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xspeter · 1 month

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𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝘾𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙔𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙋𝙖𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙋𝙚𝙣𝙨 (𝙒𝙖𝙞𝙩 𝙐𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙡 𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙇𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙈𝙚 𝘼𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣) / Part One

❣︎ 𝗦𝘁𝗲𝘃𝗲 𝗛𝗮𝗿𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘁𝗼𝗻 𝘅 𝗙𝗲𝗺!𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

❣︎ Steve remembers the exact moment he ruined everything. He remembers when those blinds closed for the last time, and he lost you for good. But, it’s been a year since then, and Steve is determined to make you fall in love with him again.

❣︎ wc: 16.4k

❣︎ notes: 𝙚𝙭𝙚𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙨, 𝙨𝙚𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙙 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚, 𝙗𝙤𝙤𝙠𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙚!𝙖𝙪, jason carver gets handsy with reader but nothing happens, some cussing

reblogs are greatly appreciated ! <3

September, 1979

You’d met Steve Harrington a week before your first day of seventh grade. You’d just moved to Hawkins from some small town in Pennsylvania - apparently your parents were big on the small town life - and you had been terrified.

You’d spent your entire life with the same group of kids and the same friends. You didn’t want to leave them, but you didn’t have any choice. And to a thirteen-year-old you, it felt like your parents were stabbing you in the back.

You still remember the tears that rolled down your cheeks as you helped your parents move the boxes holding your childhood items out of the U-Haul and into your brand new bedroom. Your mom did her best to cheer you up, “Look,” She spoke softly, tugging you into her side, “It’s so much bigger than your old room. Isn’t that nice?”

You just cried harder.

It was true, your dads new job in Hawkins was rolling in money like your family had never seen before, but you didn’t care about those kinds of things, you never had. You cared about the people and the memories you had to leave behind.

But, of course, none of that mattered at this point. You’d left. You still had your friends' numbers memorized, but how long would it be before it faded from your mind, and your number faded from theirs? The thought made you nauseous.

You spent that first night sniffling, surrounded by scattered cardboard boxes and various items. You didn’t even have your bed frame yet, the U-Haul had gotten delayed for whatever reason, so you were stuck with a mattress laid onto the dusty hardwood floor.

But, like there is with almost everything, there was a silver lining. Your books.

To most people, books are just that. Books. They’re boring, expensive, and seen as a way to waste time and nothing else. They don’t see them for what they really are.

To you (and your friends back home), a book was an escape. It was the perfect way to spend your time and the perfect hobby, and right now, it was the only thing keeping you from breaking down.

Your current book was about four sisters who all were navigating through different paths in life, and all finding different ways to deal with the world around them. It was a classic, and you saw a bit of yourself in all of the sisters. (The painter a little more than the others in all honesty.)

It was simple yet complex in all the right places and definitely one of your favorite books this year. You continue to read it through glassy eyes, doing your best to keep your mind off of your current situation, when suddenly there’s a bang at your window.

You jump up, arms instinctively hugging the open book to your chest. There was another one, and then another, and then another, before you finally swallow harshly and work up the courage to approach the glass. You placed your book gently onto the hardwood next to you, the spine up as it laid flat, and softly padded towards the noise.

Goosebumps rose onto your skin as you did, your short clad legs attempting to get used to the cold air around you now that you’d left the safety of your blankets.

At first, you couldn’t make anything out except for the house next to you and the starry night sky, but then you saw the cause of the noise. A rock. Someone was throwing rocks at your window.

You furrowed your brows and looked towards the ground, and low-and-behold some boy was standing outside your window. He had dark brown hair, wore a green sweatshirt with what you’re assuming is a school logo on it, and gray shorts.

Hesitantly, you unlocked your window and hauled it up, but not before another rock hurled its way straight at your neck. It hit you smack in the middle of your throat, causing you to choke for a moment and grab at the area. “Ow!”

The boy winced and immediately dropped the rest of the rocks in his hand, (why did he have so many rocks? At least ten fell out of his hand!) “Sorry!” He yelled out.

You glared at him, hand rubbing soothingly at your now sore throat, “Who are you?”

“Uh, Steve - Steve Harrington. I live next door.” He pointed at the house next to you, “You see that window?” He gestured to the one directly across from your own, “That’s my room.”

You nodded, eyes narrowing into thin slits, “Alright, Steve. If your room is right across from mine, why didn’t you just stay up there instead of going through the trouble of pelting rocks at me?”

Steve stills for a moment, and you can physically see the gears turning in his head. “Um,” He stumbles for a moment, “Give me one second.” You can hear him practically sprinting back into his house, his sandals smacking against the ground as he goes, and you can’t help but snicker.

You’d be lying if you said that you didn’t find the twenty seconds you’d spent with the boy so far to be the most enjoyable of this whole week, but it had. It was almost strange to you - to be talking to a boy. All of your friends back home had been girls, and you mostly stayed away from the boys. To you, they felt like unknown territory. What did they like to talk about? What did they like to do for fun? Did they have any interest in a girl like you? Would they ever have any interest in a girl like you?

All of your friends had had a boy like them at some point in time, some of them had already had boyfriends! But not you. No, never you.

Boys didn’t look at you. Steve was the first to ever even show any interest in you at all. It made your stomach flutter.

Soon enough, the light across from you flicks on and you watch curiously as Steve stumbles across piles of clothes and other knick-knacks to reach you. He struggles with the window for a second, before it suddenly pops open with a slight screech.

“Hey,” He smiled, breaths coming out a bit heavy.

Your lips twitched upwards at the corners, “Welcome back.” You teased.

Steve slapped his arms at his sides and let his head dip to the side, his eyes rolling a bit as he did, “I’m sure you missed me.”

You furrowed your brows, “You were gone for, like, five seconds. And I don’t even know you. Why would I miss someone I don’t know?”

“Uh, because I'm super buff and attractive?”

A snort slipped from you at that comment, “Yeah, okay. Keep telling’ yourself that.”

“I will.”

There’s a short pause between the two of you, and you nibble on your bottom lip. You’d never been able to banter so easily with many other people before. It made you excited.

“Soooo, where are you from?” Steve asks, effectively breaking the silence.

You sighed and leaned your elbows against the sill, your chin falling atop your hands, “Pennsylvania.” You answered dryly.

Steve nodded and copied your actions so that you were face to face, “I’ve never been there. I mean, my dad has for his work, but I never have personally.” He rambles.

You click your tongue, “That’s cool.”

Steve nods slowly, “Why’d you guys move?”

“Are you interrogating me?”

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

You quickly shake your head, “No, I do. I just wasn’t expecting so many questions,” you chuckled, nervously tucking a stray piece if hair behind your ear, “Um, my dad got a new job here. Some bank job or something, I’m not really sure.”

Steve perked up, “My dad works at the bank too! Maybe they work together.”

You shrugged, “Maybe.”

Steve licked his lips and glanced down at the ground below you. The both of you were only on the second story, but the grass felt so much farther away then it really was. “You don’t seem very excited about it.”

You bit your lip, eyes darting across his tanned skin. The summer had done wonders on him, but you were sure the upcoming school year would fade it away. “Because I’m not.”

“Why?”

You gave him a look, “Would you wanna move away from all your friends?”

Steve paused to think for a moment. To him, leaving Tommy and Carol wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world. He could start over and ditch the reputation he’d built, but he knew that wasn’t the answer you were looking for, so instead he said, “No, I guess not.”

You gestured with your hand and huffed out a breath, “My point exactly.”

Steve shrugged, “Well, Hawkins isn’t all bad. It’s not like there’s monsters hiding out around here or something.” He joked.

You could help but laugh along with him. There was something about the way he always had something positive to say to make you feel better, or maybe that was just how you were observing him in the last ten minutes. “You’re funny, you know that?”

Steve scoffed out a laugh, standing back and crossing his arms over his chest in an attempt to look nonchalant, “Duh, of course I know that.”

You snickered, “Don't let it get to your head.”

“Too late. I can already feel my skull growing to accommodate.”

Your body shook as you laughed, moving your face under your hands to hide yourself. Steve mentally fist pumped at making you laugh like that, and he prayed he’d hear it again, and soon.

Once your laughter died down and all was left was silence, Steve asked, “Are you going to Hawkins Middle for school? Or did your parents enroll you in that Catholic place down the street?”

You shrugged, “Well, I’ve never heard of the Catholic place down the street, so I’m gonna say Hawkins Middle.”

Steve grinned, “Great! I go there, too. You can totally sit with me at lunch and stuff.”

“I’d be grateful to be allowed in your presence.” You tease, pretending to bow your head.

Steve just smirked, “I’d expect nothing less.”

You and Steve spent practically all night talking. He’d gone down to his kitchen at some point for a snack and came back upstairs with two bowls of chips. After many failed attempts, some including one of you nearly falling to your death, you were able to grab the chip bowl meant for you.

Once both of you were full and content, it was already nearing midnight. If your parents saw you up and talking to Steve, you’d be in so much trouble.

“I think I’d better head to bed.” You mumbled, a sad smile on your face.

Steve nodded and wiped his palms on his pants, “Yeah, me too.”

You didn’t want this to be a one time thing in all honesty. You really, really enjoyed talking to Steve, and you hoped he really, really enjoyed talking to you as well.

You opened your mouth to tell him so, but decided against it, so all that fell from your lips was a simple, “Goodnight, Steve.”

He gave you a sappy smile, “Goodnight…” His eyebrows furrowed and he blinked excessively, “Wait, you never told me your name.”

He was right. You hadn’t realized it, but you never thought to tell Steve your name.

“It’s Y/N.”

Steve just chuckled and placed his hands above his head onto the window, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

❣︎

That following week had been filled with late night conversations between you and Steve. They’d always start the same - you’d be laying in your bed reading a book (you’d gotten your bed frame finally), Steve would throw something at your window, and then you’d talk and share a bowl of chips.

In all honesty, this tradition had become your rock. It felt like the one thing that was really yours in this new town.

That last night before the first day of school, Steve had seemed troubled, his brows crinkled and he wasn’t talking as much as he normally did.

“Whats wrong?” You asked hesitantly. You weren’t sure if you and Steve were at the point in your relationship where you could be open with each other. In all honesty, you were expecting him to say something like oh, i’m fine or nothing, why? But he didn’t, instead he said, “I’m worried about tomorrow.”

You furrowed your brows. Steve had been practically shouting from the rooftops how excited he was for you to meet all of his friends just two days before. “Why?” You asked, “I thought you were excited?”

Steve bit his lip, “I was.” He sighed, “But I went to this pool party at a friends house today and it just.. it reminded me of some stuff I’d forgotten about.” Well, that explained his fresh tan.

You weren’t sure how to reply to him. You didn’t want to push him or make him feel pressured to say anything, but you were also curious. “Was it.. was it bad?”

Steve sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “Honestly? Um, kind of.” He groaned, eyes shut as he tried to find the words, “Tommy and Carol… they’re not the best people. And I know that I shouldn’t be friends with them but,” he paused and rubbed the bridge of his nose. You wanted to reach out and comfort him. “I feel like I owe them, you know? I was a real lonely kid and they were the first people who ever made an attempt to get to know me, but now…” He trailed off, his forehead hitting the windowsill as he dipped his head.

You bit your lip, unsure of what to say. You didn’t know Tommy or Carol, the only things you knew about them were what Steve had said, which were only good things.

You crossed your knees, left heel popped as you nibbled on your lower lip in thought. If Steve really felt this bad about whatever they were doing, then the right thing would be to distance from them, but you didn’t know his situation. To Steve, he felt as if he owed them something, even though friendship isn’t something that should have to be repaid.

You sucked in a breath, socked feet tapping rapidly at the hardwood below you, “It’s okay to grow out of friendships, you know?” You mumbled. “It’s happened to me, and we both parted ways happily without some big, dramatic fallout. If you really feel that way about them, maybe it’s time you do the same.”

Steve was silent for a few moments, and you couldn’t help but feel badly for him. “Thanks Y/N, but…” He took a deep breath and shook his head lightly, “I just don’t think that’s something I can do. I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?”

You were a little shocked when he ended the conversation so suddenly, and were worried you’d said something to bother him. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

He chuckled softly, messy brown hair falling over his eyes, “Don't worry, It’s not you. But I've really gotta get to bed, okay?”

Unconvinced, you just nod. “Alright… I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Steve crashes into his bed with a muffled groan, pink lips pulled down into a frown. In all of reality, he’d gone to this party and boasted to everyone about his new neighbor. And instead of being happy and excited to have a new person in the group, Tommy and Carol had grimaced at the thought.

“What’s her name again?” She asked, legs crossed as she sat on the purple lawn chair.

“Y/N.”

Tommy snickered and leaned over to whisper something in Carol's ear, and she got that knowing smirk on her face. The one that practically dripped venom. “Oh, you little friend can totally hang out with us.” She said, tone heavy with sarcasm, “She seems just peachy!”

Steve’s stomach immediately twisted, his intuition practically screaming at him to realize it’s a setup, and to do everything in his power to keep you away from it.

“Come on, guys,” He grumbled, wiping a hand over his face as water dripped from his hair onto the concrete below him, “will you please just be nice?”

Carol crossed her arms over her chest and pursed her lips, “What makes you think we’re not gonna be nice to her, Stevie?”

His nose scrunched at the nickname, anytime Carol called him that he knew he’d struck a nerve. “I’m not trying to say you won’t be, it’s just… I really like her and I don’t want her to stop talking to me if you guys do something.”

Carol snorted, her red hair falling over her shoulder as she did, “You like her? You don’t even know her!”

Steve’s cheeks flush a bright pink as he sinks further into his chair. Yes, it was true that he’d grown the tiniest crush on you during your late night talks, but he couldn’t help it! You were so kind and soft-spoken, and you always knew how to make him laugh. And the fact that you were one of the prettiest girls he’d ever seen was just the icing on the cake. How could he not fall the smallest bit in love with you?

That next morning you’d been practically shaking in the car. Your mom assured you over and over that it’d be a good day and you’d make lots of new friends, but it wasn’t that you were nervous about.

Sure, school without friends sucked but you could live just fine without them. No, you were worried about Steve. He’d been worried about something his friends had said, and you had a sinking feeling it had something to do with you.

As soon as you stepped foot onto campus you were immediately looking for Steve. You’d seen him leave his house a couple minutes before you did, so you assumed he was already here, you just weren’t sure where.

You swallowed as you walked through the crowded halls. There were groups of girls reuniting after summer vacations spent in Europe, guys with tan skin and even brighter eyes, but no Steve.

You get through your whole first period class with zero sign of the brunette boy, and it’s not until you’re halfway to your second do you catch a glimpse of him. His back is turned to you, but you could recognize that laugh anywhere.

Shyly, you walk up to him. You can see he’s with a freckled boy and red headed girl, who you assume are his friends, Tommy and Carol.

Carol notices you first, and she eyes you up and down with precision. She smacks on her gum before she nudges Tommy and gestures her head in your direction.

The both of them stare at you for so long that by the time you even make it to Steve’s side he’s already turning to face you.

Surprise flashes on his face, but it’s soon replaced with happiness, and then something you can’t quite read. The smile on his face is strained as he says, “Y/N! Hey!”

You give him a small wave back, nerves crawling up your spine at the hungry look Carols giving you. Like you’re her next meal.

“Oh my gosh!” She practically squeals, grabbing your arm and forcing you closer to her. You nearly stumble to the ground from the force but Steve grabs your shoulder and steadies you. “Steve told us so much about you!” She leered, well manicured hands hugging you close to her body.

You pushed away from her gently, uncomfortable with all of the attention, “Oh. That’s nice.” You glance at Steve to try and get a read from him, but his face is blank. He meets your gaze apologetically and crosses his arms over his chest, “Leave her alone, Carol.” He mutters.

Tommy flashes his teeth with a hateful grin, “Oh, come on,” He snickers, “we just wanna know your girlfriend better.”

“She’s not my girlfriend!” Steve defends, eyebrows furrowed in frustration.

Carol rolls her eyes at him and then turns her attention back to you, “Look, why don’t you eat lunch with us today, hm?” She asks, batting her lashes.

Your eyes dart to Steve. You don’t want to invade his space (even though he’d said you could eat lunch with him days ago), and you can tell he’s clearly uncomfortable with the way Tommy and Carol are acting, so you attempt to say, “Oh, I don’t think-”

Carol cuts you off, “We’ll see you there, okay?” She draws out the syllables in the okay, linking her arm with Tommy’s and then walking away without allowing you to answer.

You and Steve watch them go, and you begin to bite your nails, a nervous habit you’d been trying to break. “I didn’t mean to-” You begin, hoping Steve isn’t too angry with you including yourself like this, but he just shakes his head with a sigh. “It’s.. fine. It’s not like Carol gave you much choice.” He attempts to joke, and you let out an awkward laugh.

Steve eyes you, clearly unsure of how to release the tension surrounding the both of you, but the late bell does it for you.

You barely bid him a short goodbye before you’re reaching for the map in your back pocket and leaving Steve behind to stand awkwardly in the hallway alone.

He watches you leave, stomach flipping at whatever he knows Carol must have planned for lunch.

Unlike Tommy, Carol was calculated. Tommy would be mean on the spot, he didn’t really plan out any of the things he did, they more so just happened. But Carol, she’d plan them for weeks.

Once, she’d pretended to be friends with Jacey Collins for nearly the entire fifth grade year just so she could embarrass her at her birthday party. Steve doesn’t know what Carol did, but whatever it was, it was bad enough to make Jacey move schools.

So, yeah, he was a little nervous for lunch.

He was even more nervous every time he’d catch Tommy and Carol giggling with each other, both refusing to tell Steve what the hell they were talking about, and instead promising he’d find out soon enough.

By fourth period, their last period before lunch, Steve had had enough. Carol was whispering something in Tommy’s ear, casually glancing at Steve as she did. Finally fed up, steve smacked his hand on the desk and said, “Carol, whatever you're planning, just quit it, okay? Y/N’s a nice girl, and she doesn’t deserve whatever twisted joke you and numb nuts are planning.” He smacked Tommy upside the head, causing the boy to rub at the spot gently.

Carol glowered, her eyes thin slants, “If you really have that much of an issue with it, why don’t you go sit with your little girlfriend in the bathroom or something. I’m sure she’d love that.” She giggled with a suggestive wiggle of her brows.

Tommy cackled, “I could totally see her and Steve getting it on in the bathroom.”

Steve scrunched his nose, “Gross, man!” He shoved Tommy in his chair, and then focused his attention back onto Carol, “This is the only time I’ve ever asked you to do basically anything for me. So please, just this once, can you just be nice?”

Carols lips thinned into a line as she swung her feet back in forth in her chair, back resting against the plastic seat. “If I leave your little,” she pretended to gag, “girlfriend alone, what’re you gonna do for me?”

Steve should’ve known that Carol Perkins does not do anything for anyone unless there’s something in it for her. He shrugged, “Anything you want.”

A cheshire grin immediately spread onto her glossy lips, “Anything?”

“Yep,” Steve huffed with annoyance, “anything.”

She shared a look with Tommy, the both of them almost looked to be communicating with just their eyes. “Okay,” She suddenly slapped her palms onto her lap, “We want full 24/7 access to your pool for the rest of the summer.”

Steve immediately groaned and ran a hand through his hair. He couldn’t use the excuse that his parents would get mad at him because his parents were never home anyway and they knew that. That’s why she asked him, because she knew they could get away with practically anything there.

He’s tempted to say no, to refuse and let Carol have her way with you, but then he thinks about the soft smile you get on your face everytime he opens his window, and he knows there’s no way he could do that to you.

“Fine.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.” He already knows this is a bad idea, but he reminds himself who he’s doing it for. “The pool is completely yours.”

Carol squeals happily, immediately turning to Tommy to discuss what Steve assumes are the things they’ll do together, but he drowns them out.

All he knows is that you won’t have to be subjected to Carol’s cruelty, and that makes the whole thing worth it.

But, he should’ve known Carol would find a loophole.

By the time lunch came the knot that had formed in Steve’s stomach had disappeared, and he was actually excited to see you.

Tommy spotted you first, a yellow tray in your hand as your eyes darted across the room. “God, she looks like a puppy.” He snickered in Steve’s ear.

Steve shook him off, muttering a quiet shut up under his breath as he made himself known to you.

“Y/N! Hey.” You’d never looked so relieved to see him as you do now, your furrowed brows immediately relaxing. “Hi.” you murmured.

“Uh, I’ll take you to our table.”

You gazed down to his empty hands, “Aren’t you gonna get lunch?”

Steve couldn’t help but laugh at your words, “Oh, no. We never eat lunch here.” He gestured with his head to the rest of his friends, who were already sitting and were also without lunch.

Your gaze dropped down to your own tray, and you suddenly felt insecure. At your old school, you and your friends always ate lunch, you didn’t even know it was a thing not to. “Should I…” You trailed off, gesturing to the trash can. Steve immediately shook his head, “Oh, no! I mean if you’re hungry then you should eat.”

You nodded and squared your shoulders. Steve was right, no one was gonna care if you were eating lunch or not. It was just your insecurities speaking.

You gave him a genuine smile and let him lead you to the table, you sat next to him obviously, on the outside of everyone else.

Carol flashed a grin at you, “I’m so happy you decided to come! For a second there we thought you might run off to the bathrooms with the freaks!” She giggled. The comment made your stomach churn, but you were sure it was just some harmless joke, right? You forced a laugh, “Oh, no. I was just confused in the whole lunch situation.” You said, pointing to the empty spaces around them.

Carol hummed, pretending to be intrigued, “Oh, we never eat lunch here. It makes you gain, like, twenty pounds in just a day!” All of Carol's friends giggled, and that nervous feeling in your stomach suddenly came back tenfold.

“Oh,” You swallowed, “I didn’t know that..”

“Of course you didn’t, silly!” She eyed you up and down, “Actually, do you want me to throw that away for you? It’s probably a good thing you don’t eat that you wouldn’t want to..” She trailed off with a wince.

Tommy let out a loud laugh, “Yeah, no offense, but how often did you eat your other schools lunch? It kind of shows.”

“Tommy!” Steve shouted suddenly, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

To you, your body had never really been an insecurity for you. But Carol and Tommy’s comments suddenly have you folding your arms over your stomach in an attempt to hide.

Tommy pursues his lips, “It’s just the truth!”

Steve just scoffed and stood roughly from his spot, “Come on, Y/N.” You immediately followed him, doing your best to avoid Carol's smirk as she watched you walk away.

Steve led you into the empty hallway, hands clenched at his sides in anger. “God, I am so sorry. I should’ve known they’d say some dumb shit like that-”

“Hey, hey,” You shushed him, “It’s fine. You didn’t know. We did the right thing by leaving.”

The guilt still didn’t leave Steve though, because deep down he did know something was going to happen. He knew Carol wouldn’t stop just because Steve offered her something. And the thing about her was she was so subtle about it that it seems like she doesn’t know what she’s saying is mean, when in all actuality, she does.

“No, still, I shouldn’t have let you sit there.”

You sighed, “Look, maybe I just..” You swallowed, “Why don’t we just keep our friendship out of school, okay? I’ll find some friends on my own.”

Steve’s lips parted slightly, eyebrows crinkling together in confusion, “So I'm just supposed to ignore you?”

You shook your head, a smile tugging at your lips, “I’m not saying that. We just won’t go out of our way to see each other.”

Steve sucked in a breath. Doing that made it seem like he was ashamed to be friends with you, which was honestly anything from the truth. If anything, he was ashamed to be friends with them.

“I don’t want you to think…”

“I won’t think anything,” You reassured, “This was my idea anyway. And besides, this way we can keep everything more private.”

Steve took a breath and let himself soak in the information. You would still be friends, just not at school. Easy.

“Okay,” He said, “I’ll see you tonight then.”

June, 1986

Present Day

Getting a summer job at the bookstore was honestly one of the best things you think you could’ve done. After graduation, and the unfortunate mall fire at Starcourt which destroyed your job at The Gap, you’d been out of work and living with your parents.

For most people, nineteen is a normal age to be living with your parents, especially when you’re putting yourself through school like you are because you’re parents refuse to pay because you chose a local college instead of the prestigious one they’d picked out for you across the country.

Your parents were disappointed with your choices and you knew that, but you couldn’t bear the thought of leaving just yet. There were so many relationships you weren’t ready to end and so many things left unsaid with.. certain people.

Like Robin for example. You’d both met a couple weeks after your seventh grade year started. She was a year younger than you were, but she was still the closest friend you had outside of, well, yeah. Steve.

Yours and Steve’s relationship had grown much more complex as the years went on, and long story short, you didn’t talk to him anymore. It hurt too much to do so.

But, Bookish was almost like an escape for you. Most of the people that came in were either kids with their mothers, usually just beginning to fall in love with books just as you did, or they were elderly people who'd fallen in love with it way before you’d even been born.

Robin working there with you only made it better. She used to work at Scoops Ahoy in the mall, along with he-who-shall-not-be-named, but once it burned down she’d been left without a job just as you had.

She’d been over at your house during spring break, the both of you watching Footloose. You on your back, head hanging off of the edge of your bed. Robin rested her back against the headboard, shoveling another handful of popcorn into her mouth. “You know,” Her words came out muffled, so she paused to let herself chew the rest of her food. “That new bookshop or whatever opened a couple weeks ago. Maybe we should apply there.”

You readjusted so you were leaning back into your elbows, a slight raise of your brow. “Bookish? I just went there the other day.”

Robin nodded and popped another piece of popcorn in her mouth, “Did you see if they were hiring?”

You scrunch your nose, trying to remember. During your visit, you’d been too preoccupied trying to find the best book to purchase and hadn’t really looked. “I have no idea. But, if they're new, they probably have to be.”

Robin agrees with you with a nod of her head, and the both of you decide to finish out the movie and then drive down. Robin unfortunately doesn’t have a license, so that meant you were basically forced to drive her everywhere. Well, either you or Steve.

Robin used to hate Steve, even while you were friends with him. She was one of the only people who was aware of your friendship and what it had turned into, and she constantly reprimanded you for getting involved with a guy like that.

But, once they started working together at Starcourt, her view completely changed, but by that time you and Steve were already avoiding each other like the plague.

You glanced at the window, wondering if maybe Steve was on the other side. You hadn’t opened that window or even the blinds for over a year, too afraid of what you might end up seeing.

“Hey, you ready?” Robin asks, throwing her jacket on and leaning against your doorframe. You swallow, eyes lingering on the blinds before you turn to her with a smile. “Let’s go.”

And that was that. You’d both gotten hired nearly on the spot by the sweet old lady who ran the store.

Bookish was one of those places that made you feel like you were entering a different time. The floor was dark oak wood and the walls were linen, and it was lined with rows and rows of books. Some were neatly displayed while others just stacked messily.

It was June in Indiana, which meant all the electric fans were going and the AC was cranked as high as it could go, but the warmth still seeped into the building.

“It’s so hot!” Robin groaned, leaning over the counter dramatically, “I’m gonna melt.”

You snorted as you continued to organize the books in the fiction section, “It’s not that bad.”

Robin smacked her lips, “You say that now, and then you’ll turn and see i’ve become a puddle on the floor.”

You placed a hand on your heart in false sympathy, eyes closing as you imagined the situation, “That would be so, so completely horrible.” You sniffled, pretending to be sympathetic, then whipped your head to her with a teasing glint in your eye, “But maybe I'd finally be able to get some work done without that constant whining in my ear!”

She scoffed, pretending to be offended. “This is not whining! It’s complaining. There’s a difference.”

You grinned and pushed the cart holding the books back behind the counter, “Doesn’t seem like it to me.”

She just rolls her eyes, slumping back into the counter with her head resting in her hand, “Whatever…” She trails off, eyes wondering across the building, and then she gasps suddenly, “Oh, shit.”

You turn to look at her, eyebrows crinkled, “What's wrong-” She cuts you off by basically pushing you to the wall, her hand covering your eyes.

“What the hell, Robin!” You huff, pushing on her arm in an attempt to release yourself form her hold.

“I am so, so sorry.”

“What are you talking about-” You’re finally able to push her away from you, her arm falling to her side as you blink in an attempt to get used to the lighting again. “Seriously, what is wrong with you?” You question, wiping your hands on your dress.

Robin bites her lip and stares right past you towards the front door, her eyes slightly wide.

You like to think that after so many years of knowing Robin you’ve become an expert on her body language, and right now it was practically screaming one thing. Panic.

Hesitantly, you allow yourself to look towards the front where Robin was staring. Honestly, based off of the look on her face you were expecting a monster or maybe even Tammy Thompson to be standing there, but the reality is much worse.

“What the hell is he doing here?”

Steve Harrington is casually conversing with Mrs. Beck, the old lady who runs the bookstore, like he’s known her for years. He’s got that soft smile on his face he always got when something made him happy, and his hair has grown a little since the last time you saw him. His face looks freshly shaven, and he’s wearing that god-awful bright yellow sweater you’d told him to burn years ago.

“I can explain.” Robin stammers, hands coming up to tug at her shirt the way she always does when she’s nervous.

You scrunch your nose and force yourself to turn away from him. It should’ve been a no-brainer that Steve being here had something to do with her, because you don’t think you’ve ever seen the boy pick up a book willingly his entire life.

You point an accusing finger at her, “What did you do?”

Robin swallows, jaw opening and closing as she tries to find the words to defend herself. Finally, she lets out a loud huff and smacks her hands against her sides, “He needed a job! Keith fired him over at Family Video because he was apparently “stealing all the hot ladies from him”, and I told him to come here without thinking! I promise I immediately regretted it and I tried to talk him out of it but it was like he pulled the application out of thin air!”

You rub your temples in an attempt to calm your budding nerves. You didn’t want to be angry with Robin because she didn’t deserve your anger for offering her friend a job, no matter what your history with said friend is, but you couldn’t help the growing irritation in the pit of your stomach. “Why didn’t you at least tell me? Then I could’ve at least prepared myself!”

Robin stutters over her words, hands gesturing wildly, “Because I knew you’d be mad!”

“I’m not mad!”

“Mad about what?”

You’re almost surprised Steve has the audacity to join the conversation so casually, as if you were still the best of friends who talked every night.

You swallow and squeeze your hands into fists at your sides until your knuckles are a pure shade of white. Robin just stares at him with parted lips, eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Uh,” She swallows, allowing herself to steal a glance at you, who has since paled significantly, “Nothing.”

Steve lets out a huh, his eyes lingering on you, who hasn’t had the courage to turn around and actually look at him, instead leaving him to stare at your back. Steve doesn’t mind though, a little bit of you is more than enough for him.

The three of you are at a stand-still, everyone waiting for one of you to make the first move, for someone to speak, to shout, scream, anything.

But you can’t move because this is the first time you’ve heard his voice in over a year. It's still smooth as butter and music to your ears. It’s the first time you’ve smelt his cologne, pine and oak but still with a hint of the ocean. It’s the first time you’ve been near him, and it hurts.

It hurts because you can’t help but wonder about how different your life would be if Steve hadn’t screwed everything up, if he hadn’t said what he said or did what he did.

The back of your throat begins to ache with an onslaught of tears fighting to be let out, but you swallow them down. You refuse to shed any more tears over him.

“What’re you doing here, Steve?” Even his name hurts to say.

“Robin, uh, she told me Mrs. Beck was hiring and, well, I needed a job..”

You finally whip around and face him, your hair following you as you do and harshly slapping against your face, but you ignore it. “That’s the only reason? I find that a little hard to believe.” You mumble the last part, eyes narrowing as you stare at him. Steve hadn’t realized how much he missed your glare.

“Yeah, it is. Why do you wanna know?” He asks with a suggestive taunt, almost as if he’s daring you to take the bait. You know how his mind works though, so you don’t fall for it.

“I just didn’t know if you finally decided you wanted to learn how to read s’all.”

Steve can’t help the smirk that grows on his face. “I was hoping you’d teach me, actually.”

You scoff, a shiver running up your spine in disgust. Of course he’d say some stupid shit like that, he always knew how to get on your nerves. “In your dreams, Harrington.”

Steve grinned, a snarky remark begging to spill from his lips, but you don’t let him. Instead, you flip him off and nearly jog into the back room, your legs shaking as you go.

Robin can’t help but feel concerned as she watches you leave, seeds of guilt already beginning to grow in her stomach. She furrowed her eyebrows and smacked Steve on the back of the head, causing him to let out a sharp yelp. “What was that for?” He grumbled, hand reaching back to nurse the spot.

“What was that for?” Robin mocked, nostrils flared as she pointed an accusing finger at Steve, “You said you were gonna try and win her back! Newsflash buddy, but making her even more angry than she already is isn’t gonna do that!”

“I know that!” Steve defends, “I know what i’m doing, okay? Just trust me.”

Robin was really beginning to regret this.

❣︎

March, 1981

By the time you and Steve started your freshman year of highschool you’d gotten involved in completely different social circles. Steve stayed with all of his popular friends, and was rapidly climbing the highschool food chain. You on the other hand, well, you were doing the opposite.

You weren’t exactly a weirdo per se, but you definitely weren’t cool enough to be associated with any of the popular kids, and that was completely fine with you.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry, but there is no universe where Queen is better than The Beatles. It’s just not a thing!”

“You’re just uneducated! Freddy Mercury is a musical genius!” You argue, pelting a potato chip across your window. It nearly hits him, but loses speed and falls to the grass instead.

He chuckles and leans back in his desk chair. You and Steve had both long since decided to just leave your chairs next to your windows, it only made sense since you spent hours talking each night. “I’m not saying he isn’t, but you’re forgetting about Beatlemania. Last I checked, there was never a thing like that for Queen.”

You groan and cross your arms over your chest, eyes flickering to the Queen vinyls on your shelves. “Just admit you’re wrong so we can move on, please.”

Steve is stubborn. He knows that on all levels, The Beatles are better than Queen. But you have that pleading look on your face, the one with the puppy dog eyes. The one Steve has never been able to say no to. He sighs and throws his head back, a lopsided grin on his face as he admits, “Fine, Queen is better.”

You smile gleefully and cross your legs, “Was that so hard?”

No, it wasn’t. If you looked at Steve like that and asked him to move the world, he’d do so without breaking a sweat.

“Yes, actually. It made me nauseous.”

“You’re such a baby.”

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t spent these last two years falling in love with Steve Harrington. How could you not when he made it so effortless? Honestly, you didn’t even notice it was happening until one day you looked at him and suddenly it was like the stars aligned in front of you.

Sometimes, you’d catch yourself staring at him for too long at school and would have to physically rip yourself away and back to whatever lesson the teacher was babbling about or whatever rant your friend was on. He was just so… distracting. Especially now that he’d joined the swim team and had begun to fill out his clothes.

But, you could never have Steve. There was too much on the line. The most obvious being your friendship, and that was something you just couldn’t risk losing. It meant too much to you. But, sometimes you still let your mind wonder. You’d let yourself dream of kisses on cheeks, of love confessions done under covers and milkshakes shared over dinner.

You’d always have to stop though, because thinking about it for too long just made you sad.

The obvious fact that nobody outside of your family and Robin knew of your friendship with the boy was also a big problem with this fantasy. You knew how Steve’s friends were. If he began dating you secretly and suddenly stopped being interested in typical, well, boy things, it’d bring up questions that Steve couldn’t answer.

So the general consensus here was that Steve Harrington was off limits for the foreseeable future.

“What're you thinking about in that big brain of yours?” He asks softly, pushing a stray strand of hair out of his face.

You swallow, embarrassed to have been caught but also unsure of how to approach the question. “Nothing. Just.. thinking about this project for school.”

“What is it? Maybe I can help.”

You snorted. Steve was a lot of things - beautiful, funny, athletic - but helpful with anything school related? Absolutely not. “I doubt that.”

“No, seriously,” He straightened in his chair a bit, hitting the backrest comfortably, “hit me.”

You chuckled awkwardly, eyes avoidant. In all actuality, there wasn’t any project, it was just an excuse you made up on the spot. But, maybe you could play this in your favor.

“Well, we read this short story about this girl who’s in love with a guy she can never have, and no matter how many solutions she comes up with in her mind he will always be off-limits from her. We’re supposed to come up with a solution for her to show that, like, nothing is impossible, I guess…” You trailed off at the end, rubbing at your arm uncomfortably.

Steve made a strange noise in the back of his throat, crossing his arms over his chest as his eyebrows knitted together. You could practically see the gears turning in his head, and sucked in your bottom lip nervously. Would he know you were lying?

“That’s a weird project.” He mumbles, completely unaware of your wide eyes. “Uh, yeah, it is.” You stammered, the confused look on Steve’s face made you realize how stupid this was, and you immediately go to discard the entire thing, “Just forget it, It was stupid anyway-”

“I’d tell her to just go for it.”

Your mouth goes dry, “What?”

“I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? He says no? And what if that guy really does like her back, what then? She’ll never know if she doesn’t tell him!”

