#man im curious what the playlist looks like or | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

macfrog · 5 months

Text

champagne problems sex on fire chapter ten

i'm not sorry!!!!! you'll never catch me!!!! (im, like, super sorry)

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: the secrecy between you and joel comes to a head. one huge, explosive, painful head.

warnings: age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), workplace relationship, imbalance of power dynamic, whew boy the angst is big in this one sorry, reader has a lot of internal struggle, daddy issues and commitment issues to the max (ha), memories of parental abandonment and adultery, sort of vague mention/description of reader having panic attacks, attempts to initiate sex (but alas, only one small mention of previous sex), Big Argument, alcohol consumption, cursing, sugardaddy!joel, soft!joel, fluff and angst. angst angst angst angst

word count: 11.1k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 💚

The lavender is the first to wilt.

It stares glumly at the kitchen counter. Posture hunched and drooping. You stand before it, clutching a jug of water like you’re starving the purple sprigs for information. Why did he lie to me why did he lie why would he lie to me tell me why.

The daisies look on, awkward and curious. Their petals streaked with green – still fresh and still at least trying to bloom. The news hasn’t reached their delicate stamens yet – they still have blind hope. But they’re drinking from the same rotten water their lilac neighbors are. They must know it’s futile.

You fill the vase up and fix the lace bow – the one you’d transferred from the brown paper wrap to the vase last night, after seeing Joel out. He stayed until nightfall, until the rest of your apartment faded into a pale gloom, forgotten about while the two of you watched TV and kept secrets from one another in your warm-lit bedroom.

When he leaned down and held his lips over yours, you pushed yourself onto your toes and kissed him goodbye. He ruffled your hair, clipped your bottom lip lovingly. Said, I’ll call you tomorrow. Get some sleep, pretty girl.

You lay staring at the ceiling the whole night.

He was out all day Saturday at a charity event. He called you as he arrived home – you heard the elevator’s ding through the receiver, announcing its arrival at his top-floor apartment. And you stayed on the phone, the thing discarded on your mattress, as sleep blurred the edges of the world in and out of focus all evening.

Three times you thought about just telling him to come back over, hold you until you forgot what he’d even done. Pretend that the man who, possessed by lies and jealousy or something much worse, had taken your wrist and swept you off out of Jean-Marc’s penthouse isn’t the same one who brought you tea and Chinese food yesterday. The one who held you, blood and broken wings safe in his arms, while you wept into his body.

Three times you stamped the flame out, remembering. As if you needed reminding. Your stomach still sinks anytime the reel jerks back to its beginning behind your eyes. The words unfortunately and unavailable. The rustling of the bag in the kitchen. The padding of his footsteps drawing nearer and nearer.

Your phone buzzes somewhere across the room. You set the jug down and shuffle over, tilting the screen in the morning light.

We’re outside baby. Take your time.

You haven’t mentioned it to him, yet. Haven’t breached the conversation. You’ve no fucking clue where to start. It hurts too much to look at it just yet – like scalding yourself with boiling water and clamping a wet towel to the burn until you can stomach the sight of your skin, all blistered and bubbling.

The towel is still covering the wound. You’re still frantically pacing around the kitchen clutching it, heavy and sopping. You’re not sure what it looks like, but from beneath the cold cloth, it doesn’t feel good.

It doesn’t feel good at all.

Joel’s leaning against the Rolls when you totter down your front steps. Fall plucks the leaves from the trees one by one; they swirl down to the smooth pavement, brown and amber and golden. You’re in a floral tea dress, which took you an obscene amount of time to decide on, given the cocktail of nerves and confusion and outright panic rolling around your stomach.

Your heel scuffs to a halt in front of him. He pushes off of the car and swings your door open, squints at you in the sunlight. You watch his eyes move down your frame, a misplaced desire to impress him dripping through your veins, and then he looks back up.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he says, and your veins sizzle. “You look…” he shakes his head simply, “…you’re beautiful.”

Your lips betray you. Your mind – that poor, dead lavender; your body – the poor, naïve daisies. Still has blind hope.

You can’t help but reflect his expression, attempting to mask it with a soft shrug. “Are the heels too much?” you ask, glancing down and lifting your foot.

Joel shakes his head instantly. “I like ‘em. And even if they were, we’re late. You ain’t got time to change.”

“You said you’d be here at twelve. It’s ten after.”

“I run a construction company, not a watchmakers. You okay?”

“Yeah,” you say. Unconvincingly.

“I mean,” he circles a hand over his stomach, lifts his eyebrows, “you feelin’ okay? We don’t have to go – Martha wouldn’t mind, you know that.”

“I’m fine,” you chirp, and your painted lips flatten against one another as you dip into the car. “Hi, Rand.”

The driver lowers his sunglasses and tips his head in the rear-view. “Hi, baby.”

Joel shimmies along the leather, shifting his jacket from between you to scoop your body against his. You glance down, eyeing his soft sweater, the light shade of it paired against that of your dress. The glint of his watch as his wrist slips happily between your legs, hooking under your thigh. The bloody crimson of the birthday card envelope, trembling in the door pocket.

The car pulls off, dragging you from your daydream. Stealing you back from the dystopia where you and Joel match, where you go together. A couple. Removing the notion of it from your makeup, each cell in your body slowly reverting back to yours again. Just yours. No CEO boss to stake his claim to any of them.

Martha’s place sits at the end of a cul-de-sac; neighbored on one side by a retired couple who spent their entire summer arguing in the backyard, according to Martha, and on the other by a row of quaint cypress.

The front door, bordered by polished mosaic squares of glass, sits inside one of four gable roofs. Dark green shutters either side of each stark-white window frame. A smooth path snaking between neatly-fringed grass, a hierarchy of tiny bushes growing greener and greener the closer they draw to the front steps.

Come in through the back, she’d said. Gate will be open. We’ll be in the yard.

Joel makes some quiet remark just to you about how perfect the house looks. The red brick and marengo tile. How much effort gone into polishing the front, only to tell you to use the back entry. ‘s only for looking, he decides, and then offers his hand to pull you from the Rolls.

He bends over the car, hand flat on the roof, and calls back to Rand. “Do me a favor – don’t go far. Just –” he jerks his head in your direction, “– just in case.”

When he straightens up and the car purrs off, you shake your head. “I’m fine,” you whisper, and he hooks two fingers around the string of the giftbag, taking it from your grasp.

He replaces it with his hand, his huge palm against yours. “I know,” he mutters, glancing down the drive, “but it’s an excuse for when I get sick of Alan ‘n all his damn friends.”

“Henry,” you remind him.

He tosses you a half-second look, smirk scrawled on his lips. He knows.

She’s waiting for you by the French doors when you arrive – Martha. Glass of sparkling champagne in each hand. Your fingers slip free from Joel’s before you’ve even rounded the corner.

“Saw the car pull up,” she tells you, leaning to let Joel kiss her cheek. “Here,” she hands you a glass, then one to Joel, “and here.”

You sip at the bubbling drink, letting the sharp fizz assault your tongue. Letting the feeling wash down your throat, stinging and bitter. Joel seems to swallow his just fine.

He swings the bag in her direction, tongue swiping across his bottom lip. “Just a little somethin’ from the two of us.”

You frown, holding a hand up to shield your eyes from sunlight too faint to cause the stiffness of your face and the drawn string of your brows. Where is Deb? And her two sons? And their shared gift? Isn’t it totally platonic and professional after all, to sign something from you and Joel?

Martha’s hands clasp. She reaches gleefully for the bag, smiling at the striped pattern. “I got no idea where he is. Last I saw, they were all headin’ up to his room. Some zombie game on his PlayStation. He promises me they ain’t playin’ the R-rated version.”

“That’s alright,” Joel says, “I believe ‘im.” He leans closer, a weight apparent at the small of your back. It shocks like a surge of electricity up your spine, hurts like a sudden muscle spasm. And then it soothes the pain, his thumb rubbing delicately. “’s a nice place,” he tells Martha.

She feigns disbelief. “Well, thank you, Mr. Miller, C-E-O,” she sings, and then, cocking an eyebrow, “y’all want a tour?”

You both nod politely, following her towards the kitchen doors. Joel nods towards a table by the barbecue – an island amongst a sea of candy and pastries, chopped fruit and bowls of nuts: a two-tiered, sky-blue cake. The name Henry piped in red icing – the letters swirling much like a birthday card you once read in a house on Maple Street.

“Nice little cake for Alan,” Joel mutters, squeezing your waist.

A stolen laugh shudders from your lips; the two of you snicker together, and despite your best attempts to cover your grin with your champagne flute, Martha spots you.

“What’s so funny?” she asks, sidling back over.

“Martha,” you clear your throat, “would you do me a favor?”

“What’s that, sweetheart?”

“Would you please tell Joel your son’s name?”

She looks at you blankly. Blinks between you and the man at your side, both staring back expectantly. But her stone-set expression begins to crack, the lines deepening around her mouth.

“As in,” you clarify, “his real name. Not Alan.”

She makes to reply when the swish-thud of a window opening interrupts, the prepubescent bellow of an almost-teen from overhead.

“Mom!” Henry calls, his dark head of curls and long, boyish arms dangling over the sill.

Martha glares up at him. “What have I told you about hangin’ from there” she yells, fists propped on her hips. “What is it?”

“Mike brought Blood Cry III; can we play it?”

She shakes her head indignantly. “I have told you – how many times? No!” She holds her hands out in apology to you and Joel, and then scuttles off into the kitchen. “Go explore,” she waves, “I trust ya!”

Joel wordlessly takes your hand, leading you in Martha’s wake through the kitchen to the living room: its navy walls and white paneling, bookshelves spanning the entire length of one wall, and a pale-brick fireplace centering two leather couches. Very pristine, very perfect. Very Martha.

You amble around, slowing in front of the mantelpiece above which a gallery of framed photos hangs. Henry as a toddler on a green trike; Martha’s stepdaughter and her kid; Alan on a golfing trip. Your eyes jump from plump cheeks to missing teeth, sunhats and Thanksgiving meals, until they land on a photo of Martha and Alan on their wedding day – her veil pinned neatly into a permed updo, her puffy-sleeved dress and the lemon bouquet spilling from her hands.

Joel’s shoulder brushes against your own, his eye journeying across the photos, too. “Ha,” he tosses a finger towards the wedding photo, “nineties Martha. Nice hair, huh?”

You smile, lazily swatting his arm. “She looks beautiful. They seem happy.”

Joel agrees. “Wonder what their first dance song was.”

“I bet it was something classy. Sinatra or something. Martha wouldn’t be breaking the marriage in to anything cheesy, that’s for sure.”

He laughs, spinning off towards the dining room. “You ever thought about what you’d pick?”

You hesitate, rounding the table on the opposite side. “Uh…no. Not really.”

“Not your thing? Marriage.”

You chance a glance at him over a vase of lilies in the center of the mahogany table. The smell twists towards you, leering as it coats your skin and your clothes and the back of your throat in a sickly film that makes your head spin. “I guess not. I’ve never – Not since…”

He nods. He knows. “That’s fair,” he says, hands finding his pockets. The idea of Blake – his name, his shaking hands, the tiny box in his suit pocket – the thought of those images flitting through Joel’s brain pinches the air from your lungs.

You watch the silhouette of him as it crosses over the bay window, looking out onto the trimmed grass and smooth asphalt street. Something cracks deep in your chest. Something begins to unbind.

“What would yours be?” you ask him, and he turns.

“Depends,” he shrugs, “on when I’m gettin’ married or not. Makes no difference to me.”

You bypass the point he’s making. Turn away from it like you would a shadow in the night. “If you were,” you insist, “what would you pick?”

He nears you, never breaking your stare. His confident matches your nervous, his steady gaze on your shy. “Somethin’ special to me ‘n her. An our song kinda thing.” And then, as he brushes deliberately by your shoulder to head for the stairs, “AC/DC or som’.”

Your heels stick like they did that night in the dive bar. Ears hurt with a ringing loud enough to blur the edges of your vision. Your skin feels the same hot – only, not from the crowded room you’re in, or the mix of alcohol and sweat and something akin to lust seeping through your pores.

You stare fixedly at the view from the bay window, the perfect little cul-de-sac with its perfectly smooth roads; perfect for kids learning to ride their first bikes, perfect for couples wandering arm in arm, perfect for angry fathers taking off in cars packed with belongings.

When you were a kid, buckled into the back of your dad’s car, you used to fight sleep to watch the moon race you home. Her white glow surviving being split over and over again by the trees you’d whip past. Your eyes would flit from hers to the windscreen, watching the road up ahead as it threatened to twist and turn. No matter how fast you thought your dad must be driving, no matter which direction he turned – every time you looked for her, there she’d be.

It makes sense now. The notion of staying. Occupying somewhere in space or in time, and forgetting how to leave. Forgetting how to try. Forever fixed there, glowing in a brilliant melancholy, singing to nobody in the dark expanse of the sky. Waiting for the sun to make her return. Just waiting waiting waiting.

You – the moon, and your sky – that fucking driveway. The Toyota, the rust on its underside so bitter you could taste it like blood on your tongue. Searching all over for the scraps of yourself, the pieces he tore away as he fled: veins tangled around spokes, severed fingers tinged crimson and hooked around the steering wheel. Don’t go. Don’t leave me.

And then, the sun – some sharp-suited, quick-witted Texan; enough charm and ease to lift himself over the horizon, to give you something other than the glimmer in your own tears to reflect.

The moon stares down at you now as you sit, perched on your balcony. Your knees tucked under your chin, watching two cats wrestle down on the street below. It’s just gone two; Joel’s in bed fast asleep. You slipped from his grasp and crept out of your room, a blanket over your shoulders, and disappeared between the sheer curtains. Your chest tight, your breathing short.

It keeps happening, that thing from Paris. Your head begins to spin, your voice withers to nothing. Your legs push you to your feet and force you to flee, though you’ve still to figure out where to or what from. All you know is that blue-eyed stare of your ex-fiancé has been wiped, replaced by the dusted beard of your boss instead. The plastic ring between his fingers. The creaking leather of his office chair.

Those same four words keep circling your head, replaying on a loop between your ears: why did he lie why did he lie why did he lie. Like white noise droning around your skull, bubbling nausea in the pit of your stomach. No, darlin’. Why would I lie to you?

Why did you lie to me?

Why did he do any of it? Take you to Paris, let you meet his client. Why has he been sleeping with you, treating you like some kind of girlfriend? The word plucks goosepimples all over your body. His body around yours at Aspen Heights – what you wanted so badly to believe was endearment, was comfortability and generosity, now feels like territory-marking. Feels like the white-knuckled tightening of a leash in his wide fist.

The leaves of the trees across the street tremble, lit luminous green by the 7-Eleven sign they fringe. You watch as two men swagger out of the store; their chatter drowned by the buzzing of the fluorescent sign. They split off with a quick handshake at the curb, disappearing into two different cars, driving off in two different directions.

You sniff. Some skunky smell hangs low in the air. So thick that you can feel it coating your lungs from the inside out. You sink back into your chair, push your fingers into your eyes until you’re watching a mirage of stars pull across your vision. Blow a cracked, nervous breath into the sky. Slip your nose beneath the collar of your tee.

Joel’s tee, which pools in the dip between your stomach and thighs. You suck his scent in like one hit of some intoxicating drug, for every three hits of clean air. Just seeing you through. Pretending there’s no addiction there.

But fuck, if you’re not screwed. One half of you holding back on mentioning the email because – what the fuck do you even say? How do you begin to ask him about it? How do you approach the topic, without prefacing it with feelings you’re too afraid to admit even to yourself?

And the other half – for fear of what you might cause. What you might make him do. For the pure, cut-throat fear that he’ll become the third in a list of men to just – leave. To let you down, to let you go. Change between couch cushions. Wild flowers torn from the earth’s scalp.

Then, the fracturing realization that you don’t want him to go. That you’re used to him, now, in a way you never were with your dad or with Blake. Your dad – who would choose poker night over parents’ night. Who would choose a drink with his buddies over a movie with you and your mom.

Or Blake – who would schedule sex on the nights he figured he’d have enough energy to fuck you until at least he came, and would buy you chrysanthemums on your birthday even long after you’d told him you were pretty sure you were allergic.

And then there’s Joel. Joel fucking Miller. Who turned up at your door less than thirty minutes after Martha told him you were sick. Who said in the car ride to her house earlier, Tell me your favorite flower.

Why? you asked.

Just so I know.

Joel – who has never asked anything more than you’ve chosen to tell him about your father, but whose face still screws into an angry grimace anytime he’s forced to think of him. Who reaches out to adjust the broken heart around your neck, slip the clip back to your nape without you asking Who offers you the last slice of pizza, and when you refuse, compromises by splitting it. Giving you the bigger half.

Joel – with whom sex feels like a form of communication: Here are all the things I don’t know how to say, yet. Yet yet yet. A conversation, each movement deliberate; each nip and lick and bite weighted with purpose and meaning. It lives under your nails, behind your teeth. Here – I don’t know what else to do with all this longing.

Joel – who has not only set every foot right, but has carved his own path through your heart. Explored the caves himself, a lonely lamp hanging from his fist as he carefully, gently, politely weaved his way through a jungle of valves and tissue, monsters and darkness, slowly winding his way to the center.

Joel. Who has never let you down. Until that fucking email.

A 7-Eleven employee, some scrawny kid with a mop of black hair and a polo hanging from his skeleton, drags a cloth in wide circles on the inside of the windows. He swipes his forehead along his wrist, thick tresses disturbed, and stares out at the empty street.

You blink twice, and a figure materializes at your balcony door.

“Baby?”

“Jesus!”

“Woah, woah. Easy – ‘s just me.” The pale drapes surrender to his wide frame, letting him pass. “Sorry, pretty girl. You okay?”

“You scared the crap outta me.”

Joel bends before you, a sweet little chuckle in his throat, and presses a warm kiss to your forehead. You lift your chin, letting your eyes close over and your thoughts melt away on his lips. He pulls the blanket tighter around your shoulders.

“What are you doin’ out here at this time of night?”

You shrug as he settles into the wireframe chair opposite. Groans as he leans back. His wide chest constricted by a tight, gray hoodie splattered with paint.

