miss you right @yutacentric - Tumblr Blog

Aug 8, 2020

𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐲

↦ pairing : nakamoto yuta x female reader . ↦ genre : angst , smut . ↦ sub genre : church boy!yuta , neighbors!au , fwb!au ↦ tropes : mutual pining , friends with benefits , small town lovers . ↦ word count : 5082 . ↦ warnings : religion , smut , brief mention of smoking , all lowercase .

a / n : i’m just here to drop this & then go back to lurking , it’s just been in my head so long that i need to let it out . this is unedited & probably doesn’t make sense , but we r just gonna roll with it & pretend that it does . i might just . Linger after posting this but if u’ve an nct 127 member + a specific au , perhaps , let me know . anyway ,,,

playlist : every chase atlantic song ever ( see : church & devilish ) , no right to love you by rhys lewis , god don’t leave me by highasakite .

i. he asks you of your virtue on a friday night. you’re family friends, his parents are fond of yours and when both children are home from their post - graduate lives, they take the opportunity to reconnect. he’s washed in the red glow of the neon signs in the diner window, leaned back in the ugly red booths with his arm draped up on the seat – and though his father leads the sermon every sunday, he looks like sin. you’ve always thought that about him; there was no way someone who looked at you like that was ever holy. so much danger laid in his dark eyes, in the sharpness of his jaw, the curve of his lips – he was utter temptation and you were just a sinner.

but, when he leans across the table to ask you, “are you a virgin?” you almost choke on your drink. your parents are right behind you in their own booth, talking to his parents about the town and the changes that keep coming – and he’s got a smooth curve to his lips while he innocently reaches for a french fry from the little black basket on the old, linoleum tables.

“how is that any of your business?” you ask, boldly swatting his hands away from the basket you ordered after he said he didn’t want anything. “or appropriate to ask?”

“we’re friends, aren’t we?”

but you send him a skeptical look, because no – you are not friends with yuta, or the nakamotos. your parents are. in your entire life, he’s only ever held a genuine conversation with you when forced. awkward dinner parties, after your high school graduation parties, that one thanksgiving they were invited over because your extended family bailed – he’s barely more than an acquaintance. yuta’s a familiar face in the crowd, a vague figure you might recognize if he’s dressed a certain way, the laugh you think you recognize when you’re halfway across the country at school. you might’ve spent years pining over the boy down the street who looked like he himself was an angel, but never once has he ever looked your way on his own volition.

“is that what you call this?” you muse, picking up a french fry. “friendship?”

“listen, i’m just curious.” despite him loudly stating about how unhungry he is, he takes another one of your fries. “i was thinking about what i did to you behind the church last time we were both in town.”

his words are innocent, but his intents are devilish. despite your best efforts, you feel your cheeks heating up at the mention of spring break – of his head underneath your dress as he spoke invocations between your thighs. he had a way with word , he always had and he had talked his way up your dress. it was just a hand on your thigh in the pews, then a ghost of kiss behind your ear when leading you out the church, then the filthy prayers that he executed with his tongue. he had drawn god’s name from your mouth while holding you against the church, held your legs apart as you cried out his name on holy ground.

he was thinking about it, but you thought of it often – probably more than he did.

“you stopped me before we could go any further, i thought you just weren’t interested.” the corner of his lips lifted. “but then, i thought to myself, is she a virgin? is that why she stopped me?”

you chewed on your food slowly, bravely holding his gaze as the neon lights buzzed in the background. “do you think i’m a virgin?” you asked. “it’s been months since you ate me out behind your dad’s church and you’re only asking now? how long have you been thinking about me?”

unexpectedly, you match the cockiness that he wears so well. time has changed you; you’re no longer the damsel, the final girl – purity wrapped in cream white, ring of abstinence around your finger as you keep your head bowed in submission. you’ve found freedom in the things your parents have warned you stay away from – in men like yuta, who hold onto god while shaking hands with the devil. you wouldn’t let yourself be hurt anymore, you refused to continue to be the church girl who let everyone walk all over him. next time, you’d hurt them instead of letting yourself get hurt – you’d leave before you could get left.

you wonder if time’s changed him. unlike you, and some of the other people in your class, he didn’t opt for higher education after high school. his instagram is mostly inactive, but you’ve kept up with his temporary stories, his treks through europe and his stays in asia. everywhere he goes he looks like he belongs. there’s always someone on his arm or by his side – he’s got an endless supply of charm that’s helped him on his way, he’s always been that way.