Your stomach practically explodes in nerves, and you're unsure of what to say. Steve’s looking at you expectantly, but all you can focus on is that one short phrase. She’ll never know if she doesn’t tell him.

It was true, but was it really that simple? No - it’s not. The risks are too great, and sure, Steve makes it seem so easy, but it’s not. Nothing is easy when it comes to your feelings for him.

The one thing you were almost certain of was that Steve doesn’t love you like you love him. It was obvious in the constant stares at prettier girls, with fuller figures and whitened smiles. It was obvious in the kisses he’d share with them behind bleachers, hidden away from prying eyes. It was obvious in the way he’d gush to you about his latest crush, of how beautiful they were and how in love he was. And the funny thing? They were always the opposite of you. More outspoken and confident - not afraid to show a little skin. Something you were envious of.

“But.. What if she does know? And she can never tell him because she knows he’ll reject her and then everything between them will never be the same again?”

Steve is a little surprised by your question, and he begins to feel nervous under your piercing gaze. Why were you asking him this? Did you.. did you know? There was no way you did - he always made sure to keep his feelings hidden away anytime he was with you. He’d fight down the blush, push away the longing - all of it. In all honesty, he was starting to question if this was for a project in the first place.

At first, your project had hit a little close to home, but he didn’t let himself overthink it. But now, his mind was practically swarming with uncharted waters he’d always ignored.

But, still, he amuses the question. “Maybe their relationship will change into the way she wants. She can’t assume the guy doesn’t like her just because he doesn’t show it. Maybe it’s there, and he’s just really good at hiding it.”

You no longer enjoyed this conversation. Now it just hurts - because Steve doesn’t even know what he’s doing to you. He’s giving you hope, and that’s a dangerous thing to have. It was something you couldn’t let yourself have.

You needed to get away from this conversation and honestly just let it die out. You needed to breathe in the fresh air, finally let yourself take a full breath instead of this constricted, shallow breathing you were currently experiencing.

“Do you wanna go for a bike ride?”

Steve snorts, shoulders rising and falling as he does. “Now? It’s almost midnight and we have school tomorrow -”

“I’ll go by myself then.” You’re already slipping in your tennis shoes before Steve can even argue, throwing a jacket on to protect yourself from the cold night.

Steve nearly jumps out of his chair, brown eyes amused and a smile tugging on his lips. Usually he was the one forcing you to sneak out with him, so this was a nice change of pace.

He meets you outside, watching as you wheel your light blue bike away from the side of the house and to the driveway.

“Where are we going?” He asks, throwing a leg over his own bike and gazing at the soft smile on your face.

“Anywhere.”

That's how you both find yourselves now, wide smiles on your faces as you ride through the quiet town. You were used to the quietness of Hawkins, but not like it is now. There’s not a soul in sight, the only thing illuminating the road in front of you being the yellow street lights.

Eventually, you find a nice hilltop to stop at, and the both of you practically collapse onto the grass.

You’re panting slightly from the ride, but you don’t even care. All you can focus on is the starry sky, thousands of different constellations making themselves known to you.

Sometimes, you think Steve is like a constellation. Beautiful to look at and widely studied, but untouchable. Only a select few got to go up and be with the stars, and you weren’t one of them.

“It’s beautiful out here,” You whisper, hands intertwining on your stomach comfortably.

Steve gazes at the side of your face from where he lays next to you, hands behind his head. “Yeah,” He breathes, forcing his gaze away from you and to the stars above, “It really is.”

You’re not sure how long you’re out there with him, you just know by the time you get back home you’re exhausted.

You and Steve barely spoke a word to each other that whole time, only occasionally pointing out a star that shined brighter than the others or made a funny shape.

But, as you collapse onto your bed and drift into a dreamless sleep there’s one thing you’re sure of.

You are in love with Steve Harrington, and you think you always will be.

❣︎

June, 1986

You’ve chosen to completely ignore Steve, even when he attempts to talk to you. You’ll simply stick your nose farther into your book and walk away from him.

You’ll give him some grace though, because he never takes your rejection harshly. He simply watches you walk away with a sigh and turns to talk to Robin about something.

Robin watches you turn tail and practically run away from Steve for what feels like the thousandth time this week, and she’s had enough. “Steve.”

He turns to look at her lazily, hip resting against the counter top and arms crossed against his chest. He’d attempted to ask you what you were reading today because he noticed it was different than the one he’d seen you with for the past couple of days, but as soon as you saw him approach you shot him an icy glare and walked to the other side of the store. He could see you now, sitting in the window nook comfortably.

“I’m not sure if you’re noticed, but you’re not really making any progress here.” Robin scolds in a hushed voice. She wants you to be happy, and for the past year you’ve been anything but. She’s had to comfort you through too many crying sessions, had to stay over because you couldn’t be alone way too many times, and had to watch you close those blinds for the last time and never open them again.

Robin remembers how you were before Steve went and messed everything up, and she selfishly wants that back. Don’t get her wrong, she still loves you more than life itself, but she knows what you’re like when you’re happy, and right now this is not it.

Steve crosses his arms over his chest, “I know that, Robin. But she won’t talk to me.”

She scoffs, “Can you blame her? You broke her heart! Personally, I wouldn’t talk to you either after something like that.”

Steve stares at the floor in front of him, shifting his position so his back is leaning against the counter instead of his hip.

Steve hates thinking about how he treated you during your senior year. Actually, he hates to think about how he treated you nearly all of highschool. You didn’t deserve it, and you were an angel for putting up with it. But, sometimes angels get pushed too hard.

He still remembers the tears that stained your cheeks as you begged him to explain himself, remembers the hoarseness in your voice as you screamed at him to leave. But, he thinks the thing that hurt the most was watching you close those blinds for the last time.

That was when he knew it was over. Anytime you’d argued in the past you’d always kept the blinds open, it was almost like a peace offering, like your silent way of telling him you guys would be okay.

“I don’t…” He swallows, “I don’t know how to fix it.”

Robin can’t help but feel sympathetic for him. She understands why you refuse to talk to him, hell, she’d probably do the same thing. But, she also knows Steve and she understands how much he regrets his decisions back then. She knows how heavily he was influenced by the people around him and the constant pressure to be King Steve.

“You need to show her you’ve changed, not just tell her. I could tell you I had a boyfriend but once you saw me kissing a girl you’d know I wasn’t being truthful.”

Steve can’t help the snort that slips from him at her comparison. But, he knows she’s right. What good is it to sit here and preach to you that he’s a changed man if he doesn’t do anything to prove it to you?

You on the other hand couldn’t even focus on your book. You’d reread the same page twenty times in the last five minutes, and you still had no idea what was going on! Steve was too distracting - and not just because you hated him.

You didn’t want to admit it to yourself, but sometime in the last year you’d forgotten just how attractive Steve was. The moles that dotted his neck like they’d been crafted by Aphrodite herself, and the way his eyes glimmered a honey brown whenever the sun shined on them. His lips, so pink and sculpted to fit the frame of his face. And don’t even mention his muscles or you might just faint on the spot.

You steal a glance towards him from the corner of your eye, watching as he talks with Robin about something you can’t make out. His head is hung low though, so you can assume it’s nothing good. Maybe she was lecturing him for bothering you, and if you were lucky he’d finally listen.

But, unfortunately luck never seemed to be on your side, and he’s approaching you faster than you can run away. “Y/N.” He has you cornered, your back against the window as you glare daggers at him. What the hell did Robin say?

You refuse to answer, instead choosing to go back to pretending to read your book. Steve doesn’t say anything, he just places his hands on his hips and stares down at you.

You're stubborn though, so you refuse to look at him, no matter how badly you might want to. Steve, seemingly getting the hint, just lets out a loud sigh and says, “I’m going to get food from Bennys, do you want anything?”

Fuck. You loved Bennys. But, you didn’t want Steve to let you saying yes get to his head, so you just let out a harsh no.

“You haven’t eaten since you got here four hours ago, that’s not healthy.”

“I’m not hungry.” You respond dryly. Glancing up at him through your lashes. His lips are pursed and he’s got that look on his face he always gets when he’s annoyed. He shrugs, “Suit yourself.” And then leaves without another word.

For a moment, you’re almost shocked. You’d expected him to fight with you more about it, but you’re not mad that he didn’t.

You practically shoot up and beeline for Robin, who’s already gazing at you like she’s been prepared for this. “God, I hate him!” You groan, rubbing the bridge of your nose.

Robin snorts, hopping onto the countertop and picking at her nails, “Because he offered to buy you food?”

You shoot her a glare, “Because he’s pretending nothing happened between us.”

Robin chews on her bottom lip, glancing up from her chipped nails to a fuming you. “I think he’s just trying to be nice.”

“Since when were you his biggest defender? You were begging me to leave him not even two years ago!”

Robin winces at the memory. It was true, she used to absolutely loathe Steve with everything in her, but that was before and this was now. People change - and Steve Harrington was a prime example of that.

She stays silent, knowing there’s nothing she can say at this current moment that’ll make you feel better.

You force yourself to take a deep breath and lay your forehead onto the counter top, elbows wrapping around your head as you do. You’ve been arguing with yourself on where you stand with Robin lately. On one hand, she’d deliberately offered the one man you couldn’t bear to see a job at the one place you’d felt safe from him without even asking you first, and essentially ruined it for you forever. On the other, she was just a girl helping someone she loved get a job somewhere that wasn’t a shit hole like most of the places in town.

It just wasn’t fair that that place has to be here.

You sigh, squeezing your eyes shut, “I just need a second by myself. I’ll come back out if things get too busy.”

Robin just nodded, eyes glued to the floor as you walked past her and into the employee area.

Robin knows you have every right to be mad at her right now, but if risking your friendship was what it took for you to be happy, she’d do it everyday.

By the time Steve gets back the sun has already started to sink below the clouds, and there was only an hour left of your shift.

You were still in the back room, eyes puffy and red with the remnants of tears. It embarrassed you to admit, but you’d let a few tears and sniffles escape you. You were just so frustrated with your situation.

Steve walks behind the counter nonchalantly, large hands reaching into the white plastic bag and pulling out three styrofoam boxes.

Robin furrows her brows at this, only expecting two. “What’s the third one for?”

Steve’s silent for a moment, a ghost of a smile on his lips. Did you really think he was gonna let you go hungry? He knows you - knows you love Bennys like you love breathing. It’s the only reason he got it.

“Y/N.”

“But didn’t she-”

He shoots her a look that shuts her up as she realizes what he did. Her eyes crinkle as she smiles, and opens her box. “Do you want me to take it to her?”

Steve thinks for a moment about what you would want. Logically, he knows you would want Robin to bring it to you, but what would you have wanted before he screwed everything up?

“I’ve got it.”

He grabs your box in one hand and his own in the other, taking a deep breath before he pushes the door open with his hip. You're sitting there, arms crossed over your chest and nails between your teeth. A nervous habit of yours.

You look up, clearly expecting Robin, but your gaze immediately hardens once you realize it’s him. You push your chair out from under you harshly, it screeches across the floor as you do. You grab your jacket that hangs on the back of it and go to walk past him, but he blocks your path. “I brought you something to eat.”

“I said I wasn’t hungry.” You attempt to push past him, but he doesn’t let you. Instead, he gives you that knowing, motherly look of his. The same one he used on Dustin Henderson when he babysat him junior and senior year. “You haven’t eaten since noon, and,” He glances at his watch, “it’s almost seven, Y/N. Pretend it’s not from me, I don’t care, just please eat.”

You're at a standstill for a moment, the both of you staring at each other. You know Steve’s right, but you hate it. It makes you feel nauseous that he knows you so well.

Finally, after much hesitation, you finally sit back down in your chair. Your arms are still crossed and you’re refusing to look at him, but Steve can breathe easy knowing he’s finally getting at least something from you.

He sits across from you and slowly slides your box over to you, which you open lazily.

You wanted to yell at him to go - to leave you alone to eat in peace - but it almost felt nice to feel his presence again. If you focused on it long enough, you could almost pretend it was still that blissful time before senior year. When everything had been perfect.

Steve watches as you open the box and inspect the food carefully. He can tell by the way your eyes widen slightly that you’re surprised by what you see.

“Is this..” You trail off, heart constricting in your chest.

He nods, “You really thought I wouldn’t remember what you like? Please, give me a little credit.” He teases.

You never even knew he had it memorized.

A ghost of a smile plays on your lips, head flooding with memories of late winter nights spent at Bennys with Steve.

You allow yourself to glance up at him, cheeks flushing when you find he’s already staring at you. As soon as his eyes meet yours he smiles, a genuine, crinkle-at-the-corner-of-the-eye smile.

You eat in silence for the rest of your shift, but Steve doesn’t care. Being with you is more than enough.

❣︎

November, 1981

Sophomore year is difficult for you.

Your grandma died just three days before Halloween, and it hit you hard. Steve was with you nearly all the time, not even saying anything, just holding you as you sobbed.

He never quite knew what to say to make you feel better because none of his own family was in his life. As far as was concerned, you were the closest thing he had to that.

Today marked a full week since your grandma passed, and you’d just gotten home from the funeral. He could see you now through his window, laying on your back unmoving in your bed, black dress still heavy on your body.

You’re not even crying, just staring at the ceiling. You’d always heard that grief presented itself in thousands of different ways, but you’d never been subjected to it yourself until now.

Memories of your grandmother and her infectious smile played on repeat in your mind, and sometimes if you focused hard enough, you could pretend she hadn’t died.

Your eyes squeezed shut as you did so, replaying a memory of her from your eleventh birthday party. You’d been crying for some reason you can’t even remember, and she’d stumbled upon you on the floor of your bathroom.

“Oh, Hunny, what happened?” She cooed, closing the door and sliding down next to you. She winced as she did, her knees popping the whole way down, but she didn’t complain. She just threw an arm over your shoulders and pulled you into her.

“I-I’m scared.” You whimpered, hugging your knees to your chest.

“Of what?”

You sniffled and looked into her loving eyes, “You’ll think it’s silly.”

She chuckled, forehead wrinkling with the movement, “No, I won’t.”

You swallowed, scratching at your arm nervously. “Are you sure?”

“I’m your grandma, I’d never laugh at you.”

You swallowed, letting your forehead hit your knees solemnly, “I don’t wanna grow up.” You admitted.

She didn’t say anything for a moment, which made you feel even worse. Getting older was natural and there was nothing you could do to stop it, but it’d hit you that you were growing out of your childhood.

You’d never be as innocent as you once had been, and at some point in your life you’ll never be mommy’s little girl again. And you hated that you just had to accept that.

Your grandma sighed, fingers drawing shapes onto your arm, “I know it’s scary growing up,” She murmured into your ear, “but it’s also good for us. We learn more as we grow, and we get to experience so many new things. Take me and your grandpa for example, we met when we were twenty five. If I'd never grown up, I never would have met him and fallen in love.”

The mention of your grandfather put a smile on your face. He was a sweet old man with a dashing mustache and a love for your grandma so strong you could feel it without even knowing him.

“I guess you’re right.” You sighed, laying your head against her side. She always knew how to make you feel better, it was like her special talent.

That’s why her death hurt so much, because you’d been talking to her less and less the older you got. It wasn’t something you did purposely, but with the move and all the new things that were happening in your life calling her had just never been at the top of your list. Now you wish it had.

You don’t even hear the knock in your door, you only notice Steve’s there when he’s scooting into bed next to you. You welcome him calmly, automatically falling into his open arms. He strokes your back comfortingly, leaving a soft kiss on your hairline. “How’re you feeling?”

You make a noise in the back of your throat, a mix between a whimper and a groan that shatters Steve’s heart. He hates seeing you hurt like this.

“That bad, huh?” He mumbles, squeezing you closer against him.

You choke out a sigh, “I just wish I would’ve called her. I had every chance too and I never did. What kind of- of granddaughter does that?” Your eyes are brimming with tears again, a sob tearing from your throat as you press your face closer into Steve’s neck. He smells like home.

He doesn’t mind that you’re soaking through his white shirt, in fact he barely even notices. “C’mon, Sweetheart. There was no way you could’ve known, and blaming yourself isn’t going to make you feel any better.”

“I-I just… I just wish I would’ve been better.” You hiccuped.

Steve immediately shakes his head, “No, no,” He stands and takes your hand, gently forcing you to your feet, “You’ve gotta get outta here, no way staying in this room all day is healthy for you.”

You sniffle and glance around your bedroom. Its usual warmth feels cold and empty.

“Where would we go?” You ask, gazing at Steve as he wipes your tears with his thumbs. “Anywhere.”

That's how you ended up at Bennys. Steve had recently gotten his license so you no longer had to bike everywhere.

The cloudy sky combined with the glaring overhead lights must wash you out, but Steve’s not sure you’ve ever looked prettier. The black dress compliments you perfectly, and call him selfish, but he thinks the glossiness in your eyes accentuates them so nicely.

You solemnly drink a sprite, biting on the straw occasionally and leaving a permanent indent in the plastic.

You’d heard of Bennys, apparently it was a Hawkins staple, but you’d never been yourself before now. For how popular it apparently was, it's not very busy, just a few stragglers.

You can see the chief of police, Jim Hopper, and a few of his cop buddies in one corner, a couple in a booth across from them, and two old fishermen at the bar.

“I’ve never been here before,” You murmur, watching as Steve’s head lifts from the menu to look up at you. “I’ve only been once with Tommy and Carol,” He says their names with so much disgust it nearly surprises you, “and it was really good.”

You knew Steve wasn’t the biggest fan of his friends, which was still something you found pretty weird. Why be friends with them if you couldn’t stand them? But you also understood Steve’s situation. He had affirmed his status as King Steve at the beginning of the school year, when he’d fought Mitch Mikealson and won. Ever since then he’d gotten more cautious with being seen with you.

And, yeah, it hurts sometimes to see him pretend you didn’t exist. Before, he’d still give you the occasional wave or smile, but now he didn’t even spare you a glance. But, you’d always remind yourself it was fine, because only you got to have the real him. The soft Steve, who’s boyish charm and honeynut eyes made you melt everyday.

You let out a soft huh, glancing over the menu before finally deciding on something. A plain cheeseburger with a side of cheesy fries. How American of you.

After you’ve given the waitress your orders, you both sit in a constricting silence. Steve isn’t sure of what to say to you right now or even how to approach the obvious elephant in the room, but you could hardly even focus on that.

If there’s one thing your grandma's death has taught you, it’s that you can’t let time escape you. You’d pushed off calling your grandma for months, and then suddenly you couldn’t anymore. What happens if you put off telling Steve how you feel for him, and then suddenly you no longer could? Would you feel regret like you do now?

You think you’ve known Steve long enough now to decipher how he’d react. A soft rejection, but without a loss of friendship. You think things would continue how they normally do - maybe a bit awkwardly at first but, still, as they normally do.

Then you consider the other option, which you thought to be the less likely one. On the off chance Steve does like you back, then your entire relationship would change. Would he kiss you in front of his friends? Scream from the rooftops that you were his and he was yours? Or would he hide you away, protect his reputation from your influence?

You weren’t sure.

“What’s going on in that big brain of yours?”

You smile softly at the phrase, glancing up at him through your lashes. He's leaning onto his elbows on the counter, cheeks squished between his hands. You think he looks innocent like this, and a glimpse of his seventh grade self flashes in his eyes, a time before King Steve even existed.

“Just… thinking.” You murmur, playing with your fingers in your lap.

Steve frowns, assuming you’re talking about your grandma, and he says, “I’m really sorry, Y/N. You know I'll be here for you every step of the way, right?”

You warm at his words, stomach twisting in knots. “I know,” You breathe, “we’re best friends. We have to be there for each other.”

Steve's heart constricts at the phrase. Best friends. Was that what he’d always be to you? He wants to be so much more - he wants to sweep you off your feet, show you just how much he loves you. If real love is something teenagers can’t experience, then he’s not sure he ever wants to, because whatever it is he’s feeling for you right now is practically engulfing him whole.

“Yeah,” He smiles weakly, “Best friends.”

Your eyebrows knit at the solemn look on his face, watching as he swishes the straw in his drink with his fingertip.

“Steve-” You begin, but the waitress is approaching you with your food before you can finish. Steve’s grateful for the interruption, not sure if he’s ready to answer whatever it was you were going to ask.

He distracts himself with his food, and you do the same. You're not sure why, but something about the way Steve said best friend made you feel uneasy. Did he not think you guys were? Or did he… did he want something else?

You blink the thought away, forcing yourself not to think of it.

But… what if…

You think of your grandma, how the regret of not calling her filled your entire body until you could barely breathe. Did you want that to happen with Steve? No, you didn’t. So there was only one solution.

The moon is up by the time you get in the car, and you allow Steve to drive you to your spot.

The hilltop where you first rode your bikes to last year had become almost like a comfort place for the both of you. You went anytime either of you were upset, and you always sat in the same positions. You, with your hands laid comfortably on your stomach and him with his hands behind his head. It was basically a routine at this point.

But, tonight, it’d be different. Because you were either about to ruin your friendship with Steve forever, or start something you’d never be able to turn away from.

You’re both silent, but while Steve seems peaceful, you’re anything but. Your mind is running wild with what-ifs, and you anxiously chew on your bottom lip. Just do it, you think, just do it.

“Steve?” You mumble, placing your hands behind your back and sitting up. Steve follows your lead, an eyebrow raised as he does. “Yeah?”

You squeeze your eyes shut and pull your knees into your chest, dress riding up until its hem is at the middle of your knees. “If I.. If I tell you something, you promise you won’t judge me? And- and nothing will happen to our friendship?”

He laughs nervously, “What’re you talking about?”

Just do it, you chant in your mind, Just do it.

You suck in a breath, “I love you. A lot. Like- more than I think should even be humanly possible, and I think I always have. It’s like- like this weight in my chest everytime I see you, you know? Because you’re you and I'm, well, I'm just me. And I tell myself there’s no way you could ever love me back but then you started acting all weird in the diner and I just- I had to know.” By the end of your rambling you’re panting softly, refusing to even look at Steve. You're too afraid of what you might see.

But Steve feels as if an angel herself has just blessed him. You love him?

You love him?

He feels too shocked to even move, heart practically beating out of his chest as he stares at you. The moonlight brings out your features so nicely, and your lips just look so- so kissable.

It’s crazy. He knows it is. But he’s waited so long, and he’s not sure how many times he can imagine the softness of your lips before he needs to feel it. So he does.

He connects his lips with yours so fast you barely even register it. It’s a soft peck, barely even a kiss really, but it’s perfect to you.

He pulls away quickly, hand on your cheek as he stares into your eyes. Only half of his face is visible in the darkness, but it’s enough for you. Because you’re plunging back in like you’ve been starved.

It’s messy, with clattering teeth and wandering hands. You find purchase in his hair, tugging slightly, and he lets you, groaning slightly at the feeling. His hands ghost of your waist nervously, and you reach down and place them comfortably on your hips.

It should be sinful how good he tastes - like strawberries eaten next to the pool on a warm summer day. “S- Steve,” You gasp between his lips, barely able to get the word out before he’s immediately diving back in.

You indulge in it for a few seconds more, before you’re gently pushing him away from you. He pulls back completely, removing his hands from your waist in a panic, “What’s - What’s wrong?” He pants.

You shake your head, assuring him it’s nothing like that. You take a breath, “What does… does this mean that you..?”

Steve has a big dopey smile on his face, tucking a peice of hair behind your ear, “That I love you?” He mumbles, “Because I do. So much. More than I think you’ll ever know.”

It’s those words that confirm what you’d thought for the past two years. Steve is your soulmate, someone you were always meant to find. Suddenly, you’re thankful for the move. Something that had once seemed life ruining has been the opposite - it brought you to your reason for living.

“Then what does this mean for us?” You question.

It’s then that Steve realizes this might not be all great like he thought it would be - because Tommy and Carol were still in the picture. He couldn’t just walk into school holding hands with you as if they hadn’t spent every waking day making fun of you. He never joined, always choosing to stay silent during their tangents, but he never stopped them either.

He swallows, studying your face. Would loving you be enough for him? Could he throw it all away, the parties, the friends, the popularity - if it meant he’d be able to be with you?

He’s not sure.

But what if he can have both? The popularity and you. He’d just have to keep your relationship a secret just like you had been doing for years, it was that simple! But, he doesn’t want to ruin the moment with you right now and get into that. So instead, he kisses you slowly again and murmurs, “We'll figure it out as we go.”

❣︎

July, 1986

It’s been two weeks since what you called The Tolerable Act. AKA, the day Steve Harrington brought you food and also made himself more tolerable.

You wouldn’t be going out of your way to talk to him, but if he approached you you no longer ran. Your responses were always short - but they were responses. Baby steps.

Today, when you walk into work Steve is already there stacking books and organizing shelves. His eyes are almost immediately drawn to you, and not just because he loves seeing you - no, this time, he notices something.

He thinks his heart drops into his stomach for a moment once he sees the guy with you. You're all smiles and giggles, playing with the hem of your lacy white shirt.

Jason Carver stands casually in the doorway, arm thrown above his head as he leans over you. Steve can’t see what he’s saying from here, but whatever it is, it’s making you blush.

Steve’s not even sure what comes over him - but he’s dropping the rest of the books he was organizing messily onto the shelf and speeding over to you before he can even think it through.

Jason notices first, his eyebrows furrowing as he eyes him. Steve gives a tight lipped smile, brown eyes darting between you and Jason.

Steve never really disliked Jason - he was a nice guy. A little pushy at times, but overall he didn’t seem too bad. But, now, watching Jason flirt with you like he knew anything about you made Steve’s stomach twist in the worst way.

Jason didn’t know you. He didn’t know anything about you! Steve knew it was selfish of him to expect you to be hung up on him forever like he was hung up on you, but did you have to bring Jason here?

“Harrington,” Jason said sultry smooth, bringing his arm down and stuffing his hands into his varsity jacket. He’d graduated last month and was still wearing that thing? Steve thought that was a douchey move. “I didn’t know you worked here.”

Steve hummed, “Started a couple weeks ago.”

Jason smirked, “Still working at dumps like this place, huh?” He joked. Steve could see the intentions behind what he said - they were a poke at Steve still living with his parents and not making it into college. He glances at you, but you don’t say anything, instead choosing to keep your eyes on the carpet.

“Still wearing your highschool jacket in public, huh?”

Jason’s gaze hardened just barely, enough for you to not notice, but Steve did. They both just stared at each other for a few moments, almost like they were challenging each other.

“Jason -” Both boys tore their gazes away from each other and onto you, “I’ll see you tonight, okay?” You usher, silently pushing him out. Jason bent down to kiss your cheek, eyes never leaving Steve’s as he did.

Once he was gone, you turned around and tried to make your way past him to clock in, but Steve stopped you. “Jason Carver? Really?”

Your nostrils flared, eyebrows knitting together as you gave him a harsh glare. “Who I talk to isn’t any of your business anymore.”

“That guys a total asshole!”

“And you aren’t?” You retorted, “I’m not sure if you remember, but let me remind you that-”

He cuts you off with a sigh, large hand running through his hair. His shirt rode up as he did, and you had to force yourself not to look at his tanned skin. “I remember.” He mumbled, “But, at least I've tried to better myself. Jason hasn’t! And he doesn’t deserve you, you’re so much better than he ever will be. I can’t believe you don’t realize that.” He took a breath, studying your face.

Jealousy is something Steve wasn’t used to feeling when it came to you. He’d always known that you were his and he was yours, and nothing would ever change that.

But, watching Jason Carver pull all those little giggles and shy smiles out of you that he used to - it hurt more than he liked to admit. His dad would tell him to: “grow up, she's just some girl after all.”

But you aren’t. Steve doesn’t think you ever were.

“Stop doing that!” You choke out. You’re more than fed up “Stop pretending that you’ve changed and that everything is- everything is fine! You played me for years, Steve. And as soon as I'm back together again you just show up here and remind me why I-” You pause, eyes going glassy and nose turning a shade of red, “why I can’t love you anymore. And it hurts - God, it hurts - but, I won’t allow myself to fall apart like I did again. And Jason- Jason likes me. I know he does. So don’t fucking ruin this for me.”

Steve’s silent, arms crossed over his chest as he processes your outburst. He knows he deserves it and it’s something he thinks he needs to hear, but that doesn’t make it any easier. You played me for years, Steve. Did you really think that?

Still, against his better judgment, he watches you as you turn your back to him and stomp into the back room.

You finally let out the sob you were holding in as soon as you’re out of sight, back hitting the cold stone wall. You hate him. Him and his stupid, stupid face and his horrible jokes. You hate that he can make you feel so many inexplicable things with just one sentence - He doesn’t deserve you.

If Jason doesn’t deserve you, then who does?

You avoid Steve your whole shift, and it’s easy, because Steve avoids you too. Robin called out sick which meant it was just the two of you and that made things so much worse.

You can feel his gaze lingering on you every time the clock ticks closer to your date, and it sends a shiver up your spine each time. If it’s because of your nerves about seeing Jason again or your undeniable longing for Steve, you’re not sure.

Once Jason arrives, Steve watches from behind the counter as you take Jason’s hand and let him lead you to his car, a toothy grin highlighting your face.

He sighs, crossing his legs where he stands and leaning onto his forearms. He feels helpless, like he’s an onlooker in his own life, watching you pull farther and farther away from him and not being able to do anything about it.

Jason’s car pulls away, and you watch as Bookish disappears from your line of sight. It feels foreign - leaving Steve behind to go with another guy. If you’d told yourself two years ago this was what your relationship would become, you never would’ve believed it.

“So, what’s the deal with you and Harrington?” Jason asks, stealing a glance at you.

You chew on your lip, cherry chapstick lingering on your tongue. “We used to be really close, but we kinda just…” You swallow and play with your fingers in your lap, “grew apart.”

Jason hums, fingertips drumming against the wheel as he drives. “You guys seemed more than close back there.”

You’re stumped. You can’t understand why Jason is so interested in this topic, which is something you really don’t want to talk about with him, and understandably so. You think up a quick excuse, “He’s just protective.”

He scoffs out a laugh, “Protective? No, it was more than that. It was like he- he loved you or something.” He says it like there’s no way that could be true. Like The Steve Harrington couldn’t ever love a girl like you.

“I don’t know. Maybe. Can we talk about something else, please?”

Jason doesn’t say anything and just drives silently. He’d told you he was taking you somewhere special but didn’t specify after that - and as you watch him drive deeper and deeper into the woods you’re beginning to get nervous.

He parks next to Lovers Lake, turning in the radio and immediately shifting his seat back.

You’d heard stories of guys doing this - taking a girl out to hook up with and disguising it as a date.

He's leaning over right as you realize what this is, and you pull away quickly, head nearly hitting the window. “Jason, I thought we were going out?”

“We are. I just thought.. we could have fun first.”

You swallow. This was wrong, you knew it was. Didn’t you deserve to go on a real date like other girls do? What made you so different from them?

But… Maybe this was a real date. Maybe this was what other girls did. And if that was true, shouldn’t you indulge? You’d always been aware your relationship with Steve was different than most other highschool relationships, so maybe you were finally getting a taste of the reality.

You kiss him first, practically surging forward. It’s hard and sloppy. It’s too much. It’s wrong.

You remind yourself that this is what real girls do.

You kiss him harder, holding back the whimper that begs to escape from your throat as he slips his tongue into your mouth. He tastes like cigarettes and mint - nothing like Steve.

He pulls you by your hips over the center console awkwardly, your legs banging against the dashboard as you move, but he never breaks apart.

You settle on his lap, letting him push and pull you anyway he wants. He’s in no way soft - wandering hands never asking for permission as he slips them under your shirt. This is wrong, this is wrong, this is wrong-

“Jason-” You breathe between his hungry lips, attempting to push away, but he grabs the back of your neck and forces you against him again. Your hands push at his chest hard, and he’s so shocked he lets you go.

“What’s your problem?” He pants, eyebrows knitted together.

You want to sob- because what the hell are you doing? Kissing Jason Carver in his car in the middle of nowhere? This is wrong. If this is what other girls do, then you don’t want to be like them.

“Can we-” You suck in a breath, shifting uncomfortably on his lap, “Can we just take a break? Maybe actually talk and try to get to know each other?”

He stares at you coldly for a few moments, blue eyes searching your face for something you’re not sure of. Then he’s laughing - as if you’ve said the funniest thing in the world. His chest convulses as he does, and he attempts to kiss you again but you pull away.

His laughter immediately stops and his face contorts into anger, his nostrils flared. “Are you kidding me?”

“Jason-” You attempt, but he’s pushing you off of him before you can get the word out. You land in the passenger seat uncomfortably, legs at an awkward angle but you feel too unnerved to move.

“You came onto me first!”

He was right, you had kissed him first. It was your fault he thought he’d be getting something else tonight. “I know and i’m sorry, but-”

He cuts you off with a laugh, tongue running over his teeth like a hungry animal. “I mean- there’s no way you’re being serious right now, right?” He asks, “Why the hell do you think I brought you out here? To talk? I thought you were smarter than that.”

Your eyes go wide, jaw hanging open as you process his words. Had you really been so stupid?

He points an accusing finger at you, “If you think any guy is going to want you beyond just fucking you then you’re in for a treat. Now get the fuck out of my car.”

“Jason-”

“Get out!”

So you do. You stumble a bit as your feet hit the grass, barely having any time to close the door before he’s speeding off.

The tears come before you can stop them, arms wrapping around yourself as you stare out into the lake.

The water makes the air feel cooler, so goosebumps form across your skin and cause a shiver up your spine. You don’t know how to get home from here - or to the bookshop. But there is one place you can think of.

You're not sure how long you walk, you just know by the time you reach the hill your feet hurt and your calves feel practically numb.

You collapse onto the grass with a soft groan, immediately hugging your knees to your chest. The tears had long since stopped and were replaced with occasional hiccups, eyes glassy but the tears never falling.

You stare up at the sky, finding comfort in all of the familiar constellations. Lately they’d been the only constant thing in your life, the one thing you knew would always be there and would never go away.

You hate that Steve was right more than you’d like to admit. He doesn’t deserve you, you’re so much better than he ever will be. What right did he have to say something like that to you? It makes you almost nauseous.

Steve Harrington had become something of an anomaly to you over the past year. You’d been told thousands of times that he’d changed by Robin - hell, Steve himself had been making an effort to show you that he’d never make the same mistakes he had again, but it was like you couldn’t accept it.

Your heart had subconsciously built up brick walls to protect yourself from ever being hurt like that again, and any mention of Steve Harrington threatened to tear them down.

You sigh, forehead dipping down to rest on your knees. You’re not sure how you’re going to get home, but right now it’s the last thing in your mind.

“Y/N?”

You’re head shoot’s up, neck craning to see the eyes of the person in front of you.

It doesn’t surprise you once you realize it’s Steve, because who else would be out here this late?

“Hi.” You mumble, head immediately going back to lay on your knees comfortably.

He sits down next to you cautiously, plastic bag falling next to him as he does. He subconsciously makes sure to leave enough distance between the both of you so he doesn’t scare you off. “Where’s your date?”

You close your eyes, breaths coming in shallow as you shift uncomfortably. Your head lols lazily to the side, allowing yourself to get a full view of his face. His eyebrows are raised and his arms are behind him and holding his torso up.

“Probably out being a douche somewhere.”

He chuckles, “That bad, huh?”

You nod, a soft smile playing on your lips. “Definitely wasn’t the best date ever.” Not like you had many to compare it to.

“I won’t say it even though I really want to- but just know i’m thinking it really, really hard-”

You roll your eyes, “Just say it.” You huff.

He doesn’t hesitate, “I told you so.”

You mentally conclude that Steve should not be allowed to be right ever. “What are you doing here?” You ask.

Steve’s gaze falls to the grass below, throat bobbing as he swallows. “I needed to clear my head.”

You hum in response and decide not to push it, instead letting your knees stretch in front of you as your hands fall behind you. Your eyes fall to the white Walmart bag next to him and you gesture to it with your head, “What’s in the bag?”

Steve reaches over and pulls out a six pack of cheap beer, the kind you drank when you were trying to get stupid drunk. “I wasn’t planning on having any company, so I hope six’s enough for you.”

You snort, watching as he rips one out of its packaging and hands it to you. You ignore the brush of your hands as you do.

It pops open loudly, and you immediately bring it to your lips, ignoring the burning in your throat as it slides down roughly. Steve does the same, and you both sit in a comfortable silence and drink your respective drinks.

You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol, but you can’t stop looking at him. Thoughts of how pretty he is run through your mind - but so do others. Like questions of how you became strangers who knew everything about each other so quickly.

“Do you ever wonder about what things would be like if.. if we hadn’t broken up?” You question quietly, eyes lingering on the side of his face.

He doesn’t move for a moment, lips thinning out into a line. He breathes in through his nose, “Sometimes I do. But every time I remember how things are between us I have to stop, because lying to myself almost hurts more than the reality.”

Your hands tighten into fists by your side, and you force back another gulp of the warm drink. “How did we even get here?” You suddenly laugh out, “It doesn’t even feel natural.”