“Just can’t sleep. Nice hoodie.”

His eyes dip to the mounds of your chest under plain cotton, the blanket slack around your breasts. “Someone stole my T-shirt. Stole somethin’ of hers back. Why can’t you sleep? You hurting?”

Yeah. “No. Just – not tired enough, I guess.”

“You want company?”

Not really. “Sure.”

He laces his fingers over his stomach as he settles back, studies you as your gaze skims the street below. He knows you’re lying. But it’s two a.m., and you’re weeks into an affair that you’re both pretty sure has gone past the point of no return, and so, voice plain, he asks, “What’s on your mind, angel?”

“How d’you know there’s something on my mind?”

“There’s always something on your mind. It’s you.” And then, readjusting in his seat, “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

You scrunch your nose with a sniff. Pull your arms inside the sleeves of his shirt and cross them under your breasts. “Your dad,” you say, locking eyes with him.

Joel lets it hang for all of three seconds. “My dad?” His face curls into a perplexed smirk, jaw tilting. He thinks you’re so fucking adorable, or maybe you think he is, and you’re not sure which one scares you more.

You laugh, chest lightening disobediently. It felt more comfortable when you couldn’t breathe. “What he did,” you explain.

“What he did,” Joel repeats, lifting his chin. Like a dog, sniffing out the truth. Something concealed in your fist.

So you unfold your fingers, holding it out in the palm of your hand: “Do you think he would’ve done it, still, if he knew what would happen?”

And then he really shakes off the humor. Sits forward, elbows leaning on his bare thighs. “What’re you talkin’ about, pretty girl?”

“Like,” you sigh, “if he knew he would split his entire family in two. You and your mom cut him off; Tommy moved halfway across the country. Was it worth it?”

“To me, or to him?”

You shrug again. He’ll choose the one he wants to answer. You’ll figure him out either way.

“Look,” Joel says, and hooks his fingers under the seat of your chair to pull you closer. He takes your ankles and you stretch your legs out, heels propped in the boxer-clad valley between his legs. A deep breath, hazel eyes pointed upwards like searching the skies for the words, and then: “People want what they want, right? They’ll do whatever they think is necessary to get it. He wanted to cheat, so he did. And he paid the price.”

“He wanted to cheat?”

It seems obvious to him. As though people seek out ways to hurt the ones they’re supposed to love all the damn time. The silver glint of a Labrador’s teeth as he sinks them into his owner’s skin.

Joel nods. “Wanted it badly enough that he did anything.”

“Lied?” you offer.

“Lied, cheated, left. Yeah.”

“And he risked everything.”

His head tips in agreement. “I guess he did. He was a damn idiot, you know? Had a wife who loved him, had two kids. He had the whole world in that house, and he threw it all away.”

“And,” the soles of your feet rest gently on the curve of his stomach, “would that – would it stop you? If you at least knew you were riskin’ something?”

“From cheating?”

“Anything. If you knew what you were risking was everything to you – would it stop you doing what you really wanted?”

His face tightens, brows knit with confusion and something else more difficult to place. “It depends. I wouldn’t risk something like you. I would n–”

“Somethin’ like me?” you interject.

Joel clears his throat. Looks up to the pitch-black sky again. “You…” He sighs. His answer is simple, black-and-white. There’s no way to hide it anymore. “I wouldn’t risk you, no. Not for the world.”

You fall silent. The moon stares down, seeming to melt around you. Her light like two steady arms holding you together, nudging you to ask the last question – the one spiraling around your mind like circling a drain.

Joel squeezes your ankle. “Where are you goin’ with this, baby? Are you asking me if I would cheat on you?”

Your heart jumps. The moon scatters.

Does he fall into the category of people who could cheat on you? Two months ago, he was just your boss. Two months ago, you hadn’t touched him more than a slap after a witty comment, the brushing of fingers as you handed him his morning coffee. But now…now, you’ve kissed his lips to shut him up. You’ve felt him come inside you. You’ve set foot inside his childhood fucking home, for Christ’s sake.

He makes you feel as though your heart is made of glass, delicate and laid bare but safe in his hands. He makes you feel as though a part of you exists outside of your own body – like there’s a piece of your soul wandering the earth by itself, touching base every time his hands are on your hips, his teeth in your neck.

Yeah. Fuck – yeah. He’s someone who could cheat on you. The way that email made you feel – he’s someone who could break your heart.

“I know you wouldn’t cheat on anyone,” you say, voice breaking. “No, I just – I don’t know what counts as a good enough reason to hurt someone you’re supposed to…supposed to love.”

Joel sits back in his chair again, the frame creaking under the weight of him. He reckons he gets it, now. You reckon he’s still wrong. “Come here,” he says, fingers flicking.

“What?”

He leans forward, takes your waist in his hands and pulls you from your chair into his lap, curling you up between his thighs. Safe. Protected by the shell of his body, protected by everything except from the thing scaring you most: the quickening of his heartbeat when you settle against it.

Your head slots under the curve of his chin, his voice a deep rumble over your skull.

“Your dad,” his chest swells, “he did what he did because he wanted to do it. Wanted it badly enough that he gave up you and your mom. And there wasn’t nothin’ you or her could’ve done to stop him, or convince him otherwise. You hear me?”

You turn into his neck, letting your tears fall hidden from view of streetlight or moonlight. You feel fucking tiny – a kid again, sat in a grownup’s lap, asking a never-ending series of why questions. Then, why did he do it? Why did he leave? Why are you staying? Why did you lie to me?

Joel presses his lips to your head, shushing you quietly, his body rocking back and forth like a boat on light waves. When he hears you sniffling, he holds you closer. Tighter. Your heart melds to your chest wall, desperate to seek his out. The hoodie he’s wearing smells like you, smells like him, smells like the chemicals of paint and the poison of love.

“It wasn’t your fault, darlin’, none of it.”

His arm hooked over your bare knees, the cotton keeping you warm. The other around your back, keeping you whole. You unstick yourself from his embrace, pulling your body straight until you’re straddling his lap, face to face with him in the light.

He looks up at you, almost afraid to blink. Afraid to lose sight of you at all. Your thighs lean heavily against his, your bodies locked together. You link your arms over his shoulders, anchor yourself to him as though the storm in your mind might sweep you away. And in the glimmer of light in his eye, the dazzling bulb of a lighthouse – you see the reflection of yourself.

Joel notices the shift in your expression. Holds you by the hips, follows the turn of your head. “You okay?” he asks, and you look down, avoiding his eye.

Glowing brilliant and lonely, blinking slowly. Your towering silhouette and caged-glass top. Drawing ships nearer just to ward them off when they pull too close. When they begin to notice the jagged shape of your shoreline, the ugly mess of your soul. Casting a blinding light on them, warning them to flee. And he didn’t fucking listen.

He docked anyways. Drew up on the beach, pulled himself into your body time and time again. You kept moving, kept warning him with each flicker of light, kept daring him to leave. And he never did. And there are pieces of you now living in him because of it, pieces you don’t understand how to take back. All you know, all you’ve ever known about Joel, is –

Your body sinks, hips lowering until you’re sure you’ve proven yourself right.

A stubborn weight between his legs. Not quite as hard as you’ve felt him before, not quite as heavy, but – a shape which sends a hot hiss between his teeth when you move over it, when the thin strip of your underwear courses over the thin cloth of his.

“P-retty girl,” Joel says, a groan seeping from the corners of his lips. A groan he holds onto with his molars, letting it snap like elastic when your hips circle again.

A weight as stubborn as the need slowly swirling in your chest. And pulled up into the cyclone are those same words: It wasn’t your fault. There wasn’t nothin’ you could’ve done to stop him. Why did you lie to me? It wasn’t your fault.

It hits you at once, the sudden realization that you’re lighter than you were before you first touched one another – really touched one another. Parts of you missing, passed over gladly the second his hand reached for them. The taste of you behind his lip, gums absorbing you like nicotine.

And you’re kissing him, your lips harsh against his, his stubble hurting your skin. Your tongue seeking out those parts of yourself. No. You don’t have me anymore. I’m taking me back.

“Hey,” Joel whispers into your mouth, steadying your hips. He pulls back and holds you still. “Why don’t we slow down? It’s late, you ain’t feeling too good –”

“I feel fine. I want to do it.” You lick again between his lips though he doesn’t budge; your attempts to move again, ineffective. “Joel.”

“It’s been a long day, you’re tired. Work in the mornin’, baby, I just don’t think we oughta –”

“You don’t wanna fuck me?”

He pauses, his tongue between his teeth. His brows pinch, almost painfully. “That is not what this is, ‘n you know it. I can see how tired you are – you ain’t even slept yet.”

“I don’t care. I want you to –”

His voice lifts to something you’ve only heard within the four walls of his office. Like chiding one of his guys, like snapping back at their red ties and crumpled collars. “I know what you want me to do. I just think we should go back to bed.”

“’n what if I don’t want to go back to bed?”

Joel sighs, looking out across the street. His tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek.

“I don’t get what the problem is,” you complain, still holding onto his shoulders. “You’ve fucked me in public before.”

“It ain’t that.”

“Then what is it?”

“Why don’t you go grab a sketchbook or something? Show me some of this artwork you been promisin’ since Paris?”

You blink back at him, watching the lighthouse swirl. The black waves begin to carry him off, sweep him from your view. “Maybe some other time,” you mumble, pushing yourself off of his lap.

Joel watches you, defeated. Keeps ahold of your hand when you stand between his knees. He swings your interlocked fingers gently. “Can you…can you tell me what’s wrong? Do you know?”

Your lungs pull in a deep breath, your shoulders rolling. “Same thing as always, I guess. Let’s just go back to bed.”

“Wait, pretty girl,” he tugs on your hand, reeling you back in, “waitwaitwait.” And then he’s standing, enclosing you in his arms again, asking, “What can I do to fix it?”

That same shrug. Tired. Deflated. Terrified. “If I only knew.”

You wait for Joel to move first, a sigh falling from his lips as he pulls the sheer curtains back, taking you by the hand and ushering you between. He follows your lead back into your apartment, sliding the door closed behind.

The living room is flattened by a gray silence, the liminal night swallowing up the air. Joel’s hand comes to rest at the nape of your neck, and when you turn to him, he says, “You wanna know if he thought it was worth it?”

You pause, fingers playing with the hem of his tee at your thighs.

He’s close enough that you can feel the heat near enough sizzling from his body. The right side of his face is shrouded in darkness; the chalky wash of streetlight painting the left. “My dad.”

You swallow hard, blinking in the shadow cast by his tall figure. The light clings wearily to his beard.

“She left him after two weeks. Went back to her husband. My dad died alone in an empty four-bed in Rosedale. You tell me.”

And then he pats the small of your back, takes you back through to bed – where you let him fall asleep on your chest, listening to make sure your fractured heart is still beating.

Joel Miller is in your shower. For the second time this weekend.

He’s not fucking you, not holding you against the rough tile wall as his cock draws come and blood and tears from your body. He’s not wrapping a towel around you, handing you a fresh tampon, kissing the parts of your skin still alight from your orgasm.

He’s just showering, before work. Using your peach-scented soap, pushing suds under his arms, over his stomach, between his legs. Lathering your shampoo like treacle between his palms, hair slick and foamy white between his fingers. Fixing the head so that his height fits under the stream of water, turning the knobs until it’s as hot as he likes it.

You’re lying across your bed, suffocating in the smell of his side and pretending none of it’s really happening. Face buried in his pillow, waiting for the intoxication to throw you under or wipe your mind clean or maybe just cut the air supply from your lungs completely. Whichever’s quickest.

The bathroom door opens; the sound of footsteps padding over to you. His weight sinks into the bed by your hip, then hovers over your back. His nose, still steamy and damp from the shower, nuzzles into the spot behind your ear. His lips leave a wet trail down your neck.

“You need another day?” Joel asks, kissing.

“I’m good,” the cotton absorbs the nervous edge of your voice, “just coming.”

“Stay home if you want, angel,” he says, hands roaming south to hold your waist. Like warning the pain, tempting it to show back up. See what he does about it. “I gotta go take this shareholders meeting, but I can come back as soon as it’s done.”

“Nah,” you groan, pushing your heavy frame up. Joel’s grip slackens. “I need the distraction, I think.”

He sits back, smiling dumbly when you straighten. His tongue runs along his teeth.

“You can use my toothbrush,” you mutter, heel of your palm wiping sleep from your eye.

“Hm?” He’s fixing the mess of your hair. Brushing one side flat, then the other; leaning back and forth with this dumb, half-there smile on his face. And your chest heaves, and you almost surrender to the impulse to throw yourself into his arms, almost lean into his cupped hands and burning caresses.

“I owe you. From Paris. You can use it, just this once.”

He scoffs. “I won’t use your toothbrush, darlin’. It’s alright.”

But you’re indignant. You already have every other part of me, don’t you? What’s one more? Just fucking –

“– use it. I swear I don’t mind.”

Joel’s head tilts, conceding. “Alright. Come get ready, then.”

Martha’s at her desk when the two of you wander back into the office. “Wait!” she calls, clicking around her desk as you pass by. She twirls a blue envelope between two glittery nails, holds it out to you.

Joel takes it, examining the childish scrawling of your names. “Nice, but – your calligraphy needs a little practice, Martha.”

“Hilarious,” she drones, sitting back against the desk.

You drift over to your own, dropping your back over the back of your chair, and shrug the coat from your shoulders.

Joel’s voice draws nearer as he speaks. “He have a good time?” he asks.

“Oh, yeah,” Martha replies, and Joel sits the card from Henry by your monitor, “barely saw ‘im the entire day. Thanks for comin’. For his gift, too – y’all really…You ain’t gotta do that.”

“Was all my idea, wasn’t it?” Joel asks, smirking to you.

An airy laugh pushes from your chest, loose with nerves. “Som’ like that. Glad he had a nice birthday.”

Joel saunters back toward his office, hands in his pockets. Fucking casual, like the world isn’t crumbling beneath your feet. Like the walls aren’t closing in, the sky lowering by the hour, the sun being steadily eclipsed minute by minute. He nudges the door closed with his foot, leaving you, Martha, and an awkward mist of realization between you.

“Your idea,” she muses, once you’ve plucked up enough courage to face her again.

You pick up Henry’s card, staring at the smudged handwriting to mask the horror peeling its way across your face. “Thought it was easier that way, y’know?” You gulp. “Don’t make it into anythin’.”

She grunts, something shaped like Ha. Her arms cross over her body, her eyes flitting between Joel’s office and you. “I sure as hell don’t remember me ‘n Alan ever doing something like that before it meant anythin’.”

“What are you saying it means?” you ask, rhetorically, dryly – a little meaner than you want it to sound. “What’s…?”

Her plucked eyebrows lift, forehead creasing. “Nothing, sweet. I’m just saying – you two are close, now. It’s nice.”

“We were always close.”

She holds her finger up. “Uh, no. Not turn up at my son’s birthday party together, leave together, then turn up at work the next day also together close.” Her eyes narrow, and you almost believe she might’ve been hidden between the trees last night – hell, for a second, you believe she might’ve been that scrawny kid wiping down the windows of 7-Eleven.

“I’m just saying,” she continues, when your throat closes around your nothing answer, “if something’s happening, I’m rooting for it.”

It shoots from your jaw like a bullet. “Nothing’s happening.”

Martha’s just as quick. “Okay,” she says, sweet and light. Breezy.

And then she shuffles back to her chair, resumes focus on some email. Twists the dial on her radio and fill the tense silence in the office with some smooth seventies song which lifts the hairs on the back of your neck the same way it did in that Parisian hotel. The dark suite, his eyes black and seeking. His hands on your body like he knew every curve and dip already.

Didn’t you believe that he might? That his hands were sculpted to fit the space below your ribcage? The plush cushion of flesh above your hips. The hinge of your jaw between his fingers.

Didn’t you think, for one fleeting moment, that maybe he was made just for you? As if you were so fucking lucky. As if anyone might stick around long enough to earn that label. Yours.

You settle back into your chair. The bubble writing on the front of the card stares menacingly back at you, the shapes seeming to swell and shrink in size the longer you stare at them. A bad trip, you think, this whole thing is just a bad trip. I’m gonna sober up any second, and I’m gonna be in bed, still dizzy after that night at the bar.

And none of it’s gonna be real. It’s not fucking real.

But then – lying on the opposite side of your computer, delicate and tiny, sparkling in the sunlight from over your shoulder: your ring. Your ruby ring, two euros in a gumball machine by the Seine. Like it’s winking at you, the accent rhinestones a taunting smirk. And the sight of it slings a thin wire around your heart, tight tight tightens until you’re sure you feel the tissue slice in half.

You take the ring in two shaking fingers, eyes bleary with sleep and salt. Blinking the dispersed light away, red rays bleeding all over your vision as you tilt the plastic. Joel’s voice muffles against his office door, like fists echoing against the flimsy walls of your little daydream. Time’s up. Hand him back over. It’s not fucking real anymore.

You roll the prize back onto your desk, letting it scatter shards of ruby until it hits the keyboard, the rattle echoing around your ears as you pace over to his office door. Your knuckles drum once, twice, three times against the wood before he opens it, and then he’s –

Staring down at you, breath shallow between slack lips. And he reads it all over your face, the panic and the words swimming around the tears in your eyes, and he steps back, and you step forward, and then the door’s closing again, and you’re settling against the arm of his couch.

“Ken? Hey, Ken?” Joel strides back over to his desk, hastily reaching for the phone. The voice from the receiver doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow. “Ken. Can I –? Jesus Christ.” He lifts the handset and drops it less than a second later, cutting Ken’s fucking droning, cutting the only sound in the room, cutting your blood short in your veins.

And then – “Alright. Talk to me.”

You don’t reply. He seems to tense up. Moves almost robotically over to you, lifts his hands to hold your shoulders. And when you lift yours to push him away, he almost flinches.

“Baby.”

Your jaw shakes once. You wrap your arms around yourself, squeezing the breath from your lungs.

“You’ve been actin’ off since yesterday,” he mutters, giving you some space. He’s moving slow, like he’s afraid you might lunge for him. “You gotta tell me. You’re scaring me, now.”

