“Then again, I think you’d look good in a corset,” he commented. Then he shrugged, turned around again, and left.

Sebastian’s cock went stiff startlingly fast. Which was new.

Therein lay the problem. He’d been yearning, desperate, for something ever since he was able to conceive of that want. But despite the number of lovers he’d taken over the years, he never felt full.

The ladies would whimper and moan into Sebastian’s mouth, their lips so pliant and easy to pry apart, to breach. His fingers would work circles into their cunt as they came apart in his hands. Afterwards, maybe they’d touch him, seal their mouth around his cock. But they remained mewling, doe-eyed things, wanting his approval. The men would bend over for him, present themselves as he pumped his pleasure into them, moaning for his assurance, his dominance. Sebastian needed something else.

He realised this when his best friend locked him in place with a simple comment about a corset. Words that sounded like a delicious promise.

I want to see you beneath me.

After that day, the flirting continued for weeks. Sly asides about Sebastian’s body, his sinful mouth, the threats that come wet and fervid off his friend’s tongue. Sebastian found himself brimming with a want that made him hungry. Each night spending up to an hour in the Slytherin showers, a hand pressed into his lips to stifle the whines and mewls that came from his throat.

As simply as it started, like putting the needle on a disc and listening to the music, it crescendoed. The object of his desire placed a note on his desk one day. Small, folded. Inside it read:

"The Restricted Section. Twelve Chimes."

Heat curled in Sebastian’s stomach. He crossed his legs, hardening cock trapped between the thighs his friend had complimented so many times. He read the same sentence over and over again for the rest of the afternoon.

As the clock chimed in a succession of twelve, Sebastian wandered through the bookshelves of the Restricted Section, his shirt clammy with sweat. His mouth dry with a thirst and a hunger he knew so well. The air still, in anticipation.

Hands were on his jaw and a mouth was on his mouth on their mouth on his. Sebastian’s back hit a shelf, arching. Hips against hips. Heat on heat. The other boy tilted Sebastian’s head, opening him with his lips until their tongues could taste each other. Everything reduced to the points they touched. Sebastian whined—whimpered—into the other’s mouth; his hips rolled into his friend’s rigid cock.

“Fuck, Sebastian—do you know what you do to me?” His voice was gravelly. Sebastian swallowed the sound.

His lips latched onto Sebastian’s neck. Sucking bruises. Sebastian was still grinding his hips, delicious friction sending fire up his nervous system. Arousal licked at his abdomen. He was aware he was moaning, keening, whining. Every sound from his mouth unbidden.

“I’ve been thinking about you every—aahn—day,” Sebastian stuttered. The other lifted up and ate the moan from his mouth.

His hand flew to Sebastian’s cock, stroking him through the fabric. Sebastian whined against his neck. His fingers grasped at the other’s scalp, clutching to his skin through the clothes. He was incorrigible. Salacious. His body was only an instrument, his friend’s hands bringing out the song.

Then they separated. Sebastian immediately went cold.

“On your knees,” His desire ordered.

His legs bent before his brain could protest. He dropped to the floor so obediently.

“So perfect,” his lover whispered, hand coming to stoke his jawline. Sebastian’s eyes wide. Fawn ears flapping at the attention. Doe legs tucked beneath him so prettily. “You okay with this?”

Sebastian blinked. Was he? What a stupid question.

He nodded. “I want this.”

“Okay.” The other boy started undoing the buckle on his belt. The sharp sound struck lightning through Sebastian’s skin. The thought made his mouth slick. His hands folded on his lap. His lover brought his cock from his briefs, his tight length wet at the tip. I did that to him. Sebastian opened his mouth.

“Good boy.”

Merlin. This is it. This is it. This is what he’d been looking for.

His lover placed the head of his dick on his bottom lip. Sebastian leaned forward, taking it into his mouth. The other boy moaned, watching Sebastian with glassy, half-lidded eyes—blown with desire. Sebastian took him, letting the heat of his cock warm his mouth. Then, he started moving. Tentative movements, working on instinct, wanting it only deeper. Further. More. Sebastian relaxed his throat. Let the calm and the pleasure pulse through him like syrup. He sunk deeper on his length until his nose was nestled into his lover’s abdomen.

“Oh holy fuck.”

Then, the other started moving. He held Sebastian’s jaw in place, softly grinding his hips into Sebastian’s eager mouth. All cocky, flirtatious quips fucked into his throat. Sebastian moaned with each thrust, his voice raw and carnal—keening.

He was so painfully hard in his trousers, a warm dampness in his briefs but Sebastian only wanted one thing. To please. To be good. His mind was a euphoric blur, all worries, all fear, standing somewhere in the distance. Like an out-of-focus photograph.

“You’re doing so well, pretty boy…” His friend's demeanour had shifted into a practised role. Sebastian’s puppy eyes shone up at him—lit up from the praise. Meanwhile, the other boy was sloppily grinning as he fucked his throat, red-faced and handsome. “Wanna be fucked, baby?”