Steve shrugs, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Honestly? I’m not really sure. Sometimes it feels like one day I was waking up with you and then the next I wasn’t.” Well, technically that is what happened.

You're not sure if it’s the alcohol that gives you courage, but you finally admit, “Sometimes I hate you for turning us into this.” You mutter, “Sometimes I hate myself for not trying to fix it. But, sometimes I think that is how things were always going to turn out - that maybe we were never meant to be in each other's lives and we somehow screwed up Gods plans and this is our punishment.”

“I don’t think he means it as a punishment.” Steve breathes, finally letting himself look at you, “I think it’s more of a lesson. A reminder, maybe.”

You snort, “Well, I hate this lesson, and I’m ready for it to be over.”

“Me too.”

You don’t argue when Steve scoots closer to you so your legs are touching, shorts rubbing against each other awkwardly.

You and Steve share an actual conversation - one without any arguing or resistance from you. It’s a conversation like you used to have.

You don’t argue when Steve offers you a ride home, showing that his beer is still half-way full. You don’t argue when he tells you good night, in fact you bask in it.

That night when Steve goes to bed, he watches your light flick on and your shadow approach the window. You stand there for a while - contemplating he thinks - and he hopes that you do it. That you open the blinds and show him that everything would be okay again.

But you don’t. You flick the light back off, and go to bed. Leaving the blinds closed.

taglist: @stevesxwhore @billielourdslays @carinacassiopeiae

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #joe keery #joe keery x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x yn #jason carver #stranger things #stranger things x reader #steve harrington fanfic #exes to lovers #yn #x reader #robin buckley #Spotify

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milfsloverblog · 7 months

Text

Secret Benefits (NSFW)

Part 2 (part 1 here)

Sugar mommy!Larissa Weems x fem!reader

A/N: This took a while, but it's finally here. And good news, I've got most of part 3 written already! In this part, Larissa and reader enter the vicious circle of both thinking the other one don't want them like /that/. We might be in for some slow burn, people! Hope you’ll enjoy! <3

You startled awake, hair clinging to your sweaty forehead and an unpleasant, incessant throbbing between your legs. You had dreamt of her, again.

It had been four days since you’d met with Larissa, and you’d been having those wet dreams ever since.

It always started the same way, you’d go through the evening you’d shared at the restaurant, and everything was exactly the same except for what happened when she’d drop you off at your place. You’d invite her in and she’d agree to follow you. You’d barely have time to step into your flat when her lips would attach themselves to your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive flesh and making you lose all sense of time and space.

The rest of the dream would happen very quickly, Larissa would have you on any surface of your flat she’d see fit - which had included your sofa, the wall, the kitchen counter and your dining table. She’d hike up your dress and get rid of the lacy thong she’d bought you, shoving it inside her handbag.

“Don’t pout, sweetling,” she’d whisper in your ear, her slender fingers finding their way to your heat. “I promise to buy you more.”

You could only writhe and whimper as she teased you, her digits moving in excruciating slow circles on your clit until she’d decide you’d have had enough and would push two of her fingers knuckle deep inside you, making your breath hitch in a loud gasp.

Larissa’s eyes would never leave your face as she’d relentlessly pound into you. She delighted in the way the right corner of your mouth twitched with each thrust of her fingers, how your brows furrowed deeper and deeper each time she stroked that sweet spot inside you.

You would feel the coil tightening dangerously behind your navel, bringing you closer to your well-deserved release as you’d beg your lover to keep going. Please, Larissa, please, please, please.

And then you’d wake up. You’d find yourself staring at the ceiling of your bedroom, your core aching from another ruined orgasm.

You groaned loudly as you peeled yourself from your bed and headed to the bathroom, taking a single glance at your dishevelled form in the mirror before shedding your pyjamas and stepping in the shower.

How easy it would be, to slip your hand between your legs and give yourself the release that you’d been denied for the last four days. But it wouldn’t be right. You didn’t want this, whatever this was between Larissa and yourself, to turn into something sexual. She would provide you with money and you would provide her with company, as you had both agreed on. Nothing more.

Your phone buzzed on the bedside table right as you walked back into your bedroom to get dressed. You didn’t need to check it to know who it was, Larissa had been sending you good morning texts for the last few days.

You finished getting ready for the day before picking up your phone to read her message.

Good morning, darling. I hope you slept well! Have a good day. Xx

You were almost tempted to tell her you hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in days but eventually refrained from doing so.

Good morning! Slept okay, hope you did too. Have a lovely day :)

You shoved your phone into your bag and hurried out of your flat, knowing you wouldn’t be getting another text from Larissa.

She’d text you once in the morning, then once or twice around noon when, you supposed, she was on her lunch break. After that, you wouldn’t be getting any news until at least 6 pm. At least, because once she hadn’t texted you before 8. You still didn’t know what her job was, but you couldn’t imagine being up at six in the morning only to finish your day so late at night.

As expected, you didn’t receive any more text until your own lunch break. You were out at a local cafe with your best friend, munching on your sandwich when your phone buzzed on the table.

Thinking of you, sweetling. Xx

A blush crept up your cheeks which you desperately tried hiding by taking a sip of water, but it wasn’t lost on your best friend.

“Is that your woman?” She smirked.

“Larissa is not my woman.”

“Oh right, sorry. Is that your sugar mommy, then?”

“Shut your mouth!” You groaned, swatting your friend’s arm.

You had told her about your evening with Larissa. Well, most of it. You didn’t mention the lacy thong or the fact that she’d picked your food.

“You still don’t want to do it?” She snapped you out of your thoughts.

“Do what?”

“Her.”

You rolled your eyes and put your sandwich down, wrapping it in its paper bag to finish it later.

“I’ve told you, I don’t want to feel like I’m selling my body for money.” You explained for what seemed to be the fifteenth time that week.

“Oh, come on! I would let a woman like her fuck me for free any time she wants.”

“Don’t be crass,” you said, shoving your sandwich into your bag. “Larissa is not like that, and neither am I. Now move, we need to get back to class.”

You typed in a quick answer to Larissa as you walked into your next class and sat down at your usual desk.

Thinking of you too. Wanna call tonight? I’d love to hear your voice and have a chat. No worries if not :)

Larissa was pouring herself a cup of coffee, her fourth that day, when she read your answer. You wanted to call her, to hear her voice. A small smile pulled at the corners of her lips as she sipped on her coffee and texted you back.

I would love that. I’ll text you when I’m done working. Xx

And so she did. You had been home for a couple of hours when your phone started ringing, making you run from the kitchen to the sofa to make sure you’d get it in time.

“Larissa! Hi!”

“Hello, darling. I hope it’s not too late?” Her British accent filled your flat as you pressed on the speaker button.

“No, no it’s not. Did you have a good day?” Truth be told, she did sound a little tired but you would never dare to bring it up.

“It was alright, not the worst day I’ve ever had.” She chuckled lowly, sending a shiver down your spine. “It’s a good day now, though. It’s nice to hear you.”

“It’s nice to hear you too, I thought it’d be better and easier than just texting back and forth.”

“Mhm…” Larissa hummed and you heard the distinctive ‘pop’ of a bottle being opened.

“Wine?” You asked, earning another chuckle from the woman on the phone.

“Red. Just one glass to help me relax.”

She needed it. She really needed it after the stunt that Wednesday had pulled that day.

“I wish I could share one with you,” you said, hearing Larissa pouring the wine into a glass.

“Do you?” Her voice seemed to have dropped an octave, and you wondered if her nostrils had flared like they’d done back at the restaurant.

“Yes, yes I do. I’d let you pick the wine, of course. I’d watch you pour it and wait for you to bring the glass to my lips.”

Larissa let out a shuddering breath, suddenly feeling extremely hot in her shirt. Her fingers swiftly moved to take care of unbuttoning the constricting piece of clothing, leaving her in a white bralette.

“Larissa?” You called when she hadn’t answered for a while.

“Yes, I’m here, darling. Simply lost in my thoughts.” Larissa admitted before taking a sip of wine.

“Are you thinking of me again?” You asked, deciding to try your luck.

Wine dribbled from the corner of Larissa’s mouth, rolling down her chin to quickly drip onto her chest. It would leave a stain, Larissa thought as she watched the crimson liquid soaking the lacy fabric of her bralette.

“Would you like that? Me thinking of you?” She eventually answered after another long silence.

“Maybe, yes.”

There was another silent moment as Larissa took another couple sips of wine before placing her glass on the coffee table.

She sighed loudly, wanting nothing more than to hike up her skirt and let her fingers explore her sex. It was such a shame that you weren’t interested in being intimate with her, she would have loved to listen to your heavy breathing as you’d touch yourself on the other side of the phone.

“I want to take you shopping this weekend, if you’re free,” She eventually said.

“Shopping?”

“Lingerie shopping, specifically. I want to treat you to a couple of sets. Would you be interested in that, sweetling?”

“Yes! Yes, I would love that. I’ve never really been lingerie shopping before.” But you wouldn’t pass on such an opportunity.

“Good. How about you call your work tomorrow, and let them know you won’t be able to be there on Saturday? I’ll take care of you.”

You knew what she meant by that, she’d hand you another one of those envelopes filled with a couple hundred dollars.

“I’ll call tomorrow.”

“Good.” Larissa sighed again.

She had emptied her glass, her right hand was groping at her body while the other one kept the phone pressed to her ear. She’d have to hang up soon, before she’d start fucking herself.

“Larissa?” You called again.

“Mhm? Yes, darling?”

“I should go, still need to take a shower and get everything ready for tomorrow… It was so nice to hear you, I hope we can do this again soon.”

“Any time you want, you only need to text me.”

“I will.” You promised. “Well, have a good night, Larissa.”

“Have a good night, darling.” She answered, biting her tongue as she thought of adding think of me.

You listened to her breathing for another second before hanging up and dropping yourself on your sofa.

God, that woman was hot. Her voice through the phone had made you soaking wet and it had taken everything within you to keep your hand out of your pants.

Back in her quarters, Larissa didn’t have as much self-control as you did. Her skirt had been hiked as soon as you had hung up, her legs parting to let her move her panties to the side.

“Oh, darling…” She breathed out as she eventually let her fingertips brush on her clit.

You had bewitched her, it seemed. If she didn’t know any better, Larissa would have wondered if you maybe were a siren.

The tall woman was halfway through fucking herself, the coil in her lower stomach tightening with each thrust of her fingers, when she suddenly realised how wrong this was.

She immediately pulled her fingers out of herself, her cheeks burning in embarrassment. You had made it clear that you didn’t want to have sex with her, and it wasn’t right for her to be touching herself thinking of you.

Larissa made her way over to the bathroom to thoroughly wash her hands, eventually opting for a full cold shower to clear her mind from any more sinful thoughts.

As you both got into bed that night, only a few miles away from each other, you both shared the same thought.

How on earth am I going to survive a lingerie shopping session with her?

———————————————————————

taglist: @raspburrythief @weemssapphic @readingtheentrails @larissaoftarthweems @principal-weems09 @kimiinou @winterfireblond @im-a-carnivorous-plant @geekyarmorel @h-doodles @azu-zu @barbarasstar @witchesmortuary @vigelvictoria @m1lflov3rrr @dumbasslesbi @crow-raven-crow @fridays-coven @lilfartbox1 @shawncantwrite @autumn-leaves-chasing-breeze @gwens0girl @aemilia19 @the-bagel24 @lvinhs @thefutureisus2020 @gela123 @a-queen-and-her-throne @rando-mango @wheresmyboo @my-silver-spring @hillary-nicks @ablsk @natasha29romanoff @tallvampirelady12 @canyoufeelmyheartsayinghi @moonyboyjay @i-love-nerdy-stuff @1-800-milfdilf @musicallovinggal @scarlettssub @jasperobsidian-blog @anoymous614372 @i-write-sometimes-maybe @brienne-the-brave @slytherinthepms @non-binary-frogking @wife-of-gwendolinechristie @anjo-iludidoefudido @imnotafruitt @opheliauniverse

#gwendoline christie #larissa weems x reader #larissa weems #principal weems #larissa weems x y/n #no beta we die like larissa #secret benefits

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cevansbrat0007 · 8 months

Text

An Afternoon with Minerva

Summary: Ari finds himself finally ready to admit the truth about his feelings for you...

Warnings: Mature Themes, Slight Angst, Ari Being A Menace, Mentions of Death, Cancer, Dead Mothers, Brief Mentions of War, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: This story is part of my Sweet Renegades Series. Not beta'd. Not beta'd. All mistakes my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

Somewhere Four Hours Outside of Bell’s Creek, Texas

“Shit!” Ari hisses when he almost slips in the middle of trudging up the muddy hillside. It had been raining pretty much non-stop since he’d made it out of Dallas and it hadn’t shown any signs of slowing down.

But that hadn’t been enough to stop Ari Levinson – not today anyway. Today he was a man on a mission. And that mission involved a meeting with a very special woman. The very first love of his life, and he’d almost missed it.

What kind of son forgot about his own Mama’s birthday? Not him. Otherwise he would’ve never heard the end of it from Evelyn and Marcia.

He knew without having to call them that his sisters had already been by with their families earlier in the day. And the last thing he needed was them throwing a fit over his absence, no matter how justifiable it might’ve been.

The Bounty Hunter nearly stumbles again as he weaves his way through the numerous memorials and monuments. He tries to move carefully, doing his best not to disturb the tributes dedicated to others’ loved ones who’d all gone too soon, regardless of how much time they’d spent on this earth.

And his sweet Mama was no exception. She’d left him just shy of his 21st birthday. He’d been by her side, holding her hand as she took her last breaths. Which seemed only fitting since she’d been there holding him on the day he’d taken his first.

Cancer had done his Mama dirty. But while it had robbed her almost everything – her hair, her ability to walk, and ultimately her life – her fighting spirit had remained. Minerva “Minnie” Levinson had gone out swinging, leaving him behind to see after his two younger siblings.

A sixteen-year-old Evie had been so angry back then. So small, but so unbelievably pissed at the world. Meanwhile, sweet baby Marcie had clung to him so tight he’d damn near had a fight on his hands whenever he wanted to take a piss by himself for longer than two minutes. That ten-year-old might as well have been his second shadow.

He’d honestly had no idea just how much he missed her following behind him until he’d been deployed overseas during his first tour. But they'd needed the money and the benefits. And he’d needed an enemy – someone or something that could help him channel all of the rage and anger and hurt that had been simmering beneath the surface.

So he’d left them behind to help fight another man’s war. But not before entrusting his sisters’ care to his friend, Vicky Gunther. And at the time, the fact that she’d also been his highschool sweetheart had felt like an added bonus.

It hadn’t necessarily mattered that his mother had never been too crazy about the woman. But what had mattered was that the girls had someone he knew to look after them while he was out risking his life.

Ari’s grip tightens on the flowers in his hand as he finally finds himself nearing his Mama’s grave. Evie and Marcie had picked it out, all he’d done was sign off on the check. They’d assured him that it was exactly what she would’ve wanted, right down to the quote etched into the granite, which read: “Always keep them guessing.”

That had been Minnie Levinson’s favorite phrase whenever they pulled up in a new town. When you’d grown up being on the run, staying one step ahead of your opponent was an absolute must. Especially when that opponent happened to be your own damned father. Growing up the son of Rex Levinson meant always having to look over your shoulder.

Because you never knew where he might be lurking. He could be states away or, more likely, right around the goddamned corner. Waiting to strike when his poor, terror-stricken family least expected it.

So they’d had to learn to always expect it. Even now, the only reason Ari felt any peace was because his Daddy was currently enjoying an all-inclusive, taxpayer funded 15 year stay at the James Crabtree Correctional Center in Helena, Oklahoma.

Thankfully, Rex still had a few years left on his tab before society deemed his debt to them finally repaid in full. Once he was released, he’d deal with it then. But right now…

Now it was time to see about his Mama. And this chat that they were about to have was long overdue.

A smile finds its way to Ari’s lips once he’s finally standing in front of his mother’s memorial. He pauses briefly before crouching down to place the bouquet he’d brought with him next to the offerings left behind by other members of his family. Although he wasn’t surprised, he was happy to see that they’d all brought daylillies, which had been her favorite.

“Hey. Happy birthday, Mama.” Ari whispers, allowing his fingers to brush along the cool granite. “I made it. Just like I told you I would.” His eyes flutter closed as a light breeze blows by, gently ruffling his chestnut locks.

It was a sign from Minerva herself, letting him know that she was there with him too. Just like she said she would be. And his Mama had never been one to lie to him. Not even in death.

“I see the girls have already been here. I’m surprised they haven’t blown up my phone.” He stands then, grimacing when his left knee cracks as a result of the movement. It seemed like that old injury only bothered him when it rained. Shit sucked.

“I’m sure Evie brought by baby Micah for his first visit. He’s cute ain’t he? Little chubby-cheeked shit machine.” Ari chuckles at that, scrubbing a big hand over his heart. “And I’m not being rude. First time we met he had a blowout in his diaper that was so bad we both needed a shower.”

He laughs harder at the memory of him desperately trying to hand off his incredibly messy nephew to first his own Mama, and then his sister. They’d swerved him so fast, claiming that it was about damned time he learned how to change a diaper.

He’d been mighty pissed at the time. But even so, he and baby Micah had stomped off to the bathroom, determined to handle the stinky situation like a couple of real men. And when they’d emerged from said bathroom forty-five minutes later, they’d been the ones to have the last laugh.

Okay, not really. Micah’s mother, Evie, had been too busy napping on the couch to notice much of anything, her body buried beneath a sea of half folded laundry. And Marcia was playing Go Fish with their four-year-old niece Isobel. But Ari hadn’t allowed the lack of fanfare to take the wind out of their sails.

He’d just grabbed a bottle of milk from the fridge and retreated to his sister’s bedroom, intending to teach the kid about the importance of football until they’d both dozed off. And he still had the picture Evelyn had taken of them both that afternoon, fast asleep in the bed. The baby rocking a Dallas Cowboys onesie, and him wearing her lavender bathrobe.

“They were just jealous, Mama. There I was being a good uncle, bonding with my nephew, and they were playing paparazzi.” That breeze kicks up again, the smell of wet earth filling the air.

“But I’m sure you already know that. You were there. You saw everything. Those two were picking on me like they always do.” Ari pouts then, jamming his hands into his pockets. “There’s just something not right about those girls. Everytime I’m around ‘em, they pinch and poke and prod. Always asking if I’m seeing someone.”

“It’s annoying is what it is. Makes me feel like a damn pincushion or somethin’.” The Bounty Hunter grumbles, nudging a tiny weed with his foot. “How am I supposed to tell ‘em anything if I haven’t run it by you first? Especially when it’s…when it’s…” He trails off as he searches for the right word.

“Real.” He sucks in a breath as his head dips to his chest. “It’s real and it’s right and it’s new. It’s all those things, Mama. And I don’t know what to do with any of it because it’s like I spend half the damn time fightin’ with myself and the other is spent fightin’ her wanting to fly away on me.”

One hand leaves his pocket to rest on the back of his neck. “And I know what you’re probably thinking, Mama. But that ain’t the issue. This woman, my little Bird…she ain’t Vicky.” He rocks back on his heels, careful not to slip in the rain soaked grass.

“And I know you didn’t much care for Vicky. I already told you that I made a mistake with that one. I thought I was doing a good thing leaving the girls with her…” A harsh sigh leaves him as a fresh wave of bitterness rises in his throat. But he swallows it down, refusing to let it choke him.

Because there was more to be said about the woman in his life today. His woman. His sweet Bird.

“Bird is everything I thought Vicky was. But it’s more than that. She’s the best part about that godforsaken Bell’s Creek. And something tells me that she’s wading knee deep into a pile of shit with this fuck, Martin, and these assholes, the Prescotts. It’s all one big mess that I normally would be chompin' at the to get rid of…”

Ari’s head drops again as he prays for another gust of wind, wanting another sign from his Mama to let him know that she was still listening. He doesn’t speak again until he feels it on his skin. This time it’s a loving caress, a gentle reminder that he’s not alone.

How could he be when he had Minnie Levinson by his side?

“I haven’t had a single nightmare since I met her. I’m not saying I’m fixed or anything…” He shrugs his broad shoulders. “But maybe I’m not quite as broken as I thought I was. At least she sure doesn't seem to think so. She just tells me I am an ass.”

The sound of squirrels playing in a nearby tree is enough to distract him, albeit briefly. Once they settle down he quietly forges on.

“Ma, I swear this girl is really something special.” Ari whistles, running a hand over his beard. “Sweet, funny, absolutely gorgeous – and did I tell you she runs a bookstore? Can’t go and leave that part out now can I?”

By now the rain has stopped, with the sun finally beginning to emerge from behind the clouds. He welcomes the warmth it brings. His Mama deserved to enjoy a little sunshine on her special day.

“She – we fight like cats and dogs sometimes - my Bird and I. But that’s not really my fault. I mean I consider myself to be plenty damn agreeable with most things. But my woman…let’s just say I’ve met mules less stubborn than she is. But even so, it’s…it’s like I can’t get enough of her.”

Ari blows out a comforting breath before closing his eyes, his fingers going to the bridge of his nose. “She’s…she’s making me wanna stay. Got me wantin’ to plant roots and build her a house, complete with the white picket fence.”

“I’ve been lost since the moment I laid eyes on her, Mama. And nothing feels right unless I’m with her. When she’s not around it’s like I can’t think – I’m off balance and…” He swallows thickly. “Like even now, I’m here with you and there’s a part of me that is just itchin’ to get back in my truck and haul ass all the way back to Bell's Creek. I mean, I suppose I could’ve brought her with me.” He cocks his head to the side as the thought strikes him. “She would’ve come, but I couldn’t...”

Ari goes back to awkwardly bouncing on the balls of his feet. “I couldn’t bring her here because I needed to talk to you about her first. Introduce her properly so that I could tell you myself that I…” He swallows again, fighting the lump in his throat.

“I love her, Mama.”

There. He’d gone and said it. Not in his head. But out loud to the air. To the world. To his Mama.

“And that sweet little spitfire makes me work for it every day. I’m telling you right now that she needs a damn keeper. And I need her to keep me…balanced.”

A grin spreads across his features as he feels the weight he’s been carrying suddenly lift from his shoulders. “I’m gonna introduce her to the girls, okay Ma? I know they’ll love her like I do. But can you do me a favor and tell ‘em to be nice? You know they never do anything I say.”

Ari bends down to let his fingers graze over his mother’s headstone one last time. “And when the time is right, I’ll bring her here to meet you too.” He murmurs, wishing for a moment that they were actually speaking face to face instead of like this. But unfortunately, that couldn't be helped.

“Until then you rest easy, alright? Because me and the girls are doin’ just fine.” He takes a tentative step backwards. “I love you, Minnie Levinson. And I’ll be back to see you real soon.” Ari turns on his heel, preparing to navigate his way back to his truck.

Halfway through the maze he pulls out his phone, thumbing through his contacts until he lights upon your name. He taps the entry before holding the device to his ear. The sound of your voice on the other line is enough to ease the subtle ache in his chest. At least for now. But he also knew from experience that it wouldn’t go away until he had you in his arms again.

Just four measly, lonely hours until Ari Levinson felt whole again.

END

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a-dumb-sarcastic-bisexual · 9 months

Text

Nimona headcanons plus a little bonus at the end

Whenever the trio gets home it's like a switch is flipped off inside their brains and all they want to do is be lazy and relax

They’ve got very busy and stressful lives and a pretty small home so it’s not uncommon for them to yell when they’re asking a question instead of just getting up

And if they can’t hear each other they’ll just call the other person

One time Ambrosius was yelling asking them what wanted for dinner and was interrupted by Nimona calling him

He answered the phone and all they said was “What’d you say I couldn't hear you” he didn’t even question it he just kept talking

Nimona brings dead animals home

I have this small headcanon that the first time she shifted into her human form was when she met Gloreth

So before that she was living mostly as different animals and she kind of learned their ways and those ways stuck with her

So there is a small part of her that sees Bal and Ambrosius as incompetent hunters (can you blame her)

The boys always thank her for her doing a good job and then they wait for her to leave the room before they freak out because MY GOD SHE BROUGHT A FUCKING DEAD RAT IN THE DAMN HOUSE

There have also been times when she’s brought live animals inside the house the trio spent half an hour trying to get a traumatized bird out of their living room

I just know for a fact that Bal has a crazy amount of brain damage

This man has used his head as a weapon and has been hit on the head more times than I can count

So I feel like he has a really hard time remembering the little details he gets really bad migraines and headaches pretty frequently his eyesight is absolute shit and he has to wear contacts or glasses and he gets really bad vertigo if he doesn’t take care of himself

This worries the shit out of Ambrosius and Nimona but there isn't much they can do except deal with the symptoms when they show up

So I was thinking about the fact that as far as we know Nimona never told Bal about what went down with Gloreth

But I know that the boys would try and heal the damage that Gloreths legacy left behind

And in the middle of everything Bal turned to Ambrosius and said “I just wish that fucking eyesore was gone”

He didn’t have to ask what he meant he knew it was the statue

So Ambrosius got to work trying to get it torn down

A lot of people including some distant relatives that he hasn’t heard from in years tried to argue that it was an important monument and that her story touched a lot of people

To which Ambrosius responded with “I’m her direct descendant if anyone gets to choose what happens to that statue it should be me”

It was a couple of months into Nimona’s return when the demolition was approved

The boys had asked him a while after he came back if it was something he wanted

And all he said was “As long as I get to help”

It was super therapeutic for both Nimona and Ambrosius

Like don’t get me wrong the damage she did to Nimona is still there

And Ambrosius will always have a complicated relationship with his lineage

But tearing down the “fucking eyesore” heals something inside them

It was supposed to be a month-long process but Nimona and Ambrosius kept going and it was completely gone after two weeks

When all was said and done they collapsed on the couch and went through just about every single emotion you can go through

A little bonus I made my mama watch Nimona with me and here are some of my favorite comments: Mind you when I first put the movie on this woman was acting like I was pulling teeth

“I like the queen she seems nice” (and then she freaked out when she died)

“So they’re nice to him 'cause he’s gold I would just steal the armor what does he have without that?” “Money Mama” “Ah”

“Why are they so mean to him he’s just a baby?” (talking about Bal)

“She’s just like you especially with those freaky eyes” (when Nimona met Bal)

“Oh, so she’s the rhino…. Makes sense”

“Awe she’s cute I can't hate her” (about Nimona again)

“Oh wait she isn’t cute that’s freaky” (when Nimona was the demon baby)

“That’s like you and your sister” (Bal and Nimona interrogating the squire)

“Hey, mama is arm chopping a love language?” “I’m worried that you would even ask me that”

“Oh he’s got issues huh?” (after Ambrosius’ internal freak out)

“Can he die a little quieter… and faster” (after the Director stabbed “Ambrosius”)

“Oh fuck that little blond girl”

We had to pause the movie right before Nimona started her rampage because we were getting tired and I woke up to her in front of the tv with it pulled up on Netflix and she turned to me and said “Can we finish it already?”

“If she sacrificed herself I will never forgive you”

“Do you watch anything with straight people?” “Mama you literally ship them” “That's not an answer” (this is right after Bal and Ambrosius kissed)

“Is there a next part?..... so when’s the next one coming out?”

Once the movie was over I told her some people thought Ambrosius and Bal were related and she looked me dead in the eyes and said

“You’re joking. No you have no be kidding… He literally said it in the movie!” “Said what Mama?” “oh I love him so much and I lost him whatever will I do”

And then she kept making fun of Ambrosius for the next three minutes

I asked her who her favorite was and she said Nimona I go “aweee you love me” she looks me dead in my eyes and says “don’t make it awkward”

#nimona 2023 #Nimona movie #nimona headcanon #nimona #ballister boldheart #ambrosius goldenloin #ballister x ambrosius #goldenheart #I love my mama so much #this woman is so judgy #watching the movie with her was hilarious #she bullies Ambrosius the whole time so I know she loves him

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invaderzia1 · 9 months

Text

Horns (Wyll x Tiefling!Reader)

After breaking his promise to Mizora, Wyll navigates life as a brand new Tiefling. Luckily for him, he has support in his tiefling friends.

yes I’m aware the game isn’t out yet but I really liked that scene with Wyll and Mizora. Also this is set in act 1

Since disobeying Mizora, Wyll had been rather moody. Nobody could really blame him, not after the way she stormed into their camp and basically turned him into a tiefling, laughing about how some magic even she can’t fix. She left him with rather hefty horns on his head, leaving him to figure out how to navigate life with them by himself and laughing about how it’ll affect his reputation as the blade. So nobody was surprised when the heavy horns caused Wyll to struggle with his balance and maneuvering through his recent days, but they rather kept to themselves, all having other things to deal with then offer support to the poor man.

Except, you had been watching him. You had always found him quite charming and handsome, it honestly made you quite glad that he accepted traveling with you and the rest of your companions.

It had been a week since the incident and you’ve kept a close eye on Wyll, giving him space to process everything. But being a tiefling yourself, you couldn’t help but notice the lack of care he is giving his new horns. You knew what happened when people didn’t take care of them correctly, having suffered the consequences of failing to properly take care of your own.

Wyll is stood by the river near camp, having finished cleaning himself and getting ready to join the others for whatever food Gale decided to cook up. He barely even notices you sneak up behind him, too busy staring at himself in the reflection of the lake, still not used to his visual changes.

“You know, you gotta take care of them.” Your voice startled Wyll, causing him to jump slightly before turning to look at you. “Can’t just pretend they aren’t there or they’ll grow weird or get too brittle.” You moved closer to him, trying yo be cautious around him while assessing his new horns. “Kind of hard to tell right now what they’ll do, but I have some extra things if you need them.”

“What?” Wyll says in disbelief, almost self conscious about you having noticed how poor he’s cared for them the past couple days.

“If you don’t take care of them they might start grow weird.” You walk over, trying to get a better look at how his horns seems to be growing. “Or, they’ll become brittle and start to chip off.” Reaching up, you cautiously bring your hand to his right horn, but refusing to touch it until Wyll gave consent.

It takes Wyll a few seconds of going through his emotions before he leans his head down, letting you touch his horns. Your hands touch softly against it, standing on your top toes to get a better look at where they meld into his head. Then moving to look at the sharp tip of the horn.

“Hmmmm,” you let your feet fall flat again, letting go of Wyll, “I have an extra pad to smooth it down. They look healthy, but you are going to have to be careful of them getting over grown.”

“Like a sheep?” His voice comes out as a mix of surprise and disbelief, raising an octave.

“Yes,” you smile, finding it a little funny how that’s the only comparison he could think of, “like a sheep.”

He makes a noise of annoyance, accompanied by the sound of your laugh. As he looks up at you, he takes notice of your broken horn, recalling Karlach also has a similar situation. It feels rude to just ask, but he feels the situation permits it.

“May I ask what happened to your horn?” Wyll nods his head to your broken horn, instinctively your hand goes up to touch the nub.

“Oh this old thing,” you start, laughing a bjt to yourself as the memory surfaces in your brain, “fun story actually, when I first started traveling I didn’t have enough money to keep my usual tools with me. So I went without taking care of them. Ended up in a fight against a lone gnoll, thing got a good grip on my head and just took the rest of my horn off.” You can’t help but laugh, knowing to everyone else that seems wildly traumatic, but so much time has passed that you feel disconnected from it. “Luckily, I was able to even the score. We both left that fight pretty fucked up.” Your hand falls to the necklace around your throat, decorated with teeth that Wyll is now able to identify as gnoll.

Wyll’s mouth drops horrified for a brief second, then letting air escape his nose as he starts to laugh. It’s a weird and fucked up thing to bond over, but for the two it seems to work. As the laughter dies down, you put a hand on his shoulder.

“Wait here, I’ll go grab my bag and help you with them.” You say, then running back towards camp, leaving Wyll slightly flustered by your kindness.

You rush back, a brown bag tightly held in your hands as you come back. You gently lead Wyll to a large rock by the water, patting it for him to sit down, which he does. Placing the bag next to him, you jump onto the rock and kneel behind him, just like your parents used to do for you when you were young. Reaching into the bag, you pull a small vial of a yellowish liquid and a round brown pad.

“Alright, now this is horn polish, you can find it in most market places or you can make your own.” Your hand snakes over his shoulder, showing him the vial. “It goes on before you use this,” your other hand goes over his other shoulder, reveal the coarse rough pad of material. “This will help you buff out your horns and keep them looking smooth.”

Your hands disappear behind him, he can hear the vial open behind him and then feels your hands softly applying some of the liquid to his horns. You take great care in making sure you cover all of them, then wiping your hands off on your bag.

“This is going to feel kind of weird the first couple times, but it’ll get better, I promise,” you warn him, giving him a few seconds to brace himself.

The feeling of the rough pad against his horns is awkward and uncomfortable, almost like hearing nails on a chalk board. Wylls teeth grit together as he clenches his hand together, trying to brace himself as you go to work. He feels your body get closer to him, trying your best to comfort him while using both hands on his horns. You try your best to be both thorough while going quickly, recalling how much you hated this when you were a kid. To try and distract him, you opt to speak.

“When I was a kid, my dad used to help me with my horns. He was always better at this part than my mom,” you admit. “I used to start crying when she would do my horns for me because she was so rough with it. If I saw her with the pad in her hand I would immediately start crying and run off, trying to hide. She’d always find me though.”

“Really?” Wyll chuckles.

“Yeah. Looking back, I feel kind of bad about the trouble I gave her when she was just trying to help me. But at the time it seemed like a reasonable response.”

Wyll and your laughter blend together, the mood becoming more light as you continue to work on his horns. He starts to tell you small bits of his teen years, talking about the trouble he used to get in.

“Alright, now that we are done with this part, it’s time to move on to the finish touch,” your voice announces, slowly putting the used product back into the bag. You pull out another bottle, this one looking more clear than the polish, but a thicker consistency. Your hand rests on his shoulder, leaning over as you show him the bottle more. Wyll feels his heart rate pick up feeling you this close to him, but watches as you start to explain this product. “This is your last step, it’s a protective coating to keep your horns shiny and helps strengthen the keratin.”

“So, I just slather it on them?” Wylls face turns slightly to look at yours.

“Yeah, you don’t need much either, it spreads like crazy.” You lean back, popping the bottle open and reaching up to his horns again.

Slowly, your hands start to rub the oil onto his horns, being as gentle and smooth as possible. It grows quiet as you concentrate on keeping the oil only on his horns and making sure it’s spread as thin as it can be. Wyll, on the other hand, grows quiet as he enjoys the intimate position you are in. It’s been years since he’s felt this close to another person, having spent years to following Mizora closely. He allows himself to drift closer to your touch, feeling more at ease now than he has the past couple weeks, possibly even the past couple years.

“And that should do it,” you reach down and wipe off your hands on your bag. Wyll snaps back to reality, giving some space between you. You smile softly down at him, then gesturing from him to look at himself in the lake.

Wyll stands up and takes a few steps, looking down at his reflection and seeing how nice his horns now looked. Moonlight now illuminated them from the shine, its a small change but it makes him feel warm. It’s the first time since becoming part infernal that he’s felt content with his new appearance.

Wyll looks back up at you, still looking amazed by the work you had done. He takes a step closer, putting a hand on your shoulder as he speaks.

“Thank you.”

“No problem, I know it’s been tough for you.” You smile softly at him.

Wyll moves closer, as if he wants to lean closer. You prepare yourself for him to do so, your body leaning closer to his until a loud voice interrupts the both of you.

“Are you two done down there or should we just eat without you?” You both hear Gale ask, followed by comments from Shadowheart and Astarion that you most certainly don’t need to hear to know that its innappropriate.

Now both your cheeks flush red, flustered by being caught by the rest of the group. As you hear Astarion make one more comment, you start running up the hill and threatening to grab your a stake for him. Wyll just stands there, watching you as you start to argue with Astarion, hearing Shadowheart and Karlach laugh at the display. His heart fills with warmth as he looks back at his reflection in the lake, seeing the way his horns now shine with the moonlight. Grabbing your bag, he slowly makes his way back to camp.

#wyll x mc #wyll x reader #wyll x tav #baldurs gate 3 x reader #baldur’s gate 3 x reader #baldurs gate 3 #baldur’s gate 3 #maddy writes

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grimalkinmessor · 9 months

Text

I love the Light Grows Up In Wammy's House premises but I also think I love it in a very different way than most people do

Like I don't see it as a Childhood Friends/Rivals™ trope for Lawlight, I very much see it as Light growing up being told that there's someone better than him, someone he must not only surpass, but become—and I think he does the opposite of what BB does. He starts to hate L not because of anything L actually did (because they wouldn't have met) but because everyone keeps implying that L is better than him when Light KNOWS that he's the superior one. Beyond finds out that L is addicted to sweets and immediately changes his diet to include cakes and candies, while Light immediately wipes everything sweet from his mental list of desired foods.