You haul your gaze from his open arms, his broad chest, the idea of letting him pull you in and calm you down. Your eyes land on his monitor. The text of that email flashes before you again. And your shell hardens.

“Is there anything you wanna tell me?” you ask, staring at the Apple logo. Your voice sounds timid, sounds so little that you swear you see Joel catch the words as though they’re made of glass.

His head tilts. His eyes narrow. It’s genuine confusion, you think. The penny hasn’t dropped yet. “…What?”

It pisses you off. Seems to shatter that glass into fifty angry shapes, brittle and sharp. The shards cut like a knife through the air between you. “Nothing you think I oughta know?”

He shakes his head slowly. “No, baby, I don’t…”

Your glare finally lands directly on him. Piercing straight into his eyes. But your jaw locks shut around the words.

“What the hell are you about to accuse me of?” Joel asks, mirroring your stance. Pulling his arms over his chest, jaw tight. “Cheating on you?”

Your chest jumps with a tiny laugh. “Why would I accuse you of cheating on me?”

“Sure sounded like that’s what you were thinkin’ last night.”

“No. I don’t think you’re cheating on me.”

“Then what is it?”

The gun fires. Gates open. Thunder rumbles. A fire lights in your stomach, blazing through your entire body.

“When were you planning on telling me about Jean-Marc?”

He goes quiet. Still. Realizes exactly what you mean in almost an instant. “How did you…? Where did you –?”

“I saw the email. On Friday. Gave me your phone to look for Alan’s Twelfth fucking Birthday, didn’t you?”

His face drops; a broken sigh falls from his lips. He looks up to the ceiling, something of a disbelieving, disappointed, fucking dismayed laugh loose between his jaw. “I wasn’t,” he eventually concedes.

“You weren’t?”

“No.”

You can’t believe him. You actually can’t believe him. Fists balling to hold your nerve, to hold the tremble in your voice steady, you ask, “Why?”

Joel’s body twists, rolls like some awkward wave as he readjusts, searches the surrounding room for an explanation. “There’s – there are a number of reasons why.”

“Start with the first one.”

“Alright.” He grips the wooden desk either side of his hips. Meets your stare, and it’s almost fucking admirable, the bravery with which he’s walking into this. You don’t scare him at all, not yet, anyway. Not even in the midst of a standoff in his office – guns loaded, eyes never blinking.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and then lifts his arm, waving his palm like he’s swatting the image of the Frenchman away. “He’s…He freaks me the hell out.”

“He freaks you out,” you repeat, voice flat. “Really, Joel? Big guy like you?”

You can’t help yourself. This is so fucking insane, it’s laughable. You’re like a snake shooting sharp shots at the ankles of a bear – and it’s too easy to take jabs when you’re still in disbelief at what’s fast turning out to be the truth.

“He’s sleazy, and inappropriate, and he doesn’t respect boundaries.” He counts them with three steady fingers. “Not mine, certainly not yours. I don’t like him, darlin’.”

“You like him enough to go have two meals with him in one weekend. Fly all the way to fuckin’ France for ‘im.”

“That was business. At least, the lunch was. The breakfast was a mistake.”

“What’s the second reason, Joel?”

He licks his lips. You can’t tell if it’s anxiety or anger. “You’re too good at your job. I didn’t wanna lose you.”

It’s simple enough. It’s more believable than six-foot-two Joel being afraid of five-foot-two Jean-Marc. You accept it a lot quicker.

“Any more?”

His expression drops. Yeah. There’s one more. And he doesn’t know how to say it.

“Joel.”

“I didn’t want to lose you.”

“Got that one.”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. Expression unmoving. “I didn’t want to lose you.”

You suck in a deep breath, chest wobbling as your lungs fill. The snake retreats from the bear, jaw slackening. Your eyes sting, Joel’s figure blurs a little, and then you rein it back in.

“I didn’t want you to go. That’s all,” he offers, plainly. “Just…wanted you to stay here. With me.”

“’n what if I wanted to leave?”

“Then…” Joel’s arms lift again, gesturing to nothing, “…then we’ll work something out.”

You lift your chin, some sick expression pushing your eyebrows up. “We’ll work something out?”

He nods.

“Who’s we?”

And it’s the first time you see him falter. The first time he has to catch himself. “You said it yourself,” he says, “you ‘n me. This.”

You shake your head. No no no no. Not this. Not now. The snake coils up, preparing to strike again. “What, us sleeping together?”

“That’s…What?”

“You don’t think there are plenty other women you could be sleeping with here, ‘n plenty other men I could be sleeping with over there? You really want me to stay here just so you got someone to fuck?”

Joel’s lips fall apart. His grip loosens on the desk. “That’s all this is to you?”

“Uh, yeah. Last time I checked.”

You don’t believe yourself. You know you don’t. You don’t believe a fucking word being tossed out of your mouth. You’re being an asshole, deliberately being a dick to him, and you can’t stop. There’s a wall being built at rapid pace, shutting him out. Shutting you in. Bricks made of angry words, each one separating you a little more, hiding you from his view.

And then his mouth closes. Lips form a thin line. Brows lower, blocking any of the light you’re so used to seeing from his eyes. Dark, cloudy, angry. “Got it,” he snaps. “Anything else?”

“Huh?”

“Do you need anything else? Or are you just in here to piss me off?”

You lift from the couch, arms loose, hitting your hips with a slap. “Fuck off, Joel.”

“Oh,” he nods, “right. Fuck off, yeah. Keep goin’, baby. Tire yourself out. ‘s all you’ve been doin’, ain’t it? All this time? All you’ve been using me for?”

Good. It’s good. You want him to argue back. You want him to hate you as much as you hate yourself right now. You want to see the bear’s claws; make all the hurt you’re dragging up through yourself, just to dish at him, worthwhile.

“You know what?”

“What?” he spits.

“I knew you were gonna do something like this, eventually. I knew it. I fucking knew it.”

Joel follows suit, pushing himself off the desk in one motion, and then the pair of you are chest to chest, squaring up to one another atop his five-thousand-dollar rug. “You knew what?”

“Knew there was something about him. Knew you couldn’t stand him. And this is why, right? All ‘cause he wanted to hire me?”

He turns away and laughs, almost recognizable as the same laugh you could draw from him with a silly look on your face – except sharper, colder. “Not even close,” he says, reeling back in. “You didn’t see the way he looked at you? The way he talked to you? About you?”

“Of course I saw it, Joel, I’m not fucking stupid.”

“Then use your good sense ‘n catch up, baby. You’re right: you’re not fuckin’ stupid. You were like fresh meat to him, and what? You reckon I should’ve let him just – sink his teeth deeper? Really?”

It lights something in the back of your mind; a memory flickers to life. Loops like a static radio message through your ears. “Right,” you nod, “right. Because you don’t like other people’s hands on things that belong to you, do you?”

His head jerks back, face warped with confusion and…disgust. “The hell are you talkin’ about?” he demands, voice muscled with anger.

“Martha said it once. You don’t like people playing with your toys, or whatever.”

And that seems to hit him low in the stomach. Seems to knock the wind from him.

“Are you kidding me?” he asks, and you swear his breath cuts in his throat. “That’s what you think?”

No, you think, it’s not. You know him better than that. But admitting that you know him better than to use you as some little plaything – something he had any control over, some accessory to wear on his arm – would mean admitting that the problem lies elsewhere. Lies with you.

And that’s not something you’re prepared to do right now, either.

Maybe before you found that email. Before you found out he’d been keeping you on some invisible leash. Maybe when he had you in his arms, kissing you so soft you thought you might die right then and not even notice.

Maybe when he looked at you, twirling chopsticks clumsily in his fingers, face lighting in a grin when you giggled at him – and three words floated through your head. Dared to dance over the tip of your tongue before you caught them and hissed, What the fuck are you doing here?

But – no. It’s all fucked up now. And you can’t break the tightness in your jaw to admit any different.

“You don’t think there’s a chance I actually care about you? That I – Jesus, that I respect you? Are you this goddamn hellbent on convincing yourself that everyone’s out to hurt you?”

“Joel,” your voice says, and it’s not you controlling it. Some gravely, pained thing. A shriveled part of yourself, cowering from the light. You’re recoiling, physically backing up from him.

“Darlin’, I can’t –” He reaches for your wrist.

You whip it away. “Stop.”

“I am trying to understand you,” he pleads. “I’m tryin’ to figure you out. Why won’t you let me –?”

“I don’t want you to.”

A laugh ejects from his throat and plummets straight to the floor. “Yes, you do,” he says. “You don’t do everything we’ve done unless you’re in it.”

“In it?” you seethe. “In what? What are we in?” You pinch your fingers: air quotations around the words, or possible claws digging four more wounds into the same chest you wept into last night.

Your head shakes rapidly as you speak. “We were just sleeping together. We were just having sex. That’s all. We were just having sex,” you repeat under your breath.

“I wasn’t,” Joel says. Matter-of-fact. Like reading from a contract. He takes a deep breath, and then repeats, “I wasn’t.”

The words splinter painfully from your tongue. “Well, I was.”

And though your eyes are pinned to the buttons of his shirt, though his expression sits just too north for you to see the way his face pulls – you notice his head lift. Know that there are creases digging between his brows at the same rate cracks appear across his heart. You feel the warmth of his gaze slowly cooling. Freezing over.

“I’m sorry,” he says, holding a shaky palm out. The fear begins to sink in, plunging through ice water. He’s beginning to bargain. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I should’ve, I should’ve told you ev–”

Your body moves as the words ricochet, refusing to let him finish his plea. “Glad we got that cleared up, Joel,” you say, near-leaping for the door.

But he’s faster. He steps in front of you, blocking your exit path. “Please hear me out. Please listen to me.”

Your body writhes under his gaze, twists like some little creature under a microscope. He waits for your go ahead before he continues. You toss your head, acquiescing.

“I just – I couldn’t stomach it. I couldn’t sleep at night thinkin’, what if you went for it? What if he managed to swindle you into taking him on? I wanted to get you the hell outta that penthouse the second he laid eyes on you.”

“So why take me in the first place?”

Joel scoffs. “I ain’t in control of you, baby! You had to figure him out on your own – and I thought you had. Christ, one minute you want me to step back ‘n let you make up your own mind, next you’re askin’ me why I took you somewhere? The hell am I supposed to do here?”

Read my mind. Don’t let him near me. Don’t let me go.

And at the same time –

Mind your fucking business. Let me make my own decisions. Keep your hands off me.

The truth is: you want him to go back in time. Take you back with him. Never touch you, never look at you any more than to ask for a coffee, or thank you for fixing up his office. Never make your heart skip that first beat, never set your skin on fire with that look in his eyes.

You want him to go back in time, and undo every knot he ever tied in your body. Let go of every string of your heart he has his fist around, every nerve which undoubtedly belongs to him, now.

Undo it all, so you might have a half-decent reason to hate him.

In the deepest, darkest parts of yourself, echoing around the caves you were always too frightened to explore yourself – you want him to tell you why he kept it from you. The real reason. And you want him to grab your wrist and pull you back into the room, back into his arms, when you inevitably flee at the sound of his reasoning.

Because you fucking know why he didn’t tell you. It’s scrawled on his face right now. And even though Jean-Marc is all of those things – sleazy, inappropriate, a scumbag in thousand-euro moccasins – that only makes up for part of the reason.

There’s a bigger piece to the puzzle, and you both know what it is, only neither of you will turn to face it. You’re simply cast in its shadow, playing blind chess under the silhouette of something you both refuse to acknowledge.

“You’re supposed to be my boss, and nothing else.”

He just stares at you. As if he’s waiting for you to say, Kidding! and laugh. As if he’s waiting for what you really mean to shove what you just said out of the way and tell the truth. It hurts all the more.

After a few seconds of awful silence, his breath falls from his lips in the form of a sigh, staggered with a laugh of disbelief. “I don’t…I don’t get it.”

But you’re tired now. You feel drained. You’ve less fight, energy gone to waste before you could make it to the real contest. Kicking his door down and yelling at him over Jean-Marc was the pregame show.

“What don’t you get?” you whisper, slumping back against the arm of the couch.

His answer terrifies you more than anything.

“You.”

You sigh, eyes falling closed in time with the drop of your head. Your breathing labored, your heart pounding. Fear. Adrenaline. Anger. Fear. Fear. Fear.

“You never let me in, did you? All that stuff you told me – your dad, your ex – like you want me to know. Like you’re lookin’ for me to do somethin’ about it. And then when I try, you slam the door closed again.”

“I don’t…I don’t want you to do anything about any of it,” you cry, tears pooling at the corners of your eyes.

Lie number one.

“Then what do you want? Tell me, pretty girl, ‘cause I’m – I’m at a loss here.”

“I want you to – fuck, Joel, why can’t you just –? I want you to back off.”

Two.

“I can’t,” he whispers, leaning closer. “’s the thing. I care ab– I lo– I…”

He rubs his eyes with his palms. Maybe his head hurts as bad as yours does. Maybe the office is becoming too bright for him to look, too.

“You think you’re broken,” he mumbles, “you think all that stuff makes you – I don’t know, what is it? Unlovable?”

There’s a spotlight creeping over you – bright white and burning. Lighting every inch of you up, every dark shadow uncovered. The monsters and the phantoms and the six, eight, twelve-legged beasts scuttling off in search of refuge.

Jeers and cackles from an audience behind him as he cranes the neck of the lamp and positions it right on you.

“Don’t –”

“…Worth nothin’? I don’t know, angel, but I can’t do anything about it if you won’t let me, and –”

“Joel –”

He’s not listening. He never fucking listens. He’s still going on, but your ears are ringing, and your vision is whitening, and your chest is constricting, and your throat is dry and your lungs are closing and your skin is hurting and your –

“What the fuck did you even expect?” you hiss, before your brain catches the words.

Joel halts. He finally stops talking. The room finally dims again. You can hear cars on the street. Your phone is ringing at your desk.

You repeat your question, quieter. Heavier. “What did you want from me?”

He’s frozen. Looks concerned. Looks…afraid of you. “I never wanted anything from you,” he says.

“No? Sure sounds like you wanted something.”

He doesn’t say a word. It gives you time, you think – time you know you should put into backing up, thinking it through, not saying it. But you don’t do any of those things. You fucking say it anyway, don’t you? You are your father’s daughter. The anger is woven into your skin, ivy around your bones. The fire behind your eyes isn’t love, or passion, or determination.

It’s rage.

“Is this what you did to Avery? This why you didn’t wanna marry her?” And then, steeling yourself, gritting your teeth: “What secrets were you keeping from her, Joel?”

He still doesn’t bite. Avery’s not the sore spot, and you know it. There’s a different weakness to him, now. Newer. She’s stood right in front of him.

“I mean,” you scoff, incredulous, “what did you think – that we were gonna end up married or something? AC/DC first dance? Big wedding in Italy, three kids and a fucking prenup to save your ass ‘n your millions?”

You swear you hear the crash from here. The bear hitting the ground, or the door of the Toyota slamming shut, or Joel’s heart falling apart, maybe. He gathers it up, sweeping it into his hands with what little dignity you’ve left him with, straightens, and –

He’s angry. Looks it, sounds it. Feels it. A way you’ve never seen him before – not directed at you, anyway. Accounting, when they fuck up the budget for the year. Jean-Marc, when he flirts with you too much. Never you. He’s never this mad at you.

Like kids in a playground, coming up with the worst, most poisonous insults to throw at one another – your words swing fast, and he only just manages to swerve them, hitting straight back with a punch made up of his own.

“Naw, you’d probably say yes to my face ‘n then break it off two days later, wouldn’t you?”

It’s low. It stings. Shocks the life back into you, once it’s looped twice around your ears.

Joel knows it. Sees the glint in your eye before you have the chance to clear away the tears. Hears the tiny gasp that escapes your lips. The bear just stepped right on top of the snake.

“Fuck,” he says instantly. As soon as the sentence leaves his mouth, he’s undoing it. “That wasn’t – I didn’t mean…” He’s stepping forward, trying to wrap his hand around your arm. “Baby, I’m so sorry –”

Your wrist slips from his grasp. “Don’t – don’t touch me. Don’t.”

“Hey,” he says, almost cooing, almost trying to fan the burn with light breaths, “look at me. Please look at me. I did not mean that, alright? I was just –”

You shake your head, staring off past him. “It’s fine, Joel. No, I knew exactly what you meant.”

He staggers backwards, running his hands through his hair; almost growling into his palms when he drags them down his cheeks. “Darlin’,” he says, and leans in again. He speaks slow and seriously. “I would give you anything. There is not a thing in this world that I wouldn’t do for you. I would do anything. In the whole damn world. This is – It’s not –”

“Anything?” you ask, your stone-set gaze refusing to meet his.

He mirrors your curious expression, his own brows lifting. He can’t believe you’re even asking him. “Yes. Anything. I care about you more than anyone in the fucking world.”

He probably says more to convince you. Probably promises a load of stuff, apologizes a couple more times. Probably says sentences that would lodge themselves between your vertebrae and paralyze you with fear, if your hearing weren’t muffled and your mind elsewhere.

Your shoulders tighten. Jaw ticks. When you pull your eyes to finally meet his, you nod. “Alright,” you interrupt, pursing your lips, “okay.”

“Okay?”

Another nod. Yeah. You’re about to do this. Father’s daughter aren’t you just your father’s daughter always running out always running off –

“This is over. It’s done. You don’t look at me, you don’t touch me, you don’t talk to me unless it’s somethin’ in your job description or mine. Hell, even then – see if Martha can do it before you ask me. We’re done.”

It wipes him clean. Every thought, every desire, every motivation – gone. Dissolved, by the venom seeping from your fangs. No more bear. He stares back at you, eyes glossy, lips trembling. He flattens them against one another, steadies himself. Angry, upset, fucking – heartbroken.

“Is that what you want?” he asks. His voice breaks. It sends a blade through your chest.

You hesitate. Your eyes are searing. Between your tears and the nauseating tilt of the room, you can barely see him.

The third lie rolls from your tongue like a marble.

“Yeah. It’s what I want.”