Sebastian’s eyes fluttered shut with a moan.

“Yeah—yeah you do,” the other gasped.

He pulled his dick out of Sebastian’s mouth, a pearly string connecting them before breaking. Sebastian’s lips were glossy with spit and lust.

“On the table,” another order, Sebastian’s body attuned to the other like a dog on a leash. Sit. Good boy. Bend over. Good boy.

Sebastian bent over.

His hands were palming Sebastian’s ass, kneading the flesh. Another came in front, unbuttoning his trousers and pumping his cock through his briefs.

“Unnh—please,” Sebastian begged.

“The noises you make, Seb,” he growled, “fuckin’ beautiful.” He pulled Sebastian’s cock from his briefs, gently pumping him. “Look how wet you are, God.”

All Sebastian could do was whimper and shallowly thrust into his lover’s palm. His pleasure balled tight in his gut.

His lover released his dick, earning a cry, before he was pulling both their trousers down. His palm slid down to Sebastian’s hole, his fingers slick with something warm. He pushed in slowly, the stretch making Sebastian shiver.

“Gotta prep you darlin’.”

A hand went back to Sebastian’s cock, stroking him, while fingers pumped in and out of his hole. His lover crooked them, bending upwards into a spot Sebastian had never been able to reach. Pleasure surged into his fingertips, guttural wails coming from his throat. He no longer cared if anyone found them. Let them watch.

Another finger joined his hole, as the other massaged Sebastian’s prostate; his dick leaked precum that dribbled onto the table. “Please, please, I need you inside—Aah!”

“Yes, okay, yes—fuck.” His lover’s pleasure sat on his tongue and made all the words sugar. “Seb, honey, the safe word is ‘Graphorn’, yes? You want to stop, you say it.”

Sebastian nodded.

“Say it back to me.”

Sebastian gulped. “Graphorn,” he gurgled.

“Good boy.”

Sebastian’s back arched, another pulse of precum leaving his slit and puddling onto the table. Something warm, heady, and wet pressed into his entrance. He heard his lover inhale shakily behind him.

His dick entered him. Inch-by-inch.

Sebastian’s head thumped into the table, a whining sound erupting in his throat. It burned so good. Seconds stretched as Sebastian took his lover. The warmth thrummed through his bloodstream. Eventually, he felt the flesh of his stomach as the other bottomed out.

“You okay, baby?”

Sebastian panted. “Please—”

His lover pulled back and slammed into him.

Everything zeroed down. His tip slammed into Sebastian’s prostate in a way that made his toes curl. He started a pace, slowly grinding into Sebastian’s ass while Sebastian moaned into the wood of the table; pushing back into the sensation. A hand snaked up to his chest, fingers running over a nipple. The sensitive bud reacted, jolts of pleasure radiating into his fingertips.

His pace quickened. Wet slapping echoed through the library, clung between the books, the sound sticky music in Sebastian’s ears. Each pump punctuated by a depraved cry directly from Sebastian’s throat. His mouth open. Eyebrows pursed in rapture.

“God—need to be quiet, Seb.”

Fingers went into his mouth and that’s when it happened.

The pleasant buzz of fog that had overtaken his thoughts went white. Everything fell away. All Sebastian could feel, could think, was reduced to the points they touched. Any inhibitions remaining died against the fingers on his tongue.

He felt himself come. A tidal wave of utter bliss, warming through his bloodstream. The ball in his stomach snapped open like burst fruit. Some moments later his lover came, too. A thick pump of honeyed ecstasy filled him. Warm. So warm. So peaceful.

Things were happening around him. His body was moved, gently, but Sebastian’s eyes were unfocused. His entire being relaxed. It felt like lying in a bed that smelt like your childhood home. Or being submerged in warm soapy water. His mind was a fog but he didn’t mind. Not when it was so warm.

Slowly, things came back into focus. The lens on his camera clicked as objects and time emerged in the fog. Hands stroked his hair. Anchored his shoulder.

“You back with me, Seb?”

Sebastian hummed.

“Here, baby, drink.”

A cup was placed into Sebastian’s hands. He sipped at it. His lover’s cloak was draped over his naked body. Its owner looked at him with gentle eyes and even gentler hands as he stroked Sebastian’s cheek.

“You feelin’ okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I think so,” Sebastian frowned, “Merlin, that was good. Weird, but also so good.”

The other boy chuckled. “Think I may have fucked your brain out. You’re not hurt?”

“No, I’m okay.”

His lover smiled. He was already dressed again. Cock stuffed into his trousers. He went to grab Sebastian’s clothes, offering them to him. “We can’t stay here—come back to my room?”

Sebastian didn’t usually get attached to his nighttime tirades. But he was still feeling marooned after leaving his brain behind. He wanted to be held. He wanted his hair stroked as gently as his friend had done. He wanted to be looked after.

He would be.

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