He is perfectly polite, he's the baby of the group, and he can do no wrong in every other aspect of life except for the fact that he vehemently doesn't want to take L's place no matter how hard they push him. He wants to become his own sort of detective on his own merit, and he'll be damned if he has to use L's name while he does it. If he solves any cases it's anonymously, under a pseudonym.

And if he ever meets L, they won't be friends. But that vaguely disconcerting teen/man that sometimes sits in the corners of rooms and talks to no one is very interested in what Light has to say, no matter what it is, and seems to both enjoy it when Light talks shit about L and yet is still somehow annoyed by it. They get into heated arguments and he'll steal Light's things and pull his hair and mess up his clothes no matter how many times the caretakers chastise him for it (though even that happens surprisingly rarely). Light would stop talking to him entirely if he wasn't his only hope of getting out of Wammy's little genius factory both physically and mentally intact.

Light makes plans to run away and runs them by the broody teenager he's tolerated, who helps him pick out any holes in his plans, but somehow the staff always seem to catch Light before he can escape. It happens so often that Light even begins to think that someone's snitching on him, but he's only ever told one other person, and he wouldn't care enough to stop Light from leaving....

Would he?

Or, alternatively, Light never meets that stranger in the corner. Instead, Watari happily sternly informs him that L has personally selected Light to help him on cases. Isn't that great? Isn't it an honor? A and B are practically roiling with jealousy, Light should be grateful.

But Light is not grateful. He takes the news with a big ole fake smile, and silently plots L's mysterious disappearance before he's even come face to face with the man. He wants to make it on his own, he doesn't want to be reliant on L's name and Wammy's money and generosity forever, and he loathes the fact that he's been metaphorically chained to L's title in all the ways he didn't want to be.

A tiny Light, accompanying a teenage L places and becoming his face (both because L is petty and because he thinks its funny when police are introduced to a little kid as their Consulting Detective) around the world, all while they throw vicious barbs back and forth and spend quiet Christmases together and throw each other under the bus for fuckups and try foreign cuisines together and struggle to keep (L)/gain (Light) the power and ground they both don't even actually want.

L gives Light all the cases he doesn't want, like he's doing him a favor, and Light regularly calls A and B to smack talk L behind his back and turn the rest of his successors against him.

I can even imagine some amalgamation of both of these scenarios happening, or even eight more vaguely like them in the vein of L and Light being both completely antagonistic towards each other while also simultaneously growing so codependent that they can't stand not knowing what the other one is doing at any point in the day and also get absurdly jealous whenever anyone else even speaks to them.

Or EVEN a scenario where L doesn't pay attention to Light at all until he's grown and out in the world on his own. Light makes a quick name for himself, decidedly divorced from Wammy's influence, and eventually meets L on accident through a case L is working on, wherein L becomes intrigued with him and looks into his history only to find that he's a Wammy kid and L goes "Oh. You're one of mine."

To which Light takes decidedly poorly given that the claim both riles and razes Things™ in him because growing up with the vaguest desires to be like the man in front of you even though you loathe him and those desires were quickly squashed and never thought of willingly or voiced aloud leaves behind both the intense need to alienate yourself from said man entirely and to get close enough to become better than him for all to see and witness—only for Light to find that he can't alienate himself completely from L anymore because L decidedly won't let him and he can never quite seem to surpass him either because L is constantly nipping at his heels, echoing his thoughts with brilliant deductions of his own, and it turns out that trying to intellectually sprint past someone who only starts running when YOU do and has a distinct headstart is harder than it looks.

#long post #death note au #death note #lawlight #yagami light #l lawliet #i legit cannot picture them purely fluffy im sorry it goes against everything in me to right them and pure and loving partners #theyre awful and theyre perfect for each other #wammys house #beyond birthday #alter #a #a fucking...SEETHES when she finds out that L picked the only one of them who didn't actually want to succeed gim #b is more cynical so he's less surprised but he joins in on a's hate in solidarity #on the inside though he thinks its fucking hilarious #grim rants

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lostbetweenvampiresandmusic · 4 months

Text

Love at first murder

Paul x f!oc

Happy New Year!

After closing her shop, Nora realised she is being followed. She is prepared and managed to prevent anything bad from happening, but then this handsome boy shows up.

Paul has been feeling like shit lately and figures out why: he has found his mate.

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

Sometimes, the boys would jokingly talk about finding their mate. Someone who would complete them in a way. David was deadly serious when he said that he didn't have a mate - although Paul thought Michael would have been pretty close to it had the whole Emerson affair not happened. Dwayne didn't mind the thought of a mate per se, but still, why would he need one when he was more than fine right now? Marko simply refused, even going so far as saying that he'd just kill his mate right then and there - no way that he would be tied down. Paul knew that realistically speaking, Marko wouldn't even be able to kill his mate, but the point was clear.

Paul, however, just always assumed he didn't have a mate. And if he did have one, it had to be someone who knew how to party. Someone who would yell along to his songs and didn't mind the drugs. But he, too, always said he didn't mind having no mate.

Lately, he had been feeling off, though. A strange knot forming in his stomach, tugging him a way from the cave and towards - well, somewhere. The feeling had started almost a month ago, and every single day that he tried to ignore it, it got worse. First, it was a small tug, but now it felt like he was slowly being ripped apart. So, he decided, after abandoning the boys for the evening, he would follow that bloody tug and see where it would lead him.

On the other side of town, in a small bookstore, a young twenty something year old girl sat behind the counter. The store was mostly empty, except for this grandma with her grandson, and she had decided that she could best spend her time reading while they browsed. Tonight's read was - once again - Anne of Green Gables. Oh, how she loved Anne and her dear friendship with Diana. And, how she loved the budding friendship between Gilbert and Anne. It never bored her, even though this was the ninth time that she read it.

Paul frowned as he sat outside the store in a tree. This girl - pretty but yet seemingly quite nerdy - had been the cause of all this? Was this girl - he realised this as the tug in his stomach lessened - his mate?

No. Paul refused. His mate would not be a hermit, a booknerd, someone who would describe every single drug as "You know, weed and such" and then giggle as if ot was something horribly tabboo. His mate couldn't be someone who probably never even heard of Black Sabbath before. How? In every store he heard about finding mates, he had always been told that they were made for each other. But this girl - she didn't seem to be the right fit for him. For Dwayne perhaps, but for him? He shook his head, deciding to leave.

"Was this everything?"

"Yes, thank you Nora. I'm so sorry for coming in this late."

"Nonsense," the girl behind the counter smiled. "I was still here, and I know how important a good book is."

"Grandma said this one had pirates," the boy looked proud. Nora grinned.

"It does! I'm certain you'll like this one. It's quite an adventure." She wrapped the copy of Peter Pan in some brown paper and handed it to the grandma. "That will be seven fifty."

As the grandma and grandson left, Nora closed the shop. She counted the money, put the bills in the save, locked the doors, and made sure the blinds were locked as well. Grabbing her bag, she looked around one last time before nodding. She had everything.

As she walked out the back, she couldn't help but feel as if she was being followed. Multiple times, did she stop and look around, but every time, the street was empty. "If this is your idea of a joke, it's not funny!" She called out.

"Who says it's a joke?"

Nora turned around quickly, seeing an older man standing four feet away from her. He had a sickening grin, as if she were his prey. Nora's look darkened.

"What do you want?" She sounded impatient, which she was. She just wanted to go home and watch a good movie, read some more, enjoy a cup of tea, and then go to bed.

"Smile for me, pretty."

"Fuck you, asshole," she crossed the street, her hand gliding into her bag. Her dad had told her to always be prepared. She had forgotten her pepper spray at home, but the boxknife she used to open deliveries to her store was safely tucked away in her bag. Her hand closed around it, ready to pull it out if needed.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, bitch!" He came at her, quickly. She couldn't move away. He pushed her to the ground. He was out of breath, grinning madly. She looked at him. She tightened the hold on her knife. The man moved down as if to kiss her and-

She stabbed him. His cheek. His eye. He fell backwards, his blood covering both himself and Nora. She tried to push him off of her, but he was heavy - to heavy for her. She tried to crawl away from under him but had no luck.

"Shit!"

"Fucking hell, are you okay?"

Nora screamed, eyes widened. "Where the fuck did you come from?"

The boy, tall and looking as if he could have been performing at a rock concert looked at her.

"I heard some struggling and came to see what was going on. "

"Can you help me move him? I-" Nora hadn't even finished her sentence, or the guy had already lifted the man up. Seemingly as if the creep weighed nothing.

"Thanks."

"Glad to know you can defend yourself."

"Hm?" Nora looked up. She had been a bit lost in thought, wondering if she had killed him - and if so, what the consequences were. And then, what was this boy doing here, helping her? And why was he so familiar, so handsome, and why did he feel so safe?

"You did quite a number on him."

"Is he alive?"

"Barely."

"Oh." She sat on the curb still, shaking a little.

"You did nothing wrong," the guy held her hands, having a slightly proud look on his face. "You protected yourself. That's all."

"So we just leave him here?"

"Yeah. It's no one's loss. Believe me."

Nora nodded, getting up with his help. "Let's get you cleaned up. The boardwalk is pretty empty right now, so you can use the showers at the beach without anyone asking questions."

Nora walked with him, not asking how he knew about the number of people on the boardwalk or how he knew that no one would ask questions. Her whole dress was covered with blood, and she thought it was quite noticeable. When they arrived at the showers, the guy turned to look at her.

"I don't even know your name."

"Nora."

"Paul." He grinned. "What's your size? Than I'll get you some clean clothes."

"You really don't have to, I-"

"Come on, when I take you out that's when people will notice the blood on your dress."

"Wait, what do you mean take me out?"

"You know, a date? I'd like to know more about you."

Nora couldn't help but feel flustered. "Alright. I'm somewhere between an M and an L."

"Don't worry, I got you," Paul grinned, "I'll knock three times when I get back."

Nora smiled despite everything. Something about Paul made her feel safe. The way he helped her without asking any questions or being freaked out... she liked it. She liked him - which was weird because she only met him an hour ago. And yet, she realised as she washed the blood of her face, she would follow him to hell if he asked.

Paul still wasn't sure what to think. Nora was different than he thought her to be. Even before accepting that she was his mate had he realised that she was beautiful - but seeing how she protected herself, how she was clearly freaked out by the whole situation, and still managed to think straight. He liked it. He liked her. Maybe, he thought as he grabbed two dresses. Maybe she was the right fit. Maybe he didn't need someone who was exactly like him.

Nora opened the door after hearing three knocks. Paul stayed outside, handing her the two dresses. "I didn't know which size would be better, so I got both." Nora smiled. That was kind of him, she thought as she put the larger one on. It was comfy and warm.

"So," she said as she got out of the shower unit, "if we were to go on a date, where would you take me?"

"Dinner, obviously."

"Alright. But, " and she looked very strictly at him, "I pay. You already helped me with well, you know, and with the dresses. I pay for the food."

"That all depends on who gets the waiters' attention first, babe."

Nora smiled. They decided on pizza, and after finishing it, it had been Paul who had been the quickest in gaining the waiters' attention. It might have been because Paul had yelled: "Yo, we're ready to pay here!" Nora had given him the win.

"Paul?" It was in the early hours of the morning, and he had just dropped her of at home. "Do you want to hang out again? Tomorrow maybe?"

Paul was quiet for a moment before smiling. "Yeah, I would. Pick you up at eight?"

Nora nodded. She had almost reached her front door when she turned around, walked back and gave him a soft kiss on his cheek. "Thanks for tonight."

With those words, she disappeared inside her house, leaving Paul alone.

"What's got you so happy?" Marko asked as he entered the cave. "Found a good fuck?"

"Better."

"What's better than that?"

"I found my mate."

"Holy shit," Marko looked at him. "For real? What are they like?"

"Nerdy. Adorable. And absolutely amazing."

"You're whipped dude."

"How did you know?" Dwayne had walked in.

"Ah, it was love at first murder," Paul grinned. Maybe having a mate wasn't so bad.

#the lost boys #marko #david #paul #dwayne #tlb #the lost boys 1987 #tlb 1987 #the lost boys x reader #lost boys #paul x reader #paul x oc #paul tlb

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www-jungwon · 7 months

Text

between the lines . yjw

[fall_ing for the cute guy who works at the bookstore]

pairing ! jungwon x bookworm!gn!reader

1/7 of elena’s autumn enhypen series !

genre ! strangers to lovers, bookstore trope, mainly just fluff

summary ! the love story between you, a bookworm, and jungwon, the cashier at your local bookstore. (it starts with a book recommendation)

tw ! mentions of drinks (coffee), addictions (only to caffeine), money, jungwon actually being the cutest thing ever

wc ! 3k

ft. coworker heeseung

୨♡୧

the guy behind the desk is unfairly pretty. he must be new; you’ve never seen him working at the bookstore before and you definitely would’ve remembered the way the autumn light highlights the details of his face, teeth sliding over his plump lower lip. his elbow rests on the wooden desk, silver cash register gleaming to the right. he leans his chin on his fist, head tilted forward interestedly as he reads his book on the desk. you watch him flip the page, delicately resting his fingers on the side with less pages to hold it open. he reads something that makes him smile softly, eyes round and innocent, and you wonder how someone can look so ethereal just reading a book.

turning back to the new releases shelf with your heart racing slightly, you scan the rows of books. this past month has been one of the worst months of new releases you’ve seen since you started coming to this bookstore. against your will, your hand hovers over the shelf, sliding off a romance book. you can’t talk to him without a book, right? that would be weird. you pretend to read the back even though you already did when you came here last week, eyes retracing the same dull words. you drag your thumb over the paperback cover, sneaking a glance at the desk again.

he’s talking to a customer now, smile soft and easy on his lips as he hands them their book.

you swallow, trying to look away as he opens his book again, the customer leaving out the windowed door. he settles back into the same position with his chin resting in his fist, following the words like a cat chasing a laser pointer, eyes big and focused in a way that makes you want to scream into your hand. taking a deep breath, you walk over to the desk, weaving through the large number of people squeezed into the bookstore and gently place the book onto the counter in front of him.

he looks up, eyebrows raising naturally and you try not to smile at how cute he looks.

“oh, sorry, would you like to buy this?”

“yes, please,”

he nods, sliding the book over the scanner and your eyes fall onto his nametag. jungwon, it reads, handwritten letters traced on. it matches him, you decide, the way he writes, the way the script slants to the left and how the thin lines that indicated the way he didn’t pick up his pen drag between the letters.

“is that everything for you today?”

you startle out of your thoughts slightly, “oh, um, yes, thank you.”

“it’s, um, a good choice.”

“sorry?”

“it’s a good choice.” he nods at the book. “i liked that one.”

“oh,” you say, “oh, um, really?” it’s confusing, the way he makes your thoughts mix, in thrall of him, but it’s also the most lovely feeling you’ve ever experienced.

his smile envelopes you in softness. “yeah, it was really good. i liked the character dynamic and…yeah.”

the back of the book described the main character to sound stupid and unlikable, but you nod anyway.

leaving the store with your unwanted purchase, you step into the fall-kissed street, swipes of red and orange littering the tops of the trees. as a leaf falls through your view, softly swaying from side to side in the breeze, you think of him, a smile falling onto your lips almost involuntarily, except you want to smile, thinking of him.

୨♡୧

you didn’t read the book. in fact, you came back to return the book, which was bought under duress. sure, the duress happened to be wanting an excuse to talk to the prettiest person you’ve ever seen, but duress is duress, right? it’s not until you see the aforementioned pretty cashier from last time that you realize it’s a thursday. his shift day. this is not good.

“oh, um, hi again,” he smiles.

your eyes flick down to your book bag, which is holding the book. the one he liked. the one he said was a good choice.

“hi,” you smile.

“did….did you like the book?”

“oh, uh, yeah, i- i did. i really liked it. the character dynamic was really good, like you said.”

you hear a snicker, gaze shifting over to his coworker, who grins at jungwon teasingly and then turns to look at you.

“sorry, just ignore me.”

jungwon’s gaze snaps over to him, glaring.

“heeseung, don’t you have to go restock one of the fantasy shelves?” he narrows his eyes.

you and heeseung look back at the fantasy section simultaneously, which is completely full.

heeseung laughs, furrowing his brow in fake concern,“definitely, yeah, no, totally. i mean, how could i forget? gotta restock the fantasy shelves because they’re so empty.” he strolls off to the shelves, grinning at you as he leaves.

“um, sorry about him, so, how can i help you?”

you open your mouth, and your lips stay parted for a few seconds as you realize you don’t need help with anything.

“oh, uh…could you give me a recommendation?”

“sure! so,” he pauses, blinking. “you liked that book?”

“um, yeah, i- did,”

he pauses, thinking about something.

“well, the author has written a lot of other books that are kind of similar-”

absolutely not. “oh, i was looking for something a little different, just because i’ve kind of been reading a lot of books like that recently.”

“well, in that case, this is my favorite book, which i recommend to everyone, but it’s almost incomparable to that, uh, book.”

“oh, that’s totally fine. how much is it?”

he opens his mouth, then pauses. “oh, uh, we’re- we’re actually sold out…but you can have my copy…”

he holds out a worn paperback to you, golden lines stretching over the cover.

“sorry, i know it's kind of old..it’s okay if you don’t want it, but i thought i would offer it to you. we’re getting another shipment next week.”

“oh, i can’t take your copy, that’s-thats yours-”

“no, it’s totally fine, i have other editions, but this one i was just rereading at work, ‘cause i like to read my notes.”

great. so he’s smart and pretty. not a big deal or anything.

his fingers fidget with the pages as he pushes it closer to you.

heeseung walks back behind the desk at that moment, freezing when he sees the book on the countertop.

“jungwon?” he asks, tone incredulous.

“what?” jungwon sighs.

“is that- your copy?”

“obviously?” he raises his eyebrows exasperatedly.

heeseung gapes, laughing slightly in shock, gaze sliding over to you. you shrink slightly in embarrassment, although you’re not sure of what.

“go. away.” jungwon hisses.

“what do you want me to do, restock the sci-fi section?” he grins, and you glance back at the sci-fi section, packed full of people.

“shut up,” jungwon slides his hand over his face and heeseung holds his hands up, turning and going into the back of the store.

“sorry about him. again.” jungwon slides the book towards you again.

“oh, i-” you hesitate, knowing how sacred your own books are to you, but your fingers close around the edges. “thanks, i’ll- when do you want it back?”

“oh, you can just bring it back whenever.”

you smile, and it isn't until you’re long out of the store that you realize he remembered you, out of the huge crowd of people from last time and the specific book you bought. and that today was the last day for returns, so you just wasted 10 dollars. but talking to jungwon is worth it, to you.

୨♡୧

you haven’t stopped thinking about his book the entire week, or him.

you watch him blow hair out of his eyes, lower lip folding over the upper one. he curls his fingers into his cheek, chin resting in his palm as he serenely reads another book on the counter.

you read his book in one sitting, curled into your couch for three hours as you pored over his little annotations, thoughtful notes penned into the margins in his perfectly messy handwriting. there was something so personal about seeing his notes on his favorite book, like a piece of his soul, and they make you want to protect him with your whole being. they were so intelligent, your mind keeps drifting back to your first encounter, imprinted in your brain.

“i liked the character dynamic and….yeah.”

odd, for someone who wrote about the symbolism of the wind in specific contexts for each chapter and small hints of foreshadowing that built throughout the novel, but maybe it’s harder for him to say his thoughts then write them.

you set the book down on his counter, watching the way he blinks cutely in surprise as he looks up, being taken out of his book.

“oh, hi,”

you smile, “i brought your book back,”

his eyes widen in excitement, although he tries to mask it, “did you like it?”

you take a deep breath, the power of the book consuming you. “i need a moment.”

he laughs at your dramatics, putting his chin back into his hand so he’s looking through his lashes at you.

“you liked it, then?”

you nod wordlessly, watching his eyes light up.

“oh my god. finally. i’ve been trying to get my friends to read it forever but they won’t because it’s so long. it's so good, right?”

you laugh at his excitement, something about it seeming so precious, “i read it in one sitting.”

he grins. “me, too, the first time i read it.”

you rest your hands on the counter, becoming enraptured by your conversation, ranting over your shared opinions and the absolute crime it was for the author to kill off that one character. you’re not sure how you end up sitting behind the counter next to him, talking in between him checking out customers’ books.

he laughs at your sarcasm over details of the book, grinning so cutely when you become passionate about the decisions of certain characters, and you watch the way his eyes light up when he talks about the genius moves of the author. at some point the conversation shifts, and you talk about everything. your hobbies (aside from reading of course), how autumn is both of your favorite seasons, why the author absolutely needs to release the sequel sooner than the scheduled date, and you’re so swept away by the conversation that you don’t notice the time.

you’re not sure how long you’ve spent talking to him when you leave, the sky having dimmed into the glow of dusk.

୨♡୧

you step into the bookstore, eyes landing on jungwon sitting at the counter, watching as he flips through a book again, looking up at the sound of the door clicking behind you. he makes eye contact, catching you staring at him and you turn away quickly, hiding behind the new releases shelf again. you don’t actually have any books you want to buy, you’re really not sure why you even came to the bookstore today. you definitely didn’t go out of your way to make sure you could go on a thursday, his shift day, and you’re only holding the coffee that he mentioned he wanted to try last week because you were going to the coffee shop anyway. but now that you’re in the bookstore, you can’t even get a book off the shelf because you’ve got both hands holding coffees, so you shyly step around the shelves, walking over to the counter.

“i was, um, i was gonna get a book- well, i brought you coffee, and now i can’t get a book because, my hands are, um, full,” you set down his coffee on the desk.

he gasps, “pumpkin spice latte! you remembered!” he looks up at you, eyes big and innocent and precious. “i have a gift for you, too,” he pulls out a new copy of his (and your newly) favorite book from under the desk, “we got the restock, and they tend to sell out pretty fast, so i saved you a copy.”

you blink, “oh my gosh, thank you so much,” you reach for your bag.

“oh, i- um, already paid for it.” he pushes the book towards you and you look at him incredulously.

“let me pay you back!”

“no, it’s okay, you bought me coffee,”

you shake your head at him resignedly, watching his softly cheeky grin expand. “now i have to buy you coffee, like, every day, though,”

“i mean, it’s only actually worth, like, two coffees-”

“books are worth ten coffees, especially books that someone saves you when he thinks they might sell out, those are worth at least twenty.”

he grins at you, “it’s okay, i promise! you’re going to get me addicted to caffeine,”

“how are you not already?”

୨♡୧

you stretch up to the top of the shelf, fingers grasping at the book, but you can’t pull it off, letting your hand drop to your side as you lean back onto the ground off your toes.

you feel a warm arm wrapping around your waist, fingers tightening into your hip securely, causing you to fall back into the figure behind you in surprise. you look up to see an arm effortlessly sliding a book off the highest shelf. your book. you turn around, gaze falling on the nametag in front of you, and it’s jungwon, the one handing you the book. he smiles shyly.

“hi,” he mumbles, cheeks flushing slightly.

you swallow, “hi,” you say, breathless. his face is so close to yours you can feel his breath falling over your lips.

his arm slips off your waist like an afterthought, his proximity lingering on your mind the rest of the week.

୨♡୧

“you weren’t, um, here last week,” he closes his book softly, your eyes drifting distractedly to his fingers slipping off the edge of the cover.

“oh, um…” you snap back to him, “oh, yeah, i was sick,” you had tried to go but you literally couldn’t get out of bed, and when your friend came over she looked at you like you were crazy when you said that you wanted to go to the bookstore, insisting that you were much sicker than you actually were because there was no way you in your right mind you would want to go to the bookstore while ill.

recently you can't be sure whether you're even coming to the bookstore for books anymore.

he nods at you. “well, i’m glad you’re feeling better now.”

you nod, “thanks, it was kind of a rough week.”

he nods, swallowing and then looks down at the counter. he fidgets with his book, running his finger over the edge of the pages. “i, um, i was wondering-” he looks back up at you, licking his lips.

“god, finally!”

you jump slightly, looking over at heeseung. “i’ve been waiting for this moment this whole month. it was so annoying, hearing him go on about you every single shift. and last week he was so worried-”

“heeseung!” jungwon hisses.

“wha-oh,” heeseung says, seeing your confused expression. “sorry, i only heard the first part of your sentence and got excited. go on,”

jungwon glares at him until he leaves, slipping into a crowd of customers.

“um, what were you gonna say?” you ask.

“oh, um, i was wondering,” he pauses, “i mean- i actually really hated that book.”

“what?” you squint slightly in confusion.

“the romance one. when you first came in, i just wanted to talk to you. i really hated the character dynamic, but for some reason it was the first thing i could think of to compliment” he blurts, “and- and heeseung was making fun of me for giving my book to you, because i guard it with my life, i won’t even let him touch it, and i- i just gave it to you, which is kind of crazy, i’d only talked to you once before but i memorized your eyes and your smile and then i just gave it to you, and i think you’re really pretty and i really, i’ve really enjoyed our conversations? and i was, wondering if you- if you maybe wanted to go out with me? maybe to a cafe? or something?”

butterflies rush into your stomach, warmth enveloping you comfortingly.

“i would love to,”

he smiles, wide and genuine, and you melt, drowning in him, in the eyes of the pretty guy behind the desk.

end.

୨♡୧

a/n ! OMGGGG i stayed up late so many nights to write this and now i'm sleep deprived so if no one reads this i will shed actual tears also i think im in love with bookstore trope jungwon/this readerwon dynamic 😭😭😭😭

this fic is part of my enhypen autumn collection ! send an ask or comment to be added to the taglist <3

taglist :

@mrchweeee @aureliaxuuu @miyseung

#🍂 FALLing for you : by elena !#jungwon x reader #enhypen x reader #jungwon x fem!reader #yang jungwon x reader #jungwon x you #yang jungwon x you #jungwon imagines #jungwon fluff #jungwon drabbles #enhypen imagines #enhypen reactions #enhypen drabbles #enhypen #jungwon #enhypen jungwon

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ravenrune · 1 year

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A little Luis x F!reader thing I've been working on for the past few days. I enjoy writing the reader meeting a character for the first time, so here is one for Luis. I went for she/her pronouns this time. I'm sorry I didn't go for gender-neutral. I will again next time! <3

No warnings. Fanfic. Not beta-read. Around 900 words.

The first step

Under any other circumstances, Luis loved to attend parties. The wedding he was at right now, however, had killed his joy very early on. Luis barely knew the couple and didn’t understand why they’d invited him. Politeness, he figured. He used to work with the man, and they had kept in touch after he’d left Umbrella, but to call them friends would be a massive overstatement. Vague acquaintances seemed much more fitting.

Except for this time, anyway.

Initially, Luis had looked forward to the wedding. Not because he cared much about the wedding couple, but because he always wanted to meet new people. This wedding, however, was boring with a capital B. It seemed as if everyone present was in a relationship and didn’t feel like interacting with strangers.

Luis himself had come alone. He’d tried to get a friend to join him, but nobody had been interested. Luis didn’t have any women in his life that he was romantically involved with, so he hadn’t been able to score a date, either. Didn’t matter much, though, because normally, he was pretty good at keeping himself, and strangers, entertained.

Bored and annoyed, he got up from the table, seemingly invisible to the people around him. He’d go out for a smoke, have another drink, and maybe then it would finally feel appropriate to leave. He didn’t think he’d ever be home before eleven after a party, but he really wasn’t feeling it this time.

“Ai, ai, ai,” he muttered, stepping out into the rain. He was pretty sure the weather forecast had promised clear skies, but apparently they’d been wrong again. “How hard can it be to predict the weather?”

“Surprisingly difficult, actually,” came a female voice from behind him. “Want to stay under my umbrella?”

Luis turned around and saw a woman standing there. Relatively young. Nice dress. It was too dark to see the colour of her eyes or hair. She was holding a big umbrella and gestured to him to come over.

“Don’t mind if I do.” Luis flashed her a big smile and stood next to her. “You mind if I light one up?” He held up his pack of cigarettes.

She shrugged. “Nah, go ahead.”

Luis lit his cigarette and placed the pack and the lighter back in his pocket. “Why are you outside? It’s a bit cold, no?”

“Cold doesn’t bother me much,” she replied. “It’s a bit too… crowded inside.”

Luis glanced at her. She had nice features, but he still couldn’t tell what colour her eyes or her hair were. “Is it too crowded, or is it just too boring?” He asked, only half joking.

She laughed and looked around to ensure nobody was close enough to hear her. “It really is very boring,” she groaned. “I kinda regret coming here. I could’ve stayed home and watched a movie. Would’ve cost me less money, too.”

“Yeah… I don’t even know why I was invited,” Luis muttered. “They don’t seem that interested in their guests.”

“Money, probably. They just want gifts. Isn’t that why people get married in the first place?”

Luis nearly choked on some smoke. “People get married for money? Where’s the romance in that, amiga?”

“Romance is dead,” she stated matter-of-factly, “everything is just a financial transaction nowadays.”

Wow. Luis wasn’t sure about what to say. How could someone think that way? He wondered if perhaps something had happened in her past, that someone had hurt her badly enough to turn her away from romantic interactions.

It was hard to imagine, and the thought made him feel a bit sad. His first instinct was to see this as a challenge. A challenge to try and conquer her heart. Then again, he also knew very well that that could end badly. He may consider himself quite the ladies’ man, but he wasn’t in it to hurt people. He didn’t hop from woman to man to woman just to satisfy his needs and move on. Not anymore, anyway. Not like when he was younger.

Luis had gotten so lost in thought, his cigarette started to burn his finger. “Agh!” He threw the thing on the ground and stomped it out. “That hurt!”

“Not the smartest thing I’ve ever seen,” she joked. “Do you need a plaster?”

Luis smiled. “Nah,” he muttered. “I just gotta pay attention.”

He liked hearing her laugh, he thought to himself. He wouldn’t mind hearing it more often.

“You eh… you got a name, amiga?” He asked.

“Y/N,” she replied.

“Good name. I’m Luis Serra.” He extended his hand, which she shook. “Encantado.”

“Same… I think?” She smirked. “How about we go back inside and get something to drink? I’m sick of the rain.”

Going inside for a drink. That seemed like a very nice first step for Luis. “Yeah, why not. I’ll buy you one.”

“Eh?” She frowned at him. “Drinks are free tonight.”

“Oh yes, of course.” Luis laughed. “Well, I’m sure that after tonight you’ll want nothing more than for me to take you out and buy you one elsewhere!”

“I doubt it,” she muttered while folding her umbrella. “But hey… surprise me, I guess.”

Now that was definitely a challenge, and Luis wasn’t the type to say no to one.

#luis sera #luis serra #luis sera x reader #luis serra x reader #resident evil #ravenrune writes

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cupidscrule · 4 months

Text

OLD ENOUGH 2 DIE

Re4 Leon X Fem! Reader

Tw - drug trafficking

P in v, finger stuff

You were a spoiled bitch, had daddy's money to take care of anything.

"Daddy - pleasee com'on It's only 2k, can you transfer the money? Yay! Thank you daddy mwah"

Spoken into the brand new phone you got, you had money, had everything. Never went a day without living like a queen, never understanding poor people 'ugh why can't you just work harder? Honestly it's not that hard ' said to thousands of waiters at 5 star restaurants. Never even tipped em, throughout high school you were a dick to everyone, if they weren't hot and skinny. Classic mean girl to be honest

"Hunny, absolutely not. We can all tell that bag is a fake, it's embarrassing.. you should honestly thank me for telling you how stupid you look.."

"Oh! That's not.."

"Babes, you know I want the best for you so.. that dress really makes you look fat, maybe wear something more flattering?"

Backhanded comments were your LIFE, had every privilege, didn't even try in school. Just sucked and fucked your way to A's, but you were hot so it's fine! It doesn't matter if the pretty girl makes the slug kill herself? She's all innocent, everyone who tried to defend you was hilarious. "Oh she's just insecure!!" Bullshit, no you weren't? You just hated all those chicks. Rightfully so, they were all annoying whores.

You were just treating them how they deserved to be, not like any of them had a future besides sucking dick.. you're different though, that's what you always told yourself. Sure you dressed like a skimpy bimbo, fucked the sports team twice. But you're different, an exception to the slut rule..

"Daddy can you send me an Uber? I don't have enough money in my account. Dad I said I spent it all shopping- no dad please- it's gonna be night soon, I NEED an Uber. Daddy? UGH" stomping your feet, making your own little hissy fit in the middle of the street, clutching the little pink fur purse you bought, looking around at all the people staring at you. Pout on your face and brows furrowed, throwing your phone on the ground and walking away, you were a good half hour away from home, and these boots were NOT made for walking. They were brand new plus, wouldn't wanna ruin em. And to top it all off it was freezing cold, like -15C. All you had was a white fur coat belted around your waist, with stupid little ear muffs. Couldn't even find matching gloves, freezing cold at Six PM alone on a Friday night, with no phone .. what a perfect day!

Stomping off not really knowin' where you're going isn't that smart though, but you were never a smart kid. Never did drugs or anything like that, just not very smart in the real world. Couldn't read signs, or fight, or have basic common courtesy. Shuffling your feet through the snow for god knows how long till tik street lights flicker on. By this point you got no clue where you are, started off downtown now you were in the middle of fucktown with nothing you recognize, see this is why daddy should've moved to a smaller town after The business deal, that way cops wouldn't be on his ass and you would know where you're going. Sure DC was the place to be! Except for the fact it's the stupidest place to be if your main source of income is drug trafficking, you didn't care where daddy got his money as long as you got it in the end. But what you did care about is when daddy refused to be smart about his shit. Like what are you on if you think moving to Washington is a good idea after makin' a major deal, you're dad was important. He was wanted for a lot. But you didn't do anything wrong, you're innocent! So you never cared about what would happen if dear old dad got caught, he could buy himself out of trouble just like before.

Still aimlessly walking up and down the streets trying to find anything identifiable when you hear footsteps behind you.

Turning your head to see who's behind you, and it's a taller man with blonde hair, it's getting dark so there's not that many details. He's wearing really weird clothes, just staring at you, his eyes narrow and look at your face in the flickering lights before opening his dumb mouth

"Listen, we can make this easy kid. Just come with me back-" he started speaking, stepping towards you. Immediate nope, fuck that, the police actually caught the hell on? AND THEY WENT AFTER YOU? Worst day ever, dropping your bag and making a run for it just like daddy said.

"Sweetie, if the cops ever find you, and are onto you. Run. And run far."

Never actually thought what that old sack of shit said mattered, I mean nothing bad ever happens to you.

Running around corners, frantically, heart racing, why, why, why, why. You had NOTHING to do with daddies private shit, if anything you're a victim to his crimes.. yeah victim! I mean dad was a creep sometimes, huggin' a bit too tight, grabbing your ass like you were his girlfriend. Even though mom was dead for a long time, he never got over her and I guess you looked closest to her?

Running into an alley way, like any smart fucken girl would, totally. There was a chain link fence, then what looked like a field leading to someone's apartment building? Pretty sure someone from school lives there, yeah Milo in Chem 100% does he's the welfare kid and this was the poor side of town. Bingo.

"Ah- not so fast"

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Don't even reply, no don't reply, you have about five fucking seconds before getting dragged away and everything taken away. Pathetically trying to pull yourself over the fence, y'know if you really tried you could do it. But you don't try. Feeling a hand grab your ankle, pull you down ripping your cute coat, if you're gonna kidnap a girl at least keep her shit nice damn. He throws you down, trying to scramble up only to get immediately knocked out and your unconscious body dragged away.

"fuck" you mutter under your breath, opening your eyes drowsy, vision kinda blurry but you can see everything, trying to move your hands and legs but then feeling the rough rope press against your sensitive skin, looked like you were an old ass storage unit, some boxes piled up in the corner, walls looked rusty. A table in the middle of the small room, and a guy just standing there. Few seconds later lights flicker on, they're dim but you can now see detail in everything. That includes your unknown kidnapper? Or agent? Or cop? He wasn't really dressed like any of them, wore a dark blue t shirt,tactical black pants, and black gloves. Not sure what profession of people wear that, plus he was too cute to just be a random kidnapper, pretty blonde hair with gorgeous blue eyes and a muscular figure.

"Oh you're awake, huh thought that would've taken longer." He says eyes darting towards you as you try to wiggle out of the rope, it's tight. "Who the fuck are you? Where's my dad! Do you even know who I am?" You say acting as if your dad was a fucken celebrity and not a filthy pig. You knew you were in a deep fucken mess, so when in doubt, lie. Lie about everything, you're innocent, no Mr. officer my father would never! You have the wrong girl I'm just a highschooler !