“a long time, angel,” he says.

and there it is – the way he looks at you while bathed in the color of lust and sin. he is temptation and you are eve, he beckons you to take a bite, and who are you to say no? it’s barely an hour before you find yourself on top of him in the backseat of his old car with his hands in your hair and his lips on your collarbones. the windows are fogged up by the heavy breaths that fall from your lips, unholy sounds filling up the empty spaces around you.

how can something so blasphemous sound so sanctifying? your name on his tongue as he fills you up, the moans drawn from the back of his throat while his hands leave your locks to roam around your body. his palms are hot against your sweat covered skin and he leaves a trail in his wake – like he’s drawing out a map with his fingertips, leaving his fingerprints on you. you could listen to him all day, listen to him talk about how tight you are, about how good you’re treating him, about how much he’s wanted you.

he is the prophet who’s made you a believer, hands between your legs as your core tightens – oh, how he encourages you, how his lips meet yours as he fucks you while your hips buck. stars fill your vision while he fulfills his fantasy on you, thrusting up into you and gripping your hips. he calls your name just as he finishes, his strokes slowing to a stop as he pushes your hair out of your face.

a gentle kiss on both your temples, you know then how hallowed he is.

ii. he calls you the next morning from his kitchen. his parents are still asleep when his eyes open and he swears he can still smell your perfume on his skin. he’s nothing short of sacrilegious, but you’ve always been holy to him. there’s something about the way you smile when you receive good news that makes his heart flutter, and he loves the way you look over your shoulder whenever someone calls your name. for so long, he’s watched you become strong and independent while keeping his hands to himself.

divine corruptor, but he never wanted to taint you.

because he can still remember you moving in down the block – another girl he’ll have to welcome into bible study, another kid he’ll have to pretend to like because his parents are too chatty. but suddenly he’s thirteen and watching you stop a family dinner to bandage the boy across the street. the sunset hits you just right, lights up your face as you make the little boy promise to be more careful. you probably don’t remember how you looked at him as you walked back up the path to his home, but he does. thirteen and looking to a god who’s never loved him, wondering if love is real after all.

but, then he’s seventeen and you won’t meet his eyes at thanksgiving. you won’t eat the stuffing he brought, and he wonders if he said something wrong. later, his parents tell him that your entire extended family bailed and that the cousins you missed so much hadn’t so much as called you. it wasn’t his stuffing that had you down, it was the absence of someone who promised you they’d be there. he left you a hand turkey on the window of your bedroom and tickets to the movie you spoke to your dad about that night – he had to bribe his ex - girlfriend that worked there.

and still, you never looked at him. you ignored him in the halls, chose the loudest kid in class to partner with instead of him, went to prom with one of his friends instead of even asking him. he had spent his entire teenage life watching after you with the stars in his eyes while you grew and moved on without him. even after high school, one day you were still at home, the next day your parents were at sunday service telling him about how you went to some hot shot college across the country. they’re so proud of you, but he shares the same pain with them – that you all but left everyone behind. he didn’t even get to say goodbye.

but years pass and suddenly you’re back in his church at the same time as him. you look as good as you always have, sundress appropriately chosen for service with your smile equipped as always – and even though it’s been years, his heart skips a beat. he’s distracted from the conversation his father’s pulled him into and he’s looking at you. you hug old neighbors and catch up with friends who never left, you ignore him as you always have until he sits next to you and he’s instantly aware of the shift in your demeanor. your posture’s a bit different and you hold your head up a little higher than usual. your hand laces with his and you’re asking him to help you get some air after he teases you.

“what do you want me to do, angel?” he asks you when you’re on the front steps of the church.

it’s you that initiates the kiss, who cups his cheeks and pulls him into you like you’ve been waiting to do it. he’s breathless for the entire kiss and he almost loses himself when you ask him rather what he wants do instead. you tasted sacred, and the noises you made as your legs shook around his head were imprinted into his mind until you came home again. that day, you had used him to get you off and left before he could get inside of you. you had walked away and left nothing but a fantasy in his head and he had spent months with his hand wrapped around himself thinking of what would’ve happened if you hadn’t stopped him.

that yellow dress would still be bunched around your waist, he’d hold it as he watched himself disappear inside of you. your panties would be all but forgotten on the ground while he pushed you against the side of the church, he would listen to your moans, hear his name from your lips, taste all of you for the rest of the day. he always thought of you, even in another country with another girl in his arms. you deserved better than his dirty thoughts, though, he knew that. you were worth so much more than just the lust you gave him a taste of, but you came home again and you looked wicked.