And you know it, better than anyone: you’re lying through your fucking teeth. The way you have been this entire conversation. Pasting over wounds and scars, bricks laid over sodden sand foundations. But you’re petrified – stood on your own, fighting your own corner. The only person who ever managed to make you feel safe, calm you down, lower your gloves for you – now stood opposite with his fists up, too.

Joel nods. Anything in the whole damn world.

“Fine,” he says, eventually. “Fine. We’re done.”

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #ceo!joel miller #ceo!joel #sugardaddy!joel miller #the last of us #the last of us fic #pedro pascal #sex on fire

726 notes · View notes

sluttywoozi · 1 year

Text

Code Of (Mis)Conduct | kmg x f!reader feat. Choi San of Ateez

Playlist: Yes Man - P1Harmony | Addicted - Monsta X | Need to Know - ELHAE & IM | I Don't Understand But I Luv U - Seventeen PU | Leave The Door Open - Ateez Cover

Summary: You're just trying to keep your head down and your coworkers out of your business but that's not exactly easy when your cubicle sits between Choi San's and Kim Mingyu's.

Rating: M (18+) | WC: ~10k

Warnings: not a threesome, food and alcohol, sorry i made san kind of a dick i know he's a kind sweet boy, grinding, size kink, spanking, oral m rec., spit kink, hair pulling, marking, fingering, unprotected sex

Reader Notes: written as a commission so some details are not as inclusive as i normally try to be, tsundere, use of girlfriend but no she/her, has vagina and breasts, physically smaller than gyu, marks show on skin

A head pops over your cuticle, floppy black hair appearing before sweet eyes and a nose with the cutest freckle. Mingyu has been in the square next to yours for the better part of the year, a transfer from the Camden branch and a cutie to boot, though he is endearingly clumsy. He’s fallen off his chair trying to grab a lost pen four times just this month, and anytime you hear a crash to the right of you, you know exactly who the culprit is. He also likes to ‘bother’ you occasionally, though occasionally is starting to become something like every single day.

He doesn’t actually bother you, but he does distract you. Case in point, the conversation he’s trying to draw you into, one you actually have the time to afford for once. He’s curious about what you do in your free time and you could just tell him, but you’ve made it thus far without anyone in this office knowing personal details about you besides the visible ones. You’re not sure you’re willing to give up that anonymity, especially because Mingyu so quickly became the golden boy of the bullpen. If you start giving in to him, other people in the office will think they can talk to you, and it’s already hard enough having Mingyu and the only other person you tolerate know things about you.

The other person you tolerate is Choi San, and tolerate is quite the generous word. Unlike Mingyu who thinks he’s bothering you but isn’t, San thinks he’s not annoying you at all but is actually unbearable. You deal with him because he always knows where to find the good creamer and because he’s ridiculously attractive and you could use some eye candy on your left side too.

Yes, San’s cubicle sits to the left of yours. You’re in a San-Mingyu sandwich, and not the kind you’d like. No, this kind includes conversations and teasing and insults that they both think are jokes, which would be fine, even pleasant, anywhere else. Unfortunately for all three of you, you’re at work, and work you has patience for exactly 1.5 people.

You give Mingyu the patience a whole person deserves because he’s cute and sweet and brings you home-baked goods. You give San the patience of half a person because he’s a menace who deserves nothing more and nothing less.

Maybe I’m being too hard on him…

You jump as San rises to rest his folded arms on your shared cubicle wall, his stupid hot face twisted in a smirk and his gaze half-lidded in what you can only assume are his bedroom eyes. You won’t lie, he definitely makes you… feel things, but you don’t have the emotional bandwidth or will to engage with him like he wants. You’re pretty sure that’s only making him try harder though, so you go for a change of pace and give in, turning to San with an expectant look and waiting for him to speak.

You catch Mingyu’s face falling in the corner of your eye and wince as he sinks back down to hide behind his wall. Fuck, you didn’t mean to hurt his feelings. You’ll have to ask him what he’s doing this weekend to make up for it, and if that’s not enough, you’ll tell him what your plans are too.

You watch San’s smirk widen when he sees Mingyu shrink, frowning and furrow your brows in distaste before swivelling back to face your computer screen. You mindlessly click and type away at your little excel spreadsheet, ignoring San’s attempts to get you to respond to him.

You’re officially out of patience for him for the day, and it’s only 11:37 AM.

You’re going to have to corner Mingyu at the water dispenser. He hasn’t poked his head over in hours and it’s nearly time to pack it in, making you fear you’ve actually pushed him away for good this time. It seems like something so small, ignoring him to answer San, but you suppose with how San is always goading him over their sales records, Mingyu is a little sensitive when it comes to him. You’re not the type of person to apologise and you’re absolutely not the type of person to embarrass yourself by peeking over his wall, but you will try to make it up to him.

He’s bent over comically far to fill his water cup, a beastly thing with times and encouragements printed on the side, and you know you shouldn’t spook him but you just can’t resist.

“Mingyu.”

He jumps, water shooting out over the mouth of his open jug as he turns with confusing speed to face you.

“Y/n! W-What’s up?” You can tell he’s trying to act cool, but his stutter and reddening cheeks give him away and you just know you’ve caught him off guard enough by approaching him that you might not even have to ask him about his weekend at all. You do anyway, for some reason.

“Oh! My weekend… Um, just working out and taking Millie to the big park across town. She likes that one a lot better and her girlfriend should be there, so,” He cuts himself off, biting his lips between his teeth and clenching his eyes shut as if he’s embarrassed.

“That sounds nice. I hope Millie’s girlfriend is there. And that they have a nice time. And you too, I guess,” you sound stilted as hell but you’re positive this is the longest combination of words you’ve ever said to him, so he should be happy with what he’s getting.

And of course, he is. Blisteringly happy, in fact, his beam taking up the whole of his face and his entire body curling closer to you. Wow. Mingyu is kind of like, obsessed with you. Shockingly enough, you don’t mind. It means you don’t have to look up as much to slightly avoid his eye contact, and there’s the baked goods too. He always claims he just needs a tester, but you know he has a truly wild amount of friends that could try his creations, so why is he giving them to you? In good tupperware? The glass kind.

You were in your own head while Mingyu was realising he hadn’t responded to you, and you both look to each other at the same time in alarm. You can’t slightly avoid his eye contact now, not when his face looks like it does and he’s ten centimetres shorter than normal. You’re reminded why you don’t gaze straight into his eyes, and it’s because this always happens. Your dumb, traitorous body reacts to having his full focus on you. It would be one thing if it was just sexual, but it’s your heart too. The mutinous muscle flutters, just like the mosquitos in your stomach do, and, like always, you refuse to think a single thought about what it all means.

“Well. Bye,” you turn on your heel and speed back to your cubicle, pointedly ignoring the doe eyes boring into your back and further ignoring San’s petulant stare. He undoubtedly watched the whole exchange, must have seen Mingyu melt into you and the way you didn’t flinch away, but you don’t care. He’s been ragging on Mingyu too much lately, and someone needs to put him in his place. If that person needs to be you, so be it. It might even mean you get to talk to him less.

Thank fucking God.

So far, it doesn’t look like you’ll be talking to San any less. Then again, neither will you be talking to Mingyu any less, considering that all three of you have just been put together for a group project. You thought you’d left those behind in uni but here you are, stuck in between two men who won’t stop glaring at each other long enough to actually listen to what the assignment is. You shake your head, knowing that this will likely go exactly like group projects of years passed and you’ll be carrying the team. However, that can only happen if you let it, and you’ve grown a backbone since then. It’s rather spiky too, you’ve found, so if either of them have a problem with putting aside their issues and working together, you’re confident in your ability to… persuade them.

For now, you’ll let them continue to completely ignore your boss. It makes you look better and you get to be the one in charge of allocating work because you’re the only one who understands what exactly the work is, so it’s a win-win. You stand, thanking your director with a handshake and a smile that turns smug as soon as she leaves before you round on the two men beside you.

“So. Would either of you like to tell me what this project is about?” You ask, watching as the competitiveness drains from their faces and dread replaces it. They shake their heads, nearly bowing them in shame while they wait for you to grant them the knowledge. You could make them suffer for it but you’ll ensure having you as their lead will be enough pain for a lifetime, if they don’t cooperate.

“We’re tracking how the beta for the new product is selling - there’s two versions with pretty significant differences. Mingyu, you’re selling one, San, you’re selling the other. I’m doing the analysis and we’re all working to put together a portfolio and presentation that the board won’t fire us over. Don’t forget about the ‘we’re all working together’ part.”

“You didn’t say, ‘we’re all working together,’ you said, ‘we’re all working to put together,” San provides rather unhelpfully, making you roll your eyes hard enough it almost hurts before you decide you’ve spent long enough away from your cubicle. You walk away from them both, Mingyu scampering after to tell you about Millie’s date with her girlfriend, Asher, and San watching with narrowed eyes as you tilt your head just enough to show you’re listening.

“Okay, Mingyu, how many models of Beta One have you sold?” You jot down the number as he calls it out from his cube.

“And San? Beta Two?” You ask absentmindedly, pen spinning in your hand.

“Why do you always ask him first?” San groans, his deep voice managing to still sound annoyingly manly even as he nearly whines.

“Because he’s ready first. Were you ready when I asked? And his name is first alphabetically, too.”

“I thought it was because you like me more,” Mingyu pouts from behind the wall (you can’t see it but you can hear it).

“I do like you more but that’s not why,” you answer, uncaring of San’s gasp and Mingyu’s shock of a giggle.

This project is going to be the death of you.

Mingyu is wearing glasses today. He’s wearing glasses, and his hair is all long and messy, and he has circles under his eyes so he must not have slept well, but his voice is gravelly and rough and you can’t feel bad for revelling in it. Fine, you feel a little bad, especially when you catch him dozing at his desk. So it makes sense for you to make an extra cup of coffee, you were already at the machine and it was just a minute longer. And you have this extra coffee, and you have a neighbour who likes black coffee and seems to be quite exhausted, so why wouldn’t you drop it off on his desk? And while you’re at it, why not gently shake him awake and also try not to let your fingernails dig into his massive deltoid? Why not?

He’s so very grateful, his large hands dwarfing the mug and his cute lips pursed around the edge as he takes a sip, and he explains softly that Millie ate one of his scrunchies and had to have emergency surgery. You’re not sure why he came in at all, but he answers that question before you voice it, saying he doesn’t have any vacation days left so he called his mom to come and take care of her. She won’t be able to make it until later in the afternoon, if at all, and you can tell he’s worried.

It feels beyond foreign to offer, almost wrong, but the words slip out before you can stop them.

“I have a few days saved up. If you want, I could take a half and go… hang out with her.”

Tears flood his eyes immediately and his head drops back to rest against his chair. He hiccups in a breath, his tits heaving with the motion as he does nothing to hide his crying. You see San breeze by in your peripherals, and, sensing he’s about to stop, give a sharp shake of your head and throw a quick glare in his direction. Seeming to understand the threat to his life and limb, he carries on to the lobby to flirt with the receptionist for his break. Your focus returns to Mingyu when he hiccups again, the waterworks slowly drying up.

“You’d do that for me?” He asks brokenly, like you’ve offered him your kidney instead of your afternoon, and you can only respond, “I’d do it for Millie,” before handing him some tissues and going to talk to your supervisor.

Thankfully, she’s an animal lover herself and felt terrible having to deny Mingyu, so it was easy to get the afternoon off. She also mentions her satisfaction with your project progress, though you decide not to tell San and Mingyu lest they get overly comfortable.

You return to your cubicle to find Mingyu on a sales call and the coffee half gone, and, smiling slightly to yourself, go back to translating their numbers into words.

Work flies by as you find yourself oddly excited to leave for the day. It’s not just because you get to skip out on the rest of your work (until tomorrow), you’re also looking forward to seeing Mingyu’s apartment and meeting Millie. You’ve stubbornly not let him show you any pictures of her, though you’ve seen the ones on his desk from afar, and you’re a little nervous she won’t like you. You don’t have a lot of experience with animals, which is why it was so ridiculous of you to offer this, but what’s done is done.

Mingyu looks like a different person when you tidy up your cubicle for the day and pop over to his. The glasses are gone (sadly), his hair isn’t as messy, and his eyes are clearer - all changes pointing to a decrease in stress. So why is his lip bitten so pink? And why is he rearranging his pens?

“My apartment is kind of messy,” he starts, explaining himself before you ask, nibbling at that bottom lip like you suspected he had been.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” you furrow your brows and shake your head, sure it can’t be bad enough for you to have anything to fear.

“I bet yours is clean,” Mingyu protests, though you’re not sure why.

“Yeah, it is clean. I like to keep it that way, it makes me feel less stressed,” you shrug, not realising you’ve given up another piece of information until you catch the grin spreading across his face. You hate that he notices when you share things about yourself. You almost wish you could fly a little further under his radar, but you know deep down that if you lost his attention, you’d feel it, like the loss of a friend. Is Mingyu your friend?

Yes, you suppose he is. You wouldn’t do this for someone who wasn’t your friend, you’re sure about that, at least. His smile just deepens, his fingers twitching by his sides like he wants to reach out for you. It’s then that you realise you need something from him.

“Your key, I need your key,” you say quietly, as if you don’t want to disturb the stillness surrounding this moment. You hadn’t realised it was a moment but it feels like one, even under these fluorescent lights with San just a cubicle away and likely trying to eavesdrop on your whole conversation. You don’t mind him knowing about this; it might make him chase you a little more, but you’ve gotten better at evading him and, if necessary, glaring him into submission. He still tries to flirt, and you still like it a little, but it’s not the same. Nothing has been the same since this project started two months ago and you had to confront the fact that you really do like Mingyu more than you like San. It’s harder to face both men, San because you honestly feel a little bad, Mingyu because you still don’t want to figure out these feelings and what exactly they mean.

Mingyu holds the key out but you’re too lost in thought to notice. You don’t notice anything until he takes your hand in his and gently folds it around the metal, the touch of his warm, thick fingers sending shockwaves through your system. He’s never really touched you before, just grazed you while handing off confections, and you’re stunned to learn what he does to you. Normally, you don’t like being touched but you dread him letting you go, your entire form tipping closer and closer to him until he slowly drops your hand back to your side and releases you. You stagger back, bumping into the edge of his desk before he grabs your elbow to pull you forward again. You can tell he’s biting back a smile at your unusual moment of clumsiness, and you’re grateful to him for deciding not to mention it. Maybe because you still have his key in your hand and it could act as a weapon. Probably because he knows you so frustratingly well that he’s aware saying anything will make you freeze back up.

You don’t linger in the office, swiftly making your way downstairs and to the Red line. You actually live pretty close to him, you discover, the commute being on half the same lines you usually take home. That’s convenient, a little voice whispers in your head, making you clutch the key tighter and resist the urge to put it on your key ring for safe keeping. You don’t need to think about things like that right now, you need to think about how to approach Millie. Should you let her come to you? Should you let her, like, sniff you first? Should you look away to show respect and submission? Fuck, you don’t have service on the subway and you’re not even sure what kind of dog Millie is anyway, so googling it couldn’t help you now. You suppose you’re fucked, and pray that Mingyu will keep liking you even if his dog doesn’t.

You expect to hear barking as you turn the key in the lock but all that greets you is a massive, golden furball with a cone on her head. She looks so sad and confused, and you’re not really sure how smart dogs are but she seems to know you’re not who she wants. However, she also seems to know you’re not a threat because she’s already licking your hand - gross - and wagging her tail.

“Hi Millie. It's nice to meet you,” You laugh awkwardly and pat her back with robotic movements, “I’m sure you’ve heard about me, your dad is kind of obsessed.”

You may be imagining it but it’s almost like she nods, and you decide to take it and run.

“He is, right? I’m not crazy?” She just stares at you now, and you start to think maybe you are crazy but then you remember you have no one else to talk to about this. You’ve hidden Mingyu from your friends for a multitude of reasons, the largest being that you know you’ll give yourself away as soon as you start talking about him and they see the annoying little steel hearts in your eyes. But Millie… Millie can’t talk. She can’t perceive your feelings about her dad either, and she definitely can’t show up at your workplace to see him for herself like your friends could.

“Millie, what do I do?” You collapse to the floor, uncaring of the golden fur that will inevitably get on your black work slacks, and wrap your arms around her neck. “I like him. I fucking like him. It’s terrible, and I don’t know how to deal with it, or how to talk to him, or if I even should talk to him anymore, but I have to! This stupid project has two more weeks, and even after that, I’ll still be stuck in between them!”

You’re not crying but you could. However, you vowed never to cry over men when you were thirteen and a half and it’s a promise you’ve kept ever since. You really want to though, and you wonder if maybe you could cry about your situation rather than the men (man) you’re actually upset over. That could be a cute little loophole, and just as you start to let the tears fill your eyes, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket.

It’s him, you already know somehow, and as you check to see a text asking if you’d gotten in okay, you hope you can manage to find peace in the fact that you’re totally into Kim Mingyu.

You’re in love with Millie. There’s no other explanation for how you find yourself on the floor, face to cone with her big ol’ head resting on your outstretched arm. She’s panting happily at you, tongue lolling out to the side and eyes nearly shut. They close a bit more with every pass your nails make over her stomach, and you know it sounds dramatic, but it would make your year if she fell asleep on you.

(You happen to fall asleep first, and that’s how Mingyu finds you. Knocked out on the floor in your work clothes, his precious baby’s head just inches from yours. She’s closer to you than he’s ever gotten and he rolls his eyes at the flash of jealousy that lights up his throat.)

You blink awake as the warm weight on your arm leaves, whimpers filling the room and making alarm bells go off in your head. You spring to attention, fists formed and nearly swinging as you turn to face whoever upset Millie.

Oh. Mingyu’s home. Fuck.

In all of your lamenting, you’d forgotten to consider what might happen when he returned home from work. Returned to his apartment, you mean. To his home, not yours.

He’s got the brightest grin on his face, his pretty mouth stretched apart and his annoyingly perfect white teeth shining at you. Millie is trying to jump on him, so he looks away just for a moment to kneel down and welcome her into his arms, trying to avoid the cone she keeps knocking him with as she does her absolute best to kiss him. He laughs, his eyes crinkling at the sides and his high-pitched giggles replacing the whimpering that had awoken you. Before you can stop yourself, you’re laughing too, wandering over when Millie swivels her head around to stare imploringly at you. Apparently, Mingyu’s attention isn’t enough and as he pouts, you bite down the smug smirk that wants to rise. Millie loves you back.