"Don't play dumb missy, cut the shit. Let's get to the point, I know your dear old dad is involved with a lot. And so are you, aren't you? So why don't you tell me where dad does all his importing and where he gets the shit from, hm?" He says coldly, almost as if he's talkin' to a little kid. "I don't know what you're talking about. Just let me go!" You whine staring up at him, he's just standing infront of you arms crossed over his chest, getting a better look at him, he wasn't just a random guy, he looked important. Didn't know why though, a sigh comes from his lips as he blinks slowly at you, "honey, I really don't wanna get messy. Just hand over the information and you can go back to doin' whatcha do, I don't care." He said, arms still folded over his chest, he was a good fifteenth-ish feet away from you and your chair, you grit you teeth, brows furrowed as you stare at this guy. Pissed off, "don't call me honey, I told you I don't know what you're talkin' about." You mutter to him, pout on your stupid lips.

"You're a bad actor, it's really obviously. Plus you're on file, darling. Now can you just tell me the important stuff?" He said putting on an obvious fake begging face, puppy eyes and all. You were trying to get untied, only getting rope burns on your wrists, squirming and whimpering in that tiny wood chair. "I didn't do anything, I don't know what daddy does to get money.. talk to him not me" you say batting your lashes, pushing your face out towards him, he takes another step forward. Putting his arms down, lookin' at you like you were some thing he found on the bottom of his shoe. "You have the face of a pornstar" he says out of the fucking blue, such a handsome voice but such a shocking thing. "I'm in highschool, pig." You scrowl jaw clenched, tone change from 'inccocent little girl' to 'raging bitch.' like a public appearance vs how you act in private. "Mm, well you're eighteen now correct? Nothing's wrong with that now is it? And it's just a fact, you've fucked and sucked your way up. No way someone like you is about to pass, in truth you're a pathetic attempt at human and a failure of whatever we can even call your sorry ass. But at least you make up with it for a massive rack and cute face"

Ouch. Okay.

Words didn't even form, jaw dropped, eyes shocked. Honestly not even knowing what to say, what do you say to that? 'oh yes sorry Mr man you're right I'm a dirty slut!" Absolutely not, because you aren't. "So, you gonna answer me?" He says, he's just a few feet away from you, leaning down to your whiny ass face. A small smirk on his dumb lips,

"fuck. you."

He just looked blankly, at you, almost dumbfounded by how much of a fucking MORAN you were, tied up in small place, no one knows where you are, daddies house is probobly getting raided and he's waiting in jail or has twenty bullets through his back while you're agonizing this man five times your size whom you are at HIS mercy. But hey, it could be worse. He could've killed ya already, he obviously needs you alive. So you're safe, for now. He cups your chin making you look at him directly

"You're such a dumb whore." He whispers letting you go, can't lie he's hot, feeling a throb in your legs, lump in your throat and pushing your thighs together, dumb little slut. Just fuck my brains out already oh my god.

"Seriously? Getting horny in an integration, fuck little missy you really are a freak." He says laughing to himself looking at your pathetic bitch display, all dumb n needy, breath rasp and heavy, feeling an emptiness only filled by fat dick, staring at the man, didn't even know his name, never told ya. He gets close up again and sticks to fingers in your mouth, pushing them back. Your tounge running around them, sucking, like a good little fuck doll. Sloppy and all wet, pulling his index and middle finger out your mouth saliva dripping off of it, stupid ass smirk on his face rubbing his fingers down your chest, over your pretty white shirt and over your tits. You're still bound to the chair, wanting nothin' more then to get bent over and fucked till you can't even remember daddies in trouble, this entire moment is just pure lust. He gives you the look like, 'is this what you really want? Seriously?' and of course you reply with a

"I'll answer you if you give me what I want."

That's all it took for him to untie you from that god forsaken chair, just to tie your hands together again. Push you onto your back, pressing your thighs apart. You aren't wearing much, your coat was gone lost somewhere in the ally, only wearing black shorts and a white top. Stupid for the middle of winter but it was hot. He takes out a small switch blade from his pocket cutting open your shirt and shorts off, pornstar tits popping out in a little pink bra also exposing the matching panties. Even all finished off with a cute little bow, unzipping his pants his dick springs out, your pussy THROBBING, aching. He cuts the shit off and pushes you firmly on the ground, your arms still bound above your head, his chest just over yours pushing into you, stretching you open. His tip resting nicely in your cervix when he starts rockin' back and forth. Hitting you all the good spots, moaning n' a mess, hes pretty much silent groaning here and there when he speeds up, lifting you up slightly, more like your at an angel on him, he grips your back and rocks you back and forth, feeling your walls tighten around him feeling all numb and high, cumming over his fat cock, his pull out games fast. Just as you finish he pushes you back on your neck and unloads on your stupid face, 'before grabbing you lazily and pressing your body against his, you were all dumb and covered in your own mess. But he was gentle with you, soft, he was nice. Nicer then anyone else had been, softer then anyone else despite fucking your brains out. His breath was heavy as he held onto you, chest to chest. Can't tell if he's doing' this cause he feels some sort of pity for you but fuck if you care it's comforting, you felt all warm and fuzzy. Weird.

"Please don't leave me here."

"I know you're eighteen, years old, but you're still old enough to die. Right here. Right now. So talk"

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crusty-chronicles · 4 months

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🎪Crusty's Masterlist of Madness🎪

A Masterlist of all my current works so things are easier to find. An 🔞 marker for any smut fics. Everything else is just fluff.

RULES FOR REQUESTING- please check this out before requesting. Thank you 😘

Airheaded S/O Headcannons: Just a bunch of head cannons of characters (mostly anime) who I feel would thrive with a very stupid, yet incredibly strong S/O

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*old* The Guide To An Idiot's Heart: A Viktor x airheaded s/o fic.

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Hunter x Hunter

Multi chapter fics

Moon and Sun:(Platonic) Older reader goes soft after unexpectedly looking out for two boys. Whether it be troubled past or mutant ants, their promise to protect will never waiver.

🔞Forgiveness and Acceptance:

It's been a little over a year since the Chimera Ant Incident. A year since you'd made that fateful decision to run away during the fight with Pitou, leaving Kite behind in the process. A year of trying to cope with the aftermath. Blaming yourself for his death and subsequent resurrection, coming back as the very creature that had ended his life. Trying to navigate through your relationship with guilt weighing heavy on your shoulders. So much so that you'd do just about anything for him. Kite however, doesn't view your relationship through the same negative light you do.(Confirmed sequel to Moon and Sun.)

🔞Sandwiched Between:Getting a little too drunk, you and your friends start getting frisky. Unfortunately for you, you're sandwiched between a man who wants to ruin you and another who treats you like glass. PART 1 2

🔞Love Me Like I'm Your Last: A quickie with Kite leads to more than you expected. PART 1 2 3

One shots/Headcannons/Drabbles

🔞Med School Won't Pay for Itself: In which Leorio seeks a different means to make money for med school

Why MaS Reader Doesn't Get Along With Kurapika

🔞Kite with an S/O on Their Period

Kite As A Dad

Kurapika with a Phantom Troupe Hating S/O

HxH Men Throwing Down with their S/O's Plushies

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Yu Yu Hakusho

Multi chapter fics

Not so Bad: The gang find a small, frazzled reader after being sent to stop a demon trafficking ring. Upon arriving to the location, they quickly realized everyone was dead, everyone except you. Reader is taken in and becomes attached to a particular demon with three eyes. PART 1 2

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One shots/Headcannons/Drabbles

Just Friends: In which our favorite fox realizes something while you tend to his wounds

Hiei Courting Headcannons: How our favorite three eyes demon courts Reader

Stubborn: In which our two favorite demons tend to and scold Reader for being careless during a fight.

Hands Off: What happens when someone tries to woo Hiei's very stupid S/O. What happens when they move in to kiss. Absolute madness is what.

Hiei with a Tall S/O

Reactions to Reader Being Hit On and Going to Them for Protection

Yu Yu Hakusho Men Receiving Flowers

Revelations: It's no secret Kurama's soft on you. But when his demon form finally sees the light after hundreds of years, the fact only further cements itself.

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Jin With A Human Bookworm S/O

Hiei Bringing His Airheaded S/O To Demon World

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cevansbrat0007 · 1 year

Text

The Green Light

Summary: Full Story! Andy is over the moon when you finally get the green light to be intimate again after the birth of your babies. But how do you explain to him that you're not quite comfortable with your post-pregnancy body just yet? Check out the sequel: The Green Light Afterglow.

Warnings: Mature Themes, Light Smut, Daddy Kink, Insecure Reader, Discussions of Post-Pregnancy Body, Discussions of Intimacy, Slight Lactation Kink Reference, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: I know this took a while. Thank you all for your patience and I sincerely hope it's okay. Prompt courtesy of an anonymous reader. Part of my ongoing Growing Pains Series. Warnings subject to change. All mistakes are my own. Please let me know your thoughts!

___

“Well, I’ve gotta tell you, my dear, by all appearances you’ve healed just fine.” You let out a sigh as Dr. Wilson, your OBGYN, removes the speculum. God, how you hated that thing. “You can go ahead and sit up.” You watch as he removes his gloves to make some notes on his mobile workstation. “Everything looks good. How have you been feeling lately? Raising four kids is no easy feat, especially when half of them are newborns.”

“Andy and I try to split the shifts as best we can. If he’s helping with the twins then I’ve got the older girls, and vice versa.”

“That’s good. One thing I’ve always liked about the two of you is that you believe in teamwork. You’d be surprised at how many couples don’t.” He makes a few more notes. “And how many hours of sleep would you say you get a night? Ballpark it for me if you can.”

“Um…” You have to think about that one. “Maybe five. Yeah, I would say about five hours a night. And I can occasionally squeeze in a quick nap during the day when the twins are sleeping. It doesn’t happen all of the time, but it’s better than nothing.”

The older man nods his head. “And how are Bianca and Katrina adjusting to the new additions? And by the way, don’t forget that you promised to show me pictures, because I certainly haven’t.” Dr. Wilson looks up from his computer and offers you a warm smile.

“I haven’t forgotten, don’t worry.” You tell him with a chuckle. “And they’re okay. Bianca loves to hold them all the time. And Katrina is enjoying being a big sister – she’s very helpful. She wants to play with them so bad, but she doesn’t quite get that they’re still a little too young.”

“I see. And is she still threatening to put A.J. outside?” The corners of his eyes crinkle as he struggles not to laugh just like he had when you’d first relayed your three-year-old’s initial reaction to your pregnancy reveal.

“Oh, God. She’s only made that threat twice I think since we’ve brought them home. Once when he wouldn’t stop crying. And then again when she wanted to cuddle with me while I was in the middle of a feeding. Other than that, she’s been fine. He’s growing on her.”

“Glad to hear it.” He mutters. “That’s usually how it goes. Give it a few years, and I bet they’ll be the best of friends.”

God, you sure hoped so. Just last night you had a dream about finding your little boy out in the woods. Except he’d somehow grown a beard, making him look like a baby mountain man. And, of course, he had been clutching that damn blankie too!

“Well, you’ll be happy to know that I’m officially giving you the all-clear to resume any and all physical activity. If you have any concerns after we’re done here, you know I’m only a phone call away.”

Thank goodness! You couldn’t wait to start working out again. You were tired of rocking stretchy pants and maternity clothes.

Your phone buzzes in your purse as Dr. Wilson finishes up whatever else he’s typing. It goes on for a while before it finally stops, only to resume buzzing seconds later.

If you were a betting woman, and you were, you’d put your money on the person behind all the constant buzzing being none other than your husband, Andrew. You knew he’d been waiting for this day. Your man had been extra giddy this morning. So much in fact that you could’ve sworn he’d clicked his heels on his way out the door.

___

Twenty Minutes Later…

You wait to check your phone until after your appointment is over and you're safely back in your car. According to your phone, you have two missed calls from Andy Bear, along with three new texts.

Andy Bear: Hey, baby girl. How’d the appointment go? Did we get the all clear?

Andy Bear: Can you answer your phone, please? I want to hear your sweet voice when you tell me the good news.

Andy Bear: C'mon! You’ve got me dancing on pins and needles right now. Call me.

You shake your head and then dial your man. He answers on the second ring.

“There you are, sweetness! I was starting to get worried there for a moment.” The genuine concern in his voice has you playfully rolling your eyes.

“Relax, Andy. Sometimes these appointments can take a while. It doesn’t mean anything is wrong, Dr. Wilson is just being thorough.” You check your appearance in the rearview mirror, noting that the bags under your eyes seem to look better than they have in days. “That’s part of the reason he’s been my OBGYN for so long, because he’s good at what he does.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. He’s great.” You know he's not being dismissive on purpose, it’s just that he’s chomping at the bit to hear one key piece of information. “How’s your little body? Did we get the green light?”

Ahh, and there it was. Sometimes Andrew Barber was like a dog with a fucking bone. And only your husband would refer to your body as being “little” when you were still walking around sporting maternity wear.

“I’ve been cleared for all physical activity. Which means I can finally start working out again and –”

“Fuck, yeah we did!” He cheers into the receiver, loud enough to make you wince. “Alright, baby girl, that settles it. BiBi and KitCat are going to my sister’s for a sleepover and the twins will stay at grandma’s. Meanwhile, I’m gonna leave the office early to pick us up some dinner. How about we celebrate with some surf and turf?”

“Oh my god, Andrew! We are not leaving our two newborns at your mother’s house for the night. That’s too much!”

“What if she already said yes?” You have no doubt that your unrepentant husband is smiling hard enough to crack a tooth right about now.

“You didn’t.” Your head drops to the steering wheel with a light thunk.

“Oh, I did.” The sound of an eager chuckle spills across the other line. “Ma and Bill are happy to keep Rory and Junior. She said you left them with enough formula and diapers to get ‘em through and that she, and I quote, would be positively heartbroken if you deprived her of time with her precious new grandchildren.”

“Andy…I don’t know…” As tempting as the thought of a night of uninterrupted slumber was, you were on the fence about being away from your precious babies for that long.

RoRo needed to be rocked to sleep, while A.J. needed you to pat his little tush and bounce him just so. And they both needed approximately 1,375 kisses every five minutes, otherwise they got fussy.

“You must really want a good night’s sleep, huh, Big Man?”

“Baby, when I get my hands on you, I promise that sleeping will be the last thing on both of our minds. Now, I’ve gotta run. But I’ll see you home around 4:00pm.”

“Andy…”

How did you tell your husband that you weren’t really feeling your post-pregnancy body right now? You’d even taken to changing in the bathroom lately. Thankfully he hadn’t seemed to notice that increasingly bad habit of yours…

At least not yet. But it was only a matter of time.

“Hush, sweetness. You just let Daddy take care of everything, okay? I’ve been dreaming of this day for almost two months now, and I plan to take my time loving all over every inch of your delectable body. And what’s more, you’re going to let me.” You can practically feel your nipples pebbling beneath the fabric of your shirt.

God, how did he always manage to sound so sexy when he was telling you what to do? Handsome ass buttface!

“I’ve gotta head into this meeting, but in the meantime, get some rest. You’re gonna need it.”

“Yeah, okay, sure.” You respond with a resigned sigh. “I…I guess I’ll see you when you get home then.”

“Damn right. Can’t wait to lose myself between those luscious thighs.” Andy rasps, with a slightly roughened edge to his tone. “It’s been way too long since I’ve had a taste…”

Oh good God…and it had been way too long since you had to deal with beard burn. At this point, you’d almost forgotten about what it felt like.

“Bye, Andy Bear.”

"Goodbye, little love.”

The call ends, leaving you alone with your thoughts. Putting the car in drive, you pull out of the parking lot and start thinking of every argument you could possibly make to talk your sweet, although slightly ogreish, husband out of sexy times and into sleepy times. But there was also something that told you that might not work.

Which meant it was time to come up with a Plan B. And while you were at it, probably a Plan C too.

___

Later That Afternoon...

“This makes me look like an apple with legs.”

You stare at your reflection in the bathroom mirror trying your best not to give in to the overwhelming feeling of defeat. At this point, you’d tried on multiple sets of lingerie – all different styles, cuts, and colors.

And this one had been the only thing that seemed to look halfway decent.

Well, the good news was that your ass was still there. But the bad news? So was your stomach.

“Swear to God…I’m gonna find an ocean and throw myself in it.” You mutter as you stare at your reflection. You let out a resigned sigh as you do a little spin. “Knowing my ass can’t swim.” You gently smoosh your hand against your tummy in an attempt to flatten it.

To be fair, you’d only given birth two months ago and the lingerie you’d purchased was kind of slimming so…

Maybe you were being too hard on yourself. Or, maybe it was still worth trying to convince your husband to settle for an evening filled with dinner and cuddles. You really weren’t in the mood to take your clothes off in front of him at the moment.

Hell, who were you kidding? You could walk around wearing nothing but fishnets and tinfoil and the man would still find a reason to be into you.

Sometimes your loving husband was a man of the hopeless variety.

Plus, while Andrew Barber wouldn’t force you to do anything you didn’t want to do, he would definitely do everything in his power to persuade you. And he could be very persuasive when he put his mind to it.

Yeah. You were probably fucked.

You take a deep breath and run your fingers through your thick hair, loosening and fluffing your curls. Although Andy would be home any minute, there was still time to throw on sweats and a t-shirt or something.

“Fuck!” You hiss as your eyes well and your bottom lip begins to tremble. The other problem was that, while you were convinced that you needed more time, you also wanted to make your husband happy. But how could you when you could barely stomach the idea of taking off your clothes in front of him.

Just last week, some asshole at your favorite smoothie bar had the nerve to ask how far along you were – his intrusive gaze lingering on your post-baby body. His audacity had caught you so off guard that you were pretty sure that you’d given some unintelligible answer before snatching your drink and running towards the nearest exit.

That one little interaction had practically eviscerated what little bit of self-confidence you had left. And while you hadn’t made specific mention of it to Andy, you might end up doing so – if only to plead your case.

Which was that you were simply too large right now to be sexy, let alone feel attractive. Your skin was too loose, your stretch marks too prominent. And not only that, you were pretty sure that the only reason Andy wanted you right now was because he hadn’t gotten any in a couple of months.

Once his itch had been sufficiently scratched, the haze would clear and then your husband would see your body for what it was. He would understand your need to undress behind closed doors, without an audience. And then he would give you however much time you needed to get yourself back into some semblance of shape.

A lone tear slips down your cheek, which only serves to piss you off more. And although you’re quick to dash it away, another one is soon to follow. The last thing you needed for Andrew to notice you’d been crying. There was no need for both of you to feel bad about the state of things, you know?

With one last shake of your head you decide to throw on your robe and head downstairs to greet your man.

“Let’s get this shit over with.”

___

Ten Minutes Later…

“Baby?” Your husband calls out as he enters the house from the garage. “Baby, I’m home! Where are you?”

“Kitchen!” You go back to busying yourself folding your brand new set of dish towels you’d purchased from Bed, Bath, & Beyond. That store was one of your happy places, second only to Target and Disney World. It also helped that there was one located almost directly across the street from the mall you’d stopped at as well.

Your pulse quickens as you hear him approach, his rapidly falling footsteps coming closer by the second.

“Ah, I found you.” Andy rounds the corner, grinning from ear to ear. “Hi, my gorgeous girl.” His smile somehow grows impossibly wider. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

“Well, here I am.” You cast him a demure glance over your shoulder. “Although, I’m afraid I’m probably not much to look at.” Noticing his hands are surprisingly empty, you attempt to change the subject. “I thought you were gonna stop and grab dinner on the way?”

“I was.” He cocks his hip against the kitchen counter as loosens his tie. “But since you didn’t seem all that keen on the idea of surf and turf this morning I figured I’d hold off. Maybe see how we were feeling later this evening.”

“Oh.”

“Oh? Is that all my baby has to say about that?” Andy tosses his tie onto the counter before unfastening the top three buttons of his light blue dress shirt. “Just oh?”

“Uh, yeah. How was your day?” You were quickly running out of towels to unfold and refold. If you kept it up you were going to start looking like a lunatic.

“Too long for a man who’s been missing his wife the way I have.” His sensual purr is enough to make you weak in the knees. “It was fucking excruciating, Baby Girl.”

Don’t make eye contact. Don’t make eye contact. Don’t make eye – fuck! Your dumbass just made fucking eye contact!

Your throat suddenly goes dry as the weight of his intense gaze threatens to overwhelm you. Andrew Barber always seemed to have this way about him. Only he had the power to unravel you in this manner.

It was truly a skill that was his alone. But on days like today, it was also a major nuisance.

“Come here.” The gentleness of his tone softens the command.

“Umm…” Instead of doing as you’re told you decide to shove those stupid towels you’ve been preoccupied with into a drawer. Which also happens to be the wrong drawer. Kitchen linens didn’t belong with the cutting boards. Anybody with some sense could see that!

“Sweetheart…” Andy’s voice drops another octave. “Stop fussing with those and come here already. I’d really like to hold my wife.” His earnest plea has your eyes welling with tears.

“Yeah. Okay.” You sniffle out, before dropping the towel and making a headlong dash into his waiting embrace. He wraps his brawny arms around you then, tucking his chin into your thick mane of glossy curls.

The two of you stand there without moving. Holding each other close as your hearts beat in time with one another. Andy’s hand comes to rest on your lower back, his palm slowly rubbing in small, soothing circles.

“What’s wrong, princess?” He hugs even tighter as you gently nuzzle your face against his chest, effectively wiping off what little bit of makeup you’d managed to apply earlier. “Tell me, please.”

Aww. Your sweet Ogre had even said “please”.

“Nothing.” Which was also code for everything.

Andy steps back to tenderly grip your chin, his thumb lightly smoothing across your bottom lip. “You know Daddy doesn’t like it when you lie.” And then he leans in to brush his mouth over your own. “Especially when you’re upset.”

“I know.” The words come out barely above a whisper. “And I’m fine. I just, um…” You go to pull away, surprised when he actually lets you. “I went and did a little shopping today. You know…cuz’ we got the green light. But – well, not the robe. Th–that isn’t new. But once I got it home and really looked at it, I um…” You throw up your hands as everything comes tumbling out in one jumbled mess.

“It just doesn’t fit right, okay? It probably didn’t even fit properly at the boutique when I tried it on and I just didn’t notice. Because the lighting was different and the mirrors are maybe a little more forgiving. Kind of like the ones you find in a funhouse. Except all of them were super flattering. Not like the one we’ve got in our bathroom here at home. Which…I mean that’s probably how they get ya, right?”

Your husband lifts a quizzical brow as you continue to ramble and slowly back away. You knew there was quite literally no possible chance you could manage to outrun your handsome attorney. But that didn’t mean you weren’t above giving it the old college try.

“So, I’m just gonna go upstairs and peel this ugly thing off. That way neither one of us has to even bother looking at it.” You finish rather lamely.

“And why exactly do you think I wouldn’t want to look at you? How about you explain that one to me, please?” Andy growls, jamming his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

“Because I don’t like the way I look right now and I’m pretty sure that if I show you, then you won’t either.”

Andy stares you down, the muscle ticking in his jaw. But you were beyond caring at this point. Right now was about acknowledging the truth regarding your body and the level of comfort you had with it.

“That’s bullshit, baby.” He rakes an impatient hand through his hair, moussing the auburn strands. “You know I love the way you look. I fucking adore you.”

“And that last part may very well be true, Big Man.” You concede, toying with the material of your robe. “But I, um...” A lump forms in your throat, but you force yourself to press on. “I do believe you love the way I look when I’m pregnant, yes. So do I…mostly. And you also love the way I look when I’m not pregnant. As in, after I’ve lost a healthy chunk of the baby weight.”

“What in the–? I mean, Jesus fucking Christ!” Your husband cuts himself off mid-sentence as he rocks back on his heels – as if stunned by your admission.

“I’m saying this wrong.” Good lord, you needed to get a better handle on the direction of this conversation. “Fuck! I know I am. But I don’t feel very good about myself right now. I don’t want to take off my clothes. I don’t want you to see me in this lingerie. Because I am almost entirely convinced that once you do – once you see all that I’m currently working with – you will change your mind about wanting to sleep with me.”

“You don’t mean that.” Andy scoffs under his breath, which you ignore.

“And if I see that…if I see that switch flip behind your eyes when it finally clicks just how unattractive I truly am…I don’t think I could handle that.”

As hard as this was, it was important for you to make him understand. And once you were finished, perhaps you could cook the two of you something for dinner. After that you would simply settle in and enjoy an easy, child-free night.

“Meaning?” Andy grunts.

“Meaning, I’m not taking off this robe tonight.” You blow out a weary breath as your hands go rest on your hips. “In fact, I don’t even know why –”

“Are you finished yet, sweetheart?” Your husband finally interrupts, apparently having had enough of your tirade. “Or do you have more? Because I’ve gotta tell you, as nice as it is that you think you’ve decided all this shit for us, your Daddy has quite a bit to say. So, are you fucking finished?”

“Y–yes.” That strange lump in your throat is back. “But I –”

“Stop. If you’re going to be done, then be done.” Andy interrupts again, scrubbing a tired hand over his face. “Baby Girl…I know what you’re doing. Even if you don’t, even if you can’t see it. I do. And I’m going to put a stop to it right now.”

“I’m just telling us both the truth!” You cry before you can catch yourself.

“No. You’re feeding us both lies. And I won’t stand for that shit. Not for another goddamned moment. I–I just won’t.”

The passion in his voice is enough to temporarily silence any forthcoming protests.

“And what’s more,” Andy forges on, “you’re not giving me even a shred of credit here. Which, and I’ve gotta be real honest with you here, kinda pisses me the fuck off.” Now it’s his turn to sigh, although this one is filled with exasperation.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, looking down at your toes.

“Look. At. Me.” The authority in his tone has your head snapping up immediately.

“Have I ever, and I do mean ever, in all the years we’ve been together, given you any indication that you are anything but beautiful to me?” He takes a step towards you, even as you take one back. “I quite literally worship the ground you walk on, sweetness. Which means that I occasionally notice things, even when you think I don’t.”

Your husband takes another step towards you, and then another. He’s getting closer, purposely crowding you with his big body – essentially trapping you like the predator that he was.

“There has never been a time, not once, when I have been less than hopelessly attracted to you. I want you all of the goddamned time. And, you know, maybe I should seek professional help for this shit, but I don’t want to. I don’t need to. Because I love my wife. I adore every single inch of you.”

You jump when your back collides with the refrigerator, the cool surface of the stainless steel appliance piercing your skin through the thin fabric of your robe.

“So what is it, Baby Girl? What is that you’ve got under there that’s got you so convinced I’m going to be disgusted by what I see.” Andy levels you with a pointed look as his hands go to gently grip your biceps, caging you in. “What is it you’re trying to hide from me?”

You close your eyes when it becomes too hard to look at the man you loved more than anything - the man who was surely about to become your undoing.

“While I appreciate your so-called brand of honesty, sometimes it hurts me when you talk about yourself like this. When you doubt yourself in this way. When you doubt me. Doubt us.” Andy briefly rests his forehead against yours before continuing.

“How am I supposed to help you battle these insecurities if you won’t even let me in the ring, sweetness? Sometimes you make it damn near impossible to – fuck!” He hisses, breaking the almost tender embrace before reminding himself to pause. “Okay.”

“I–I’m sorry, Andrew.” This time you don’t bother trying to fight back the tears when they come. Instead you decide to let them fall, realizing that it might finally be okay to let your husband catch you.

Before you broke completely and shattered into a hundred-million little pieces.

“Why on earth are you apologizing to me right now?” He cups your face with his hands as he brushes your tears away. “I’m not shaming you. I’m just…” He takes another calming breath. “I’m just talking to you. I thought we were expressing how we felt about things, weren’t we?”

“Yeah.” You give him a quick nod as more tears make their way down your cheeks.

“Okay.” He presses a sweet kiss to your nose. “Then will you trust me to show you something?” Again you nod before allowing him to lace his fingers through yours and pull you in the direction of the hall.

“Wh–where are we going?”

“Hush.”

He leads you down the hallway in silence, not stopping until you’re both standing in front of the full-length mirror located in the foyer. And then he reaches around to undo the knot on your robe, sliding it off your shoulders and letting it pool on the floor at your feet.

“Well, would you look at you? Is this pretty little thing what you bought for me today?”

“Mmhm.” You breathe, resting your head against his broad chest while your man looks his fill. Andy smooths his hands up and down your sides, lovingly kneading your ample curves. “It was the only thing that I felt, um…like it might be okay.”

“You’re fucking gorgeous, Baby Girl.” Andy playfully nips at your ear. “You still trust me? Okay, good. Then let’s take this off, too.” He reaches for the skirt of your lingerie.

“But why?” You whine, attempting to wiggle out of his hold. Unfortunately for you, your Big Man refuses to let you go. “Wait!”

“I think I’ve waited long enough.” Even though he’s pushing you, you can tell he’s also trying to keep a lid on his patience. “We both have. You got to make your case back there in the kitchen, young lady. Which means it’s now time for your Daddy to make his, don’t you think?”

While you weren’t quite sure where this was going, you also weren’t sure if you were ready to use your safe word yet. If that particular rule even applied right now.

“I – alright.” You concede before lifting your arms so that he can help remove the flimsy garment, leaving you naked and bare to his gaze. Goosebumps rise on your vulnerable flesh as you shiver, but it’s not from the cold.

Safe to say, catching a chill was the last thing on your mind. You just wanted to get this shit over with, whatever it was, and then move the fuck on already.

“Be a good girl and open your eyes for me, little love.” Andy purrs, lightly running his fingers through your curls. “I want to show you what I see every time I look at you.”

It takes you a moment, but eventually you’re able to do as you’re told. But instead of focusing on your own reflection, you choose to look at your husband – taking comfort in the warmth radiating from him.

You wanted to trust him. You really did.

“Thank you. Now, I want you to do your best to hear me.” Andy begins as his hands come up to rest themselves on your shoulders. “You are gorgeous no matter what size you are. And I am consistently awed by the fact that you, my darling wife, just gave birth to two healthy babies a little over eight weeks ago. My babies.” You receive a tender kiss to the back of your neck.

Your lower lip begins to tremble of its own accord. But this time you don’t look away, instead you follow the path of his fingers as they trail their way down your body.

“It’s because of you, and your magnificent little body, that I’m lucky enough to have four pieces of heaven running around this house, making noise and causing chaos. Giving me both a reason to live again along with a few new gray hairs at the same time.”

You watch as he lifts your breasts, hefting the erotic weight of them in his palms. He gently massages them, completely unfazed by the light dribble of milk leaking from your left nipple. Instead you’re treated to another roguish grin as his tongue darts out to greedily lap up the stray drops from his knuckles.

“Fucking delicious. But stop trying to distract me, baby.” He rasps, his tone just shy of teasing. “We both know you’re not quite ready for me to feast just yet.” And then he winks at you, which suddenly has your legs feeling like jelly.

Although you flinch when his focus shifts to your belly, the pads of his fingers tracing along one of your more prominent stretch marks. He keeps his touch light - bordering on reverent - as he marvels at the angry stripes painted across your skin.

The ones formed out of a natural bond built between a mother and her children.

“I love this part of you. This part right here where you – aw, no. Please don’t look away from me, honey.” Andy moves to kiss away a fresh wave of tears. “Let me see those eyes.”

“I…I...” Your mouth clamps shut as you stifle a hiccup. You grant yourself a couple of seconds before opening your eyes again. This time when you do, you gently place your hands on top of his. “I’m sorry. I know, you love this part of me because of the kids. And I get it, I do. But…” You shake your head and give up.

Because something tells you that perhaps you’d be better off just listening for right now.

“Yes, I absolutely love this part of you because of our rugrats, but that’s not the only reason. It’s because, as much as I adore your tight little pussy and that spankable ass of yours, your belly has always been it for me.”

“What?” Now that has your full attention.

“I’m not kidding.” He asserts. “I don’t think I’ve ever shared this with you, probably because I thought I’d run the risk of sounding dumb. But your belly has always been my favorite feature because it’s…it’s my anchor.”

Your husband’s heartfelt admission actually has the nerve to throw you for a bit of a loop.

“I’m serious.” Andy continues, leaning down to press a hard kiss to your cheek. “There’s something about whenever the world feels like it’s falling apart all around me and then I reach for you, because that’s what I do. And you’re always there for me, my love. Always.” He gives you a light squeeze. “And without fail, you just let me hold you like this, wherever we are. And I just…I feel better.”

“Swear to God, I’m a grown-ass man, but this part of you brings me so much comfort. I understand the fact that you struggle with accepting your body the way it is right now, especially after welcoming the twins. But please believe me when I tell you that where you only seem to see your flaws, I see strength. I see incomparable beauty.”

Andy takes that moment to fully envelope you, wrapping his arms tightly around your middle and burying his face in your hair. You allow yourself to stand there for a little while, drinking in the sight of your devoted husband holding your nude body.

You’ve never felt more loved. More cherished than you did right now.

“Andy Bear…” You whisper, your voice filled with emotion. “I…I don’t quite see what you see. Not yet. But I do think I feel it now. More than I did anyway.”

You let out a surprised yip when he spins you around. His intoxicating blue eyes bore into your own as his hands move to tease the globes of your ass.

“You should know that I wasn’t finished yet, princess. I just spent the last several minutes composing a sonnet dedicated to that greedy pussy of yours. Then there’s those luscious thighs, and that ass. I also never really had a thing for feet until I met you, but I’m particularly fond of those too. I’m prepared to wax poetic about it all because I want you to see what I see.”

A laugh bubbles up in your chest. And when you decide to let it loose, it’s quite literally the most wonderful feeling in the world. You feel lighter than you have in days.

It’s enough to make you start crying all over again.

“I love you, Andrew Barber.” You murmur, rising on your tiptoes to take his lips in a brief kiss. “And I know you had what I’m sure was one hell of a speech planned, and while I really hate to cut it short, I’m thinking I might wanna take you to bed now.”

“Oh?” His tone is rife with cautious optimism. “Is that right?”

“Yeah.” Giving in to impulse, you proceed to tickle his ears. He makes a show of batting your hands away as he playfully dodges your advances – much to your delight. Although he eventually puts an end to things by picking you up and holding you close.

“But can we maybe take it slow?” You ask as you snuggle into his chest, basking in the safety and security of his familiar scent.

“Of course.” Andy murmurs as he spins on his heel and heads towards the direction of the stairs. “We have all night, my precious girl.”

That was the moment you knew without a doubt. The moment you finally believed that everything he’d said, every word he’d spoken to you, had been nothing but the truth.

And later that night, when you collapsed on the bed feeling completely sated with one another, you thanked your lucky stars that fate had led you into the arms of the one and only Andrew Barber.

END

For more about Andy and Reader's first time making love after welcoming their twins, be sure to check out the sequel, The Green Light: Afterglow.

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unpoeticpoison · 1 year

Text

sworn on the stars ~ prologue - genshin impact // sagau // imposter au

01 02

summary: to know the one protected by the stars is to know the blessings of the very world we traverse on. to betray them is to turn our backs on the very notion peace.

ie. they say that with every terrible storm comes a rainbow infinitely more beautiful than the trials that one leaves behind. let’s test that theory, shall we?

————————————

You were tired of it all.

Perhaps you had used up all of your fortune in another life, or the universe simply held some sort of grudge against your soul. Either way, you found yourself sick and tired of everything that had happened in the last few years.

First came the death of your beloved parents. The ones who had tried to raise you with so much love until they were cruelly taken away by the hands of death. They’d left you with enough fortune to sustain yourself for the rest of your days.

Then came the new ones. The ones who had turned your life into a real Cinderella story, though this peasant would never meet their prince. The ones who had subjected you to so much abuse that you had nearly become numb to it all.

You’d moved from household to household throughout most of your life. The ones who were kind to you always met misfortune, and the ones who were cruel always seemed to have gotten caught far too late.

Five years ago, you became so dreadfully ill that no other family was willing to take you in, not even if you had offered them money to do so. It felt as though the world was rejecting your very being, like it had finally had enough of you being around. Your body gradually shut down, despite your youth. The doctors could not diagnose you, for there was nothing that seemed to be wrong.

Except everything was wrong. You could feel your life fading, though you were never one to care much about the prospect of death. You’d just assumed it would’ve come later.

In the worst moments of your life, you’d come across a game called Genshin Impact. You’d come across it just before it’s official release: the new and hyped up game from Mihoyo that would soon have its’ players entranced.

Perhaps you were desperate for another outlet. You were a smart child, yet there never seemed to be enough media in this world to properly stimulate your mind. Storybooks had stopped bringing new adventure into your life. In the world of academics, you had studied nearly everything that you could possibly get your hands on up until the end of secondary school.

You wanted to immerse yourself in a world where you could be free to walk and run and perhaps find something of interest. To finally reacquire that spark in you that had been lost so long ago.

‘An open-world game, huh? Might as well give it a shot.’

And so you did. And you’d fallen in love for the first time in your life. With the characters and the story, for they always did bring excitement into your dreary days. But most of all, it was with the world you had explored. There was always something new to catch your interest when you were in Teyvat, and you’d gradually grown fond of the characters behind the screen. They were life your family.