it isn’t the way he wanted it to happen, but it isn’t as if it’d happen any other way. girls like you don’t end up with boys like him – that’s a truth he accepted a long time ago. but still, you answer the phone groggily and his lips spread into a smile. he listens to you complain about the time and about how he almost got you caught sneaking in last night – because you’re an adult , but your parents still treat you like a teenager. it’s such a mundane moment, watching the sun rise while listening to your giggles on the phone, but he knows he’ll remember it forever.

iii. you’re wrapped up in his arms for the rest of summer. you spend nights with his hands between your legs while your mouth is wrapped around his cock. mornings are rare, but when they arrive they often come with his body against yours – skin to skin while the sunlight peeks through the curtains. it’s often you find yourself at the church with your parents, shaking hands with his father before disappearing for the service to rendezvous with the best adventure you’ve ever had in your life.

he forces you to new heights, leaves your legs shaking and you gasping for air from pleasure you never knew you could feel. he is dangerous – taking you from behind as he bends you over the top balcony of the church after service, leaving a mark on your neck that wasn’t there when the day started, pulling you away from old friends who definitely notice the way your cheeks get tinted when you meet eyes with him. if this was supposed to be a secret, it was a poorly hidden one – but you didn’t mind.

you started counting the days before you had to leave. one more year, and you would come home. you didn’t want to come home originally – you returning for the summer was just supposed to be a pit stop on your journey around the world. but he had made you stay. he had found his way into a heart you swore would always be shielded, he had held your hand while on the top of the car and asked you to stay. you’re sure that, “we should keep doing this.” didn’t really officially count as an invitation, but you had taken it as one anyway.

why hadn’t you done it sooner? why had you always been so scared of the pastor’s son? if he made you feel like this now, could he have done it sooner? would high school have been different if you chose him instead of his friend, who used you on prom night and never spoke to you again? would you have chosen a school closer to home if you knew that he could make you forget all your troubles? would you have gathered the courage to meet his eyes if you knew how angelic he looked when he fell asleep with an arm wrapped around you?

“what are you doing?” he mumbles. he shakes you from your thoughts as you readjust your position. your head lays on his chest and you look up at him as the sheets fall around your waists, your left hand is intertwined with his right, the way his thumb brushes over yours makes your stomach erupt with softness.

“i’m just thinking,” you reply quietly. “i’ve known you for more than half my life, but never like this.”

“like what?” he meets your eyes in the growing darkness of his room. there’s happiness in the liminal spaces like this, you’ve found, in the quiet afterglow of pleasure is when you’re at your highest. “naked?” he teases you. “intimately?”

your own smile appears on your lips widely, and you sit up to wrap the sheets around your chest. “yeah,” you nod. “and, you know, more than just – yuta my neighbor, yuta the pastor’s son, yuta who dated all the girls in my eighth grade math class.”

he sits up too, leaning against his headboard after running a hand through his hair. “is that what you thought about me?”

you thought so much more of him than he’d know. he was out of your league, and he wouldn’t ever be interested in someone like you – that much, you were always so sure of. he never seemed interested when he came over, he always seemed eager to leave; you never even spoke past formalities. you thought he was the most interesting kid in your entire town of three hundred, but you were just a nobody. he was divinity and you were nothing but a follower. he was going to go off and do something so great with his life, you’re in a useless major with a useless life plan.

“no.” you shake your head this time. “i thought you were holy.”

because you couldn’t ever forget how he looked sitting in the front pew like a marble statue. he was handsome, and posed against the stained glass windows he looked like one of the paintings hung up on the halls of the church. you’ve never forgotten how beautiful somberness looked on him, how even when there were tears in his eyes, he still looked like he could end wars with a single glance. it was an odd situation, seeing him behind the school on graduation day with a cigarette between his fingers pretending not to cry. you would’ve said goodbye to him then if you had had the courage, but you had spun around and left without even saying hello – something you had grown all but used to.

he snorts in response to you, shaking his head like he can’t quite believe you. “you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“but, i do.” you scoot over until you’re close enough to straddle him, the sheets fall from around you as you climb on top of him. “i swear it on everything i have, yuta, you’re holy.”