“Do you wanna stay for dinner? I had something nicer planned tonight and there’s enough for two. Well, three, I eat enough for two on my own,” he chuckles sheepishly, rising to his feet and towering over you.

You don’t have anything planned, and you don’t really have any chores you need to do at home so you suppose you could stay. For a little while.

A little while turns into most of the night.

Mingyu is an excellent cook, his meal for the evening far better than anything you could scrounge up yourself, and in just a couple hours you’re washing dishes elbow to elbow and laughing like old friends. You don’t know how he’s cracked you open like this, but cracked open you are. You’re laughing at his jokes, smiling back when he grins at you, even leaning into his flirting for once. You wonder if it’s alarming to him but assume that he’s not willing to question anything that’s happening, just in case it closes you back up again.

You would almost commend him for knowing you so well if it didn’t have you feeling so miffed, like all the work you’d done in trying to keep your walls up around him was for naught. You suppose you could throw some more up but what’s the point? Mingyu will just knock them down with his big warm hands and sweet smiles and dumb jokes, and then Millie will eat all the pieces, the little hoover she is.

So, you won’t build up more walls… but, you can’t get too comfortable, either. This needs to be a one time thing.

One turns into two, two turns into three, three turns into once a week.

The project has come and gone, as has any attempt to pretend you’re not just as obsessed with Kim Mingyu as he is with you. Even San seems to have noticed the change, returning to what you assume is harmless flirting and a touch of light bullying. Mingyu doesn’t even really pick up on that anymore either, the flirting or the teasing. He’s too busy peeking over the wall in between you to stare at you with hearts in his eyes or whisper, “For dinner, I was thinking…,” in a voice far smaller than you’d think could come from a 186 centimetre tall man (that’s the exact number, he’d corrected you quite petulantly when you approximated him to be 182 centimetres).

You don’t even get annoyed when he interrupts your work anymore, just giving a light roll of your eyes and then all of your attention to whatever he’s deemed important enough to tell you about. Most of the time, it is important. Like asking you to come to the vet with him to see if the neighbour dog had gotten Millie pregnant (her and Asher went through a bit of a rough patch). He didn’t, and Millie got a very stern talking to about safety and loyalty, and you got to see Mingyu in full dad mode which was very, very dangerous for your poor, susceptible ovaries. Some times are less important, like when he made you stop working on your spreadsheet to show you his new high Wordle score. He started playing when San said he needed to work on his vocabulary and while you think his repertoire is just fine, you are happy that he’s found a new game to spend time on rather than playing Cooking Mama in between work calls.

The environment at work has changed too. People passing by have always said hi to San and Mingyu, but now they mention you too, unfortunately. Mingyu always chuckles when they include you, knowing that you’re frowning into your computer screen even as you respond with a fake-bright, “Morning!” Your boss makes more small talk with you, as do others at the water dispenser, and it’s exactly as you’d feared.

You knew that letting Mingyu in would make everyone else think they had access to you too, and you were right. You’d expected it to feel like the end of the world, like you would need to pack up your things and terminate your employment immediately, find some remote job and move to Antarctica so your coworkers wouldn’t even have a chance of becoming interested in your life.

However, it’s not as bad as you thought.

Sure, you can’t go to the bathroom without Janet asking if you need her to go with you, but it’s nice to have a lil Ladies Room Chat from time to time. And maybe your daily fights with Anderson over the good parking spot are becoming more and more playful and less like you’d actually hit his car if it was legal. And perhaps you’ve noticed the way the receptionist looks at San and told Mingyu and now you’re hatching a scheme to get them together. And it’s possible, you begrudgingly admit, that you’re having a good time with it. With Mingyu, with your work… acquaintances, with everything.

You’re enjoying yourself and no matter how foreign it is, you think that it could be okay to just lean into it all. You also think that if Mingyu asked you out, you’d say yes.

You sit across from Mingyu at his dining table, a glass of red wine at your lips and a glare radiating at him over the rim. It’s been weeks of this, weeks of him making you dinner and you cleaning up together and then watching a movie on the couch. You’re not sure how much longer you can take the domesticity without the label, which is quite off-brand for you, needing a label at all, but you want Mingyu to be your boyfriend, damnit! You want to have to fill out one of those stupid forms, and actually stay over after dinner, and drive to work together and have him drop you off at your cubicle with a dramatic goodbye as if he won’t be just a metre away. You want to kiss him, and hug him, and feel up those massive biceps. You want to fall asleep next to him and wake up with him and let him teach you to cook and probably get distracted and oh no, he needs to bend you over the counter?

Your eyes flit to his island as if you can picture it, feel the cold marble under your stomach and the sharp edge digging into your hips and the smooth texture of it against your skin as he fucks in and out of you. His kitchen is custom made, the cabinets a bit taller than regular for his height, so your feet would probably hang once he got you folded in half, and the thought of being suspended as he fucks you how he wants has heat flooding your stomach.

“Y/n? You okay?” Mingyu asks, a bite held up to his mouth as if he’s just now noticed how far away you’ve gone in your mind. You nod, finally taking a sip and trying to let the deep flavour of the wine clear your mind. It doesn’t, of course, just makes you feel warmer and the images clearer. Imaginary Mingyu wraps your hair around a fist and bends over you, whispering filthy nothings into your ear and biting at your strained neck, and you can’t take it anymore.

“Mingyu, why haven’t you asked me to be your girlfriend?” You don’t mean to sound so upset, and you know it isn’t fair, but you think you are upset. How could he do this to you, make you see him this way and want all these things with him, and not take responsibility?

He chokes on the bite he was chewing, coughing uncontrollably and turning red as you sit there and stare at him. He’s not actually choking or you’d help, but for now you just watch as he takes gulp after gulp of water and fights to clear his throat. You see fear, confusion, and something like incredulity in his eyes once he finds his breath again.

“I kind of… thought you were?” Mingyu starts slowly, trepidatiously reaching across the table to cover your hand with his and subtly remove the knife from your grasp.

“What do you mean, you thought I was? Why haven’t you kissed me then? Or taken me out on a date? Or even told me how you feel about me?” Now you’re the confused one, because how could Mingyu think he was dating you without doing any of these things?

“Well, I didn’t want to scare you away! You wouldn’t even look at me when I used to say good morning and now I get to text you goodnight. And I would love to plan a date for us, you’re just a self-proclaimed homebody so I thought dates at home like this would be better.”

You suppose those are good explanations, and you can’t blame him for being scared, you can be kind of scary.

“What about the kissing?” You ask in a small voice, pursing your lips and avoiding his eyes as if you could hide the vulnerability currently swallowing you.

“Baby, trust me, I want to kiss you all the fucking time. I just couldn’t tell if you were a touchy person so I wanted to let you make the first move,” Mingyu promises, intertwining his fingers with yours and lifting your hand up to his mouth to place a gentle peck.

Your heart races, thumping like a rabbit on the run, as you take in his words. You feel supremely stupid for your part in the lack of communication and even more annoyed at how long you could’ve been on your back underneath Mingyu if either of you had just said something. But, you’re not one for apologies, so you stand and stride to Mingyu’s side of the table, pulling his chair out just enough for you to throw a leg over it and straddle his lap.

“Okay, so just to be clear, I’m not a touchy person but I want you to touch me. I’m not a romantic person but I want you to romance me. And I’m not really a relationship kind of person, but I want one with you. So, you’re my boyfriend and I’m your girlfriend, and that’s that. Good?”

His eyes shine up at you, his beam blinding, but you don’t need to see much as he nods and cradles your face, pulling you closer to press a searing kiss to your lips. You’d expected him to be gentle, tentative, but he’s been waiting even longer than you and you suppose he’s got some time to make up for. You don’t mind, preferring more of a fast pace yourself and opening up for him immediately when his tongue grazes your bottom lip. He tastes like wine and want, like pure desire, and already you never want to stop kissing him.

You sit there in his lap, making out as the food grows cold and the wine grows warm, kissing the night away until something starts to nudge at the place between your thighs. Something huge, you think, judging by the sheer length of it pressed against your leg. He moans when you grind down on it, making you grin into his lips and do it again, reveling in the way his hips jerk into you. One of his hands clamps around your hip and the other travels down to adjust himself before he slides lower in the dining chair so his dick presses right against you. He’s so warm you can feel him through the four layers separating you but it’s not enough, you need to feel his skin on yours, his body on yours.

“Mingyu, can we move this to the-,”

“Yep!,” he shoots to his feet, barely waiting for you to hug him with your legs before he speedwalks to his bedroom and sits heavily on the bed, the force of it bouncing you in his lap and making both of you let out a groan as his dick presses between your legs.

“Clothes off,” you insist, pulling at the buttons of his work shirt and pouting when you realize he’s got an undershirt on too. He chuckles at you, pushing your hands to your own shirt so he can finish undoing the buttons, working much faster than you were. He’s pulling off the white tee when you finally get your shirt open and off, and you both freeze when you catch sight of the other.

He’s so… perfect. His skin is so honeyed and smooth, his muscles the optimal level of defined, and his body… His body dwarfs yours, you could hide in the circle of his arms and be completely unseen, untouchable except by him, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t love the idea.

You know Mingyu’s staring because you’ve got your tits out, but you’d like to think they’re some of the best he’s ever seen and that’s why he’s hardly breathing. Or moving. And not speaking at all. You slowly shift to unclasp your bra, letting the garment fall and watching his eyes grow impossibly wider.

He just keeps staring, and though you’re not one to be self conscious, it’s slightly difficult when you’ve got a specimen of a man looking at you so intently. You squirm a bit in his lap, your lip bitten between your teeth and your arms coming up to cover your chest. He catches your wrists in his hands and draws them back down to your lap, whispering when you protest, “Shhh, baby. Just lemme look for a little bit.”

And look, he does. Soon enough, he touches too, his fingers grazing your nipples and his tongue reaching out to swipe at his lips as he watches them pebble under his touch. He experiments for a while, constantly looking up to your face as he tries different things, searching for what really makes you tick. A quick study, he finds it, and it’s like he’s lit you up. You gasp for breath and arch into his hands, your legs stretched open over his thick thighs and your nipples hardening between his fingertips.

You want his mouth on you, and either you say it out loud or he reads your mind because his tongue is lapping at your skin in the next second. His lips wrap around one side, his fingers tweaking the other, and fuck, you need these stupid fucking pants off. You’re getting so warm and they feel so restrictive, and you sink your fingers into his hair to physically pull him away when he doesn’t respond to calls of his name.

“What is it?” He pants, his lips shiny and his eyes hazy.

“I want all the clothes off, they’re getting in the way,” you complain, starting to shuffle off his lap before his hands take you by the waist and plop you down next to him on the bed. You’re not used to just being moved so you’re quick to bristle, but when you really think about it, you love that he can manhandle you like that. You love that he’s so much bigger and stronger than you, and, frankly, you wouldn’t mind if he became your own personal peoplemover.

He stands to undo and shuck his pants and your face is just about at dick height, so as soon as his boxers are revealed, you lean forward and trace your tongue over the length of his cock. He’s massive and so, so hard already, and you desperately want him in your mouth.

“Can I suck you off?” You ask, unable to hide your laugh at the way his knees buckle and he has to brace himself over you on the bed.

“Don’t laugh at me,” he groans, hiding his face in your neck and letting his hands travel up to your breasts to meanly tweak a nipple, “I’ve had a crush on you for months and you just asked to suck my dick, of course it’s gonna do something to me.”

“I’d like to do something to you,” escapes your mouth before you can stop it, making Mingyu snort into your throat and then bite it harshly to stop another from letting loose. You don’t usually make jokes like that, out loud at least, and though it feels very unfamiliar to you, you stand by the sentiment.

“For real though, can I suck your dick?”

“Yes, my God, let me get on the bed so I don’t actually collapse,” he laughs, withdrawing from his hiding place to belly flop onto the sheets next to you, making you bounce and land closer to him than you were before. He twists over and lifts his hips as you pull his boxers down, his cock springing up against his stomach and swaying heavily to the side. It’s gorgeous, just like the rest of him. Massive, slightly curved, and wrapped in thick veins, your eye finding one in particular that you can’t wait to feel inside of you. You want to feel all of him inside of you but you want him in your mouth first, need to feel that thick cock weighing down your tongue and pushing into your throat, need it like you need to breathe.

Mingyu needs it too, you think. He’s leaning on his elbows but he’s got his head thrown back like he can’t stand to watch, like he’ll cum the second he sees your lips wrapped around him. It’s cute, really, but you want him to see this.

“Gyu, watch,” you breathe onto his dick, waiting for his eyes to meet yours before taking it in both hands and licking at the tip. You’re gentle, to start, your tongue darting out to lap at his frenulum and glide over the head, your hands following the movements to drag your saliva down to the root of him. You’re not sure you’ll be able to fit the whole monstrous thing in your mouth but you’re going to try your damndest, and it’ll need to be slick if you want even a chance.

You gather up the spit in your mouth and catch Mingyu’s eye, letting it drop down onto his shaft and smoothing it with your hands as his face crumples on a groan.

“You’re too fucking good at this,” he whines, his fingers clenching in the sheets before you take them in your own and bring them up to your hair.

“I literally haven’t even started,” you remind him, “and you can pull.”

You bring the head back up to your mouth and press a soft kiss to the seam, taking in one final deep breath before tucking your lips over your teeth and swallowing as much of his cock as you can in one go. He shouts above you, his hips bucking up and shoving more into your mouth. You try to accept it but you gag and pull off of him, trying to catch your breath. Mingyu pets your hair, whispering a thousand apologies and doing some deep breathing of his own, until you go again and take more this time, making him hiss and grip your hair tighter.

He doesn’t buck into your mouth again but he does start running his.

“Look so pretty with my cock in your mouth, honey.” “Wanted to see you like this since you picked up that pen in front of me, shit.” “Fuck, you’re the best, don’t stop, don’t fucking stop.”

His praise spurs you, keeps you going when the air gets too thin and your throat feels too raw, and you’re bobbing up and down on his cock, really starting to hit your stride when he pulls you off by the hair and up into a scorching kiss. You wonder if he can taste himself on your lips and grumble to yourself that if he’d let you keep going, you could have really tasted him, but you know that him stopping you now means you’ll get his dick that much sooner, so you can’t complain.

“Sorry, baby, got too close. That mouth is fucking insane, Jesus,” Mingyu moans, his chest heaving against yours as he tries to regulate his breathing. You smile and peck him again, sliding off the bed to strip off your slacks and underwear and missing the way his eyes heat up and his face smooths out.

“C’mere,” Mingyu sits up, holding his hands out to you and bringing you in close to stand between his knees. He pushes the hair away from your face, cradling your cheeks in his palms and laying the softest, most gentle kiss on your lips before running his hands down your body. They graze your breasts, smooth over your stomach, pause for a squeeze at your hips, carry on down your thighs, then glide back up to turn you around. You guess he’s only really seen the front and you’ve gleaned that he likes to look, so you let him take in his fill, feeling his eyes on you like a physical thing before his hands replace them.

He focuses on your ass immediately, pinching, kneading, rubbing, and you think you can just barely hear him whispering to himself when he asks, “Can I spank you?”

Your eyes fall shut in silent thanks, your heart thudding in your chest at the thought of his big, hot hands coming down on your skin.

“Fuck, yes,” you sigh, following dazedly when he tugs you to lay across his lap, shivering when he places his hand on one cheek as if to steady you before he starts.

“Just tell me when you want me to stop, this isn’t a punishment or anything,” Mingyu reassures you, squeezing your ass to acknowledge the little, “Okay,” you let out.

The air stills when his hand leaves you, tension winding tighter and tighter in your gut until a smack echoes throughout the room and a hot sting starts radiating through the flesh of your ass. You almost feel like you can’t breathe, it feels so good, and you just know you’re getting wetter, can only hope it doesn’t trail down between your thighs to land on his. You have a feeling he’d love that so you’re not too worried about it, but he doesn’t need to know yet, just how much power over you he holds.

“Was that alright?” he asks, his voice slightly worried and his palm soothing the throbbing skin.

“Perfect,” you force out, your toes wiggling in anticipation as you wait for the next, “Are you gonna do it again or not?”

“Impatient,” he laughs but obliges, bringing his hand down on you lightly before following up with a harder smack, his fingers digging into the flesh sharply afterward like he can’t stand to let go.

He carries on like that for however long. You can’t be fucked to tell time when you’ve become a sopping wet mess on his lap, when you’re nearly crying with pleasure, when your cunt is pulsing and leaking and empty and your ass is hot and swollen and covered in handprints. You don’t know anything anymore, just Mingyu, and when he carefully pulls you into his arms and cradles you to his chest, you think you might finally let yourself actually cry over a man.

“Fuck me?” You whine somewhat pitifully, clutching at his bicep and looking up at him imploringly.

“Baby, no, I gotta stretch you out first,” he insists, and you consider protesting, but then you remember what his dick felt like in your throat and know that he’s right, even if you hate to admit it.

“Fine, but be quick,” you reply, rearranging yourself so your back rests against his chest and you can spread your legs out over his. You gasp as the cold air hits you, your wetness glistening on your thighs and between your legs before one of Mingyu’s warm hands slides down to cover you, his teeth nibbling at your ear cartilage and his voice deep as he whispers, “So fucking wet.”

His fingers glide slowly through your folds, taking their time getting to know you, enough so that you buck up into his touch and moan his name impatiently. He teases you for a while longer, until you’re writhing in his arms and about ready to shove four of your own fingers inside, and that’s when he finally gives in.

He slips in one, first. It’s long, thick, bigger than yours and able to easily hit your g-spot, but still not enough. Two is better by half, but you still feel so empty, “Need you,” you whine, and he slides in a third, spreading and curling all three but just barely missing that rough patch inside. You know he did it on purpose, but you don’t complain, knowing that he’ll just tell you to wait and that you’ll do it, like the g-.