Sometimes, the people of your world would forget about your existence. You’d started as an anomaly of the medical world, but as the years passed you became nothing more than a forgotten presence that once had meaning; a myth.

As the game updated each time, you were always eager to indulge for the characters with the money you knew you’d never be able to use otherwise. When you wear Teyvat, all felt right with the world, as if a dirty fog had been cleared from your mind.

Those days, when you were left alone in your very own hospital room, you’d pull up the character’s voice lines and speak back to them, or absentmindedly run throughout the regions.

Sometimes you imagined being able to comfort Zhongli and Xiao, old souls that had gone through so much throughout their long lives. You dreamed about exploring the vast seas with Beidou and her crew. Wishing about visiting the city of freedom and feeling the wind on your face as Amber instructs you on how to use a glider. Wanting to visit the beautiful city of Inazuma and bring relief to all those that had needed it.

But those were merely the dreams- perhaps even delusions- of a person nearing the end of their life. The years had passed, and many regions had become unlocked since you had begun. But now, you could barely stand to open your eyes, let alone admire the beautiful scenery in Teyvat.

‘Soon I’ll be gone from this sorry room, I guess. I just wish I could be in that world one last time.’

You silently thanked the stars for the last few years, dreadful as they were.

And so the young soul was taken too soon. Their body was taken by death, but their soul? Their soul was taken by another world entirely.

But perhaps this world isn’t so new as one might think. Maybe, just maybe, the world would help you solve the mysteries of your life, just as you had helped build it up from the very beginning.

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majorblinks · 2 years

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takes one to know one (twice chaeyoung)

(ft. jihyo & sana) (smut, mommy kink, public sex, titfucking, breeding kink, fluff, angst, gold digger chaeyoung, but also gold digger you, 21k words)

Look - everyone’s always got something to hide. It’s the nature of summer, pushed into keeping everything safe and surreptitious, tucked into corners, finding shadows, reprieves; the sun’ll leak your secrets if it catches you at the right time. It’s just that kind of season.

“Did you know?” Chaeyoung asks you once, near the end. She’s in your arms, pressed to your chest, her eyes the most stunning thing in sight. “When you first met me - did you think it’d all happen like this?”

Like this, she says - fucked, fated, doomed. Like all heavy, all-consuming things. Like loss. Like longing. See, the two of you are cut from the exact same cloth; you’ve always been after the same thing. All you know how to do is get the money and run. Love isn’t in your vocabulary and for a good god damn reason.

(There’s always a breaking point. Yours is thinking back to the day you met her - there’s a girl on a beach, and the day’s gorgeous, but all of them are. You stare and you can’t help it. You swear you’ve met her before and you haven’t. She turns to you and smiles, and it cleaves you right in two, and it’s impossible but just like that you know.)

“Yeah,” you murmur. The writing’s always been on the wall. “I think I did.”

Chaeyoung glances up at you. In those few moments, she’s reduced to all the details: the long, wavy black hair, winding its way past her shoulders, the colorful tattoos - the dimple, the mole underneath her full bottom lip, the way she blinks and her eyelids shutter starlight. You’ve been pushing your luck just by having her by your side.

“Me too,” she says, softly.

There’s the ocean rolling out in front of you, proof that not all destructive things have to come to an end. It’s just the two of you, then. You’re the exception to the rule - you’ve broken enough of them by now to know it.

(Something about her, you’ll say later. Something about us. Something unquantifiable. Sometimes you meet someone and it’s already over.)

“I guess,” says Chaeyoung, softly, haltingly, like it’s a confession in itself. Oh, like you said: it’s just that kind of season. “I guess I’m just glad that it happened at all.”

There’s a lot to be grateful for. There’s a lot to feel that you haven’t let yourself until now. It’s summer and you’ve spent enough time hiding from it. You’re with her. There’s never any use.

Your hand slips under her chin, tips it up; your mouth finds hers like there’d been a map to it, a beacon, a lighthouse. She smiles and it’s like she’s calling you home, the opposite of a siren, or a succubus; leading you to the shore, right to safety. You’ve spent your whole life jumping ship. Now you kiss her like you’re saying I’d follow you everywhere, even if you both know it’s a lie.

“I know,” you say, fingers threading through her hair, because you always did. “I know.”

(It hurts, but in the end, you’ll say later, that’s exactly how you know it’s love.)

If you’re taking it back to the start, here’s the truth: you’ve broken your fair share of hearts, but that’s never been your goal. It’s not that you’re a bad person, not really. You’ve got your own moral codes. You never went into any of this hoping to lead women on and leave them behind, leave them crushed and cursing your name - that’s never been the point. The point is-

Well, if you really wanna know the long and short of it, the point is that you need money.

“It’s this super swanky resort,” your ex-girlfriend is telling you over the phone. “It’s packed with famous people. The pay’s sort of not the best, but their whole thing is, like, super intense discretion. You definitely have to sign NDAs. All of that.”

She’s trying to get you a summer job, just for context - and she’s also selling it horribly. “What?” you ask, thoroughly confused. “Why would anyone want to work there if the pay’s shitty?”

“Amenities. The resort’s on this remote island, it’s gorgeous, you get to live there the whole summer in these bungalows, you get access to all the facilities-”

“A remote island?” It’s sounding more and more like a cult by the second. “Are you trying to get me ritualistically sacrificed?”

“Babe.” Your ex-girlfriend may not be your girlfriend anymore, but she’s never grown out of the pet names. “My point is that there are rich and famous people. Rich and famous people who pay a lot of attention to the hot employees.”

You’re quiet.

“They pay more than attention,” she adds.

“So you’re suggesting I prostitute myself.”

“Like you don’t do that already.” You make an affronted noise, but she’s already talking again, in that rapid-fire mile-a-minute way that’s so characteristic of her. “No, I’m serious! I know you’ve been in a dry spell ever since your last sugar mommy, like, died of old age or whatever-”

“You’re so fucked in the head,” you say, a smile twitching at your mouth - okay, you are too. There’s a reason a break-up wasn’t enough to tear you and your ex apart. “She didn’t die, you dumbass - and she was only ten years older than me or whatever. She moved away for work.”

“Same difference,” says your ex, unperturbed, and you feel an uncomfortable pull in your throat. It's not like she’s that far off. She’d cut off a good chunk of your income, just like that; she might as well have fallen off the face of the earth. “Look, you know I love you to death, and I’d keep paying for whatever you wanted, but-”

“I know.” Your ex has no qualms about supporting you financially, especially considering your current situation; she may be your ex-girlfriend, but she’s also been your best friend since forever, basically. Her family’s obscenely wealthy. To her, it’s no sweat off her back to pay for things for you. “Your dad’s cutting you off from giving me money because he thinks I’m a leech.”

“Which you’re not.”

“I kind of am.”

“You’re my favorite person in the world. Even if you were a leech I’d let you suck me dry.”

“Ew,” you say, but you’re laughing. “Why would you put it like that? Like, why the fuck would-”

“The job,” interrupts your ex, so vehement your humor dies right on your mouth. “It’s just for the summer. You’re already a certified lifeguard, so that’s not an issue. I’ve been summering at the resort for like three years straight, so I can get you a gig right away - they trust my judgment and shit. Just say the word and I’ll get you in contact with the boss.”

You fall silent, thinking. She’s trying - you know that. You’ve got odd jobs at home, but without a college degree, they’re all manual labor, they’re easy to pack up and transfer. There’s always work for you to do. Leaving for the summer won’t ruin you - and when you’ll come back, you’ll have everything you need. You’ve done this before. You’re good at your games.

“Look at it this way,” says your ex, softening. “You’ll be doing exactly what you do at home, except you’ll get to be in paradise for the entire summer. And I’ll be there. Are you in or not?”

She’ll be there - that’s part of the selling point in itself. She’s your other half. She knows every single skeleton in your closet; she knows why you need this money. She knows, in essence, that this opportunity is one of the best she can give - that it’s one of the best someone like you can get.

You know it, too. And that’s the reason why you sigh, stop, say-

“Okay,” you tell her, and that’s where the story begins. “I’m in.”

It’s not about love. It never is. It’s about strategy, really. It’s about being a fantasy, a product to promote and sell. It’s all curated, calculated: your body, your charm, the way you hold yourself, built but approachable, magnetic without being too intimidating. Women flock to you and you let them; you’ve made yourself that way.

(Oh, it’s just one of those things. You’re perfectly aware of what you look like and what that does to people. You also just happen to be smart enough to take advantage of it.)

It’s the first day of summer, and you’re causing a stir with your face alone.

You’re on the deck of the ferry, headed straight to the island. You’re making a presence of yourself: there are already people staring, whispering, all those prying eyes. You’re laughing into the phone, because there’s no point in being attractive without being accessible - and also because no one makes you laugh more than your ex-girlfriend.

“What if I get lonely?” you’re asking - you’re close enough to the island to be picking up a signal. You’re being annoying and it’s sort of justified. “I can’t believe you aren’t getting here for two weeks.”

“I get it,” says your ex, cheerful nonetheless: okay, so you’re, like, mildly codependent. It’s old news. “You can’t live without me - I know.”

“Am I supposed to make friends or something?”

“You’re so adorable. Just take your shirt off and I promise everyone will want to be your friend.”

“Ugh,” you say, like you haven’t relied on that exact trick countless times before. There’s a reason being a lifeguard is one of your most well-received jobs. Hey, you’ve been called plenty of things in your line of work - sugar baby is one, gold digger is another; you can’t exactly fight it when it’s true. “You’re my only friend and you know it. I’m bad at making friends.”

You say it, but then-

See, you’re actually not expecting it, the way it all happens. Sure, you see people staring - you’re unnaturally attuned to the way it feels when there are eyes on you, but that comes with the territory - but you’re visibly an employee and they’re all not, they’re leagues above you in influence, in wealth - you’re usually hot enough to transcend social status, but still-

“I could probably help you with that.”

It’s so fast. You’re not even really doing anything - but you turn halfway, regardless.

There’s a woman standing there, one hand on her hip, authoritative like she’s already marking her territory just by talking to you. There’s a pause here, catching you momentarily startled, throwing you off your course-

But an expectant, sudden smirk tugs at the woman’s mouth, and you get it.

You swivel to face her, adjust yourself, take on all your best angles. “Oh,” you say, out loud, because this is going to be much easier than you’d originally thought. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

All of the other guests on deck avert their gazes, like they understand the message loud and clear. Somehow, they realize it: this woman’s in front of you and smiling and staking her claim, all at once. Hands off, the curl of her lips reads, possessive and delightfully transparent - this one’s mine.

(Well, you’ve always been a fan of women with power. Alright - game on.)

“Sorry,” you say into the phone, “I’m gonna have to call you back.”

“New friend already?” your ex asks, amused.

There’s the power, like you said - that’s the first thing. The smooth, easy confidence, the way the woman’s standing in front of you like she knows she’s getting sideways glances just from talking to you and she doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by it. Like she’s spent her whole life getting attention, knows it’s something she deserves - ah, you’ve always been into that kind of ego. It flicks something on in your brain, an instinct, an impulse. You love pleasing people who know exactly what they’re worth.

Then there’s the second thing, which is the fact that she’s completely fucking gorgeous.

“Something like that,” you answer, grinning. “I guess we’ll see.”

There’s a pair of designer sunglasses perched on her head, her hair short and black and shiny; her eyes are brilliant, huge, smile a certain kind of infectious, mesmerizing - and then there’s the outfit, a pink two-piece that she somehow manages to make indecent by just standing there; the shirt’s cropped, the skirt rides sinfully high - and it’s all wrapped up with this air of notoriety, of self-importance, of fame and splendor, like she’s spent her whole life in the limelight, or somewhere awfully close to it. She looks at you and you get the sense that you should know her name and you don’t. You look right back and you think you’d like to.

“You’re new,” says the woman, and you slip your phone into your back pocket.

“I am,” you say, trailing your eyes down her body like you’re taking inventory - despite the demeanor, she’s tiny, barely five-three in spotless white sneakers. “New hire. It’s my first summer here.”

“You’re working at the resort,” says the woman, but not like she’s actually surprised; her tongue slides under her top teeth, studies you like she’s calculating the staggering height difference between you two down to every last inch. “I thought so.” There’s an implication here. There’s a reason she approached you first. “So you do need friends, then, huh?”

You’re playing the long game. “Friends is one word for it,” you say, allow suggestion to serve as an undertone, salt in the sea breeze. “What, you think you can help me out?”

The woman’s so stunning you can’t stop looking at her - her bone structure is regal, elegant, but then there are those eyes: huge and irresistible, knocking the vision off-kilter, curving so easily with her smile. She’s beautiful in the most disarming way, the sort of thing that triggers double-takes, slip-ups, mistakes; she’s got this way about her that makes you doubt any enemy of hers has gone head-to-head with her and lived to tell the tale. Oh, power, beauty - they go hand in hand.

“Sure,” says the woman, all too casual, the ocean wind pulling enticingly at her hair like it could’ve been choreographed. “I’m Jihyo.”

“Jihyo,” you repeat, and that’s a name you wouldn’t mind having in your mouth all summer. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” says Jihyo, head on an incline, teasingly cordial. “I was just thinking,” she adds on, tone with a motive, “you and I - I think we could be really good friends.”

It’s not even an attempt at subtlety. She’s forward like she’s never heard the concept of rejection, like it might be some far-off illusion - for a woman like her, it probably is.

You raise your eyebrows, allow yourself a breath, a smile. It’s summer, after all. It’s exactly the time to get hot and reckless and wild. No matter how composed someone like Jihyo is, there’s no fighting that kind of temptation - and you’re right here, inviting it for all the wrong reasons.

“Me too,” you say; she’s not being shy in the slightest, so you’ll go to her level. “I guess great minds think alike.”

Jihyo lets her laughter fall so easily, and that’s how you know you’ve got her.

So - you’re playing the long game, in theory.

You don’t call her a mark, or a target; you’re not a con artist. You’ll make sure you both know where you stand. Yeah, you’ve broken your fair share of hearts, but you don’t do that anymore - you make it known exactly what you’re giving and how you’d like to be compensated for it. It’s a learning curve. You’ll work out an arrangement.

In practice, well-

“Do you do this a lot?”

You’re below deck, you’re in dark corners, you’re alone together and that’s danger by every definition. Jihyo’s so small in comparison to you, pressed against the wall, chin angled upwards like a threat; you’ve got a hand up her shirt, you’ve got one of her legs hooked around your waist, you’ve got your cock in her pussy and you’re ruining it. It’s fast, it’s greedy, it’s primal - realistically, it’s all going according to plan.

(Hey, look at it this way: anyone who plays the long game like you do knows exactly how to kick it off with a bang.)

“Fuck strangers I just met?” Jihyo’s tits are unbelievable, and then there are those eyes - all heat and hazard lights, every thrust getting her eyelids fluttering - and you grin, lean in to kiss her. “Never.”

It’s all sloppy, half-ravenous; it’s also patently untrue. “Liar,” Jihyo pants, right into your mouth, calling your bluff and beautifully.

“Maybe.” You squeeze hard at her tits, scrape your nail over a nipple; you lower your teeth to her neck, let them bite and sink, leaving marks that you’ll return to all summer. Oh, well. As long as she knows what she’s getting into. “But I don’t think you really mind that I’m experienced.”

“I-” Jihyo tries to say, gasps, fails. “I - Jesus, your fucking cock-”

You snap your hips, you bury your dick inside of her, you’ve got her right where you want her - drastic times, drastic measures. You’ve got more than a few tricks up your sleeve. You’ll earn your keep. You’re only getting started.

“Yeah,” you breathe against her throat, grinning wolfishly as she moans - “that’s kind of what I figured.”

This is something you come to understand, almost immediately: Jihyo’s perfect.

“So, you’re about to make this summer very interesting.”

You’re stepping off the ferry, side by side. Jihyo’s tossing her glossy hair, blooming hickeys scattered across her throat like needlepoint, darkening all her smooth skin. It ruins the image, the put-togetherness, the grace and the big, bright eyes - or maybe it’s just tying it all together. There are people staring. Jihyo’s smiling, serene, like it’s something she’s far past used to.

“Yep,” you say, pleased with your handiwork.

Jihyo glances over at you, lifts an eyebrow lazily, lets it fall. The sun’s shining overhead, taunting. It’s the ideal time for playing games, drawing maps - here, you’ll point out, here’s everywhere I could take you; stick with me and you’ll see.

“Lifeguard, right?” she asks, a piece of information you’d dropped casually, earlier, right before you’d slid your hand up her skirt and found her soaked. “I’ll find you later.”

The resort looms in front of the two of you, gorgeous and giant and opulent, unselfconscious in its own grandiosity - it’s a lot, overdone, overwhelming. Everything’s straight out of a Hollywood movie, the sparkling coast and the streamlined architecture, palm trees swaying in the breeze like they’re on some automated timer, uncannily flawless. It’s almost too beautiful, too vibrant, too much.

You’d gawk, but you know it’d give you away; you don’t belong here. Everyone else admires the resort in their own detached, cavalier manner, like it’s something they see on the daily. Even Jihyo barely bats an eye, lets employees flock around her, taking her luggage - Miss Park, they call her politely, like she’s a woman who needs no introduction, like she could snap her fingers and bend the world to her will.

It’s so not your scene, on principle, but you’ll make it work. You’re good at pretending, slipping seamlessly into places you shouldn’t fit - events, buildings, beds. You’ll get there.

“That’s what I’m counting on,” you tell Jihyo, your mouth at a tilt, holding tight to your own suitcases. Someone like you is never an outsider for long.

(It’s you being honest, or the closest you can get. It’s what you’re counting on, because you quite literally can’t afford to do anything else.)

“Good,” says Jihyo, flip, intention clear in the way she examines you. There’s something so hot about someone who knows exactly what she wants. “See you on the beach, honey.”

The nickname’s deliberate, drenched in condescension, sardonic superiority - you laugh out loud, and Jihyo breaks, cracks to a grin. Oh, at least she’ll be fun. That’s something you don’t encounter often, with the women you usually go after. Well, you did say it’s time for something new.

“Sure,” you say, skim a hand down her back, the curve of her ass; Jihyo leans into it in more ways than one. “See you then.”

See, Jihyo’s perfect, because she’s everything you need right now: wealthy, shameless, bored, beautiful. It’s not about love and it never was, and that’s not about to change now. It’s not about anything more than money.

It’s all paradise, and that’s the point. The sun’s glaring down on you like it disapproves, but it’s not about to get a say. It’s not your scene - which means, really, it’s the one and only place to be.

Turns out that you’re not alone, with the kind of agenda you’ve got. You get settled into a bungalow with some of the other employees - bartenders, dealers at the casino, lifeguards like you - and they’ve all got their own plans, attachments, schemes to cook up and carry out. It’s summer, and all the guests here are powerful and apathetic, all in one; sex is just the thing to do.

“The other employees just aren’t as good as me,” you’re explaining to your ex over the phone, because you can’t go more than twenty-four hours without speaking to her - fine, it’s more than mild codependence.

“At sex or at being a con artist?”

“Um, I’m not a fucking con artist. But - I mean, both.”

You don’t consider them a threat, in the end. The other employees seem nice, they’re generally hot, but then there’s you: you know how to play the game. Show enough honesty to seem vulnerable, show enough grit to appear rough around the edges; it’s all intrigue with a risk. There’s an art to seduction, really. People don’t seem to see that there’s a lot of effort that goes into turning a profit.

“Okay,” says your ex, entertained. “And what about your actual job? You know, the thing you’re employed for? How are you holding up there?”

“I don’t know what you’re implying. I’m an amazing lifeguard.”

It’s your first day on the job, and you’re forgoing focus so you can fill your ex-girlfriend in on your sexual escapades: amazing is a little bit of an exaggeration. You’re just going to pray no one drowns, pretty much. God’ll be on your side, or whatever.

In the interim, you’ll stay in your lifeguard chair, surveying the beach, the sand and surf - there are pools at the resort, but this is where your first shift ends up being, watching the guests wrapped up tanning or in the waves or playing truly tragic games of beach volleyball - tucked under an umbrella, and with your phone on speaker, recapping everything that’s gone down within your first twenty-four hours on the island. Or, considering the way you fucked Jihyo on the ferry, island-adjacent-

“Wait,” says your ex, voice suddenly high and disbelieving, “Park Jihyo?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Her voice rises to a squeal. “You fucked the Park Jihyo?”

You pull a face, uncertain. “Am I supposed to know who she is?”

Your ex shrieks something incomprehensible right into the phone.

You pull the receiver away from you, fighting down a laugh. There’s the crash of the waves ahead of you, some faint music playing in the background, speaker echoing melodies across the beach; she’s snapping the serenity without even being present, but that’s a talent in itself. “Like,” your ex says, once she can speak, “I guess not - she’s not a household name or anything, but she manages them. Okay - you know Ahn Yujin? The singer?”

“Obviously.” There’s not a soul in the country who doesn’t know Ahn Yujin; she’s one of the biggest pop stars in the game right now, she’s everyone’s favorite topic of discussion. “Wait, Jihyo’s Ahn Yujin’s manager?”

“Yes! See? See?!”

“Whoa.” So you were right on the money, there: powerful’s gotta be incredibly accurate. “Then - yeah. I fucked the Park Jihyo.” You can’t keep the ego from sneaking in. “I think it’s gonna be a recurring thing, actually.”

“So she’s your mark for the summer?”

“Well.” There are those con artist insinuations again - it’s not like you’re going to swindle her.

“No, no, it’s perfect,” your ex insists. “She’s everything. She’s filthy rich and she’s so, so hot. What more do you even need?”

And she’s completely right: that’s the thing.

Your gaze follows the line of the sea, trails to where the palm trees frame the volleyball nets - it’s pressureless, it’s relaxing, it’s fun - watching some of the guests flail and crack up over missed points, over bad calls. You’ve never been in a place more beautiful. This is something you’re not used to, either, not in the slightest.

“I’ve never even gotten to talk to her even though I’ve seen her around the resort a bunch of times,” your ex is saying. “Oh, my god: you have to introduce us, I’m serious. I’ve tried so many times but she’s so sexy I forget all my social skills the moment I see her-”

“Alright, chill.” Ah, your ex and her taste for obnoxiously attractive women: there’s an answer to why you two never would’ve worked out romantically, and it’s not just that you come from two completely different worlds.

This is her turf, the glamor and the opulence and the designer swimsuits - the way she can be carefree and careless and she’ll never have to pay for it. It’s foreign territory, for you, being able to let things go like you will here. That’s the name of the game, in actuality; it’s all about leaving things behind. No strings attached. Nothing tying you down.

It’s not about love. It never was. When August slips away, so will you.

Off to your left, you hear a bright, musical laugh ring out.

“I’m so jealous,” your ex says. “You think she’d be down for a threesome?”

Your eyes skate the sand, the scenery. You’re not far from the ridiculousness of the volleyball matches - there’s a group over on your left, people hollering insults at each other, hurtling the ball back and forth. You don’t know what you’re looking for, but you’re looking. “You don’t want a threesome with me. You barely even like men.”

There’s that pretty laugh again, echoing in the distance, a little wild, intoxicating. There’s a twinge at your spine, like a memory unraveling itself, peeling back layers, defenses, walls. Your ex says, whimsically, “I could take one for the team.”

“Oh, and what-”

There’s a point you’re trying to make, there’s a retort on your tongue, there’s the world, upright and spinning on its axis - but that’s right when you see her.

(There’s no explanation for anything that happens next, really. You’re just gonna have to take it and run.)

One minute you’re on solid ground and then you’re not. One minute there’s your heart beating in your chest and then it’s not there anymore, suddenly, somewhere far-off and fleeing, somewhere with a girl and a laugh and a crazy, cosmic impossibility - and all at once, it’s like-

(Sometimes you meet someone, and it’s already over.)

It’s like you forget all other words. There’s no reason for it, no logic. She’s laughing, and you’re struck silent, stonelike, drowning on dry land; she’s beyond beautiful, like she’s making a mockery of the concept. There’s the universe, and nothing’s where you’d thought it was: all the noise dulls to a hum, falls insignificant, unimportant; the sea melts into the sky, bleeding all shades of blue. The sun lets up, acquiesces, lets you be. You swear there are higher powers listening, or there must be - devils placing bets, angels throwing their hands up, gods above saying there, right there - that’s where it all goes wrong.

She sees you at the same time you see her, or close enough that the gap’s indiscernible - and that’s a story in and of itself, a start and a conclusion. There’s a leap and you’re taking it just by the way your eyes meet; it’s summer, and you’re throwing yourself off a cliff, crashing straight into the waves.

Son Chaeyoung smiles at you, and just like that, you know.

“Hello?” Your ex is actually clapping into the phone. “Did you die? Oh my god, did you drown? Did you save someone else from drowning?” There’s a pause. “Are you giving a hot MILF mouth-to-mouth? Because, like - okay, I get it, priorities, but-”

“Um.” You can’t speak, can’t think. You’re having a faintly out-of-body experience. “There’s - um.”

“Talk. Use words. Are you having a stroke? Do I need to call 911?”

It’s a valiant effort, trying to get through to you - it’s also completely futile. Your brain’s cut off, disconnected. All you can comprehend is the girl smiling at you from the sidelines like there’s an inside joke you’re both in on, something about her stare strangely familiar and nostalgic, intimate, bemused. The corners of your mouth twitch up, mirroring. You don’t know what it is but you know that you’re feeling it.

“Sorry,” you say, and your voice sounds odd even to your own ears, distant and distracted. “There’s a girl.”

It’s a wild understatement. It’s only a fraction of everything you want to say: she’s stunning, you mean, she’s surreal, she’s everything - you could say it all, and it’d be the truth.

“A girl,” repeats your ex, appropriately intrigued. “Okay. Elaborate.”

A girl, like that could be her title and hers alone, like you’d stare at a masterpiece on the wall of a gallery with a plaque and a frame and a presence, and attribute each detail only to her. Long, black hair spiraling down her back, haphazardly tied out of her face; the barely-there flash of her teeth, the inordinately perfect porcelain lines of her face, the slope of her nose, mouth, jaw; there’s so much skin on display. Tattoos, all over her: the one winding up her spine, out of the waistband of her denim cutoffs, the colorful ones scattered across both arms, intricate like they each have a story, a purpose. You see her and you’re drafting folktales, creating mythos. You’re not sure how you could ever sum it up.

“I can’t,” you say, helplessly. You take one look and you’re thinking of walking over, of laying down your rules, of saying it’s insane, but I swear, there’s something about you- “I’m, like - Jesus fucking Christ.”

“Oh, man.” Your ex is laughing into the phone. “Don’t tell me you just fell in love at first sight.”

“That’s not a real thing,” you say, automatically, but now you’re clambering down from your lifeguard chair, your feet hitting the sand. The girl’s still studying you, arms crossed over her chest - waiting, patient, the sun soaking her golden. There’s a pull, there’s a thread she’s tugging. There’s an inevitability and a promise.

(Something about her, you’ll say later. For now, you don’t have anything else.)

“I have to go,” you tell your ex.

“Fine,” she says, delighted. “Ditch me for the love of your life.”

“I haven’t even met her yet,” you say, but even that seems wrong, stilted. Like there’s not an excuse in the world that could keep you away from her. You say, “Bye,” and you hang up the phone, and you don’t wait for a response.

(Sometimes, you see someone, and you just-)

The girl tilts her head as she sees you approaching, dark eyes a little wide and dazzling, spellbinding. Your heart’s unsteady, thrown off-kilter - you see her straighten, see the wind tangle the inky waves of her hair, see the knowing flicker of a deep dimple in her cheek - even feet away, she’s got this grip on you - there’s no way to explain it-

You’re seconds away from it, really. From saying hi, from saying I know you, don’t I?, from saying it’s you, you, you, and falling right into the rest of your life. It’d just take a moment and no more. You already know it.

“Hey, you.”

You stop in your tracks.

It’d just take a moment and you’d fall - the ocean pauses with bated breath, your pulse hollows out your ribs, arteries - but then it slips away in an instant.

You’re too late: the conclusion dawns slow, sunrise-like. You’ve already made your choice, drawn up your strategies. You’ve kicked off your game and now you have to see it through, no matter what it takes.

“Oh,” you say, and you pull your focus off of the girl, torturous, turning to the side. It feels wrong, uncomfortable, your skin too tight, your heartbeat somewhere it shouldn’t be - but you have to, so you do. “Hey.”

Because there’s your perfect plan for the summer, clad in a criminally skintight green bikini, staring you right in the face.

“Told you I’d find you,” says Park Jihyo, eyes sparkling over her sunglasses.

There’s the devil you know, then the devil you don’t. Well, you’ve made your bed, you reason, and you can’t figure out why the thought is mildly suffocating. Jihyo’s here and deathly gorgeous and she wants you; more importantly, you need her. You have your whole life ahead of you, to make all your mistakes. This is the one thing you need to get right.

(You don’t look back at the girl, because you don’t think you’ll be able to ever look away.)

It’s all going according to plan - that’s where you are. There’s no reason to get distracted by anybody else.

“Lucky me,” you say to Jihyo, smiling, and you let her take your hand.

(The girl watches you walk away, a thoughtful tilt to her head, full lips screwed to the side. It’s like she’s saying fine, leave me be for now, go have your fun - it’s only a matter of time.)

Work hard, play hard - sure, sure. You’re ditching your very first shift. You might get fired for this.

“You’re not going to get fucking fired,” huffs Jihyo; you can’t take your eyes off her body in that fucking bikini - everyone’s scantily clad in swimsuits and somehow hers is more obscene, nearing pornographic; there’s her huge tits, her waist, hips, thighs - you’re tongue-tied, speechless - you’ve got her pressed up against the side of a building, and there’s the sun, there’s the threat of public eyes-

“You got a thing for exhibitionism?” You’re on your knees, mouth pressed to the inside of her thigh, teasing, laughing. “You seem to like having your tits out where you could get caught.”

“All these assumptions,” bites out Jihyo, words already wrecked.

“I’m not assuming anything.” You’ve got her swimsuit bottoms pushed to the side, her cunt inches from your tongue. “You’re so fucking wet.”

Jihyo’s got her big brown eyes fixed on you, one eyebrow raised in performative snobbiness - you can see her swallow hard, you’ve got all the proof you need of exactly the front she’s using. “Alright,” she says, and there’s something so hot about her above you, about you giving up your stature just to make her cum. “Are you gonna do anything about it?”

You smirk up at her - that’s not a question that takes words to answer.

The noises she makes are like fucking blasphemy - something about her gasping, breathless sounds, trying to choke back her own pleasure, the way she’ll let a moan crack her façade right open - and you hold her thighs apart, flatten your tongue. “Fuck,” Jihyo gets out, fingers tangling in your hair, pushing your mouth further into her pussy: “Fuck, fuck-”

You’re not thinking about anything else but what’s right in front of you. You know better than to lose focus.

Jihyo rides your face when she cums, rocking her hips - it’s hot in all the ways you’re used to, her treating your mouth like something to fuck and ruin and leave - and when you pull back, breathless, your lips and your chin slick, Jihyo hooks her fingers in your lanyard and tugs you to your feet.

“You aren’t going to get fired,” she reiterates, even though you’re ditching a beach full of people who could definitely drown at any second. “Aren’t there, like, three other lifeguards manning the beach right now?”

“Sure,” you say, distracted by her tits in your hands, how her thumb skates your chin, gathers up her own cum.

“Hm,” says Jihyo, distinctly humorous, tapping your mouth.

“What?”

“First of all.” You part your lips, let her slide her fingers between them - you suck, obedient. “Another reason you’d never get fired is because I can bribe the higher-ups out of it.” That matter-of-fact arrogance creeps into her voice, the edge searing, filthy hot. “And second of all,” Jihyo adds, mildly, “I think you’re obsessed with my tits.”

“Who isn’t?”

Jihyo laughs, lets her hand creep under the waistband of your swim trunks - she’s turning the tables, pushing you up against the wall, pushing you both into darkness. It’s summer. Hiding is just par for the course.

“Let’s see where this goes,” she tells you, tone reckless, ruminative. “Maybe I’ll let you fuck them.”

That’s an idea you’re more than enamored with - fine. You’ll have all the fun in the world with her. That’s what you’re here for - that’s the point. There’s nothing more to it.

“Oh,” you say lowly, and Jihyo blinks with all the faux-innocence she can manage, right before she wraps her hand around your cock. “I think we both already know exactly where this is going.”

and when i arrive on the island and steal park jihyo away from you… your ex texts, at roughly three in the morning. then what.

then i’d be broke, you say. you would literally be ruining my livelihood just for some pussy

SOME PUSSY????? IT’S PARK JIHYO!!!!!!!!!!! have some RESPECT you heathen >:(

heathen? she’s not a god lol

YES SHE IS, says your ex, and you know her so well you can practically hear her squealing it at you already. plus didn’t you meet the love of your life or whatever earlier….. like leave some women for the rest of us. WHORE

alright… i’m blocking you

She says love of your life and your brain’s back on the beach, stuck and staring, transfixed. There’s a girl in denim cutoffs, covered in tattoos. She’s smiling at you and there’s a breaking point - you’re smiling back, and you’re doomed from the start.

no but seriously i don’t even know what happened with that girl, you say. chalking it up to temporary insanity. heatstroke probably plus i ate jihyo out behind one of the buildings like 5 minutes after so it obviously wasn’t THAT serious

alright, replies your ex. I’M blocking YOU

It’s so much easier to make jokes about it, play it off: that’s territory you’re used to. There’s nothing you do with women that needs to be taken seriously. There’s no script here, no note with an emphasis on eye contact, on feeling, on fate - nothing scribbled in the margins, arrows indicating here’s the call to action, here’s the catalyst. No moments straight out of movies. You just don’t live that kind of life.

it’s not a big deal, you say. i don’t even know her name.

(It’s like the opposite of a blind spot, really. Something so consuming and obvious that you can’t look at anything else, can’t think, can’t do anything but pinpoint a before and an after: a timeline, a lifeline, an I was fine before I saw your face, and now I don’t know what I am.)

hmm, texts your ex, cryptically, because she still knows all of your tells. i have a feeling that won’t last long.

She’s right: it doesn’t. It’s a day later and you’re strolling through the resort lobby.

I’m gonna leave you something at the receptionist’s desk, Jihyo told you, yesterday, licking your cum off of her hand, so casually it almost didn’t register - and it wouldn’t have, if you were anyone else. Stop by there tomorrow.

Oh, you said, because you’re not anyone else; it’s exactly the opening you’d been waiting for. So you’re reimbursing me for the sex now? What am I, a prostitute?

Jihyo studied you, blatantly entertained.

Consider it a token of my appreciation, she said, grin unfurling.

For the orgasms? you’d asked.

Sure.

Okay, you’d said, like it was her idea all along, and you were the one begrudgingly going along with it. I’ll take that.

Jihyo raised her eyebrows at you, like she knew exactly what kind of game you were playing and loved it. You’d better, she’d said, and then you were off.

The lobby’s showy, pleasantly busy. There’s music playing, something light and ambient. The floor gleams, the light fixtures seem to sparkle, the sun pours in through wide floor-to-ceiling windows: it’s gorgeous, it’s doing everything it’s supposed to. You, like most of the other unreasonably attractive employees, are doing your advertising and doing it perfectly just by stepping into the room. You’re getting stares. You’re used to it.

“Hey,” you say once you get to the desk, half-distracted by the huge painting spreading across the back wall, the ocean curling blue and green into meticulously detailed sand, spilling at the coastline. “So, one of guests left something-”

Your eyes land on the receptionist, and your throat promptly dries up.

(There it is again: like the world pauses, holds its breath. You swear there’s no one else in the room. You can’t chalk it up to temporary insanity when it happens every time you see her face - the sun glows, serves as a spotlight - there are things going unsaid, there’s all your instincts on high alert, wanting, waiting-)

“Hi,” you say, voice markedly more strained.

“Hi,” the girl from the beach replies, and she’s so stunning up close you forget how to speak.

She’s clad in a frilly white dress, flimsy straps, black hair half-clipped up, dripping over her slender shoulders like ink, all night skies and silk. You can see all of the tattoos that line her arms, swirls of color across her tan skin - her eyes are wide and dark and impossibly sparkly, like some animated cartoon character brought to life - she’s otherworldly, she’s unfathomably beautiful. You don’t know how you’re still standing.

There’s a gold nametag pinned to her dress, flashing in the light.

“Chaeyoung,” you say, and her name feels too familiar on your lips, like it’d already found a home somewhere close years ago, lifetimes.

“Lifeguard,” Chaeyoung replies, gaze flickering to the lanyard around your neck; it jumps right to your face, gets stuck there.

It’s one word, and it still comes belated, a little breathless - and for one crazy second you think of bending across the desk, think of asking you feel it, don’t you? You feel it too?