he looks like he wants to argue, to fight against the title you’ve given him but instead, he pulls you in for a kiss. it’s slow and deep, almost torturing the way he kisses you like it’ll be the last time. he always kisses you like this, before he makes you cum, when he says goodbye, when he pulls you out of the crowd and into his arms. you don’t know why, but you won’t ask him to stop.

he kisses you and you break away to kiss his jaw, his neck, his chest – you kiss him until your mouth is wrapped around him again. his hands are always in your hair like this, his eyes are always half shut when you swipe your tongue over the head of his member, he always looks you in the eye when you dare to look up. he’s so holy, you wished he saw it too.

iv. you break his heart on a wednesday evening. three months of this and suddenly he’s got you in the back of his car again and he accidentally tells you “i love you”.

it’s in the heat of the moment, he confesses immediately after, but he can’t lie. he loves you, and he’s never loved anyone else like this before. you are everything to him. he looks at you and still loses his breath, he still gets giddy when he sees your contact light up his phone, he can’t go to bed without making sure you know he’s thinking of you. he thinks you love him too, because this isn’t just friendship. what you guys have going on is so much more.

it stopped being about the sex a bit ago, when you fell asleep in his arms and he held you until you woke up. it stopped being about the sex when he knew what to get you when you got bad news without you telling him. it stopped being about the sex when no other girl in the world compared to you, when you asked him if he’d visit you over the school year and he promised to. he passed friendship the minute he learned about your weird habit of leaving flowers on the windowsill of old mrs. buchannan because she liked the color. he knew he loved you when he had to pause the movie because you cried over the death of a minor animal character. he thought you loved him when you called him holy.

but he tells you he loves you and he can hear the rose gold glass shatter.

“hey,” he says your name as you fix your skirt in silence. “hey, come on, say something.”

“you don’t mean that.” your response comes quietly.

“i don’t mean what?” he pulls his pants up, fixes the buttons of his shirt. “that i love you?”

“you don’t love me.” you open the car door and step out. “you can’t.”

he’s taken aback by your comment, very briefly fixing his hair before stepping out of his side and watching you briskly walk away in the empty parking lot of the closed down k-mart. “what is that supposed to mean?”

you turn around, jacket wrapped around your arms as you look everywhere but at him. “i mean what i said. you can’t love me, yuta, i’m not someone you’re supposed to love.”

“then who am i supposed to love?” he takes steps around the car toward you. “if not you, then who?”

“anybody but me,” you insist, and he can’t understand why you’re pushing him away now. he can’t understand. “you’re supposed to love someone who’ll give you adventure and a lifetime of happiness. i’m just me – i’m– i’ll only leave. break your heart.”

“is there something i’m missing here?” he stands his ground even though you stray further away, one step at a time. “when was this decided – that you’d just leave and break my heart?”

and he’s so desperate to keep you, to hold onto you and keep you in his life. he doesn’t want this, you still taking steps back away from him like he’s the demon he’s always been sure he is. you’re enveloped in the dim lights of the parking lot, the streetlights cast a halo over you as you teeter near the edge of darkness – and still, he’d fall to his knees in worship for you if it meant you’d stay.

“you’re not supposed to love me, yuta, please,” your voice breaks, and it hits him so hard he almost stumbles back. “i’m sorry.”

you leave him in the half lit parking lot, but you don’t turn around to see him sitting down on the pavement with his head in his hands. what a constant theme in his life, to find so much happiness and see it walk out of his life. he thought you’d be the one that stayed, but he can see now how unfair it is to have placed all his expectations on your shoulders. you aren’t atlas, you aren’t made to carry the weight of his faults and his world, that’s his job, that’s his duty. he shouldn’t have expected you to love him the way he loves you, he shouldn’t have expected anything other than another girl who wanted to burn her hand in the lust.

it’s okay, he thinks, it’ll be okay. he’ll be okay, he always is. but he picks himself up hours after you left and climbs into a car that still smells like the perfume you sprayed earlier when you complained about the smell of cigarettes and that pine scent you hated. he drives to the church with his windows down, speeding through the empty streets so fast he can barely breathe though the wind. he uses the back entrance of the church with tears in his eyes and falls into his place in the first pew, letting the darkness wrap around him as he leans forward and cries.

yuta doesn’t pray, but he prays for you anyway.

v. you leave tomorrow, and your parents open the door to let in the nakamotos. he isn’t with his parents, and you don’t know if you’re more relieved or disappointed. because it’s been two weeks since he said he loves you, and it’s been two weeks since you saw a future in which he left you because you couldn’t make him happy.