“Good girl,” Mingyu breathes into your ear, and the shudder is uncontrollable.

He must feel you clench, must feel you get wetter around his fingers, and you just know he’s got an evil smirk on as he chuckles, “You know, I thought you might like that, but I wasn’t sure.”

“Then why’d you say it?” You ask, frustrated at him cracking your code once again. And at how his fingers have stilled halfway inside of you.

“Because I wanted to. I would stop if you told me, but I want you to know how much of a good girl you're being for me. I think you deserve to hear it and I like saying it, and now I know you like it too, so…,” he drifts off, thrusting his fingers into you harshly and sucking in a breath when he feels you clamp down, “Are you gonna keep being my good girl?”

You can only nod weakly, whining as he starts to fuck you roughly with his fingers, the digits jackhammering in and out of you at a speed you almost can’t handle. You can feel your wetness splashing against your thighs, hear how it squelches out of you with every thrust, and you know Mingyu feels it, hears it too. You fucking love it, love how messy he’s gotten you and how you’re only going to get messier, and when he whispers lowly, “Wanna see you squirt,” you know he loves it messy, too.

Thank God for that, because he’s totally going to make you squirt. It doesn’t happen often, only once or twice with that one magic-handed ex, but you recognize the signs. You can feel it coiling up inside you, the pressure building and building deep in your pelvis, like a knot that just keeps getting pulled tighter and tighter. He changes the angle of his thrusts, aiming them a bit higher and slightly more shallow, and you know he’s got you.

He pounds into you, fingerfucking your g-spot with startling accuracy and force until the balloon pops and you scream, your knees fighting to close as liquid sprays out of you and down his arm. Your eyes clench shut and you lose your breath, your walls fluttering uncontrollably around his fingers as you cum hard enough you nearly black out.

“Good girl, there’s my good girl, there’s my baby,” Mingyu exhales, petting at your sweaty forehead and keeping his fingers curled inside of you. Your hips jerk with aftershocks, little bursts of slick seeping out around his fingers with every buck.

“Now will you fuck me?” you pant, sprawled on top of him and quite literally aching for his cock.

“Yeah, baby, I’ll fuck you now,” He nods and laughs at you again, as he seems liable to do, and nods, his chin brushing against your shoulder and his stubble grating on your skin.

He wraps his arms around your waist and lifts you, placing you on the bed next to him so he can hover on top of you on all fours.

“How do you want it?” He asks, looking, for all and intents and purposes, as if he’d do literally whatever you said. You like that, and absolutely plan to use it to your advantage later, but for now you’ll be kind and say, “Like this, Gyu, just like this.”

You suppose that’s the answer he wanted, because he grins and smacks a kiss to your lips, hauling your legs up around his waist and letting his cock glide through your folds to nestle against your clit. You jump, your pussy still sensitive from the orgasm he’d just drawn from you, but you love the pressure and heat of him there. You want him inside though, need him stretching you out, so you angle your hips and thrust down, sinking the head of his cock into your entrance.

He whines into your open mouth, a broken, stuttered thing, and pushes in a couple more inches. That’s all you can take, for now, his girth bigger than the three fingers he’d opened you up with and his length enough to reach the end of you. He fucks you open just a little bit more with every thrust until he’s halfway inside and it’s like something shifts in you to make room for him because from there, it’s easy. He pulls out, or tries to, your cunt sucking him back in so tight it’s hard for him to move.

Mingyu isn’t one for giving up though, so he pulls back with more force and plunges inside of you again, his one thrust sending you up the bed. Your head rests just inches from his headboard so he wraps his arms around you to hold you in place as he starts to really fuck you. He’s so big and warm around you and inside of you, and when he tilts his hips up and finds your g-spot with the head of his cock, you know you’re done for.

There’s little else you can do but lay there and take it as he pounds into you, one of his hands rising to clench in your hair and pull your head back so he can bite bruises into some very visible spots on your neck. You’ll be annoyed later at having to cover them up, but right now, you love that he wants to leave his mark on you. You want to leave your mark on him too, dragging your nails down his back as you moan his name and beg him to keep going.

“Won’t stop, baby, won’t stop until you tell me. Never been like this before, fuck,” he sounds wounded, dazed, like your cunt has cast a spell on him and he never wants to wake from it. You’re not sure you sound much more composed, your throat starting to ache from all of the sounds he’s pulled from you tonight and your stomach filling with heat as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge. It won’t be long now, and though you don’t want this to end, you know that later, you can wake Mingyu up to fuck you again and he’ll be ecstatic about it.

“Are you close?” You ask urgently, your neck straining from his grip in your hair and your pussy now formed to the shape of him.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes,” he hisses, dropping a hand down to your clit to press rough circles into the raw bundle of nerves. He was closer than you anticipated but you have a feeling that soon enough, Mingyu will have you cumming on command, so you have no doubt you’ll get there with him. Especially not with the thrusts he’s got aimed right at your g-spot, and definitely not with the thick fingers he’s got rubbing your clit. Before you can even take in another breath, you’re tumbling off the edge with him, your pussy clenching around his cock as his hot cum floods into you in waves.

It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt, your brain dissolving into a delicious haze and your body melting between Mingyu and the bed. You let your eyes slip closed, thoughts ticking away one by one until you don’t have even a single string of words to connect. You have to wonder if every sexual experience with him will be transcendental like this.

Mingyu whimpers above you, probably sensitive as he starts to come down. Your cunt keeps squeezing him and though you don’t wish it would stop, you do feel a little bad that he seems to be struggling so much.

“You know you can pull out, right?” You offer, confused as to why he’s staying inside of you when it seems to be hurting him so.

“Don’t want to, I like it,” he forces out, digging his hips into yours just a little bit more before laying his head down on your chest and promptly falling asleep.

You don’t really know what to do, but you can hear Millie whining so you give him a few minutes to recover before fighting to shove his dead weight off your body and throwing on his shirt. His cum is trickling down your inner thighs so you make a pit stop at the ensuite for a quick shower before peeking your head out of the bedroom and looking for Millie. She’s on the couch, staring balefully at the door and wagging her tail just slightly, though she perks up when she sees you. She’s probably waiting for her bedtime walk and you don’t want to keep her waiting any longer, so you find a clean pair of Mingyu’s boxers to throw on and get her harnessed and ready to go.

You cup Millie’s face in your hands and kiss her on the forehead, whispering quietly about where you’ll go on your walk and standing to grab her leash before you finally notice Mingyu in the doorway. He’s got rumpled pajamas on and he’s trying to frown, likely about you leaving him to sleep alone, but his eyes are too full of love for you to believe him even the slightest bit.

“Can I join you two?” He asks softly, pushing off the doorframe to amble over and steal a kiss before pulling away to let you answer.

“I’d be annoyed if you didn’t,” you assure him, holding a hand out for him to take and following him to the front door of the flat. You slide into your loafers, nagging yourself to bring a pair of slides to keep at his place so you don't have to walk in your work shoes.

“You know… if you wanted, you could, um, maybe bring some stuff over to have here? Like, comfy clothes and maybe your nighttime things so you could… stay?”

He sounds nervous to offer, like he’s still anxious about frightening you away, so you answer quickly, “I want the third drawer of your dresser.”

He bites back the beam, staring down at you with his canines pressing against his bottom lip, and just as he leans down to kiss you, you can’t help but think, fuck, I’m fucking in love with this guy.

A head of floppy black hair rises above the wall separating your cubicles, followed by bright eyes and a cute, freckled nose. You spot the grin and know exactly what he’s decided to bother you about, preemptively declaring, “No, we cannot leave early to take Millie to the good park across town.”

Mingyu whines quietly, pouting and beseeching you with his eyes to change your mind. You’re resolute, well aware that your previously preciously stored vacation time is dwindling and you can’t afford to waste anymore if you want to take Mingyu on that hiking trip. You, personally, despise hiking for all that it is, but Mingyu is a fanatic for it and you know he’ll carry you whenever you get tired or bored, so this is one you can take for the team.

“But Asher-”

“Babe, Asher will be there on Saturday too. Millie doesn’t need to see her all the time, space is good for a couple.”

“Tell that to you guys! Oh my god, you’ve been unbearable since you got together,” San exclaims, popping up over his own wall to glare at you both.

“San, please, don’t think I haven’t heard you with the receptionist,” you retaliate, “you might as well just ask her to marry you with how obvious you’re being.”

Mingyu only smirks in response and you try to pretend it doesn’t make your heart and your pussy flutter.

You’re not successful.

AN: from the bottom of my heart, thank you to @bbychocolat for commissioning this work! I love the idea and it's the fastest ive ever written 10k words before, and it was more than wonderful to have both her cheering me on as i wrote. thank you to @petrichor-mingi for beta reading this for me, your notes are invaluable!

please reblog if you read and enjoyed this! reblogs and replies are what make this website work and i would love to know your thoughts and feelings 💖💖💖

493 notes · View notes

jjunsolos · 8 months

Text

LET ME IN! - love songs

synopsis - jeon yn is a mysterious human being. people only know her as “kazuhas silent buddy”. this makes beomgyu curious. curious enough to try and befriend yn himself. if only she wasnt so stubborn…

warnings - written, mentions of food, they kiss, nothing else i think. but ofcc lmk if im wrong🙏🏽

wc - 869

prev. | m.list | next.

and just like he said, he was there before you knew it.

a smile grew on your face when you stepped out of your car, something about the sight of beomgyu patiently waiting by your door brings some sort of happiness to you. slamming the car door, you quickly make your way to the man and by then hes already looking at you.

“hey you..” beomgyu says with a smile, putting the phone that was currently in his hand into his pocket. your smile stays still. maybe even growing a bit as you admire the handsome man in front of you.

“you know, if you wanted to kidnap me then you could have just told me.”

he acts offended as a wave of laughter comes out of you.

“ignoring THAT,” he starts “i actually wanted to take you out! school has been making you busy lately so as your favorite beomgyu, i will take you out today!!”

when beomgyu finishes his sentence with a wide smile, you knew you were in love. you werent gonna deny his request. you obviously werent gonna deny his request. who would ever deny his request??

“well then, lead the way”

and with that, you both hop into your car. beomgyu driving, you being his passenger princess.

four hours has passed and youre still in the car. the only thing thats changed is the mcdonalds bag thats in your lap right now. as you stuff fries into your mouth, you begin to realize that you and beomgyu never really left the car. youve been driving around, singing along to beomgyus liked playlist on spotify as you go from one fast food place to another. the wingstop and burger king bags in the back serve as evidence.

“where exactly are we going, beomgyu?” a smile appears on beomgyus face.

“what time is it?” you check.

“9:50”

“a few more minutes and we’ll be there” he replies. you groan dramatically. but whats not dramatic is the pain your ass is feeling from sitting for 4 hours.

“but beomgyuuuuuu” you whine like a child. he just smiles and turns up the music. ‘love songs’ by kaash paige is on and beomgyu is humming along to the chorus.

“a little longer, yn..”

10 minutes later, beomgyu pulls up to a park.

“here we are!” he exclaims once he steps out of the car. in the middle of your stretching, you turn slightly to the right to take a good look at the park beomgyu has taken you to. and thats when your jaw drops. not because of shock, but of disbelief.

“beomgyu..”

“yeah?”

“we drove around for 4 hours.. just for you to take us to a park thats 4 minutes away from my house?” thats when you turn to beomgyu, only to see him smiling like an idiot.

“yup!” he opens the trunk, grabbing something while you still cant believe whats happening right now.

“BUT- BUT,” you point to the park, “IF YOU WANTED TO COME TO THE PARK WE COULDVE JUST WALKED!” you exclaim. beomgyu looks as unamused as ever as he closes the trunk, turning to face you.

“so… you gonna take my hand or what?” he holds his hand out in front of you while you glare down at it.

“…youre lucky your hands are soft.” you grumble before slapping your hand into his. and thats when beomgyu starts taking off with your hand in his, and a blanket under his arm.

when beomgyu asked you to hang out with him earlier today, you expected a few things. maybe a car crash, you both arguing. maybe beomgyu breaking your car? you wouldve never guessed that beomgyu would bring you to an empty field for you both to watch the stars after filling your tummy with fast food. you dont mind it though. oh no. quite the opposite.

“that ones pretty, no? it shining really bright.” beomgyu says lightly, his right arm raising to point at the star he finds pretty. you turn to beomgyu, admiring his side profile for a while.

“like you…” now its beomgyus turn to look at you. he just stares for a while. tons of thoughts running through his head. were you being serious? do you have feelings for him? do you know how beauiful YOU are?

beomgyu stays gazing into your eyes, the stars long forgotten. never looking away, you scoot closer and your eyes shift down to his lips.

“thank you, beomgyu”

“for what?”

“for this.”

and then your lips reunite. passion, desire, want is shown in the kiss. the way your hand slowly reaches to beomgyus neck while his linger on your waist, thumb caressing your side. your lips meet and separate. like a pattern. touch, separate, touch, separate. and it continues like this until the air in your lungs is low.

“i really like you beomgyu. i tried.. so hard not to fall for you. but youre too good to me. youre to good to give up on.” you say all while stating into beomgyus dark eyes that have tears in them.

“im sorry, im so sorry for taking so long. you wont regret this, i promise.”

a giggle leaves your mouth.

“you promise?”

“i PROMISE.”

taglist [open] - (bold = couldnt mention)

@forever-in-the-sky2 @londonchuu @erin-calling @boomboomcat @itzxvaxella @letapostropheesgo @captivq @curly-fr13s @strawbrinkofdeath @ukitouu @ineedaherosavemeenow @wonioml @enhapocketz @ghostfacefricker6969 @kpoprhia @softcabur @ch-choerry @faelyncore @emohazuzworld @zuzu-the-simp @luvsoobs @heyanonymous123 @browniestraykidshiteu @lqbeorecs @lmaonada @aernx @il0vebeomgyu @ja4hyvn @chaeey @mangobee @cryingforgyu @dilfjk @rikislady @ahnneyong @marshmelle @l0ve-joy @minkyungseokie @pussyslayerhd @flrtsbin @soobsfairy444 @sofia-rom @iikyomii @choi-beomgyulvr @moa4lifeee @acidicloveee @txtmetonight @sam-andher-tales @rainbowszi @jype2papi @cha0thicpisces @imsiriuslyreal @soobs-things @cho8beomie

author’s note - im so srry for taking a whole month to finish this chapter😪 im a lazy person

68 notes · View notes

multi-writer · 2 years

Text

Love in the Past - Chapter 2: The 80´s are back

Eddie x 2022! Reader

(time travel reader)

Chapter 1: 2022 > < Chapter 3: The Stranger

Summary: who would have thought that a simple investigation of events that happened more than 30 years ago would lead to an unforgettable and somewhat bizarre journey?.

Author´s note: thank you for liking this new project. I´m so happy a lot of you like it! <3 Here´s the second chapter! it´s longer than the last one!

(btw I finished editing this while listening to the BTS comeback and now I´m listening to Run BTS someone help me bc im screaming and vibing)

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

The road felt shorter than you expected, there were almost no cars in the highway, it was like a desert road. When your playlist was about to come to an end you entered a road surrounded by trees creating large shadows on the pavement. Driving for a few more minutes you arrived in Hawkins. The welcome sign looked so old and worn you wondered why no one had painted the sign. The houses looked dimly colored, there were few people walking the streets, several stores were closed and some were even abandoned. The town's shopping mall looked old but there were still stores inside trying to survive.

It was as if the town was stuck in an era and people didn't want to move on from there.

You decided to park your car in front of a closed video store. Some time ago this kind of stores had closed thanks to the dominance of the stream pages, if it was a hard blow for those nostalgic people who rented movies every Friday you couldn't imagine what the owners of these stores suffered.

You took your backpack from the passenger seat, disconnected your cell phone that was already fully charged and got out of the car to close it. The people who were nearby did not bat an eye at your visit, it was as if you were just another resident of the place. Arriving at a convenience store you found a map of the place for tourists, along with the map you took some candy to eat while you investigated the place. As you approached to pay you saw a man listening to the radio. Noticing your presence he started to count the total without even looking at you.

"Excuse me..." you began with a bit of shyness. The man in front of you looked at you with boredom. "You know what happened to the Lab near Hawkins?"

"Another dumb tourist coming to make videos?" the man said angrily. "understand, we don't want any more cameras here, so you can take your things and leave" you took the things you had bought in a bag and left.

When you got back to your car you decided to eat some of the candies you had bought while you opened the map. People were being hostile, who knows how many had gotten your idea to investigate personally. You stood for a while thinking and looking at the map not knowing what to do until something caught your attention. On the map there was a blank space.

As if it wanted to hide something.

Quickly you started your car and began to head to that place while you guided with the map, when you left Hawkins the trees appeared again and gave shade. When you were already arriving to the point where the map was blank, the road started to turn into dirt, you had crossed some trees and further ahead you saw a fence.

Stopping the car you realized that you had arrived at the laboratory. Outside the walls were graffitied, the fence was broken by some curious explorer of what the building was hiding and some windows were broken. Definitely an abandoned place.

As you got out of your car you realized there was a vibe you couldn't understand. You felt an emptiness in your chest when you looked at the building in front of you. As if someone, or something, was watching you. Your hands felt cold, your chest felt heavy and you felt that at any moment something was going to come out of the forest.

The silence was too noticeable.

You decided to walk to your car to check the things you had in your backpack when a small 'click' made you stop, it had been heard from one of the doors of the lab.

Another 'click' caught your attention again near the window.

It wasn't until the third 'click' that you quickly grabbed your things and ran to the entrance of the broken fence, ready to enter. You'd rather be indoors alone than in the middle of the forest where anyone could be.

Inside the fence you realized that it wasn't a long way between the entrance of the lab and where you were, so you decided to take your time walking. The grass was a bit dry and high, it had been years since nobody had given it its due maintenance, a rocky path was present and the closer you got to the entrance, the more it turned into a cement floor. Already in front of the entrance you thought for the last time if this was a good option.

There is no one, I don't think anything will happen" you said to yourself.