She’s got the most perfect face, so flawless she doesn’t even look real - doll-like, angelic, mouth full and pink, inviting, inevitable. There are all the subtleties - the dip of her cupid’s bow, the slope of her nose, the twitch of her dimple, the mole underneath her bottom lip. You’ve never met anyone more gorgeous; she’s staring at you like she’s thinking something similar. There’s an intensity so tangible it’s like you can taste it.

“You said a guest left something for you?” Chaeyoung can’t look away from your eyes, can’t break the contact; oh, it’s just another thing that’ll be entirely mutual. There’s a slow pull to her smile, deliberating. “Isn’t this, like, your second day ever working here? That was fast.”

You feel a laugh bubbling up, something beyond your control. “You’ve been keeping tabs on me?”

You mean it to be light, teasing - but Chaeyoung just cocks her head, lifts a shoulder, says, “I guess I have.”

There should be something here - an introduction, an exchange of pleasantries, small talk - there should be a tip-off that the two of you have never met before, somewhere. You shouldn’t feel so comfortable staring at her. She shouldn’t feel so comfortable leaning over the counter, casually, pouty lips fixed in a curl, examining your face like she’s trying to commit it to memory, or maybe like she already has.

(There isn’t any tip-off, because it doesn’t feel like the first time you two have met at all. There’s no rationalizing it. You don’t think you’ll ever be able to.)

Chaeyoung’s eyes crinkle at the corners, a small scrunch appearing at the bridge of her nose. You’re so strangely aware of every minute change in her, tuned in to all the finer points: she adjusts herself, as if she’s observing at you from a different angle. Her dimple deepens, satisfied, like there’s something she’s been looking for forever and now she’s found it.

“Park Jihyo,” she says. “Right?”

There’s this way she asks it, like it’s not really a question, like she’s already on your wavelength.

“Right,” you say, and Chaeyoung lifts her eyebrows, impressed, and reaches for a drawer behind the desk.

You’re fascinated by the ease of it. “Is this in your job description?” you ask, somehow uncaring of boundaries, taking it slow; it just seems like you’re past all that, like you have been for years. “Shuttling presents back and forth between guests and employees?”

Chaeyoung produces a small gift box with a sticky note on it, your name haphazardly scribbled across it in pen. The implications are hilarious: like Chaeyoung might have a whole stock of identical boxes just past the counter, lined up for delivery. You’ll ask her to see it later, you think - and that’s a thought that should be taking it too far, a future, a pathway. You’ll shelve it for now.

“I’m not technically supposed to,” says Chaeyoung, equally uncaring, like it’s no big deal she’s spilling her secrets within a minute of your first conversation. “But the guests all give me some great tips for it, so.”

“Oh,” you say, grinning. “So you’re not doing it out of the kindness of your heart. You’re doing it so you can extort people.”

Chaeyoung smiles back, mischievous, managing to read adorable nonetheless. She’s so ridiculously beautiful it should be intimidating, tattooed and confident and so sure of herself, but there’s something in her eyes, the way her lips seem perpetually pouty, her dimple always ready to reveal itself: she’s cute. You’re hopeless. It’s already a disaster.

“It’s rich that you’re accusing me of extortion,” she says, prodding the box towards you. “What’d you do to get a present from Park Jihyo again?”

“I don’t know,” you say, nonchalant; Chaeyoung narrows her eyes at you, visibly enthused by the act, not buying a word. “I guess she just saw my face and couldn’t resist.”

There’s a fine print here. It’s been minutes. There’s something about you, you want to tell her, something here, something about you and me - but you meet her gaze and there’s the sun winding its way through her hair, there’s the tug in your heart, there’s the textbook nostalgia that you shouldn’t be feeling and are anyway. It’s impossible, insane. You look at her and you think she already knows.

“I’d believe that,” says Chaeyoung, simply, plucking the sticky note off the box. Her lips pucker, theatrically pensive. “It’s quite the face.”

She glances up at you through her eyelashes, smirk flickering at her mouth, and it’s like she’s confessing something else entirely.

“You’re bad news,” you say, eventually, but you say it like I want you anyway.

“Right back at you,” she tells you, like then come and get me.

That’s the thing: this is a horrible idea. This isn’t going according to plan at all. She doesn’t have anything you came here for - doesn’t have the money, the status, the privilege - but you’re still here, somehow.

“By all means,” says Chaeyoung, unbothered, fluttering her hands at the box. There were lines but you’ve crossed them. She’s relaxed in a way she probably shouldn’t be, elbows on the counter, eyes big and curious - you’re old friends playing catch-up, you’re feeling history that you haven’t made yet. “I wanna see what she got you. I’m nosy.”

“You’re telling me you haven’t gotten any gifts from the guests?” Your eyes trail down to the tattoos crossing her arms, all that meticulous art, vivid color, clean lines. You think of tracing them, ink on her skin like roads - you think of letting your fingertips follow them as far as she’ll take you.

Chaeyoung shrugs. “Maybe I have,” she says, flippant. “But - trust me, it took a lot more than my face to get presents from people.”

“See?” Oh, that’s not a surprise, somehow: you know strategy when you see it. Chaeyoung’s gorgeous with a point, an plan in motion. “You get it.”

“I get you,” Chaeyoung says. She sticks the stray post-it note to your top, pats your arm like it’s nothing. It’s an admission she’d let slip too easily, like she’d meant to dodge the weight of it but missed - I know you, she’s saying, I see you and I understand - and it’s too much, too soon. You stop short, examine her, watch her flush slightly like she hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

She does feel it, you realize. Well, collective insanity, then, contagious; you’ll stick with that, for now.

“I know your type,” Chaeyoung corrects herself, a little haltingly, pink sitting prettily at her cheeks. “There are tons of people like you working here.”

“People like me, huh?”

“Hot,” she clarifies, recovering fast, dimple winking coyly. “Arrogant. Slutty. Money-grubbing.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Chaeyoung waves off the sarcasm. “Hey,” she says. “It’s not a bad thing. You’re just like me.”

(Well, and that’s the root of the issue, really: you two are cut from the same cloth. You two are after the same thing. You’re always going to take the money and run. She gets you, for some godforsaken reason, and that’s something she can’t act off forever - but she’s sure going to try.)

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you say. “It’s good to meet another kindred gold-digging spirit.”

“It’s summer,” says Chaeyoung. “This place is full of them. We’re not special.”

Ah, but that’s where she’s wrong - there’s all this ease to your conversation, there’s the sun lighting your way, there’s how Chaeyoung’s eyes trail your body like she has some right to it, like she’s earned it and nothing less. Like you’re something that belongs to her, or you will be soon; hold a mirror up, and you’re sure you’d be caught the exact same way, enraptured by a feeling that shouldn’t even be there in the first place.

“Really?” you ask, quirking your mouth. Chaeyoung’s gaze lingers there, skates your lips like she might find them unavoidable. “I think we could be.”

Chaeyoung sighs, as if it’s all a war she’s already lost.

“Your lines aren’t gonna work on me,” she says, but she’s smiling. “Plus, I don’t think you can afford me.” She lifts her chin, and she’s surveying you again, top to toe. “I definitely can’t afford you.”

“Probably not,” you say.

“You should just walk away now,” advises Chaeyoung, mirth poorly disguised, tapping her colorful nails to the table. “Us hanging out together would be really bad for business.”

“I should,” you agree. You’ve got a gift to open and an inability to pull yourself away from her, something unimaginable, incorporeal. She says lines and you don’t have any. You look at her and she’s a girl with an allure, smoldering, vaguely destructive - there are tsunamis, there are forest fires, things that do nothing but devastate. You should walk away and you don’t; you should, and you don’t know how you’re ever going to.

(It’s summer, so it’s the only place to be.)

The gift just happens to be this ridiculously expensive watch, gleaming silver - but there are also, for some reason, bills in cash tucked just past the buckle, folded and clipped neatly together. You stare, open-mouthed, and Chaeyoung throws her head back, exposing the pretty column of her neck, and laughs so hard you can’t help but join her.

“Jesus fuck,” you say, in awe, running your fingers over the watch, the cash. “I don’t know if I’ve ever gotten a payout that’s been this…”

“Ostentatious,” Chaeyoung supplies, like she’s throwing out the answer to a crossword puzzle.

“You read my mind,” you say, entertained - you don’t think you’ve ever used that word in casual conversation before. “No, I was gonna say fucking awesome. Like, did she get this delivered or something?”

You don’t know why it happens like this, but all of a sudden you’re slipping the watch into Chaeyoung’s hand, letting her buckle it around your wrist. There should be boundaries, convention says, somewhere far-off and distant. There should be personal space and there’s not.

“We have a gift shop here at the resort,” Chaeyoung’s explaining, her hands tiny around yours, fiddling with the clasp. “It’s really well-stocked. Lots of people come here for, like, complete discretion, you know?” Her thumb brushes the inside of your wrist, sends a shudder up your spine; you barely move, outwardly, but she looks up at you pointedly, like she’d felt it regardless. “So the gift shop has basically everything anyone would want to buy their mistresses, or their secret summer flings, or their sugar babies. And - yes, they’re all this insane. Jihyo’s a… repeat offender, so to speak.” She throws a sly look your way. “She always spoils her boy toys like this.”

“Lucky me,” you say. “I think it kinda clashes with my uniform, though.”

You’ve got a point - you’re in a tank top and swim trunks - but what really gets you is the way Chaeyoung laughs, so sudden and sweet that it steals all the air from your lungs, leaves you marveling at how her eyes crease, that same slight scrunch appearing at the side of her nose. Everyone here is so beautiful, but then there’s her. Like something in her is calling to you, just by existing.

“I can keep it safe for you,” she says, leaning on her elbows, an offer without expectation. “If you wanna come back after your shift and pick it up. Wouldn’t want it to get waterlogged from you heroically rescuing some billionaire from drowning, or whatever.”

You grin at her; there’s an inflection you take, a provocation. “Is this you trying to steal shit from me or are you just looking for an excuse to see me again?”

You’re aiming to fluster, but it’s like Chaeyoung’s utterly immune. Well, maybe it makes sense. She’s just like you, used to smooth-talking and movie-star charm, pick-up lines and suggestion, the prospect of sex like a threat, always on the horizon.

Chaeyoung’s forearms drop to the desk, drawing attention to the sharp line of her collarbone, the low dip of her neckline; she spills her eyes wide, all practiced, alluring innocence, the definition of sensuality seemingly without being aware of it, bottom lip pulled into her mouth thoughtfully, releasing slow. There’s something guileless about it, seductive and naïve at the same time - it’s a magnetism so perfect it should be patented. It’s as impressive as it is fucking hot.

“Huh,” Chaeyoung says, voice slipping into something just off the edge of musical, “you’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?”

“Fuck,” you say, a beat too late. “You’re good.”

Her dimple winks at you, betraying the performance. “So I’ve heard.”

“Your dimple,” you say, distracted entirely, unable to stop yourself. “It’s so fucking cute.”

Chaeyoung starts, almost like she wasn’t expecting something so honest, something without innuendo - and suddenly she cracks right open, tosses the act out the window, out to sea. Here, she’s saying, and then she laughs again, but it’s almost shy, soft. I don’t need it anymore.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, and she’s switched topic on a dime. “It’s just - thanks, I’m glad you think so, but-”

(It’s exactly the opposite of all her rehearsed charisma; this is her, going woefully off-script. You’ll follow. You think you always will.)

“Okay, I’ve been thinking this the whole time, but - I need to say it.” Chaeyoung straightens, like she’s doing something reckless, thoughts disorganized and taking flight all on their own. “We’ve - I swear we’ve met before. You and me. Like, before working here.” She clears her throat, wavers, somewhat amazed just by you here, standing in front of her. “This just feels so…”

Her expression slips out of the meticulously constructed mask she’d had on - she lets her smile split and it’s real, lets her head shake, her shoulders slump, unable to label it. It’s like seeing some award-winning sculpture coming to life, seeing a masterpiece in oil paints get up and walk straight out of the frame: something impossible, dreamlike. You can’t stop staring.

“Yeah,” you say, breathless. “I know. I’m getting insane fucking deja vu or something.”

“You’re getting it too!” Chaeyoung taps her knuckles against the receptionist’s desk, relieved. “I thought I was going crazy. But I have no idea where I’d know you from.”

“Maybe we knew each other as kids,” you suggest.

There’s that dimple again. “Ugh. Too cliché.”

“You got anything else?”

Chaeyoung shrugs, throws her hands in the air, gives it all up so easily. “I don’t know, man,” she says, so genuinely you’re laughing again. “Maybe we knew each other in a past life.”

“Oh, because that’s not cliché at all.”

“I’ve fucked my fair share of screenwriters,” laments Chaeyoung, somehow crass and cute simultaneously, an animated series with filthy dialogue, banking on the juxtaposition like she invented it. “I’ll come up with something better.”

(She tells you this, but you’re not sure that she can. There’s nothing sweeter than fiction, or at least that’s what people say; they just haven’t seen the two of you yet.)

Strangely enough, you leave both the watch and the money with her, like you trust her. There’s no reason why you should - you just fucking met her - but you do. This might come back to bite you later, but not in the ways people would think. It just depends on where you’re going, really.

“All this cash,” you say, feigning disinterest, tossing the bills back in the box. “I feel like a hooker.”

“Shut up,” says Chaeyoung, so blunt and brash that you bust out laughing. “You are a hooker.”

“Look who’s talking.”

“You literally don’t know me,” says Chaeyoung, but there’s a twist to her mouth, a pointed kind of irony. She scans your body like she’s cataloging landmarks, places she’s already been; your eyes, your lips, your hands. There’s no explaining that, either.

Even looking at her feels both like a possibility and a death sentence, everything you can’t have but you want anyway. The post-it note with your name on it flutters to the desk, but it doesn’t matter; there are some things so familiar neither of you will ever forget them.

“Sure,” you say, dryly, and her smile widens. “Let’s say that.”

“Um,” you say on the phone, later that day, and nothing else.

“Hello to you too,” says your ex. “Wait, let me guess-”

“Here we go.”

“You talked to the love of your life today?” your ex asks, smug, and she can read you front-to-back, even through the phone. You’re too caught up in everything to be even remotely surprised by it; you think of it like something anybody would be able to see, like someone would spot you and Chaeyoung together and automatically have you two pegged in an instant.

“It’s not like that,” you try and say, even though it kind of is.

“Right.”

(You came back to the lobby in between shifts to pick up the gift, take it back to your bungalow. Chaeyoung was waiting for you. Hey, she said, and slid you the box. See, I didn’t swindle you.

Oh, I knew you wouldn’t, you said, and she smiled.)

“It’s just-” You have no idea how you’re going to put this into words, but you’re going to try. “Have you ever talked to someone and it’s like - like you knew them before you met? Like everything feels so - I don’t know. So familiar. Like it’s all happened before.”

Your ex pauses.

“Huh,” she says, suddenly softer. “You’ve got it bad.”

“You think?” you ask, even though you already know the answer. There’s a beat, and then-

“She’s your soulmate,” declares your ex - and that’s what breaks you, gets you to laugh out loud; she’s fucking ridiculous. “You’re on that twin flame shit. Don’t laugh, I’m serious. You’re never gonna be able to leave this alone. It’s, like, decided by the cosmos.”

“You’re so dumb.”

“I’m so right.”

She isn’t, because you’re a man of logic, of cynicism, or at least you try to be - theoretically, you’re nothing if not practical. It’s what you’ve had to be forever. Daydreaming’s never gonna get someone like you anywhere good, so you don’t bother. You keep impossible things right where they belong; out of reach, all far-off concepts. You don’t think of hope, because it’s the sort of thing that devastates plans like yours. It’s all a running joke, the past-lives thing, the familiarity, the nostalgia. There’s nothing else it can be.

“You’re not,” you insist. “I’m fine.”

(You can’t figure out why that somehow feels like a lie.)

There’s this sense of a storm warning in there, a little, predictions of a catastrophe. It’s summer, and Chaeyoung’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever laid eyes on. There’s no point in playing for keeps. She’s not even part of the game.

“Here’s the problem,” you tell your ex. “She’s also here to be a gold digger.”

“Whoa,” says your ex, stunned. “She really is your twin flame.”

“That’s not a thing,” you insist, exasperated, but maybe it doesn’t really matter. Your ex is right about something, after all: you’re never gonna be able to leave this alone.

“I see you liked the watch.”

You’re in between shifts - you’re gonna have to be at the pool in an hour and a half, but that’s a problem for later - and you’re in Jihyo’s hotel room, being everything she paid for. Your shirt’s already off, but Jihyo’s in your lap, trailing her fingers up your wrist. You can’t imagine she dresses like this in her daily life, but out here she’s all miniskirts and gauzy tops, so form-fitting they might as well be painted on. She’s got her arms looped casually around your neck - her bed’s huge, and you’re ready to take full advantage of it. You’re not thinking about anything else.

“Yeah,” you say, skimming your hands down her sides, “it was quite the gift. The cash was a little much, though, no?”

Jihyo rolls her eyes, presses her palm to your cheek. “Okay, look,” she says. “I think we can stop pretending that you have zero ulterior motives for fucking me. I know guys like you. You’re super broke and I’m rich as fuck. I get what’s going on here.”

You laugh out loud. “Okay,” you say, more endeared than you probably should be by her callousness, “I’m not super broke-”

“I don’t care,” interrupts Jihyo. “The sex is fucking amazing. I’m getting everything I want out of this. We can mutually use each other, honey.”

You lift a hand, slip it through her hair; there’s the big, gorgeous eyes, the no-nonsense demeanor, the way she smiles and it transforms her whole face - “Fine,” you say, and tip forward to kiss her jaw, uncharacteristically chaste. There’s something mildly demeaning about the way she calls you honey, something slightly patronizing; you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like it, and you’re pretty sure she knows it.

Jihyo presses her thumb to the spot your lips touched, pleased. “I guess this settles it, then.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m your sugar mama for the summer.” She pauses, considering, comfortable in your lap like she has all the time in the world. “Does that sound right? I have to admit, I’ve never been one-hundred-percent on the terminology. If I were a guy it’d be a sugar daddy-”

“Sure.”

“-but does that make me your - well, I guess sugar mommy works, too.”

It does work. The thing between the two of you’s simple, synchronous; this is what it means to be practical, really. You get sidetracked by the way your hand spans her toned thighs, skin all tan and smooth - everyone’s getting sun these days, including you. It looks good on her, but everything does.

“Hm,” you say, a little belatedly.

You stroke your fingers up her inner thigh, but Jihyo eyes you, hand back on your wrist, suddenly suspicious. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“Why’d you say hm like that?”

You flounder, caught. So, you hadn’t exactly meant to give yourself away this early. “Uh, I don’t - I mean, I didn’t say it in any particular way.”

It’s useless; Jihyo spends all her time getting exactly what she wants out of everyone she knows, and you’re no exception. Nothing gets past her, that shrewd intuition, those eyes - she barely knows you, but somehow she still gets this like you’re the easiest person in the world to read, like you don’t have a thousand defenses at the ready. She’s too smart for you, in effect. It’s a real fucking liability.

“Oh,” Jihyo says, a smirk finding her mouth. “You like hearing me refer to myself as mommy?”

“Um,” you say.

“You do,” interprets Jihyo, thrilled, readjusting herself on top of you. “That’s fucking priceless.”

That’s one way to put it, but you let it slide. Or, at least, you have to, because now Jihyo’s got her hands pressed to your bare chest, nails mapping a path to your waistband, deliberately teasing. She tilts her chin up at you, dark eyes glinting, tone right on the edge of a warning.

“You want mommy to titfuck you?” she asks, and leans in, goading. “You want mommy to wrap her tits around your cock and make you cum?”

“Jesus,” you say, voice hoarse. “Yes. Fuck.”

Jihyo arches an eyebrow, perfectly, sternly authoritative. “Yes, what?”

You’re so much bigger than her, taller and more imposing, intimidating; you could crush her in an instant, push her into any position, wrap your hand around her throat and press down. She’s the one calling the shots, and you won’t - you’ll give in.

“Yes, please, mommy,” you exhale, and Jihyo grins like the devil.

(Here’s how Jihyo sees it: there’s something about having a huge man under her control, wrapped around her finger. You’re so tall and built you could snap her in two. Instead, you just get on the bed, get underneath her, get naked and start begging. Hey, Jihyo’s always loved having power, in all aspects of her life - this is just one of her favorite ways to exert it.

“C’mon, honey.” She’s moving her tits up and down your cock, she’s got you right where she wants you - sprawled on her sheets and speechless. “I know you wanna cum on mommy’s tits, huh? You wanna cum all over mommy’s tits?”

It’s not even like you’re fighting instincts. You, with all your charm and confidence and presence, submit to Jihyo like it’s the easiest thing you’ve ever had to do.

“Yeah,” you’re panting, the strain in your voice intoxicating, something you could bottle and get wasted on. “Yes, mommy. Please let me cum-”

Let me, you say, and you’re already pleading for permission, composure ripping itself to pieces.

“Fine,” says Jihyo airily - it’s all about knocking you down a peg - and slides her tits up your cock one more time. “Then cum.”

You do, but recover so fast it’s inhumane; you steal back control like it’d never left, get Jihyo on top and riding your cock, but it’s your fingerprints scorching her hips, the filth falling from your mouth - mommy gets a cock in her slutty little cunt and suddenly she’s not so high and mighty, huh? you taunt, and she’d slap you, but you’d probably like it - and it’s how you leave her breathless afterwards, unreasonably spent and satisfied, cum glazing her tits, stomach. Realistically, she’s probably not paying you nearly enough for how phenomenal the sex is, she thinks, but she’s not about to tell you that. It’s not the money; it’s her pride. She’ll let you figure that out on your own.)

This is the problem - well, you’ve got a lot of those, in retrospect, but here’s the main one:

“Hey,” Chaeyoung says, sunglasses perched on her head, finding you lifeguarding out by the pool a day later. “So, you wouldn’t fucking believe who checked in yesterday-”

It comes out casually, like talking to you is something she’s been doing her entire life. Her chin’s tilted up, face drenched in sunlight, eyes glimmering. You’re fucking someone else. You’re here only for the summer. It’s all so awfully impermanent - and she’s so beautiful your breath catches at the sight of her.

You’re giving up, giving in. There’s a gravity you can’t resist. You look at her and it’s like everything in you’s craving her: your arteries, your bloodstream, nerves shorting out and shot. Impossible things: she’s all of them wrapped up in one, standing in front of you, like she already knows how this ends.

“Tell me,” you say, and that’s how you know you’re doomed.

That’s how it really begins, if you had to pick a moment: you two start talking and there’s never a time that hits where you want to cut it off. It’s so uncannily natural, instinctual - there’s no awkward silences, no fumbling through conversations, no mind games or hidden motives. Chaeyoung picks a lounge chair next to you and has to crane her neck to look up at you, but you make her laugh and it’s like there’s no space at all.

“This is weird,” you comment, halfway through, a little amazed. “You and me.” You’re used to being a great, strategic conversationalist; it’s one of your best tactics. This feels different and you can’t put a name to it.

“What’s weird about it?” says Chaeyoung, smiling. “That I’m in a bikini and hot and you’re not trying to fuck me?”

“No,” you say. “I’m definitely trying to fuck you eventually. Just not, like, right at this moment.”

Chaeyoung splutters with laughter, and - oh, you two could get carried away here; you’re both barely clothed and there’s a tension between you two that shouldn’t be, a possibility, a yearning - but she says, “Let’s table that for now,” and it all stays where it is. “Hey, have you ever read-”

It’s the second day you’ve ever spoken and you can’t get enough of each other, somehow. You’re always picking up on threads, easily sidetracked and prone to detours - you can’t just talk about one thing. She tells you about all the books she’s reading, but recaps them more like action movies - you’re telling her about crazy hook-ups you’ve had back home, age gaps and wild kinks. It could be suggestive, but instead it’s not. You’re too busy laughing.

“It is weird,” she says suddenly, in between stories about her own various sugar daddies. “I just - there’s something about you. Like I want to tell you things I don’t usually tell people.” She rolls her neck, black hair unruly past her shoulders, down her back, curling around the tattoo covering her spine. “Which is probably stupid, right?” She grins, only half-joking. “You’re a gold digger. You’re untrustworthy by default, pretty much.”

“So are you,” you prod back. “That’s why this works, I think.”

“Damn,” says Chaeyoung, amused, and you get it - God, it’d be so much easier if it didn’t work so well. She stretches back out on her chair, an unholy amount of tan skin left uncovered; the sunglasses on her head are vibrantly red and shaped like strawberries, oddly enough. “Fine. Just tell me if I’m boring you.”

“You could never,” you say, almost without thinking. It’s you, you want to say. You feel it, don’t you? It could’ve been anyone, but here you are. It could’ve been anyone but you’re with me.

Chaeyoung tucks her tongue to her cheek, eyes narrowing, picking up on your tone; she’s so familiar with you. It’s just another sign. “Careful,” she says, voice like blaring alarms. “We barely know each other. I could really end up disappointing you.”

We barely know each other, she says, but she’s got an eyebrow raised, like there’s an inside joke between you two and the universe, some cosmic plotting and planning required to get you both in the same place. There’s nothing about this that should feel this monumental, but it does anyway. The pool’s filled with chatter; off to the side, glasses clink. The music’s soft like it’s meant just for your conversation alone, ambience tailor-made. The sky’s in on all your secrets.

“I don’t see how that’s even possible,” you say. “My opinion of you’s already so low.”

There’s a shocked beat, and then-

“Fuck you,” Chaeyoung gasps, but instantly she’s laughing, fully aware of how absurdly false that is. I could’ve never predicted you, you could tell her; that’s the real truth. I couldn’t have even dreamt you up. Like I didn’t know what I wanted, and then I saw your face.

“Maybe one of these days,” you say. Innuendo’s your favorite fallback. “We’ll get there.”

“Not if you keep being an asshole to me,” says Chaeyoung, sweetly, and now you’re the one laughing - she’s never told a more obvious lie.

(“I’m joking, by the way,” you add, because you can’t help your own instincts. “My opinion of you is actually unreasonably high. That’s the weird part.”

“You’re hard to impress,” Chaeyoung interprets, miraculously following where you’re going; she doesn’t seem to mind that you’ve given yourself away, given forth to honesty instead of carrying out the joke. There are steps you’re skipping. “That’s cute.”

“Is it?”

“Yes,” she says, decisively. “I’m the opposite. I’m really easy to please.”

“I could’ve guessed that,” you say, unable to fight your grin. “I bet you have a lot of fun in our line of work, then.”

You think you’ve got her, but then she pauses, tilts her chin up at you, says lowly, “Maybe you can see it first-hand sometime.”

That’s something that’s got immediate fantasies in your head - Chaeyoung in your bed, Chaeyoung whining and wrecked, Chaeyoung without that bikini on - and you choke on your own spit, losing the battle immediately. It breaks her front, sends her into hysterics. She’s better than you at this, probably.

“Shit,” she says, giggling, “you’re so easy, dude.”

“Not usually,” you say, vaguely, and the implications are obvious; her laugh softens to a smile, her eyes dial down and crease, understanding. There are things you don’t have to say out loud for her to get them.

Not ever, you mean. Not until you.)

It’s the second day - or the third, since you first saw her. It’s way too fast.

it’s not like you’re fucking her? your ex texts. what’s the issue??

You don’t know how to explain that it’s right there - that is the issue.

sex is easy, you reply. it’s simple. like it would make more sense if we WERE having sex but we’re not i don’t know what this is. like i don’t know what to call it

friendship? your ex offers. LMFAO

it’s not that, either, you say, and nothing else. i mean i barely KNOW her… it’s been two days.

the heart wants what the heart wants… your ex says, cryptically. and sometimes the universe just makes it happen :D

you and your fucking fortune cookie wisdom

omg…. you think i’m wise…….

ok. don’t talk to me

love you too <3

You know friendship - you learned it from your ex herself, weirdly enough. You know what it feels like to have someone you’d do anything for. It’s not a foreign concept. It’s just-

i literally don’t know what’s wrong with me i’m obviously used to getting close to people really fast just cause that’s my job you know but there’s like no other motive i just LIKE her or i’m drawn to her, you say, and you’re rambling, you know that. i don’t know. it’s insane. it’s way too soon

You’re like a teenager with a crush - except it all feels so weighted, so significant. You’re breaking it down in the simplest terms you know how. You don’t know another way to say I see her and I want to tell her everything; even the awful things, the skeletons, the things I’m running from. It’s too soon and it’s like her smile snaps me open. It’s too soon for all of it.

oh, you, your ex says, and you can practically hear the teasing fondness even now. i always knew you were a hopeless romantic.

(twin flame, she says, later. i was onto something.

fuck you, you respond, because it’s better than admitting she’s right.)

So, you’ve met a lot of people that do the same thing you do.

It’s straightforward, hypothetically. You need to be hot, you need to be charming, you need to keep your eye on the prize. There’s a healthy amount of manipulation in it, sometimes: if your target’s not on the same page as you, you’ve gotta drag them there. Make them think it’s love for the right price. Make them fall and be there to catch them, as long as they pay up.

“I don’t do it like that anymore, though,” you tell Chaeyoung. “I grew a guilty conscience, or something.”

“That’s commendable,” says Chaeyoung. She’s with you on one of your lifeguard shifts, which gives her an excuse to stroll the beach in a skimpy, colorful bikini top, denim shorts so tiny they show off her tanned legs, thighs. She’s in the sun almost constantly - it’s turned her golden, angelic. Then there’s the amount of skin showing, which presents as something like devilry, inhumane; you want to touch her and you can’t.

“Really,” she says to you. “I mean, personally, I try not to break people’s hearts - but sometimes it’s definitely, like, oh, maybe I’ll love you if you spoil me enough. Art of the tease, I guess.” She shrugs, the sea breeze toying with her black hair. “People like that. The idea that I could be theirs if they play their cards right.”

It’s not the first time Chaeyoung’s brought up the way she plays the game. She has this matter-of-fact way of talking about it, so different than the way she talks about anything else - Chaeyoung’s passionate by nature, you’ve discovered, dropping into tangents at the drop of a hat: there’s art, there’s music, there’s films she adores, there’s the smell of the sea or the blue of the sky, capturing her attention in seconds - but she’s so clinical, with the way she makes her money. Like it’s not even connected to her. Like she’s putting her body up for grabs and her soul is somewhere far, far away.

“Sure, it’s selfish,” she says, another day, “but honestly, selflessness is a luxury I can’t exactly afford right now.”

You don’t say anything, because you know exactly what she means.

You’ve met people like you: sugar babies, gold diggers, leeches, professional opportunists. You’ve seen it all, people using their looks to get what they want. You’ve been there. You’re very, very good - but Chaeyoung’s better.

You don’t realize quite how much until one day where you might be ditching your shift just to hang out with her, loitering around at the receptionist’s desk. It’s a little bit of a habit - you swear you’re only there to check for new gifts, pay her a visit, but it’s too easy to get tangled up in conversation with her - so it’s a lost cause. You’re with her and you can’t pull away. You’d probably get in trouble for it, but you’re shirtless.

“Whoa,” says Chaeyoung, when she sees you, eyes blown comically wide. “I thought this was a classy establishment. No shoes, no shirt, no service.”

“I am the service,” you point out, and she breaks on a laugh, delightfully easy to entertain. “Plus, I’m good for business. Half my job is just standing around looking sexy.”

Chaeyoung cocks her head, lets her gaze rake down your body. “Fine,” she says, lips curling. “Then I’d say you’re succeeding.”

You’re here to check for new gifts, or at least that’s your excuse. You forget to even ask about them because there’s something magnetic about Chaeyoung, something polarizing about you and her; the moment you’re in her orbit you can’t just leave it, like there’d be a physical ache if you tried. It’s stupid, and you can’t explain it. You won’t even try.

“I was supposed to go to art school,” she’s telling you, now. “Well - okay, technically I still am going to art school. I start in the fall. But I actually got accepted earlier than that; I had to take a year off so I could save up some money for it.”

You startle a little at the mention of the fall - at the mention of a time after summer, a time where you and her won’t exist. You brush it off, quickly; you’re jumping the gun. You’ve got months.

“Art school,” you muse, and avoid the undertone; you already knew she needed money. She wouldn’t be here otherwise. “Yeah.”

Chaeyoung grins at you, anticipatory. “Yeah, what?”

“No, I was just thinking-” You shake your head. “Sorry. It just suits you, that’s all. Like, I can imagine you there kind of perfectly.” It’s too sentimental, so you backtrack, let it fall to jokes: “I mean, surrounded by people who are just as pretentious as you-”

“Shut up,” says Chaeyoung, but you can tell by the way her nose crinkles that she’s pleased.

“-debating the meaning of life and the law of attraction or whatever-”

“Uh, okay, you clearly have no idea what art students are like.”

“I know you,” you point out, too easily: you’re recalling long-winded rants on metaphors in cinematography, on the symbolism of color in art, on lyrical prose in dictionary-thick novels, on poetic theories of the universe. That’s Chaeyoung for you - so fascinated by the world around her, so completely in love with just existing, like she’s never had a reason not to be. It’s the simplest things, she tells you one time. That’s what makes life worth living, for me.

Chaeyoung doesn’t even falter at the confession, just tips her head, examines you slowly. “Yeah,” she agrees, softer than you were expecting. It’s been a little more than a week. It’s crazy but she won’t deny it. “You do.”

“Excuse me.”

The new voice effectively jolts you both out of the moment. Chaeyoung’s eyes flick to yours, meaningful - it’s the closest she’ll get to rolling them, to sighing, to saying I can’t believe I have to do my fucking job right now when all I want to do is talk to you - but she straightens in her chair, puts on a smile. You back off, angle yourself against the desk; it’s your way of making yourself decorative, a selling point.

“Hi,” says the man standing in front of you both. He glances at you, but he settles on Chaeyoung; you’re not about to blame him for that. “I wanted to check in?”

“Well,” says Chaeyoung, sweetly, “I guess you came to the right place then, huh?”

And, so, like you said: you’re good, but she’s better.

The change in her is instantaneous, flipping the charisma on like a switch, like an innate skill. It’s her tone of voice, the way she talks - bubbly, bright, so ready to laugh or smile or give any reaction that’ll validate - but it’s also strangely in her body language, her facial expressions. There’s a certain way she arranges her features when she’s aiming to charm: spilling her eyes wide, flashing her dimple like it’s a party trick, the parted lips, the glimpse of teeth, the angle of her jaw. She leans forward, tilts her head on an incline, like she’s placing specific emphasis on how small she is, how easy she’d be to pin against a wall and feel up and fuck - she plays so innocent, but every part of her body screams danger, the tan and the tattoos - she knows exactly what she’s doing and she’s doing it spectacularly-

“I’m Chaeyoung,” she’s telling the guy, now, hands clasped underneath her chin. “If you need anything, I’ll be right here. Like - if you wanna ever take me up on that volleyball game, let me know.” She smiles up at the man; there’s an inside joke you’d missed while tuning them out - you should never underestimate how Chaeyoung can craft connections in seconds. “I’ll go easy on you, I promise.”

“Right,” says the man, flashing a vaguely predatory grin. He’s studying her a little intensely, like he’s thinking of balling her shirt in his fist, wrapping his hand in her hair. “Chaeyoung. Thanks so much, sweetheart. I appreciate it.”

Chaeyoung waves him off, her laugh like bell chimes. “Hey - no need to thank me, sir. Just doing my job.”

You don’t quite realize it until then, how seeing her in action is a masterclass: cute, coquettish, inspiring dirty dreams just by opening her mouth. She’s so good at it that it’s kind of fucked up. There’s a power in knowing how pretty you are; it’s another thing entirely to know just how to wield it, how to put it in practice.

“Sir,” you repeat once the man is out of earshot, impressed despite yourself.

“Nice touch, right?” Chaeyoung leans back in her chair, adorably self-satisfied. “How much you wanna bet he’ll want me to call him that when I fuck him?”

Ah, the games you play - it’d be stupid to bring money into it. You know better than to bet in cash: you’ve got other things in mind. A kiss, a touch, a possibility. You can’t want her, because everybody does. She can’t want you, because it goes both ways.

“I’ll bet a night,” you say.

Chaeyoung lifts an eyebrow, uncomprehending. “What?”

“I’ll bet a night with you.” You place a hand palm-up on the counter, leveling your offers. “If he makes you call him sir while you fuck-”

“Jesus,” says Chaeyoung, a little strangled, like the insinuation of established titles during sex means something completely different coming out of your mouth.

“-then we stay out for a night and you take me anywhere on the island.”

There’s an insinuation, here, and for once it’s something past sexual: you don’t have nights together. You spend most of yours in Jihyo’s bed and Chaeyoung spends hers hopping between whoever’s paying the right price - you’re indentured to the highest bidders. It’s just the way things are.

(Give it up for me, for once - that’s what you’re really asking. We already both have a million things to lose - give yourself one more.)

It’s not even really a question, in the end. Chaeyoung watches you, lashes fluttering, no longer putting on a performance but somehow just as mesmerizing, surreal, stunning. The magnetism’s always been mutual. She’s never really going to say no to you.