what was it? your own insecurities, or the constant pattern that everyone that you fell in love seemed to leave? you could dissect it all. the fact that he was out of your league, that you had spent half your life yearning over him and waiting for him to look at you as someone other than the daughter of his parents’ friends. every girl he had ever dated was prettier, or more adventurous, or better than you in one way or another. every friend he had had more substance than you would ever muster. every story he told you reminded you that you didn’t fit into his life.

and then the second point, that you had fallen in love so many times just to be left alone in the cold. you had found yourself lost in the woods so many times because of the boys you chose to love. because of that, you had mapped the forest on your own, built your own shelter, and kept yourself warm with your own fire. it was foolish of you to let the fire die out and to venture out toward his flame, it was incredibly stupid of you to fall in love with him when you had promised yourself that you’d leave before you could get left.

but dinner is so empty without him, and he’s everywhere. he haunts you in everything you do, you can see him in everyone you meet. because the truth is, the hoodie he left still smells like him even if it’s just been sitting on your desk chair and whenever you see something funny the first person you think of his him. you find him in the sunsets and the shadows in your room, you touch him in your dreams and hold him so tightly you wake up in tears. he has burrowed his way into your heart and the joke’s on you – you ended up hurt in the long run anyway.

you say goodnight to his parents as they leave – his mom hugs you extra tight and tells you it’s from yuta.

“he’ll miss you, sweetheart,” she says as she pulls away.

that haunts you for the rest of the night. you can’t sleep, you can’t form a coherent thought, and you’re walking out of the front door fiercely at two in the morning without caring about the consequences. you walk across the lawns to his house, you find his room on the ground floor and knock on the window – quietly, three times. seconds feel like hours as you wait, and for a second, you think he’s gone, but just as you’re about to sprint back home, his curtains pull apart and you see his face.

you’re helpless as the moonlight hits his face, lighting up his features. heaven lost an angel and he’s right in front of you. you’ll never understand why he thinks so lowly of himself, why he can’t see the wings that sprout from his back and the halo that hangs over his head. you can remember a night spent with him, listening to him tell you about his stories and his adventures. how highly he spoke of others, how he didn’t speak of himself, how he only mentioned his mistakes and his flaws. you had told him how holy he was, he had denied it until his hips were between your legs and you forgot all about it.

he slides his window open, pushing the screen aside and leaning out. he looks like a masterpiece, painted and carved by god himself – the big man that you knew he didn’t really believe in. if god was real, he gifted mankind yuta.

“i leave tomorrow,” you say.

he nods slowly. “i know.”

“i came to say goodbye.”

“okay.” he looks you in the eye. “goodbye.”

“bye.”

not all stories have a happy ending, you know. you’re so sure that you won’t have one with him, you’re so sure that if you tell him how much you love him it’ll end apocalyptically – but your heart hurts so much you can’t breathe. you can’t move your feet from its spot in the ground, you can’t leave the way your mind is telling you to.

“please give me time,” you mumble – you don’t even know what you’re really saying. the words are coming out faster than you can stop them. “please wait for me. i just need a little time.”

“for what? what in the world could you possibly need time for?” he asks, stoic features finally moving; they shift into a frown, a sarcastic laugh from his lips.

“i need time to love you the way you deserve to be loved. because i do, i do love you. i love you.” it’s relieving to say, you can almost breathe again but the way he looks at you – for the first time that summer, he doesn’t look at you like you’ve gifted him the sun. he looks at you like you’ve stolen the light, like you’re a bringer of darkness. “i just – i can’t.”

“and i can’t wait for you.” he shakes his head. “i can’t do it.”

“please,” you beg. you take a step toward his window as he takes a step back into his room. “please.”

“i can’t.”

tears blur your vision and you don’t want to cry, you don’t want him to see you sob over him. but you can’t hold them back, they fall onto your cheeks as he pulls back the screen on his window – a barrier that prevents you from climbing in familiarly.

“i love you,” he says to you. “i meant it when i said it, i mean it now. but you need time to love me and i need time to unlove you.” you’ve never seen him look so sad before, but he closes his window, then his curtains.

rightfully, he cuts you out of his life and leaves you in the darkness. you walk back home in tears, you land on your front steps in tears. some stories just don’t have happy endings, some have lessons – yours: that in trying to get hurt by another person, you ended up the most hurt you’d ever been.

oedipus, by trying to escape your fate, you’ve walked headfirst into it.