When you pushed the door of the entrance you realized that the door was open, someone who came before could have opened it, inside it was cleaner than you expected, apparently only graffiti were on the outside of the building, inside there was only a lot of dust and cobwebs that had been collected over the years that had been alone. The deeper you went the more it was confirmed that the place was a labyrinth, there were stairs everywhere so you decided to walk through the building from the bottom to the top.

Along with the door to the stairs down you came across the elevator, but you decided to take the stairs because there was a chance that years ago there was no light. The further you went down the less light came in so you opted to use the flashlight on your cell phone. When you looked down you realized that there were several floors but many of the deepest ones were impossible to enter because something had broken the stairs. Upon noticing this you decided to enter the last accessible floor to continue your plan to tour the place. Inside was a huge machine with crystals around it to observe and under this machine was a tunnel.

The small tunnel of your dream.

You approached it carefully as if it was going to trap you. You slowly crouched down to illuminate it with your flashlight but you could only see several spider webs. Where will this lead to?

You decided to be brave and go inside, the spider webs stuck easily to your clothes and the further you went the more you could remove them. A few minutes passed while you continued advancing, your hands, knees and back were hurting thanks to the position, for a moment you thought about whether it was better to go back, and when you were about to make the decision the other side of the tunnel was present so you decided to keep your backpack in your backpack to be able to crawl faster. When you arrived you realized that it had taken you to the same room where the machine was, as if the road had just turned you around.

What a waste of time.

On your way out you wiped your hands on your torn pants and walked to the second floor of the lab to pick up a candy you had left in your car. As you neared the entrance you could see red and blue lights.

The police had arrived.

Someone had probably seen you enter and called the police to get the crazy tourist out of the abandoned place, so you decided to leave the lab. There were two officers watching you through the window. As they saw you leave the lab they quickly approached.

"You know you just committed a crime by trespassing on private property, right?" asked the younger one as he grabbed your arm.

"I'm sorry, I just wanted to see what was going on" you said nervously.

"Well you're lucky we're the ones who found you and not the federal police, they're worse" continued the cop as he led you to his old car. "However, we have to take you to the station to collect your data.

"Please" you pleaded. "I promise not to come back, just don't lock me up".

"Get in the car" whoever was holding you pushed you into the car and closed the door with some force and then they both got in the car and drove you to the station. The road was silent, the trees around you seemed greener, but it could be the effect of the light. When you arrived at the town you saw that several stores that had been closed before were now open and people were coming in and out of them somewhat animated, everyone's clothes were colorful and everyone's hairstyles were somewhat extravagant. It didn't take long to get to the station.

When they parked, the policemen took you with them so that they could collect your data, inside there was some old furniture and a range of coffees. The cop who had done most of the talking sat you down in front of a desk and began typing on a huge computer.

"Wow... what an old computer" you commented in surprise making the policeman look at you strangely.

"It's about two years old but I don't think it's that old" he replied somewhat offended.

"Two years old? Well you should get a more... I don't know... current one" you said confused by the machine selection.

"I don't know what you are playing is but I don't care. Tell me, what is your name, who are your parents and why they don't seem to love you" commented the officer as he started typing.

"I am (y/n) and my parents do love me... as far as I know" you said angrily.

"As far as you know... but no parent would let their child wear ripped jeans".

"well it's very fashionable in case you didn't know" you folded your arms.

"for hippies, not for normal people" said the cop imitating you. "but I don't care about your inattention, I have to fill out your report..." he said concentrating on the huge computer. "If Hopper was here this would be easier, he likes to take care of kids like you".

"I'm not a kid anymore"

"And yet you dress like that of your own free will? You young people are very strange" said the policeman without looking at you, he printed a sheet of paper and gave it to you with a pen "write down your data where you have to".

You were writing down your data until you noticed something strange.

"Excuse me, the date is wrong, here it says 1986" you pointed it out, the policeman just looked at you strangely.

"Kid... we are in 1986..."

We are in what?

----------------------------------------------------------------------------Tag list:

@lillyof-thevalley @jedinerd27 @supergmbstuff @greekktragedyy @preciousbabypeterr @st3venluvbot @caitsymichelle13 @joukiworld

#eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things one shot #eddie munson #eddie munson blurb #stranger things

269 notes · View notes

monstersinthecosmos · 5 months

Note

Your Marius playlist is so good ‼️‼️‼️🫢I never would have thought of wardruna and heilung for him but it’s perfect 100/10

dgdsgaklsd thank you !!!!!!!!! I'm really excited that you like it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(Marius playlist if anyone is curious (: )

Sometimes people think I'm crazy because I don't really hear lyrics when I listen to music so all my playlists are built on VIBES ONLY. Marius playlist is like: Music That Could Be the Score of an Existential Crisis When You've Lived in Centuries of Darkness and Also Have Trauma From That Time You Were Murdered By a Pagan Cult. Any time I'm listening to music in the wild and I hear this vibe, it gets dropped into this playlist, regardless of lyrical content LOL.

The neofolk half of it speaks for itself, I think. I've also written meta about how I think black metal feels tonally appropriate for the Ancients. And like neofolk is one of those genres where like, so many of the fans are metalheads LOL. (I mean i got into Wardruna because of Gaahl haha it started there). And like I absolutely lose my mind over like pagan black metal/blackened folk metal where they bring in all the historical instrumentation into the metal like HJDKALGDS THE TEXTURE, I DIE, it's my fav genre of music. And it's just so incredibly bleak, but also so patient. It feels so heavy and existential and full of dread!!!!!!!! 😍 And thinking in a vampire context it's like ANCIENT OLD TRAUMA!!!! Bad memories from CENTURIES AGO. Idk man it just feels so good.

It's frustrating because like all the EXTREMELY SPOOKY ANCIENT MOOD MUSIC tends to be Nordic and I wish I could find some what had more Italian influence (this is a thinly veiled rec request if anyone has any) because every time I do go down the rabbithole and look for Italian neofolk it isn't what I'm looking for. I need like that deep terrifying Wardruna sound you know? It's gotta be out there, I will keep searching!!!!!!!!!!

There's some Balkan & Greek bands in there which are so great (Negură Bunget & Rotting Christ lol) and I have to go back and drop in more Karl Sanders for Akasha vibes lol. There are some really cool Middle Eastern metal bands too that use cool instrumentation (thinking of Melechesh) but they're not gloomy enough LOL. I need to go take a stroll and see if I can find some spooky stuff. And there's some really great Greek pagan/folk which probably is similar to what I'm trying to find but I'm looking for like the more neofolky half, like I need Greek Wardruna LOL.

But I really love most genres of music as long as it's gloomy and like the overlap of neofolk with pagan/black metal is like the perfect type of gloomy for me hasdkjga AND LIKE WHEN IM DAYDREAMING ABOUT MARIUS IT FEELS REALLY GOOD BECAUSE THE SOUNDS FEEL SO ANCIENT. And bands like Wardruna and Heilung give me so many God of the Grove feelings it just makes me think about the cult trauma. 🍿 (even if the regions are a little inaccurate please let me live, I'm doing my best with what I can find.)

#vampire music

8 notes · View notes

velkynkarma · 13 days

Note

I’ve been rereading Parallel by Proxy recently (just got an ao3 account and immediately made it the first series I bookmarked), and it occurred to me that we never see the actual moment the team and Ryou find out he’s a clone— we get a description of it when Shiro is waking up from the coma, but it starts in media res after that. Im curious how you imagined the moment of the reveal and the immediate aftermath (If you remember, I know Mirror Image is like seven or eight years old now? man that’s crazy! Which by the way, it’s so weird— in an GREAT way— to reread Mirror Image and see Ryou act like Shiro. It’s almost uncanny compared to how he comes into his own later on; it’s really interesting) Also, is there like an “add to playlist” sorta option for works? I’d like to organize all my old VLD gen favorites now that I finally (after like seven years lol) have an account!

Hey anon! Welcome to AO3 proper! Being able to bookmark things is amazing.

So I never actually wrote that "actual moment of discovery that this is in fact a clone of Shiro" moment because back when I actually was writing Parallel by Proxy, S4 had just come out. That meant 2 seasons already where fans suspected the returned Shiro was a clone, but we didn't have official confirmation yet. Everyone on the Kuron train had already written that scene, and I didn't really want to rehash it when I wanted to get into the actual horror elements of the story (i.e. Shiro being trapped in his own head and then the inverse side from the clone perspective).

At the time I wrote Mirror Image, there had also been no plans to turn it into a whole series with Ryou. Mirror Image was originally written for a Halloween-themed PlatonicVLDWeek event, so at the time I was just having fun writing spooky horror stories. The original crux of Mirror Image was supposed to be a mental horror story of a character thinking they're fine but getting messages to wake up. Ryou wasn't originally even supposed to be in it, but the clone theory worked well with the idea of Shiro constantly seeing himself telling himself to wake up, so Shiro's subconscious warnings to himself were upgraded to an actual other person trying to pull him out of the situation. Because of that, HOW Ryou got there wasn't really as important to the story as WHAT he was doing there, and I never felt the need to get into it.

After that when I decided to write more stories with Ryou and turn it into a series, he'd already been established as part of the team, so I just rolled with it from there.

How would it have actually gone? More or less how it's described as an afterthought, but with a lot of tension. "Shiro" would have realized after they lived through the Naxzela debacle that Haggar had arranged for them to be there somehow. He'd look into their data and their intelligence and eventually realize the changes and the nudges always came from him, but he didn't remember doing it. He'd start putting two and two together with some other facts that never lined up (why did Black teleport him into Galra hands? Why did he wake up on a table with too-long hair and a beard when he'd only been gone for a couple months? Why did he see another him on a table in his escape? What was the deal with that whole control blip with Black? Why did he always have those awful headaches? etc etc). Once he began to suspect, he'd bring it to the team honestly, because even if he's starting to realize he's behind all of this, he still cares for them, and he's horrified at the thought that he's the reason everyone could have died. The team does more in-depth digging once they know where to look, and...well. Shiro's not real.

There's probably a lot of mixed emotions at that point. They definitely would not have trusted "Shiro" at first, but he'd have been pretty compliant with their demands because he'd feel guilty and is in the middle of having an existential crisis about not being "real." They need him and his ability to lead and pilot though, so they eventually deal with any mental conditioning or control left in his head and grudgingly work with him to find Shiro and keep Voltron running. Even in Mirror Image, you can see everyone is kind of awkward with him at first, and he realizes he's more or less filling in for the real thing. He's helping them look for Shiro out of guilt and obligation, because he stole this person's life.

As for your other AO3-related question, I'm not sure what you mean about a playlist. But you can tag bookmarks, add comments or notes for yourself and others, and either leave them public or make them private. That would let you organize them on your end. I recommend against making "collections" as this can take control away from the writer (for this reason I never agree to let my works be put into collections when people ask).

Happy reading anon!

#Velkynkarma answers #Velkynkarma writes #Voltron #AO3

3 notes · View notes

hermits-in-space · 2 years

Note

For your song prompt: how about the 'Boatem' crew? (Scar, Grian, Mumbo, Impulse, and Pearl.)

OK Gonna put some of this under a cut cause. oh boy this turned out really long LMAO

For Scar:

-Dirty Imbecile by The Fits

+Yeah I know it says the word "scar" a lot but honestly thats not why I chose the song- This is the first song in the sfgg playlist actually!! its always fit my scar! especially the lyrics, "All these things ive tried, boy: be cute, be dumb, be wise, be young. So don't tell me what to fear in the darkness of this atmosphere!"

Also funny thing I misheard "be young" as "be yours". Didn't realize this until i looked up the lyrics as im writing this LOL

-Space Shanty by Live at Solace

+It's a funny human space shanty! That's really all there is to it, I just like imagining Scar singing this and the crew having NO idea whats happening but still having a blast

-Bones in the Ocean by The Longest Johns

+Vacation arc Scar! Ow! Singer is Scar in this case and his shipmates are of course the crew- They aren't actually dead but I think it reflects his process of coping while trapped in the watcher citadel and wondering where his friends are

For Grian:

-Starlight Brigade by TWRP

+I actually wrote a SFGG fic based on this one! It's old and sort of outdated but if you're curious it can be found here! Anyways this is my go to song for imagining how Grian gets to the HSS. From the whole being brought to the citadel to be inducted as a watcher to a very scuffed escape. also towards the end i imagine it fast forwards to when they attack the citadel and Grian can get some catharsis- Anyways I highly associate this one with Grian

-Fear by Sleeping at Last

+Kind of hard to explain without lyrics but this makes me think of Grian's experience during Scar and Hex's absence- working himself to exhaustion trying to find any trace of his friends whatsoever. Finally getting a lead and throwing himself into it- its just Good

-Hell's Comin' With Me by The Poor Man's Poison

+Grian Goes ApeshitTM- Mostly towards the watchers as he rallies people to go siege the citadel

For Mumbo:

-Cabinet Man by Lemon Demon

+Haha robot go brrr. Also possibly something something struggling to fit in with a crew of mainly organic folks. Also as a robot, Emotions Are Weird!

-The Bidding by Tally Hall

+Vibes also its a JAM and reminds me of him, especially the chorus :D

-Malfunction by Steam Powered Giraffe

+I imagine him and Mayhem singing this one a lot- Learning to accept yourself for who you are and be confident in yourself despite your flaws !!!

For Impulse:

-Soap by The Oh Hellos

+It has his vibes honestly, especially the lyrics "Oh no, I think I'm not quite ready to have you circle the drain, all the things we've broken can be puzzled together again." Well, to me at least. It just makes me happy :]

-Soft Fuzzy Man by Lemon Demon

+Impulse is a seaslug guy so he is not fuzzy BUT he is soft and good for hugs! Also this song is just fun and i think he'd dance to it

-Hey, Lover! by The Daughters of Eve

+I can imagine him vibing to this! Also this at all his friends! lover (platonic)

For Pearl:

-Ghost Choir by Louie Zong

+Its SUCH a cute song and I think she can make those noises. woo-O-OOO :D

-Everything Stays by Olivia Olson

+With how Moonsprites take on similar traits as their moon (craters, damages, fissures, etc) I imagine this is sort of how Pearl changes over the course of the story. How she may look different but she's still her

-Constellations by The Oh Hellos

+How connected Pearl feels to space!!! Constellations a million miles away!! She knows them all by heart!! Sort of how like a pigeon can always find its way home, Pearl can always find her way back to her moon :]

#OK DONE :D!#also for boatem as a whole you've got a friend in me by cavetown and also redesign your logo by lemon demon #anyways sorry this was so long thanks for indulging me LSDJKF #Boatem Crew #Scar Goodtimes #Grian #Mumbo Jumbo #Impulse #Pearl #over the intercom #hermitcraft

8 notes · View notes

e8luhs · 2 years

Note

since cataclysmalbound has been p much abandoned in favor of refactoring (i assume?), would u ever consider talking abt more of the plot of cb that you didnt manage to get to? or does refactoring borrow enough of the story that it would be too risky? im v curious abt the fate of the characters! also hi if youve noticed somebody listening to the cataclysmalbound playlists. that was me <3

THIS IS SO SWEET im actually shocked that people are still getting into cataclysmalbound or are at least remembering it fondly all these years later. like it wasnt THAT long ago in the grand scheme but it feels like its been such a long time since i was working on it. im glad that people can still enjoy what was put out :,,)

i dont think i would ever completely reveal everything i had written for cataclysmalbound from start to end, because first of all it is a little bit embarrassing to look at my writing from when i was 15 years old now that i am 20, and second of all with cataclysmalbound i had a plan for about half of it and was flying by the seat of my pants for the other half of it. which was just how my writing style was at the time, and thats definitely something that has changed a lot for me since then. but that just means a lot of things werent fully fleshed out so its kind of hard to share. probably a little disappointing for some #cataclysmalheads to hear but it is what it is

HOWEVER, here is some random trivia that i am okay with revealing as a treat

sebran was going to go grimdark at some point due to being exposed to the horror terrors (just lose it go crazy go stupid ahhhh). the whole sequence was going to be called sebrovania btw because lilia cantripped my friend lilia cantripped composed a track for that, called sebrovania of course, which you can listen to here. lilia is so fucking awesome for making this and other songs for cataclysmalbound by the way.

kapreo was going to become a rainbowdrinker. rivian was also going to godtier. fucking OBVIOUSLY vergas died at the end but i think that was pretty clear to everyone on the planet. yay <3

each act was going to be named after a tarot card, and the events that would take place during each act would correlate with the card. so act one was the fool because it was of course the beginning, but also because of everyones innocence around the true nature of the game until its too late. act 2 was the hanged man, act 3 was the tower. those three were the only ones i ended up figuring out cards for because i didnt know exactly how long i wanted cataclysmalbound to be

the base premise for the universe that refactoring is set in (vitium) came from my favorite arc that i had planned for cataclysmalbound where lyreni and vergas were going to both be warring via the code and altering reality through it as well. thats really about it though. i thought it would be cool to expand upon that. anyways see below for my favorite note about said arc:

refactoring really doesnt bear any resemblance to cataclysmalbound otherwise. at the very start of its creation, i did take some traits from the cataclysmalbound characters and used them as jumping off points for creating the new characters, but honestly 3 years down the line my brain guys have been developed SO far beyond those super initial concepts at this point that even i forget about their roots sometimes

so yeah. hope this helps and thank you for asking :)

#ask #BTW IM SO GLAD THAT AT LEAST SOMEONE OUT THERE CAN ENJOY THE CATACLYSMALBOUND PLAYLISTS STILL #600 songs... 600 songs i put together for those. im literally fucking insane

14 notes · View notes

uhhhitsgray · 2 years

Text

Desire Chapter Ⅱ

Trigger warnings for this chapter: self deprecation, mentions of mental abuse, anxiety attack, and implications of self harm.

↳ Table of Contents ↳ Chapter Ⅲ: I'm dreaming, right?

Chapter Ⅱ: Emotional Rollercoaster

It’s been a few days since your lunch with your friend, and you wish you could go back to that day or even last week as you’re up to your eyeballs in work for this website redesign. You just finished a meeting with your team, talking about deadlines and how to improve the site which only added to your stress levels.

You leave your teams meeting, running a hand through your hair, “Fuck me.” You sigh, grabbing a stick of gum from the pack in your desk drawer, and turning your spotify playlist back on to help calm your nerves that were washing over you.