“Fine,” she says, like she knows what she’s getting into - like she’s counting on it. “I’ll take that bet. What do I get if I win?”

“I’ll be your doubles partner in volleyball.”

Chaeyoung gasps, jaw dropping, so earnestly excited by the prospect that you can’t help but laugh, endeared. It’s cute, how easy she is to please - well, at least it’s always been easy for you. “Really?”

“Really.” She’s been begging you to go out to the beach with her for days. It’s only fair. You were always going to give in, anyway. Even if you win, you’re probably still going to.

“Deal,” says Chaeyoung, grinning wildly. “You’re on.”

It’s a bad idea, probably, but they all are. You’ve never been a betting man but you’re starting now. The hands of fate have already gotten their grip on you, on her - there’s the moment you first locked eyes, there’s the world shattering at your feet - so you’ll leave it up to them, now. They took you this far.

You shake on it, Chaeyoung’s hand in yours, a risk the second you’re touching her. Fate, that’ll do it; it’s so much easier when there’s someone else to blame.

“I’m aiming to fuck him anyway,” Chaeyoung reasons, a little later, tapping her vibrantly lacquered nails to the desk. “The bet’s just on the sir part of it. The sex is already happening - or, most likely,” she adds, an afterthought, a far-off scenario. “I mean, there’s always a chance he’ll turn me down.”

“He won’t,” you say. “He’s a man. You’re the hottest woman alive. Wanting to fuck you senseless is practically instinct.”

It’s crass, it’s forward, it’s an admission of guilt; it’s the first time you’ve said something about you fucking her that hasn’t landed as half a joke, too dark and deliberate. You pause, wholly incriminating, and you wait for it.

It’s a direct hit. Chaeyoung freezes, stares, genuinely speechless, like she doesn’t get men throwing themselves at her feet on the daily - like she doesn’t get married guys offering to leave their wives for her, like she doesn’t get billionaires offering to pay her college tuition, like she’s not the most gorgeous girl to ever walk the earth - and says, finally, somewhat breathless, “God, don’t talk to me like that.”

(She’s speechless, you know, because it’s different with you, when you say things like this and mean them.)

“Like what?”

Like you want me - that’s what she’ll never say. Like you’d die to fuck me. Like you have a bed with my name on it. Like you know I want you too.

“You know what,” Chaeyoung murmurs, instead, and you do. She doesn’t have to say it out loud for you to understand..

(“Also,” she says, “that’s hilarious. The idea that men are biologically programmed to want to have sex with women - like, okay, forget the spectrum of sexuality, or whatever-”

“I’m not forgetting anything,” you say, entertained. “Believe me, I know all about the spectrum of sexuality. I’m an equal opportunity gold digger.”

You’re not sure what kind of reaction you’re expecting, but then-

“I probably could’ve predicted that,” admits Chaeyoung, considering. “I mean, we’ve already figured out that you’re just like me.”)

You’ll get to the bet, eventually, but in the meantime-

“How many people are you fucking on this island besides me?” Jihyo asks you, one night, as you’re perched on the edge of her bed, getting re-dressed. “If you can’t keep count, just give me, like, a ballpark estimate.”

You burst out laughing. She’s a bitch, but only at the funniest moments. It’s strangely adorable. “Jesus Christ.”

“You can tell me,” Jihyo says candidly, running a hand through her hair. “I won’t be mad or anything.”

“You’re cute,” you say, and lean over to drop a kiss on top of her head; Jihyo scoffs but allows it, too spent from the orgasms. Her chest is littered with hickeys - you can’t keep your mouth off her and you won’t pretend you want to. “I’m only fucking you. Contrary to popular belief, I like to focus on one person at a time.”

“One person at a time to exploit,” says Jihyo, haughtily. “For money.”

She’s not fooling anyone. “Baby, we don’t have to fuck if this isn’t working for you.”

“Ugh,” groans Jihyo, slumping backwards, looking like she’d rather launch one of her pillows at you. You follow down her gorgeous face to the line of her neck, her collarbone, the tops of her tits purpled with bruises, nipples that you’ve found are insanely sensitive-

“My eyes are up here,” says Jihyo, but there’s a sudden grin in her voice; she’s kind of in love with how obsessed you are with her tits.

“What eyes?”

“Perv,” she snipes, rolling over on her side. You stand, admiring the view; there’s no way any of her shirts will be able to cover up those hickeys. She looks a little like she’s been mauled. “Hey, if I’m the only person you’re sleeping with, what the hell have you been doing with all your time?”

“Working. Doing my job. Obviously.”

She gives you a droll look. “Uh-huh.”

She’s got a point; you’re kind of fucking terrible at your job. Hey, at least no one’s drowned on your watch yet.

“I’m being social,” you say. “I made some friends. Well, one friend.”

You don’t even say Chaeyoung’s name, but it’s like the mention of her puts her ghost in the room, puts weight on your tongue; Jihyo tilts her head, assessing you, strands of short black hair cutting through her cheekbones, eyes with a gleam. She’s too aware of the details, the giveaways. Chaeyoung’s on your mind and somehow it changes things.

“Oh,” Jihyo says, meaningfully, smile forming slow. “A friend.”

“That’s what I said,” you reply, not giving in. “Okay, bye.”

You hear Jihyo’s laughter ring out behind you, but you don’t look back. There are some things you aren’t even admitting to yourself, yet - you’re not about to let her figure them out first.

“Look,” says Chaeyoung, just as you’ve hit two weeks. “I’m just saying, you’re fucking Park Jihyo. If you’re not a tit man, I don’t know what you are.”

“Um, excuse you. I like a lot of different things. I’m multifaceted and shit.”

You’re blowing off one of your shifts again, but it’s worth it - it’s paradise, and you’re making the most of it. You’re existing on borrowed time, but at least you’re existing at all.

“Plus,” you add. You’re leaning on the counter, noticeably less clothed than everyone around you; Chaeyoung’s remarkably casual today, matching you perfectly. Despite how high-class the resort purports to be, she’s dressing like she’s the one on vacation and somehow getting away with it. “I’d be fucked financially if I only got involved with women that fit one specific type.”

Chaeyoung’s currently got a tiny, lined notepad out in front of her, the top of it embossed with the resort’s logo. She says, “Okay, but if you had to pick a type.”

There’s something a little wild about her, a little unruly: her black hair falls down her back in wind-mussed waves, her shirt askew, slipping down one shoulder to expose her collarbone, her nails each painted a different vibrant color, polish chipping at the edges. Her denim shorts are unbuttoned, rolled down carelessly at the waistband, exposing patterned blue bikini bottoms. Her tongue settles at the corner of her mouth, and she’s humming between sentences - there’s a pencil in her hand, tattooed fingers drawing lines, curves, thoughtful and deliberate. Stop, wait, any filmmaker would say, if they could see her now: there, that’s the shot.

“I’m looking at it,” you say, grinning.

Chaeyoung glances up, catches your smile just to mirror it, immediately, an instinct she can’t fight off. “Boo,” she says, like she’s heckling you, and pretends to chuck her pencil in your direction. “Lame. So lame.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know,” sighs Chaeyoung, like that makes it ten times worse. “You’re not subtle, dude. You - I mean, you look at me like I was made for you.”

It’s two weeks in; time grinds to a halt. You stop short, startled. Chaeyoung hesitates, momentarily struck by her own words. You’re always doing this, always dropping the ball, always drawing lines just to cross them; you’re shifting tones, lanes. She says sentences like they’re not revelations, like they’re not the end of the world. It’s two weeks in, and you’re both saying insane, outrageous things - wondering why they slip so easily into conversation, why it’s like they’re making themselves at home.

“Well,” you start, too soft to serve as a joke. “Sometimes - sometimes, it’s like-”

“I know,” says Chaeyoung, again, hands stilling on her page. “Don’t say it. We’ve known each other for, like, five seconds, you lunatic.”

She says it because it’s what’s expected; it’s all too quick, too soon, too sudden. It’s all feelings that shouldn’t be there here or now or ever. It’s all wrong - but Chaeyoung’s lips tilt ruefully, understanding. She can never keep things from you, or at least that’s what you’re learning. Like it’d be going against something preprogrammed into her code.

“But,” she concedes, quietly, “yeah. It’s like that for me, too.”

(It might make us both crazy, she’s saying, but sometimes I feel like you were made for me.)

“Actually,” says Chaeyoung. “While we’re on the subject of of types.”

“I’m yours. I’m already aware, Chaeyoung.”

“You’re mine,” agrees Chaeyoung, raising her brows wryly, and there it is again: every statement loaded, a weapon to aim and fire. “Shut up. So - okay, I know we made that bet about me fucking that one guy, and I will-”

“I’m counting on it.”

“-but there’s also this girl I was planning to get with this summer.”

It’s a short story, this girl she’s got her eye on. She’s an heiress, Chaeyoung says. She’s gorgeous, she’s sexy, she’s generous - and she spent all of last summer attached to some world-famous pop star that Chaeyoung won’t name, lest she break the half a dozen NDAs she’s locked into-

“But she’s late,” groans Chaeyoung. “I’m starting to think she’s not even gonna show up.”

“Wait,” you say. “Can we circle back to the pop star?”

“No.”

“Just give me a hint on who it is.”

“Uh.” Chaeyoung’s forehead puckers thoughtfully; she’s never really going to put up much of a fight against you. It’s become obvious that you both want the same things, really. “She’s hot?”

“Chaeyoung, you think every famous rich girl you meet is hot.”

Chaeyoung scrunches her nose happily, dimple taking precedence; it’s you, you realize, the way you talk to her so easily, like you’ve already gotten her all figured out. Like you have some right to know her, to treat her like this: like you’ve known her forever.

“Well,” she begins, like she’s considering it, “you’re not completely wrong. The thing about my heiress is - oh, shit.”

There’s some sort of commotion going on behind you; you can hear it, the all-too-polite, mildly smarmy, gossipy murmurs that you’ve come to recognize as characteristic of the guests here. They’re used to it, probably; drama, intrigue. It’s probably not cool to be anything but detachedly blasé, so they aren’t. Chaeyoung’s the opposite; you pause, distracted by how her irises sparkle, lips parting prettily - but she’s zeroing in on something just over your shoulder. You finally give in, turn, and there’s-

“Huh,” says Chaeyoung, a satisfied smile in her voice. “Speak of the devil.”

Standing there in the middle of the lobby is a girl so outrageously beautiful that it’s like time stops around her - like everyone in the room freezes, like there’s a spotlight with her name on it, like there’s a spell she’s cast just by walking into the room. She’s lithe and lean, dark-haired, infuriatingly attractive: the kind of beauty that makes people want her dead, the kind of smile that makes it impossible for anyone to do anything less than adore her. Her shirt’s black and cropped, her jeans skintight and dark - she’s beaming, giggling, waving off the doorman like they’re old friends. The whole lobby’s half in love with her from her eyes alone, dark and long-lashed and endearingly earnest, like she’s never had a bad intention in her life. She’s got monogrammed Louis Vuitton luggage, a fluffy blue Prada bag hanging off her arm. She’s slipping right into the center of attention as if it’s a space carved out just for her. She’s captivating, she’s everything, she’s like a five-five supermodel, made to be put in print and looked at - she’s probably the most stunning thing anyone in this room’s ever seen.

You laugh out loud, because, well - if there’s anything your ex-girlfriend knows best, it’s how to make a fucking entrance.

It’s the sound of your laughter that does it, or it must be. The girl in the center of the room swivels immediately, and her eyes land on you, jaw falling open, always one for the theatrics. Oh, you’ll indulge her. It’s just the way the two of you work.

“Hey, gorgeous,” you call, and Minatozaki Sana drops everything just to run right into your arms.

“Oh my god, it’s a fucking miracle.”

“Sana.”

“I haven’t seen you in, like, years. I thought I was going to die.”

“It’s been less than a month,” you inform Chaeyoung behind the counter, which is mildly hard to do given that you have a habit of lifting Sana up when you hug her, and she also currently refuses to detach herself from you. “She has separation anxiety when she’s not with me.”

“Please,” retorts Sana, but brightly good-natured, pulling back just to cup your face in her hands. She’s being so over-the-top she’s drawing eyes, her smile megawatt, blinding. “You can’t survive without me either, babe. Codependence is a two-way street.”

You drop a kiss to Sana’s forehead, laugh as she beams brighter, satiated. “It’s true,” you relent to Chaeyoung, as Sana slips from your arms just to rest her head against your shoulder. “I’m in this bullshit for life, probably.”

Chaeyoung doesn’t say anything, instead watching the both of you, head at an angle and eyes narrowed.

Well, you can already tell where she’s probably at. It’s what any sane person would think seeing you and your ex-girlfriend attached at the hip, intertwined, somewhat addicted to being around each other - it should probably be time to call it there. Name whatever’s going on between you and Chaeyoung dead on arrival, mark the time and wait for the rigor mortis to set in: it’ll be over before it begins. There’s no use in getting involved with a guy who spends all his free time with his ex-girlfriend, especially when that ex-girlfriend is-

“Miss Minatozaki?”

“Oh, fuck, my luggage,” realizes Sana, and then rushes to meet the bellboy halfway, where he’s already wheeling them towards her. She’s a whirlwind of expensive perfume, perfectly styled hair - there’s never a thread out of place, never an imperfection, even as she waves her hands bashfully. “Sorry, sorry!”

“This is an interesting development,” pegs Chaeyoung, once Sana’s out of earshot, tone an enigma, unusually unreadable.

“Jealous?”

“Never,” says Chaeyoung, slyly, like she knows something you don’t. “Just… reevaluating.”

You shoot her a look - oh, the company you keep and their flair for the dramatics - but Chaeyoung sees your skeptical expression and cracks into a grin, unable to be cryptic for long. There’s something so cute about it, so simple and significant: how she can fake anything for anyone except for you.

“Sana,” greets Chaeyoung, suddenly, propping a palm under her jaw, smile sweet and intact. “Great to have you back this summer.”

“Chaeyoung!” squeals Sana on her return, like this might’ve been the first time she’d noticed her; you wouldn’t be surprised. That’s the thing about Sana, heedlessly flighty, easily sidetracked. “I missed your face. God, I haven’t seen you in forever.”

Sana’s leaning across the desk in greeting, the collar of her cropped black top gaping open, a few too many buttons popped and her hand suddenly slipped in yours, fingers adorned with expensive silver rings. Chaeyoung, to her credit, seems slightly more preoccupied by Sana’s grip on your hand than the way Sana’s shirt reveals her chest. She’s probably the only one.

“I know,” says Chaeyoung, lips twitching in that way they do when she’s fighting off a laugh. It’s Minatozaki Sana - it’s impossible to not be enchanted by her. “I was starting to think you’d abandoned us.”

“Ugh. No.” Sana flaps her free hand in the air, like the thought’s ridiculous. You tug her back close to your side, dropping her hand just to absentmindedly fix one of the buttons on her shirt up. “Are you kidding? No other resort has such sexy employees.”

You pause, letting her shirt fall; Chaeyoung barrels on smoothly, flicking a painted nail between the two of you. Despite it all - the messy waves of her hair, the too-casual outfit, the chipping polish, the colorful tattoos scattered across her arms - there’s a sudden sophistication to her, a pointed, practiced charisma, sanding out all her edges.

“So,” Chaeyoung says. “How do you two know each other?”

You almost say her name, call her on it. Logically, there’s no reason for Chaeyoung to be performing like she is right now, in front of you, and it’s just Sana-

“We’ve been best friends since birth, or whatever,” says Sana cheerfully, wiggling her fingers like it’s nothing. “And we used to date. But we broke up a while back. Mutual thing. All good.”

One of Chaeyoung’s eyebrows inches upwards. She’s looking at you, trying to figure out your strategy - Sana’s practically hotelier heiress royalty, her dad the owner of a long string of luxury establishments; everyone here knows her money and her name. She’s a payout personified, or she would be. “Right,” she says, slowly, like she’s attempting to discern whether your friendship with Sana is just an obscenely long con or not. “That’s-”

“Chill,” you say, amused, beating her to the punch. “I’m not fucking Sana for money - or at all. She’s seriously my best friend. And she already knows I’m a gold digger.”

“I didn’t say anything,” says Chaeyoung, pulling out her large, patently innocent eyes, like some obnoxiously adorable cartoon animal; a flutter of her lashes and she could talk her way into anyone’s bed, or heart, or bank account. “I would never insinuate that you’d sleep with someone for money. That’s, like, really inappropriate.”

“Sure.” You’ve become too familiar with that particular trick to fall for it at this point. “And now you’re doing the eyes-”

“My eyes literally just look like this,” says Chaeyoung, lying, breaking character. She can’t hold up the performance for long. Half as sweet and three times as gorgeous, mischievous; this is a genuineness she seems to save just for you.

“Not to mention you call me a hooker constantly-”

“Okay, well, you behave like a hooker constantly.”

“Says you?” you point out, and Chaeyoung huffs, tosses her hair over a shoulder, opens her mouth to fire back-

“Whoa,” says Sana, gleeful, tapping her finger to the receptionist’s desk like she’s tallying points. “What’s this?”

You and Chaeyoung exchange a glance - ah, it’s always something. The corner of Chaeyoung’s full mouth pulls up, revealing her dimple. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” says Chaeyoung, playing coy like she’s getting paid for it, slipping right back into the charm. “We’re just…”

“Having friendly workplace camaraderie,” you pick up, shooting her a grin. Chaeyoung rolls her eyes, turns her head so you don’t notice her hiding a laugh; you see it anyway, hear it in your head like she’d let it loose.

“Oh my god.” Sana nudges your elbow, jaw dropping. Chaeyoung looks away, and Sana zeroes in on you, dark eyes wide with the realization - she tugs at your hand and mouths love of your life. “So this is-”

(Love of your life, like it’s the most obvious thing. It’s true, then: it’s there, and everyone can see it. It’s you and Chaeyoung and both of you are blowing your own covers just by being around each other. It’s been two weeks, barely. There are some things that are impossible to quantify.)

“Alright, that’s enough.” You cut Sana off, poke her in her ribs. Sana immediately squeals with laughter, ticklish; she bats wildly at you with her hands and in the process attracts at least twenty prying eyes. “Don’t you have a room to check into or something?”

“This is amazing,” declares Sana, looking from you to Chaeyoung in the least subtle way possible. “I obviously got here at the perfect time.”

“I’ll say,” cuts in Chaeyoung, timbre back to airy, dripping with that light musicality you’ve come to recognize as her first giveaway. There’s a switch flipped, somewhere: eyes wider, lips poutier, dimple deepening warmly. “This place has been a snoozefest without you, Sana.”

You watch Chaeyoung closely, mark the moves she’s made - there’s something here you’re not seeing. Sana giggles; she’s quick to laugh, quicker to flirt, always receptive to some effort.

“Oh, no,” she says, demurely, “it seems like you two have been getting along just fine all by yourselves.”

It’s a line unexpected enough to throw Chaeyoung off her game. Her shoulders rise, perturbed, and she looks at you immediately, like there’s a pull she can’t fight - someone mentions the connection between you and it’s like you can’t do anything but prove it, her eyes locked on yours. Well, you’re both caught and badly. There are a million things neither of you will admit out loud, but you don’t really need to - it seems like everyone can tell, anyway.

“I guess we have,” Chaeyoung says, softly.

(Turns out there’s no need to call a time of death, after all. You and Chaeyoung are always breaking some rule, somehow - the status quo’s just first in line.)

“Wait,” you say, after Sana’s gone - it’s not for long, but it’s a moment - and everything clicks so much later than it should have. “Did you say speak of the devil, earlier?”

Chaeyoung’s got those eyes on again, deliberately, politely customer-service clueless. “Sorry?”

“She’s your heiress.” You laugh out loud, getting it all at once: the demeanor, the tone, the act. “You’re trying to fuck Sana.”

There it is: the interesting development. She came here to snag Sana and somehow she got you instead, off of some far-off twist, some butterfly effect. Somewhere, you swear you hear fate laughing at you - oh, she’s saying, you thought you could beat me.

“Yeah,” says Chaeyoung, pointedly, “before I knew that she was your ex.”

“My best friend,” you say, not quite a correction but an amendment nonetheless - it’s always what’s been more important. “Don’t worry, you’re not breaking bro code or whatever if you go after her.” You grin at her, dryly glib. “Business is business, right?”

“Ew.” Chaeyoung flicks your arm. “But, yeah. Thanks.”

There’s a pause here, yet another thing left unsaid. It’s not about Sana and you both know it. It’s about you and Chaeyoung, about that pull, about gravity - about the feeling you can’t shake, the one that indicates the two of you are hurtling towards something inevitable, an eclipse, an astronomical phenomenon. Something that’ll consume you both, in the end.

You pass over it; you have all summer to get there. “But that means I know all about the pop star from last year, by the way,” you say - Sana isn’t shy about anything, but especially not all her high-profile hook-ups. “Im Nayeon, right?”

“Yes!” Chaeyoung smacks the desk with her fist, taking the out, eyes lighting up. “It was wild. I swear I caught them seconds from fucking, like, fifty different times. But I don’t think Nayeon’s coming back this summer, so - God’s on my side, I guess. No competition.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think she’d come. Nayeon has a boyfriend now.”

“What?”

There’s something genuinely fun about gossiping with Chaeyoung; she always gets so wholeheartedly invested in it all, expressive and animated in the best way, the exact opposite of all the bored, disinterested guests roaming the island, too cool to get so caught up. Chaeyoung’s never had any of those reservations - she’s nosy, she’s chatty, she loves drama. It’s cuter than it should be.

“No,” Chaeyoung gasps, fully impassioned. “No way! But she’s - people would know, wouldn’t they? I haven’t heard anything about it. Is she even allowed to date?”

“It’s this big secret: he’s some random no-name guy from her hometown. High school sweethearts, or something.”

“Wow.” Chaeyoung presses a palm to her chest, apparently overcome, eyes dreamily wide. Somehow, with you, she always ends up with her emotions on her sleeve. “That’s so romantic.”

There’s a sudden, familiar rush of affection; there’s no reason a girl like her should be so invested in love, and yet she is anyway. God, you think of saying, crazily, I hope you never change.

“That’s new,” you tell her, instead. “A gold digger who believes in romance, huh?”

“I love love,” Chaeyoung says, shrugging unabashedly, open and without defense. In front of her, pencil sketches stretch out across her notepad, anatomy whittled down to something whimsical - hearts and hands, ribs sharp enough to count, the human form turned to a fine art. “It’s just really impractical for me right now. That doesn’t mean I don’t believe in it.”

You’ve never really had anything to believe in - no religion or higher power, no hopes, no false deities - but now you’re here, with her, and somehow, things are different. You smile to yourself, and that’s all there is to it.

(There’s something to be said about faith, here, but neither of you ever find the words.)

“Hey,” Sana says, a day or two later, when you catch her out by the pool. “Why is the love of your life trying to fuck me for money?”

So, Chaeyoung moves fast; you can’t exactly say you’re surprised. “Uh, please don’t call her that.”

Sana turns in her chair, looking at you over her Prada sunglasses, brown eyes wide. “What else should I call her?” she asks, crooking an eyebrow.

It’s rhetorical. There’s not an answer you could give that wouldn’t give you away.

“Well,” you say. “Do you want to fuck her?”

“Yes,” says Sana, immediately. “Obviously. She’s so hot. But if you don’t want me to, I won’t.”

“It’s not like she and I can even do anything,” you say, but even as it comes out of your mouth you don’t mean it. “Or it’s not like we should.” There’s jokes, and then there’s craving; there’s no money in it and so it shouldn’t happen, but somehow, you already know it’s going to. You’ll go for denial first. “And it’s not like she and I are - I mean - we’re friends, Sana.”

Sana tilts her head, dark hair falling smoothly over a shoulder. “That’s not what you texted me.”

You throw her hands up, lost. There’s no way to explain it - no way to say I see her and it’s like no one else exists. “I don’t know,” you say. She’s right - you’re not just friends. It’s not up for debate. You get within feet of Chaeyoung and she can’t stop touching you and you can’t stop looking at her and you’re woefully trapped in each other’s space, supernovas tugging and ruthlessly, black holes threatening to ruin everything you’ve worked for. There’s a galaxy in her eyes; she smiles and it suspends the world.

Sana watches you, waiting. She’s always known you too well.

“She can’t fuck me for money,” you point out, eventually, and that’s the problem in itself. There’s no bite to it, no bitterness. It’s just the truth.

It’s two weeks in. You’ll play your parts. It hasn’t nearly been long enough for you to give in so easy.

(Here’s how Sana sees it - you and Chaeyoung are both fucking blind.

Don’t you know how rare it is? she wants to say. Don’t you see how amazing it is that you two are even in the same place at all? It takes forever to meet someone and just know. You know. Why are you wasting that?

But she’s known you long enough to know she can’t push you into anything. Plus - she’s not as selfless as she tries to be. She sees Chaeyoung and her tattoos and her eyes and her pointed seduction; she sees a pretty girl and she needs her hands on her. She’s used to getting what she wants and you gave her a go-ahead. Well, we can’t all be perfect people.

“Alright,” she says, cheerfully, settling her sunglasses atop her head. “Then it’s settled.”

“Have fun,” you tell her. It’s odd, but you don’t seem jealous, or bothered. Maybe you know, she thinks. Maybe you can read the way Chaeyoung looks at you, too: like nothing else has ever mattered. Sex is inconsequential, to people like you. It won’t change a thing.

“Yeah,” she says, smiling, standing. Oh, she’ll have her fun, alright. “I will.”

Also - and this is her real point - she sees what happens when you and Chaeyoung get into the same room. Really, she figures, it’s only a matter of time.)

“Hey,” you point out before she goes; there’s one last thing she hadn’t mentioned. “I thought you were trying to fuck Park Jihyo. Like, steal her from me and shit. How are you gonna do that if you’re with Chaeyoung?”

It barely takes a second to get an answer. “I can multitask,” says Sana, serenely, and - yep, you can’t say you were expecting anything less.

“Oh, Jesus fuck.”

“Thanks,” says Chaeyoung, the next time you see her; you’re grabbing breakfast at one of the cafés offshooting from the resort, for once actually utilizing your breaks and not just ditching your shifts. She grins like it’s a compliment she’s taking. “I think so too.”

“Shut up.” You slide in the chair across from her. “Man. I forgot how much Sana likes to bite.”

Chaeyoung’s got her hair tied down in two braids, tiny colorful clips wound through them - her shirt’s low-cut, making a point. There’s been at least some effort to cover the hickeys scattering her neck and chest, but she’s not hiding much of anything, regardless.

“Yep,” says Chaeyoung, cheerily, and nothing else. She passes you an iced coffee; she’s gotten in the habit of ordering for you. “Here.”

“Thanks.”

You’d think it’d be more awkward - she’s fucking your ex-girlfriend, and you’re both dancing around whatever nameless, consuming thing you’ve both got going on with each other - but it’s not, somehow. Sex isn’t a taboo topic; you’ve recapped hook-ups like they’re nothing, every gory detail and then some. It’s not this emotionally charged thing, for the two of you. At worst it’s your job and at best it’s just fun.

It’s nothing new; you fall back into your rhythm. She’s got her tiny sketchbook and her huge, clunky headphones slung around her neck. “Oh, by the way,” she says, suddenly. “He did want me to call him sir.”

It’s apropos of nothing, but you still get it - that’s the thing about you and Chaeyoung, constantly on identical wavelengths. It’s just another sign. “What? How do you even have time to fuck all these people?”

“I’m efficient,” she says, comically straight-faced. “Anyway, you won the bet, so…”

Chaeyoung trails off. The implication’s in the air, unsubtle. A night with her - that’s the agreement.

“I did,” you say, considering.

Chaeyoung puts her pencil down, fixes her eyes on you. “Is this gonna be a sex thing?”

“Please get your mind out of the gutter,” you say, and she cracks up. “And - of course not. I thought I made it clear by now that the last thing I want to do is have sex with you. Like, I have standards.”

It’s such a lie that Chaeyoung swallows her laughter - she walks in the room and you can’t peel your eyes off of her, you want her and it’s the farthest thing from a secret; you’d worship her if she’d give you the chance. “Right,” she says, settling her tongue at her teeth, droll and disbelieving. “No, no, I get it. I’m not even on your radar.”

“Exactly,” you say. “I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this, but you have zero sex appeal, Chaeyoung.”

Oh, that’s a joke taken too far - now it’s more on the edge of a challenge. Chaeyoung’s eyebrows lift, fingers pausing, head stopped at an angle; it’s like you see the moment she’s decided to make you eat your words, kick them back through your teeth. There’s the bruises on her neck, the full lips and the dimple, the collarbone and the tattoos - she drips desire, she takes a breath and you’re thinking of fucking her. She’s irresistible, and you’re full of shit. You stare and realize she’s about to prove it.

“Huh,” Chaeyoung says, cryptically, dark irises glittering, grin curling wicked. “We’ll see about that.”

(“I’ll play volleyball with you,” you offer, like that’ll absolve you of whatever she’s planning. “Even though you lost the bet.”

Chaeyoung stands and she’s in a denim miniskirt, top cutting off high at her midriff, legs lean and toned. She looks at you and she’s almost unbearably beautiful, every single sin and their synonyms. She smiles and it’s like something from a myth, or a memory. There’s no way to explain it but there never is.

“I know,” she says. “You were going to do whatever I wanted either way.”)

You’re just daring her to torture you, really. You’re always a breath away from losing control. A taunt’s never just a taunt, a joke’s never a joke: you know what I want, her eyes say, even when her mouth won’t; I want what’s right in front of me.

“Hey,” Chaeyoung says, breezily, as you meet her during one of her later shifts. She’s still in her miniskirt, but she’s worked her hair out of her braids; it falls over her shoulders in waves, disheveled like something you could wrap your fist in and tug. Well, you’ve already lost. “About what you said earlier.”

“Don’t,” you warn.

She smiles, the glint of her teeth only slightly feral. “I’m not doing anything.”

“Whatever you’re about to do is a bad idea.”

“Isn’t it always?” she asks, and she’s right - it’s all been the worst idea in the world, since the day you saw her and lost your breath, since the day she leaned across the counter and touched your wrist like your veins had her name on it, possessive. Maybe this is something you lost a long time ago. “I just thought you might wanna hear some more details about my night with that guy.”

“Chaeyoung.”

Her name on your tongue - in the right context you think it could kill her. Her eyes twinkle, her mouth seems like it could grow fangs, break skin and suck; in this one, it just spurs her on.

It’s late; the lobby’s got people, but barely. You’re not under scrutiny but one wrong move and you could be. Chaeyoung says, “It shouldn’t be an issue, since you’re not attracted to me or anything.”

She’s got the devil in her voice, words dripping poison. There’s this thing people say, about craving, about temptation: wanting something you can’t have only makes you want them more. She’s already got bruises on her neck. It’s so easy to imagine biting down.

“Come on,” she purrs, leaning closer. You’re just drawn to her - call it planets, call it predestination. “Let me tell you. I know you want to know.”

It’s been a little more than two weeks. There’s always a breaking point. The sun’ll leak your secrets, but it’s the evening and it’s not spying on you anymore; there’s the moonlight instead, and it’s got nothing on her. Sex and emotions are two separate things, you’ve thought. It hasn’t been nearly long enough for you to give in.

“Well,” you say, and you give in. “It’s not like I can stop you.”

(“Lots of guys have this thing with me,” she says. “Because I’m, like, five-three and pretty tiny compared to most people. It turns them on to use me, I guess.” Her smirk’s like knifepoint; her eyes are so wide, unassuming. “Throw me around, mark me up.” She drops her tone. “Do whatever they want with me and my body.”

“You’re sick,” you say, hand to your temple. She’s gonna be the death of you.

“So this particular guy.” It’s almost conversational, the way she says it. “He wanted me to call him sir - yeah, that was a given. It’s the age gap. Lots of people get off on that. Like they think because I’m so young that I’m just this innocent little girl who doesn’t know the first thing about getting fucked, I guess. Like the second they get their dick in me they’ll be corrupting me.”

She laughs, but her eyes don’t change, trained on you like she’s tracking your movements. You can’t look away. You’ve traded war stories from the field - like you said, sex isn’t taboo, for you two - but she’s never shared them like this.

“He’s got me in his hotel room,” Chaeyoung says, slowly. Her hair unfurls over her thin shoulders, brushes the countertop; her eyes are half-lidded, lazy. “And he can’t stop touching me. He’s like, baby, you’re so small - which is basically code for I want to fucking break you. Like if he gets his cock in my cunt he’ll split me open.” She shrugs. “Maybe it’s demeaning, sure, but he was hot and I was wet.” She pauses, then says, deliberately, “It’s not like anyone else was gonna take care of me.”

The room’s closing in - there’s gotta be water pouring down the walls, there’s gotta be the threat of drowning, suffocating, losing air. There’s no one else: you and Chaeyoung in the open ocean. Your mouth’s a desert. You’re not even touching.

It’s not like anyone else was gonna take care of me, she says. It’s not like you were there.

Because-

It’s the kind of insinuations that dig their claws into your mind and don’t come out, crafting fantasies - and it’s the point. You’re staring at her and thinking about all the positions you could push her into. You’re thinking about rounding the counter and bending her over, your hands on her ass, getting her skirt up, getting her panties down - fuck it all, fuck everyone who sees, fuck the plan, the money, all logic - you’d get your hand in her hair, there’s no way you’d be gentle - you’d get her dripping wet and wanting, panting, all her ego and seduction on the floor, useless now that you’ve got her in your grip-

“He doesn’t even want foreplay.” She’s got her elbows on the desk, top slipping low. “He says, fuck, I can’t believe you just walk around looking like that. How does anyone you meet do anything but think about fucking you?”

Chaeyoung, you’d say, her name as a weapon. Tell me what you want.

“He says,” Chaeyoung murmurs, “if I were that lifeguard friend of yours, I’d have fucked your needy little cunt a long, long time ago.”

“Stop.” Your voice is shot. “He did not say that.”

She doesn’t stop. “He says, it’s so clear you want to fuck him, sweetheart. It’s so obvious he’s all you want.” She knows she’s stripping you bare - peeling back your skin, layer by layer; she knows it’s something more violent than taking off clothes, consuming and catastrophic. “It’s so obvious that you dream about him fucking you nightly. He says, I know that when I fuck you right now, all you’ll be thinking about is him.”

“Chaeyoung.”

Tell me what you want, you’d say, but it’s no use: you already know.

“And I say, well, sir, that’s actually the problem. He is all I want. Every since I first saw him, every time I fuck someone else, I only think about his cock, his hands, his mouth, moaning his name. I think about him cumming inside me. I think about him being the one who breaks me.”

You’re too close to the edge. There are tsunami warnings; there are tides coming in that won’t stop. You’re staring at her lips, her tits, her hands, hips - you’re thinking about dismantling, about crumbling, about the sea and how it devours everything, in the end.

“But he won’t.” Chaeyoung’s eyes, the full moon lighting your way: every rule, every treacherous desire. “He won’t even lay a finger on me.”

You’re stranded, together. Someone made this island just for you two, you think. Someone must’ve known. Someone must’ve seen the summer and you and her and said ha, let’s throw them together, come on - let’s watch them both ruin their own lives.

“And then…” It’s barely a breath, barely a whisper. “He says, oh, baby, it’s okay. If he won’t breed your fucking cunt, I will.”

Someone must’ve drafted a script just like this, put it all in motion. They’re perfect for each other, the foreword reads, they’re twin flames, they’re something. They’re not even ready for it. They won’t even know. They have no idea that they’ve never known what it is to crave something until they find each other.

Chaeyoung hasn’t even touched you, not once, and she’s fucking destroyed you.

“And then he did,” she says, and her mouth curls, and her irises burn, and she’s finally, truly won. “So I guess it was worth it.”

Oh, you think, raw and hollowed out and gorgeously ruined. Oh, I guess it was.)

“You’re bad news,” you say, hoarsely, “but you know I want you anyway.”

“Right back at you,” she says, smiling. “Come and get me.”

It’s crazy, it’s irrational, it’s impossible. You’re both losing your minds. Sometimes you meet someone, and there’s no way to explain it, but you find them and you’re never the same. It’s over. It’s a disaster. There’s an eclipse swallowing the sky; the sun and moon will trade all their private affairs, share every dirty thing they’ve seen. They won’t tell anyone else. You might just get away with this.

Tell me what you want, you could say. We came this far, didn’t we? Tell me.

You, she’d say, every time, and the ocean pulls you both under. You. I swear I never wanted anything until I wanted you.

this was meant to be a one-shot for the comeback but then it got too long even for me LMFAO... so i'm breaking it up into parts. aka part 2 eventually lol. stream between 1&2! <3

#kpop smut #kpop fanfic #idol x male reader #idol x reader #reader insert #male reader #twice smut #twice chaeyoung #chaeyoung smut

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