You take a deep breath, and start working again allowing your mind to go into a numb state so you could fully concentrate on your tasks at hand.

Your work is interrupted when you hear your discord going off in your headset. You give a quick glance over to your screen on your right thinking it was Armin, but had to look again as it wasn’t Armin’s profile picture that you saw. It was Eren’s.

You move your mouse over to the other screen, opening his message.

Eren: hey, how’s it going today?

You go to start typing, but you see his name popup on the bottom of the message again so you wait. Your fingers air typing over the keyboard waiting for him to send the message.

Eren: you busy tonight? Was just curious if you wanted to chat in discord for a bit?

Just us? No Armin?

Jesus, chill out.

Maybe he just wants someone to talk to, you aren’t that special to him.

Calm the fuck down.

You: yeah, i’ll be free tonight. What time you thinking?

Eren: how does 8 sound? By the time im done with work, getting home, food - ya know all the normal shit, that’d be the easiest time for me.

You: thank you for your evening schedule, ill be sure to keep that in mind LOL

You: that sounds good to meeee, don’t be late.

Eren: as if you have any room to talk miss im late to meet a new person

You: HEY THAT WAS ONE TIME okkaaayyy.

Eren: imma hold you to it, that you won’t be late, don’t disappoint me

Eren: ill see you at 8

Don't disappoint me?

Sir, I am a walking disappointment for the most part.

Rest of the workday goes smoothly, though the thought of just you and Eren chatting tonight keeps rolling around in your brain. It’s not like it was that big of a deal, just the two of you hanging out, you just figured he would still want Armin to be there considering Armin knew him first and Eren didn’t know you that well.

Around 6PM you decide you are done for the day, you let out a relieved sigh standing from your desk, “Oh man, I’m beat.” You stretch before leaving your office, standing in the hallway looking into your bedroom then back to your kitchen.

Dinner first, or shower first?

Uhmm..

Shower first so if need be I can eat while Eren and I chat?

Yeah, let's do that.

So you do just that. After finishing your shower you're walking into the kitchen and start your dinner, making sure you give Beanie her evening meal as well. Your nerves are a little more on edge this evening as you see the time is getting closer to eight, and you really just weren’t sure why.

You ended up chalking it up to the fact that he’s still a new person to you, and you just hadn’t gotten to that level of comfort with him that you felt with your other friends. And also maybe the fact that he didn’t say what he wanted to talk about either, could just be chats but your mind is racing at the thought of it being something else.

Girl.

You’re being crazy.

Why would he have anything bad to talk about? It’s not like you’ve known him long enough for anything bad to even have happened.

“Well here goes nothing.” You say nervously as you set your food down at your desk, turning your pc on.

You make sure to put on lo-fi beats to keep your nerves chilled, but didn’t want to put any actual songs on as you knew you’d probably end up singing them at random and you didn’t want your new friend to think you were crazy.

You open your discord and see no one is in your voice channel yet, though you are a few minutes early, you let out a small sigh, “Thank god.” As you click the channel to join not even a second later you’re hearing the ding telling you someone joined.

“Eren!” You say with small amounts of excitement laced in your tone.

“Hey (y/n), how you doing?” His tone sounds like there’s excitement there but also a bit of tiredness laced into it.

“Oh, just a little tired from working today. It kind of kicked my ass honestly.” You let out a small laugh. “How are you doing, though? You sound tired.”

It sounds like he’s stretching, letting out a small groan, “Yeah, I’m always tired though so that’s nothing new for me. But other than that I’m okay. What happened at work?”

Trust me, I get being tired all the time.

“We took on a pretty big project recently, and it’s just a lot. I think it’s a bit more than everyone on the team thought it would be so it was just stressing me out today honestly. But it’s alright.” You shove a fork full of food in your mouth.

“Are you always eating when you’re in discord?” Eren lets out a small laugh.

“Well,” You swallow your food, “To meet your schedule I didn’t have time to eat beforehand and I didn’t want to disappoint you.” You let out a small breathy laugh.

“So you’re a people pleaser than?”

Your eyes widen at his statement. “I guess so, but only for the right people, ya know?” Looking down at your desk, smiling.

Dude.

Do you hear yourself?

For the right people - you just fucking met him.

Eren gives you a small laugh, “So I fall under the right people, huh?” A teasing tone leaves his mouth.

“Least right now you do.” You tease back, a smirk on your face. “But who knows that could change, you could end up being an awful person for all I know.” You laugh.

He laughs back, “I’ll make sure to stay being the right person for you.”

Right person for ME.

Little ol’ boring me?

That’s not what he meant right?

Surely not..

You giggle, “I’ll hold you to that Eren.” You put some more food in your mouth, continuing, “So, tell me a little about yourself.”

“You waste no time huh?”

“Unless you had something else to talk about?” Nervousness washing over your tone.

“Nah, nah. Really just wanted to talk to you tonight is all.” You can hear him smile through the mic.

You let out a loud sigh, giggling, “Okay good, because I was honestly a bit nervous when you asked if we could chat tonight.”

You hear him messing with something near him, “Why? You thought I had something bad to say? We just met.” He laughs, as you roll your eyes to yourself knowing he was right but annoyed with yourself. Always wanting to overthink things.

You shrug to yourself, as if he was there with you, “Just overthink things a lot, plus you never know sometimes.” A sad laugh makes its way out of your mouth, your mind flashing back instances with you and Charley…

NOPE.

Fucking stop thinking about that asshole.

You’re literally talking to someone who has given you no reason to overthink at all, and yet here you are.

You change the subject quickly, not wanting to let your mind wander anymore. “So, have you always lived in Washington?”

“Not always. I moved here about two years ago to move in with my older brother. Been saving up to get my own place, but it’s nice that he’s been letting me stay here for this long. Moving in with him was a little..” He trails off, “Unexpected, honestly.”

You raise an eyebrow, “Oh?”

“Yeah, it’s fine though. Our work schedules are pretty much opposite of each other so I don’t see him that often which is fine cause we don’t always see eye to eye.” He lets out a small laugh.

You smile to yourself, “Do any siblings get along though, like come on?”

“True, but Zeke and I were never close until I moved in. So that’s probably made it worse honestly.” He laughs, “You have any siblings?”

You smile thinking about your brother Colt, “Yeah I do, younger though. Just by a few years.”

“Hm, I’m sure you actually get along with him though?” He laughs.

“For the most part. Normal sibling bullshit.” You smile, “How you liking Washington though? Armin tells me it rains all the stinkin time.” You laugh.

Eren lets out an exaggerated groan, “Yeah he’s not wrong about that at all. It’s good though, I like the area, people here are pretty nice and chill too. Plus working with Armin is nice,” He pauses, “Was a little worried about meeting people at the job, not much of a people person sometimes.”

You laugh, “Trust me, I feel that. But some people are worth it I’ve learned.”

You two continue talking late into the night enjoying each other's company. Eren shared more about his life before moving, how his dad was a doctor and it caused him and his family to have to move a lot when he was younger. He briefly mentioned a girl named Mikasa, who he said his family took in when he was child and how they grew up together. He talked about how Zeke was never really around until about three or four years ago, but until he moved in with him, they weren’t close at all. Eren said he was lucky if he saw Zeke once a year - if that.

You just listened to what he wanted to share, not prying too much into his past and just taking the bits that he was willing to open up and share. Your heart feels a little warm and fuzzy that he wanted to share so much of his past with you despite you two barely knowing each other.

“Fuck, I didn’t even see how late it was.” He sighs, almost seeming annoyed that we couldn’t talk longer. “Yeah, I know. I was having a good time so I just kind of lost track of time honestly.” You giggle.

There’s a slight pause in conversation before Eren starts, “So, uhm. Tomorrow night?” He sounds almost nervous.

“What about tomorrow night?” You tease him.

“Well, you wanna do this again tomorrow night? If not that’s fine I get it.” His voice lowering as he speaks.

Why does he almost sound nervous asking me this?

It’s kind of..

Cute…

Nah, you didn’t just call someone you just met cute.

Get it together.

You give him a little laugh, “Yeah, we can do this tomorrow Eren. I’d like that. Same time?”

“If that works for you, then sure.”

You smile, “Of course it does, I’ll be here.”

You two say your goodnights, turning your pc off and heading to your bedroom. You get into your bed, covers pulled over your head as you scroll through twitter for a few minutes before bed.

Should I tell him thank you for opening up with me?

That’s weird right?

You sound fucking weird..

Let’s not scare him away.

You plug your phone in and go to bed before you start acting out on your thoughts.

The following morning goes pretty smoothly, after the stressful meeting yesterday you finally had a clear head and was able to work with no issues. Your mind was wandering a little bit as you found Eren messaging you throughout the day, asking how you were and how your day was good. Talking about your favorite bands, and favorite genres of music.

Your heart being filled with so much joy as you talked to him, you don’t even remember the last time you’ve felt this way. It was almost a scary feeling, such an unknown feeling to you. Maybe not unknown, but it had been awhile since someone else made you feel that way.

You shake your head to yourself, letting out an annoyed sigh.

He’s just a friend.

Stop acting like this is anything more to you, or him.

Unless..

Nah, shut up.

The joy left your heart as your mind flashes the words that Charley spoke to you before.

“You are nothing to everyone in your life. You’re worthless.” The words are still stinging you two years later.

“Fuck.” You’re wiping your tears from your eyes, sniffling.

Your eyes glaze over as your mind starts self-sabotaging itself, tears rolling down your cheeks as you aimlessly stare at your computer screen.

“You don’t even mean anything to me, bitch.”

It’s becoming hard to breathe, though you're gasping for air there isn’t enough air in the world right now to fill your lungs. You blink hard trying to bring yourself to the present.

“He’s not here. He’s not here..” You curl your fingers into your palm pushing your nails into your skin to distract yourself.

You’re frantically trying to get air to fill your lungs, pushing your nails harder into your palm.

“Breathe..” You inhale, slowly breathing out, “Breathe.. Fuck come on.” You breathe in through your nose and slowly push the air out of your mouth.

“He’s not here.. It’s fine, just breathe.” You continue to breathe in through your nose, and out your mouth, the pressure you’ve added to your palm releases as you start to feel control coming back.

Your body starts shaking, you’re sobbing at this point.

“Fucking fuck!” You scream out, your face is soaked with tears as you grab your shirt squeezing it in your hands. You cross your arms on your desk, leaning down and resting your forehead on your arms and you let yourself just cry.

“God, fuck you. Piece of shit is still lingering around two years later, what a joke.” You let out an annoyed laugh.

You run your fingers through your hair, standing up from your desk grabbing your phone and head out the balcony of your apartment.

The cool air brushing against your warm cheeks provides some sort of calming effect to your body. You unlock your phone and text Hitch, not able to keep this to yourself.

You: ssssooooooooooo

You: i may or may not have an anxiety attack about charley again..

You lock your phone, setting it down on the patio table taking a seat breathing in the fresh air. A few moments pass and you hear your phone chime. Turning the screen on, you see that you have a message from Eren, you don’t even bother reading it, swiping at your screen to remove the notification. You’d check it eventually but now was not the time that you wanted to check it.

You set your phone back down, pushing your body further into the chair, the back of your head resting on the top of the chair, closing your eyes allowing for yourself to relax.

Your phone starts ringing as you lazily open your eyes, putting the phone to your head, “Hello?”

“Babes! Sorry for the late response, I was in an important meeting. Are you okay? What happened?” Hitch’s voice is laced with concern. It had been a long time since you’ve had your last anxiety attack, let alone it being brought on because of him.

You breathe in, “It’s okay, sorry to kind of just dump it on you out of nowhere. I was just working, and my mind just started wandering and before I knew it, it was happening.” You sniffle, “I thought I was past this Hitch.” Silent tears roll down your cheeks.

“Well first off, please don’t feel bad that you said anything. I’m sorry that I wasn’t calling you sooner.” She pauses, you can hear her ruffling through some papers, “And I know, but sometimes in the healing process this type of stuff can happen. Just randomly came on?” Hitch might not know you better than Armin, but she knew you better than most. She knew it didn’t just happen randomly, but she didn’t want to just straight up ask you what happened.

She continues before you can answer, “You’re okay right? Nothing else happened?” Her tone sounded sad. You knew what she was talking about, but you had gotten a lot better with controlling those urges.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Nothing else happened, I promise. But I don’t know Hitch,” You take a deep breath, “Eren and I were just chatting and it just happened. Just hurting myself mentally at this point, I don’t know why I can’t just be happy and let that shit go. It’s so annoying.” You sniffle.

“I’m glad you’re fine. But I know it can be hard, I’m sorry it hasn’t been easier for you. I really am. I’d give you a hug if I could.” She completely ignores the Eren comment, but you figured she’d ask you at a later time.

You smile to yourself, “I could use a hug.” You let out a small laugh.

“Well babes, I do have to get going before my boss yells at me. Let me know if you need anything else, or if anything else happens. I love you, you know that right?”

“Yeah I know, I love you too Hitch. Get back to the grind, thank you. I really mean that.” You two say your goodbyes as you head back into your apartment.

The rest of the day goes relatively smoothly. When stuff like this happens, sometimes it’s just better that you ignore any lingering questions in your mind and just work on something. Music way too loud in your head phones as you keep working on your website project for work.

You shift your eyes to your right screen seeing that you have yet to answer Eren from earlier this morning. You decide not to read it, and you’ll just chalk it up to a busy day and just talk to him later this evening. You thought you’d be okay to read the message but you also didn’t think anything was going to happen earlier and well.. Something surely did happen.

We won’t be telling Eren this

Nope

Absolutely not

While you were feeling better from earlier, it did leave a bit of a damper on your mood. You’re just hoping you’d be back to normal before eight so he didn’t have to question you.

You kept working until a few minutes before eight, you didn’t want to give your mind the option to think about Charley again or any of the hurtful things that he said to you. Your wishes for your mood to change before eight were indeed not granted, you felt better but just had an overall weird feeling lingeringly over your whole body.

You join the discord right at eight, Eren already there. “Hey (y/n).” His tone sounded happy.

“Hey Eren. Whatta up to?” You save your work for the day, closing out of your programs.

“I’m pulling a you, and eating dinner.” He laughs, “You're not eating?”

“Nah, I just finished working for the day actually. So I haven’t eaten yet.” You rub your tired eyes.

“Oh,” His tone changes. “You didn’t have to get on if you had to work that late, I’m sure you’re hungry.”

“It’s fine actually, today was kind of rough so I just kept working to keep myself busy.” Your eyes watering again.

Get it fucking together.

He doesn’t need to hear you cry.

“You want to talk about it?” He sounds genuinely concerned.

Do we want to tell him about everything?

Excluding the part about him making your heart feel full of joy..

He doesn’t need to know that part..

“Uhm,” You pause, fighting yourself if you want to share or not.

“If not, that's fine. I totally understand, I just know talking to someone does help sometimes.”

A sad smile is on your face, “Yeah I know, I appreciate it. It’s just a lot.”

“I get it, still fresh type of thing?”

You look down, “If two years ago is still fresh, then sure.” You let out a small laugh.

“If it makes you feel any better, some shit happened to me almost three years ago and it still hurts like it happened yesterday. It took me a while to even want to talk to Zeke about it, let alone other people so I get it. No pressure, but if you ever want to talk about it, or anything, I’m here to listen.”

You smile to yourself, “I appreciate it Eren, I really do. Same goes for you.”

Fuck why is he being so nice to me?

Oh I don’t fucking know.

Probably because people can actually be nice and not have an ulterior motive.

After that Eren didn’t bring your day up to you at all for the rest of the evening. It was nice that he didn't try to pressure you into talking about it. You just wanted to forget about earlier.

He tried to cheer you up the best that he could, and it was working. He was sweet, making you laugh and saying goofy things to make you smile. Your attitude was making a complete 180 from when you first started chatting.

He started telling you more about himself, telling you that he had long hair that he had been growing out for a few years now.

“You aren’t one of those guys who looks weird with long hair right?” You snort.

“Wha-” He bursts out laughing, “I mean, I don’t think I do. I like it.”

You laugh, “I see. Well at least you like it.” “You’ve never even seen me, I could look great for all you know.”

You smile to yourself, twirling a piece of hair around your finger, “Well, that’s true. Didn’t picture you in my head to have long hair I will say.”

He laughs, “I’m sure I look nothing like what you think I do.”

“Hm, better or worse?” You tease.

“Depends on what you like.” He teases back.

Are we..

Flirting?

“Imma start guessing what you look like, and I want just a yes or no.” You laugh, “It’ll be a little game.”

He laughs, “Okay, shoot.”

“Brown eyes.” You definitely pictured him with brown eyes.

“No.”

“Oh,” You laugh, “Blonde hair?” You question.

He snorts, “No again. So this is how you see me huh?”

“Well not now obviously.” You pout.

“Are you.. Are you pouting cause you were wrong?”

“Nope, I never pout.” You lie, and Eren bursts out laughing again.

“I’m not guessing anymore.” You laugh.

“What. Princess didn’t get her way so she’s just done playing the game?” He laughs.

Come again.

Princess?

Uhm, I think I’ve forgotten how to breathe.

He didn’t mean anything by that, right?

Right?

Your breath catches in your throat, too stunned to speak. You blink a few times, trying to form a sentence. “Yup, it’s my way or the highway.” You joke.

“I’ll keep that in mind. So, do you want to actually see what I look like?” He seems eager to share so you entertain him.

“Sure, why not. Since my mind thinks of you completely differently.” You tease.

“One sec, lemme find a good picture.” You laugh, “Okay.”

“It’s coming your way.” He says, and in a few seconds you hear your discord going off. You move your mouse over to your messages.

“Oh.” Your mouth hangs open in disbelief over the picture he sent you.

Yeah..

He looks nothing like what I thought he did..

A/N: ooohhh man, i really like how this chapter turned out if im being honest. i hope yall like it too. thank you for reading and interacting with it, it really does mean a lot <3. see yall in the next chapter.

#aot fanfiction #eren aot #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #eren yeager #eren jeagar #eren yeager x you #eren yeager x reader #eren x y/n #modern setting #alternate universe #friends to lovers #strangers to lovers

8 notes · View notes